I hadn’t given my word actually. But that wouldn’t make any difference. An order is an order.
As I ate my tea I thought about the fox. I’d seen it somewhere before. Then suddenly I realised. On the kitchen wall was an old photo of Grandad. Behind him was a hall stand. There were hats and scarves and umbrellas hanging on it. And a fox skin.
‘What’s that thing?’ I said to Dad. I jumped up and pointed to the fox skin.
‘A fox fur. It’s the one Grandad shot. He preserved the skin and made it into a fur wrap for Grandma. But she wouldn’t wear it.’
‘Why not?’
‘She said that she wasn’t going to wear a dead animal around her neck. She felt sorry for it. She said it looked as if it was alive. Grandad was disappointed that she didn’t like his gift.’
‘What happened to it?’ I asked.
‘No one knows,’ said Dad. ‘I couldn’t find it after Grandad died.’
‘It might be in that locked cupboard,’ I said.
Dad looked at me in a funny way. I went red. ‘If it is,’ he said, ‘it stays there. A promise is a promise.’
We all looked at the picture. ‘Pity the photo’s only brown,’ said Dad. ‘That coat of Grandad’s was bright red. And his eyes were the clearest blue.’
I wasn’t really interested in the colours that weren’t in the photo. I was in a real pickle and I didn’t know what to do. I had to sleep in a room with a dead fox in the cupboard. Why had Grandad locked the door and made everyone promise not to open it? What was it about that fox?
5
That night I dreamed more dreams about trees. But this time it was lemon trees. Or should I say lemon tree. A voice seemed to call me. It wanted me to go to the large lemon tree. The voice inside my head told me to go out into the night. And pick a lemon.
I cried out and sat up in bed. The cupboard door had swung open. The fox’s glass eyes glinted in the moonlight. I thought it moved. It seemed to sigh gently.
Suddenly I knew I had nothing to fear. The fox was my friend. It was sad. Lonely. Lost.
I walked over and gently reached out. I stroked the soft fur with my hand. Dust fell softly away. A great sadness swept over me. The fox was like a beautiful empty bag. Its bones and heart and life were long gone.
And I knew where they were.
‘All right,’ I said. ‘I’ll do it.’
The fox made no answer. It hung limply like the moon’s cast-off coat. I crept down the stairs. Mum and Dad were asleep. I walked between the shadows until I reached the large lemon tree. Where the carcass of the fox had been buried, many years before.
The ripe lemons drooped between the silvery leaves. I knew which one to pick. My hand seemed to have a life of its own. It reached up and plucked a lemon from high on the tree.
I tiptoed back inside the house and crept up the silent stairs. The cupboard was open like a waiting mouth. I wasn’t sure what to do with the lemon. The fox skin hung silently on its peg. I gently opened its jaws and placed the lemon between its teeth. Then I shut the door and jumped into bed.
I pulled the pillow over my head. But even so, I could hear a gentle chewing, sucking, swallowing sound from behind the door.
The fox was feasting.
I finally fell asleep. Deep in carefree slumber.
6
In the morning I peered into the cupboard. At first I thought that nothing had changed. The fox fur still flopped from its peg. But the lemon had gone. I stroked the fox. I ran its tail between my thumb and finger. At the very tip of its tail I stopped. It was hard inside, as if a piece of a broken pencil had been inserted there. It was a small bone.
I gasped. That bone had not been there the day before.
The next night I visited the lemon tree again. Again I fed the fox. And again his tail grew firmer. Strengthened by another bone.
Each day I helped my father chop the trees and feed the mulcher. And each night I fed the fox from the lemon tree.
At the end of two weeks the fox was round and plump. Its fur had lost its dust. It glistened, strong and full. It was a fine fox. But it still hung from the peg. Its head flopping near the floor.
My work was nearly done. On the second-last night I placed my hand on its chest.
I can’t describe the thrill that ran up my arm. The fox’s heart was beating. It was alive but not alive. It still dangled from the peg. But its nose was wet and warm. A red tongue trembled between its teeth.
I had done my work. The lemons had given back what my grandfather had taken and buried beneath the tree. I opened the cupboard door wide. ‘Go,’ I said. ‘This is your chance.’
