‘Help, I’m on fire,’ he shouted. ‘There’s smoke everywhere.’ But it was just the snow.
As daylight appeared the wind began to grow. The snow that had fallen as softly as feathers now began to dance in frantic circles. It grew until it was a blizzard running round and round the houses in a silent frenzy. It clung to walls and windows and piled itself up in great drifts against doors. Every animal fluffed itself up against the cold and waited. Birds sat huddled under branches while rabbits and mice peered out from their tunnels and watched nature’s fury. It raged for hours until the whole world was painted white.
Inside the houses people slept. The snow on the windows blocked out the daylight so that all morning it was as dark as early dawn. Those who did wake up at the right time found it impossible to tell what time of day it was and others, waking late, looked at their watches in disbelief. Most of them, finding they were late for work, took the day off and went back to bed. The people who did try and travel found they couldn’t get anywhere. The trains were frozen to the tracks, the buses locked up and cold and their cars wouldn’t start. Nature gave the world a day off and as it was nearly Christmas no one really minded.
At the house called fourteen, the two children who lived there went out into the back garden and built a snowman. From inside his tree Dennis the owl watched wide-eyed as it grew taller and taller on the lawn.
‘It’ll end in tears,’ he said, ‘and they’ll probably be mine.’
‘For goodness sake, Dennis, stop twittering and go to sleep,’ said Audrey the owl.
‘But there’s a huge giant on the lawn,’ said Dennis.
Ethel the chicken stood in the doorway of the hen hut and looked out at the garden. She fluffed out her feathers and settled down in the straw. Sparrows were fluttering from branch to branch sending little gusts of snow tumbling down. The children had cleared the bird table and it seemed as if every bird for miles around was feeding there. The bluetits were fighting around the wire cages of peanuts and in the trampled snow below them clumsy pigeons were pecking up their crumbs.
At lunchtime the man came out and hung a long line of bright coloured lights across the bushes along the back of the house. Red, blue, green and yellow, at night they glowed in the darkness like big gentle eyes. Dennis thought it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
‘It looks like heaven has come down into the garden,’ he said.
That night it snowed again, not great wild storms but just enough to fill in the footprints and smooth over the edges so that when everyone woke up on Christmas morning the world was new again. The snowman looked as if he had been wrapped up in a big flowing blanket. The roads that had become grey with traffic were clean and white again. The trees that had shrugged off their coats were covered once more and even the wires between the coloured lights had narrow snowdrifts balanced on them. It had frozen hard through the night and the pools of water where the sun had melted the snow the day before were now frozen through.
It was the first time in sixteen years that there had been snow on Christmas day. Of all the animals in the garden only Ethel was old enough to remember the last time. The two children hadn’t even been born then and would probably have children of their own by the time it happened again. And even though the snow began to melt that afternoon, for the family at the house called fourteen it was the best Christmas they had ever known.
Four Pigeons
Steve and Raymond the pigeons sat on the gutter at the back of the house looking down into the garden. As they watched, a woman came out of the house and tipped some food onto the bird table. As soon as she turned away a crowd of sparrows and starlings flew down from the trees and began fighting and squabbling over the food. The noise was terrific with birds flapping and shouting at each other, pushing and shoving and swearing for all they were worth. Hardly had a bird got a single mouthful before it was being attacked by another.
‘See that down there,’ said Steve.
‘What?’ said his brother Raymond. Steve wasn’t actually sure if Raymond was his brother or just another pigeon, but he thought they probably were brothers because they looked so alike. Raymond thought the opposite.
‘That food,’ said Steve.
‘You’re thick, you are,’ said Raymond, for no apparent reason.
‘Well, if I’m thick,’ said Steve, ‘then you’re thicker.’
‘Am not,’ said Raymond.
‘Are too,’ said Steve.
‘Not,’ said Raymond.
‘Are,’ said Steve.
‘Not.’
Steve said nothing for a bit and then threw himself at Raymond who fell off the gutter. The two birds flapped and crashed at each other until they landed on the bird table scaring all the other birds away.
‘Look at all this food,’ said Steve and started pecking away at a large currant bun with green mould on the edges.
‘You’re fat, you are,’ said Raymond.
‘Well, if I’m fat,’ said Steve, ‘then you’re fatter.’
‘Am not,’ said Raymond.
‘Are too,’ said Steve.
‘Not,’ said Raymond.
‘Are,’ said Steve.
‘Not.’
Steve pecked at his bun for a bit and then threw himself at Raymond who fell off the bird table. The two birds flapped and fought until they ended up in the bushes. The sparrows and starlings who had flown off when the pigeons had come crashing down went back to their own battle on the table and carried on with their breakfast.
The two pigeons fluttered out of the bush and sat on a branch getting their breath back.
‘You’re unhealthy, you are,’ said Raymond, between taking deep breaths.
‘Well, if I’m unhealthy,’ puffed Steve, ‘then you’re unhealthier.’
‘Am not,’ said Raymond.
‘Are too,’ said Steve.
‘Not,’ said Raymond.
‘Are,’ said Steve.
‘Not.’