The fox didn’t answer. Didn’t move. Something was wrong.
The glass eyes stared without life.
The eyes. It needed its real eyes.
7
I stared out of the window at the first signs of the day. The last two lemons glowed redly in the sunrise. The tree stretched upwards from its roots. Its branches were like arms offering gifts from below.
‘Tomorrow,’ I said. ‘Tomorrow I’ll get your eyes.’
I closed the door and snuggled down into my bed. I fell asleep for many hours.
The sound of the mulcher drilled away at my slumber. There was something wrong. In my dreams I knew it. I sat upright and listened to Dad feeding branches into the hungry machine.
‘No,’ I yelled. ‘No.’ I ran over to the window. ‘Stop,’ I screamed. ‘Stop.’
I was too late. The lemon tree was nothing but a pile of wood chips. I ran down the stairs in my pyjamas and bare feet. ‘The lemons,’ I shouted. ‘Did you save the last two lemons?’
Dad looked up in surprise. ‘No,’ he said. ‘They were green.’
Tears ran down my face. I thought of the blind fox, still hanging in the blackness of the cupboard that for so long had been its coffin. I stood there and sobbed.
‘They’re only lemons,’ said Dad. ‘For goodness’ sake. What a fuss.’
I couldn’t tell him. I couldn’t say anything. I trudged back to my room. ‘I’m sorry, fox,’ I said. ‘Now you’ll never see.’
A voice floated in the window. It was Dad. ‘This little lemon tree still has two lemons, Shane. If you want lemons, why don’t you take these?’
I stared sadly down. That tree wasn’t any good. It wasn’t growing where the fox had been buried. Still and all, it was worth a try.
8
I waited all day. I waited until the sun had set and the moon filled the evening. I walked slowly. Not really hoping. But wanting so badly to give the fox my last gifts.
The lemons seemed to tremble. They dropped into my hands as I reached up. As though they had been waiting.
What was inside? For a moment I wondered what I would see if I peeled the lemons. Two eyes? Or just pith and pips and lemon pulp? I shuddered.
I placed the lemons between the white teeth of my friend the fox. And shut the door. I heard nothing. No sighs. No chomps. No swallows.
I had failed the fox.
Slowly I walked downstairs to supper. Dad and Mum tried to cheer me up. ‘Are you ill?’ said Mum.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I think I am. But you can’t fix it with medicine.’
Dad looked up. ‘What was that?’ he said. ‘I thought I heard something upstairs. Someone’s in the house.’
We all ran up to my room. The cupboard door was open. The window was open. Dad looked at the empty cupboard. And then at me. I nodded my head. I didn’t care what he said or what he did. I was happy in a way that I had never been happy before. I picked up the two glass eyes that lay rejected on the floor.
‘Look,’ shouted Mum.
On the edge of the garden, under the little lemon tree, stood a magnificent fox. Its tail glistened in the silver light. Its shoulders shivered. Its ears pricked and pointed towards us. It took our scent and turned and gazed.
We all gasped. ‘Look at its eyes,’ whispered Mum.
The fox stared at us. Unafraid. Its large blue eyes drank us in. T
hey looked deep into me. I knew what they were saying.
‘Thank you. And farewell.’
My eyes were moist. I wiped away a tear.
When I looked up, the fox had gone. I never saw it again.
In the morning the little lemon tree was dead. Every leaf was curled and brown.
‘It’s never grown well,’ said Dad. ‘And it should have. Because we planted it on Grandad’s grave.’
Tell one lie to your parents and you are history. One little fib and they won’t ever believe you again.
1
‘Brad,’ said Dad, ‘never, ever, ever touch this.’ In his hand he had the most fantastic compass you have ever seen. Not the type that shows you where to go. The sort you draw circles with.
It was silver and had little metal bolts and a point as sharp as a needle. Instead of a pencil it had a little piece of lead held in by a tiny screw. I whistled. ‘Wow,’ I said. ‘I bet it’s worth a fortune.’
‘It is,’ said Dad. ‘And I need it for my work. SO DON’T TOUCH IT.’ He put it in the top drawer of the dressing table in his bedroom and shut it before I could even get a good look.
Geez, I longed for that compass. Just to hold it, I mean. Not to steal it or use it or anything like that. Just hold it. That’s all I wanted to do.
That compass called to me. ‘Brad,’ I could hear it saying, ‘come and get me. Aren’t I great? Pick me up. Look at me. Try me out.’
It didn’t really say that. But in my mind it did. All I wanted was a hold. One mingy little hold.
After tea, Mum and Dad and my little sister Sophie went into the lounge to watch TV. It was my turn to do the dishes. Rats. I hate doing the dishes. It is so boring.
‘Come and hold me,’ called the compass. ‘Brad, Brad, Brad.’
I had to go. I just had to. All I wanted was a look. That’s all. Just a look. With the teatowel still in my hand I crept up the stairs. Click – I turned on the bedroom light. Softly, softly I tiptoed across the room. Gently, gently I pulled open the drawer. There it was. Dad’s compass in all its glory. It sparkled. It twinkled. It was great.
‘Pick me up,’ it called. ‘Pick me up. Just once.’ I rubbed my glasses with a dirty finger and stared down at the compass.
It was more than flesh and blood could stand. I put the tea-towel down on the floor and picked up the compass with trembling fingers. It was much heavier than I expected. I opened it up and pretended to draw a little circle in the air.
Just then I heard a sort of scuffling noise. It was almost as if someone was watching. Oh no. Dad would kill me if he caught me with the compass. I dropped the compass into the drawer. Then I turned and ran.
As it turned out no one was coming. Mum and Dad and Sophie were still watching TV. Maybe the noise was a rat or something.
I walked into the lounge and sat down with the others. ‘Bedtime,’ said Mum. ‘I’ll finish the dishes.’
I snuggled down into bed. Something was wrong. The compass was going to cause trouble. I just knew it was. I couldn’t get to sleep no matter how hard I tried. I always seem to break things. I mean, it isn’t my fault. Mostly it is bad luck.
But parents don’t understand about accidents. They still think it’s your fault. That’s why Dad didn’t want me to touch the compass. But what could go wrong? I mean, I didn’t break the compass, did I? It was safely back in the drawer.
I tossed and turned for a couple of hours until something terrible made me jump up. A yell filled the air. It was Dad. I could hear every word even though he was upstairs. ‘The compass,’ he screamed. ‘It’s gone.’ I could hear footsteps coming my way quickly. I closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep. Maybe they would leave me alone until morning.
Fat chance. Dad ripped the covers back off the bed. ‘Don’t try that one,’ he said. ‘I know you’re awake.’ Boy was he mad.
‘Brad,’ he said, ‘this time you’ve really gone too far. Where’s my compass?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said truthfully. ‘I haven’t touched it. Sophie must have taken it.’
‘Sophie would never take it,’ said Mum.
‘Neither would I,’ I said.
Mum and Dad both looked at me in silence. I knew they were remembering all the bad things I had done. Like eating Sophie’s chocolate Easter bunny one night. Well, she didn’t want it. It was five months old and starting to turn white. You know what it’s like. You just start by nibbling a tiny bit off the ear where it won’t be noticed. Then, before you can blink, the whole ear has gone. So then you might as well scoff the lot because you are going to get caught anyway.
‘Did you go in our bedroom?’ said Mum.
‘No,’ I said.
‘Did you open the drawer?’ asked Dad.
‘No,’ I answered.
‘The drawer was open when we went up to bed,’ said Dad.
They both looked at me with cold eyes. I felt sick in my stomach. I must have forgotten to close the drawer.
‘And you didn’t go into our room?’ Mum asked again.
‘No,’ I said. I know I shouldn’t have lied but someone stole the compass and it wasn’t me. I didn’t want to get the blame for something I didn’t do.
‘Well,’ said Mum, ‘if you didn’t go into the room how come this was there?’ She held up the wet tea towel that I had been using to dry the dishes. I suddenly went cold all over. Now they would never believe that I hadn’t taken the compass.
Well, talk about trouble. They went on and on and on. They wouldn’t believe me. Just because I told one little lie. I was grounded until the compass was returned. They wouldn’t even let me go to the movies with them the next night. Even though they had promised to take me. And the worst of it was that Sophie got to go. And it must have been her who took the compass.