Steve said nothing for a bit and then threw himself at Raymond who fell off the branch. The two birds fluttered at each other in the grass but they were so exhausted by now they could hardly hop off the ground.
‘Do you ever get the feeling that this has all happened before?’ said Raymond.
‘No,’ said Steve.
‘Well, neither do I then,’ said Raymond.
‘I bet you do,’ said Steve.
‘Don’t.’
‘Well, why did you say it then?’ said Steve.
‘Er, because I thought you did,’ said Raymond.
‘Well, I don’t,’ said Steve.
Raymond crept under a twig and fluffed up his feathers. He shut his eyes and thought about sleeping. Steve stood and watched him and wondered how they could be so different. He was slim and clever while Raymond was fat and stupid. He was cool and handsome while Raymond was angry and ugly. It was amazing how unlike two brothers could be.
Raymond wondered how two pigeons could be so different. He was clever and slim while Steve was stupid and fat. He was handsome and cool while Steve was ugly and angry. It was obvious that there was no way they could be brothers.
‘What was your mother called?’ he said.
‘Mum,’ said Steve.
‘Liar,’ said Raymond. ‘That’s what my mother was called.’
‘Well, we’re brothers,’ said Steve. ‘We’ve got the same mother.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Raymond. ‘Look how different you are from me.’
‘Well, if I’m different,’ said Steve, ‘then you’re differenter.’
‘Am not,’ said Raymond.
‘Are too,’ said Steve.
‘Not,’ said Raymond.
‘Are,’ said Steve.
‘Not.’
Steve said nothing for a bit and then fell over.
Rebecca and Liz the pigeons sat on the gutter at the back of the house looking down into the garden. There were two other pigeons fighting on the lawn. They puffed out their chests and flapped at each other like a couple of over-stuffed cushions.
‘See that down there?’ said Rebecca.
‘What?’ said Liz.
‘Those two idiots down there,’ said Rebecca.
‘How long have you had that bald patch?’ said Liz.
‘What bald patch?’ said Rebecca. ‘I haven’t got a bald patch.’
‘Yes, you have,’ said Liz. ‘On the back of your head.’
‘Well, if I’m bald,’ said Rebecca, ‘then you’re balder.’
‘Am not,’ said Liz.
‘Are too,’ said Rebecca.
‘Not,’ said Liz.
‘Are,’ said Rebecca.
‘Not.’
Rebecca said nothing for a bit and then threw herself at Liz who fell off the gutter. The two birds flapped and crashed at each other until they landed on the bird table scaring all the other birds away.
‘Look at all this food,’ said Rebecca and started pecking away at a brown potato.
‘You’re fat, you are,’ said Liz.
‘I know,’ said Rebecca. ‘I’m much fatter than you.’
‘Are not,’ said Liz.
‘Am too,’ said Rebecca.
‘Not,’ said Liz.
‘Am,’ said Rebecca.
‘Not.’
Rebecca pecked at her potato for a bit and then threw herself at Liz who fell off the bird table. The two birds flapped and fought until they ended up in the bushes. The sparrows and starlings who had flown off when the pigeons had come crashing down, went back to their own battle on the table and carried on with their breakfast.
The two pigeons fluttered out of the bush and sat on a branch getting their breath back.
‘Hey, girls,’ said Raymond. ‘Come on now. You’re behaving like a couple of kids.’
‘Yeah,’ said Steve, ‘that’s no way for ladies to carry on.’
‘What!’ exclaimed Rebecca. ‘And what do you two think you’ve been doing for the last half an hour?’
‘What are you talking about?’ said Raymond.
‘You two,’ said Liz. ‘You’ve been at it like a couple of stupid kids.’
‘Have not,’ said Steve.
‘Have too,’ said Liz.
‘Have not,’ said Raymond.
‘Have,’ said Rebecca.
‘Not.’
Liz and Rebecca said nothing for a bit and then threw themselves at Raymond and Steve. The four birds jumped at each other, puffing themselves up as big as they could and calling each other every rude name they could think of. Rabbits covered their children’s ears as they hurried by and ants ran for their lives. Feathers flew everywhere until at last the four birds stood exhausted and panting in a circle of trampled grass.
‘Let that be a lesson to you,’ said Steve.
‘Yeah,’ said Raymond. ‘Just you watch it or we’ll sort you out again.’
‘You sort us out,’ laughed Liz. ‘Get real.’
‘Come on, girls,’ said Steve. ‘Be honest, we won.’
‘Yeah,’ said Raymond. ‘We let you off because you’re girls.’
‘You’re unbelievable,’ said Liz.
‘Well, if we’re unbelievable,’ said Steve, ‘then you’re unbelievabler.’
‘No such word,’ said Rebecca.
‘Is too,’ said Steve.
‘Isn’t,’ said Raymond.
‘Is,’ said Liz.
‘Not.’
Steve and Raymond said nothing for a bit and fell over again. When they got up Rebecca and Liz had gone.
‘Women, eh?’ said Steve.
‘Yeah,’ said Raymond.
‘Yeah.’
‘Still, I thought the bald one was pretty,’ said Raymond.
‘Not as pretty as the other one,’ said Steve.
‘Was too,’ said Raymond.
‘Was not.’
‘Was...’
Rosie
In the middle of nowhere it was as black as night. Rosie the puppy curled up into a pathetic little ball and tried to sleep. She was very cold and it was a long time since she had had anything to eat and all around her wild animals roared. Their noise was so loud that the ground shook beneath her. Rosie shook too not just from the cold but because for the first time in her short life she was completely terrified and alone.
She nuzzled around in the tiny darkness but there was no one there. Her brother and sisters and even her mother had all gone. She knew they wouldn’t be there. She could still remember what had happened. One by one the others had been taken away until she had been the only one left. She had missed them terribly, missed the loving feel of them all rolling round together in the warm blanket; but then she had had her mother all to herself and for a few days it had been wonderful.
Rosie had been the smallest and the last to go. Someone had picked her up and suddenly it had all gone dark. That’s how it was now, dark and alone. She had called out over and over again but no one had come.
The animals roared louder and high above them a terrible loud crash rolled across the world and it started to rain. A dull flash tried to light the darkness but the thunder chased it away. Rosie hid her face in her paws and shivered and the rain soaked through her fur, and very close in the night one great animal stopped and growled.
Across the motorway the rain came down in great thick curtains. The thunder was so loud that even inside the car with the engine racing they could hear it. Lightning flashed in brilliant sheets, lighting up the world so brightly that for a second the car’s headlights were invisible. The red lights of other cars sparkled and flickered in the rain like distant fires.
The woman slowed down and pulled across to the inside lane and as she did so, the car slid sideways like a horse with a broken leg.
‘What’s the matter?’ asked the girl from the back seat.
The woman pulled over onto the hard shoulder and stopped.
‘I think we’ve got a puncture,’ she said. They sat in the car as if by waiting everything would be all right. The engine ticked over so softly that in the storm no one could hear it. Only the windscreen wipers moved, waving backwards and forwards in a frantic attempt to clear away the rain. Cars and lorries crawled by, their tail lights winking at them as they slipped away into the darkness.
‘I’m not going out in that,’ said the woman. ‘We’ll wait for a bit, it’s bound to ease off soon.’ So they sat and waited and listened to the radio and outside a few inches from the flat tyre Rosie the puppy, tied up in a sack, grew weaker and weaker.
‘Shall I go and have a look?’ said the boy. ‘See if we have got a puncture?’
‘Okay,’ said the woman.
The boy pulled his collar up and climbed out into the rain. The storm was moving away but it was still raining hard. He walked round the car looking at the wheels, then he climbed back in.
‘It’s the one at the front on the left,’ he said.
When the rain had faded into a soft drizzle the woman and the boy got out and changed the wheel. Rosie had stopped moving. She was now no more than a wet rag like the sack she was imprisoned in. The boy stepped back and stood on the sack, barely a couple of inches from the tiny dog, but he never saw her. They put the flat wheel in the back of the car and the woman got back into the driving seat. It was only then, when the boy looked round for something to wipe his hands on, that he noticed the sack. He squatted down and cleaned his fingers and only then when he picked the sack up to throw it into the bushes, only then did it move.
‘Come on, get back in the car,’ said the woman, but the boy was on the ground pulling at the string.
‘There’s something here,’ he said,
‘in this sack.’
‘Leave it alone,’ said the woman. ‘It could be anything.’
‘But it’s moving,’ said the boy. ‘It’s something alive.’
The woman got out of the car and took the sack from the boy. She undid the string and lifted out the small wet dog. It lay still and pathetic in her hands, no larger than a kitten.
‘I think it’s dead,’ she said and inside her, a giant anger brought tears to her eyes. She held the dead thing against her chest and stood there in the car’s headlights as the rain began to fall heavily again. The tears poured down her face into the rain and washed away across the road. She looked up into the sky, up into the storm, and shouted at the top of her voice with a great wild desperate cry of fury. The boy took his mother’s hand but there was nothing he could say. His mother’s roar had said it all.
‘We’ll take it home and bury it in the garden,’ the woman said. ‘It’s the least we can do.’
The boy took the tiny animal and put it inside his coat and they drove home in silence. The rain kept falling inside the car as badly as it was outside. The woman could hardly see to drive for her tears and on the back seat the two children sat sad and still. From time to time the woman cursed under her breath but apart from that none of them said a word until they were almost home.
It was past midnight when they left the motorway. Most people were in their beds and the streets were as empty as their hearts. The rain stopped and the clouds moved on, leaving a dark clear sky and inside the boy’s coat the pitiful corpse grew warm, and right outside their house, it shook and shivered and the boy cried out and the woman turned round and drove the car right into the gatepost but it didn’t matter.
Even the next morning, when Rosie was warm and dry and sleeping inside the boy’s shirt, and they all went out and looked at the broken car, even then it didn’t really matter. They mended the car but they left the gatepost to remind them of what had happened. They knew that whoever had been cruel enough to desert Rosie by the roadside had also thrown away all the years of happiness that she had to give, happiness that she would now give to them.
Wild Stories Page 13