That’s how I happened to be home on my own. Late at night.
2
‘The baby-sitter will be here in half an hour,’ said Mum.
‘I don’t need a babysitter,’ I said. ‘I’m not scared. And anyway, she just sits on the phone talking to her boyfriend all night.’
‘Where does he live?’ said Dad. He was always worried about people making long-distance calls.
‘Darwin,’ I said.
‘He does not,’ said Mum. ‘He lives right here in Melbourne.’
Dad looked at me with a bit of a smile but he soon lost it when Mum started up. ‘Brad, I really thought you’d have learned not to tell lies by now,’ she said.
‘It was just a joke,’ I said.
The three of them hurried out to the car and drove off.
I locked the front door and stared out of the window. It was growing dark. And it was raining. The clock ticked loudly in the hall. It felt as if I was the only person in the world. I started to feel sorry for myself. It wasn’t fair. Okay, I did tell a couple of porkies but I didn’t steal the compass. I really wanted to go to the movies and now I was being punished for something I didn’t do.
I went over and looked at my face in the loungeroom mirror. My reflection stared back at me. My face looked mean. I just stared and stared into my own eyes. Suddenly I got the creeps. It was as if the reflection wasn’t me. As if it was someone else. I gave a shiver and turned on the television.
Where was that babysitter? She should be here by now. Outside it was black and cold. I tried to watch the television but my mind just wasn’t on it.
Boomp, scroffle, scraffle. What was that? A sound upstairs. Rats. The rats were in the roof again. Or were they? A little shiver ran down my neck.
Maybe the babysitter had crashed her car. I decided to ring up and see if she was okay. June, that was her name. But what was her other name? Dalton. That was it. June Dalton.
Suddenly something terrible happened. The picture on the television zapped itself into a tiny square and disappeared. At the same time the lights went out. Oh no. A power failure. The lines were down again.
I ran to the phone. Nothing. Just a low whistling noise coming down the line.
&
nbsp; The house was silent. Where was the babysitter? I knew deep inside that she wasn’t coming. It was going to be a long night.
Boomp, scroffle, scraffle. There was that noise again. This time from downstairs. Rats. Of course it was rats. No one would want to get in and get me. Would they? The hairs started to stand up on the back of my neck.
There was only one thing to do. Go to bed and fall asleep as quickly as possible. I couldn’t spend all night in the dark scared out of my wits. I felt my way along the hall and into my bedroom.
I pulled off my shoes, took off my glasses and jumped into bed with my clothes on. Then I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. But sleep wouldn’t come.
3
So here I am, surrounded by the sounds of the night.
Houses make a lot of noise when you are the only person in them. Squeak. Creak. Rustle. Rumble. What was that? Nothing. Don’t be silly. You are alone. Aren’t you?
Who would want to get you? Just a boy. Just an ordinary boy. Okay, so I told a couple of lies. But I’m not really mean. I don’t deserve to die. I’m quite a nice person really.
What if there was someone under the bed? What if a hand slowly started to pull the blankets down. Until I was uncovered? A horrible cold hand with grey fingers. Go away. Go away if you are there. Leave me alone. I won’t tell any more lies, God. I promise. And I’ll do the washing-up on my own. Every night.
Well, nearly every night.
Where did that shadow in the corner come from? It looks like a man with a hat. Standing. Staring. Who’s that breathing so loudly?
Me, of course.
Only me. I am alone. I hope. I try to breathe softly. Just in case there is someone creeping around looking for me. They won’t know where I am. Unless I make a noise.
The room starts to become lighter. It’s funny that – how you can see better in the dark after a while. It is not a man in the corner. It is just my dressing-gown hanging on a hook.
But what is that lump on the wall? That wasn’t there yesterday. A small bump in the plaster. It must be my imagination. I can’t see a thing without my glasses. I reach out and put them on. Then I take another look. Yes, it is a lump on the wall. Where did that come from? It looks like a table-tennis ball half buried in the wall. I stare and stare at it.
Paul Jenning's Spookiest Stories Page 10