Uncanny!

by Paul Jennings

  Puffin Books

  I stared at Dad’s eyes through the gas mask and remembered our handshake. A deal was a deal. With pounding heart, I walked into the soggy, wet mouth of the dead whale.

  It’s uncanny …

  Turning into a dung beetle.

  Catching someone else’s tattoos.

  Being in bed with a ghost who tickles.

  Seeing a flying dog.

  FROM THE ONE AND ONLY PAUL JENNINGS

  also by paul Jennings

  Unreal!

  Unbelievable!

  Quirky Tails

  Unbearable!

  Unmentionable!

  Undone!

  Uncovered!

  Unseen!

  Tongue-Tied!

  The Cabbage Patch series

  (illustrated by Craig Smith)

  The Gizmo series

  (illustrated by Keith McEwan)

  The Singenpoo series

  (illustrated by Keith McEwan)

  Wicked! (series) and Deadly! (series)

  (with Morris Gleitzman)

  Duck for Cover

  Freeze a Crowd

  Spooner or Later

  Spit It Out

  (with Terry Denton and Ted Greenwood)

  Round the Twist

  Sucked In …

  (illustrated by Terry Denton)

  How Hedley Hopkins Did a Dare …

  Paul Jennings’ Funniest Stories

  Paul Jennings’ Weirdest Stories

  Paul Jennings’ Spookiest Stories

  FOR ADULTS

  The Reading Bug … and how you can help your child to catch it

  FOR BEGINNERS

  The Rascal series

  More information about Paul and his books can be found at

  www.pauljennings.com.au and puffin.com.au

  PUFFIN BOOKS

  PUFFIN BOOKS

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (Australia)

  250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia

  (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd)

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

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  Penguin Group (Canada)

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  (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd

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  Penguin Ireland

  25 St Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland

  (a division of Penguin Books Ltd)

  Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd

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  Penguin Group (NZ)

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  (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd)

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd

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  Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  First published by Penguin Books Australia, 1988

  First published as Uncanny! Even more surprising stories

  This edition published 2002

  Text copyright © Lockley Lodge Pty Ltd, 1988

  The moral right of the author and illustrator has been asserted

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  Text designed by George Dale, Penguin Design Studio

  puffin.com.au

  ISBN: 978-1-74-228688-4

  Contents

  On the Bottom

  A Good Tip for Ghosts

  Frozen Stiff

  UFD

  Cracking Up

  Greensleeves

  Mousechap

  Spaghetti Pig-out

  Know All

  To Lyndu

  On the Bottom

  ‘It’s on the bottom,’ says Dad.

  ‘No,’ I tell him. ‘I’ve got a fish.’

  ‘It’s too big,’ says Dad. ‘It couldn’t be a fish. You’re snagged on the bottom.’

  He is wrong. I know it is a fish because it is pulling the line out. Snags don’t pull on the line.

  My rod starts to bend and the line goes whizzing out. Whatever it is I know one thing. I have hooked a whopper.

  ‘You’re right, it is a fish,’ yells Dad. ‘And it’s a big one. It’s even rocking the boat. Give me the rod, you might lose it.’

  Dad always does this. As soon as I hook a fish he wants to pull it in. He thinks that a fourteen-year-old kid can’t land his own fish. I shake my head and keep winding on the reel. ‘Get the gaff,’ I shout. ‘I can land it – I know I can.’

  For the next hour I play my fish. Sometimes he runs deep and fast and the reel screeches like a cooked cat. Sometimes I get it almost to the edge of our hire boat and then off it goes again. ‘I hope it’s a snapper,’ says Dad. ‘Snapper are good eating.’

  In the end I win. I get the fish to the edge of the boat and Dad pulls him in with the gaff. I am grinning from ear to ear because I have landed him.

  ‘It’s only a shark,’ says Dad. ‘A small shark. Not much good for eating.’ He gives a bit of a grin. ‘Well done Lucas. You played him well but you might as well throw him back.’

  ‘No way,’ I say. ‘You can eat shark. Haven’t you ever heard of flake?’

  ‘All right,’ says Dad, ‘but you have to clean it. You caught it. You clean it.’ Dad goes down the steps into the little cabin and leaves me up top to clean my shark. It is about a metre long and it is still kicking around on the deck. I open up a can of Fanta and look at the shark while I am drinking it. After a while the shark stops moving and I know it is dead. I get out my cleaning knife and make a long slit along its belly. I throw the innards and other stuff overboard. Seagulls swoop around fighting for the bits.

  Finally I come to the shark’s stomach. I decide to look inside and see what it has been eating. This will give me some clues as to what to use for bait. I throw out some fish heads and shells. Then I see something a bit different. I pick up this white, shrivelled thing that looks like a small sausage. For about ten seconds I stare at it. My mind goes numb and I can’t quite make sense of what I am seeing. I notice first of all that it has a finger nail. And a ring. Just below the ring is a small tattoo of a bear. An angry bear.

  It is a finger. I have just taken a human finger out of the shark’s stomach.

  2

  I give an almighty scream. A terrible, fearful scream. At the same time I throw my hands up and let go of the finger. It spins in the air like a wheel and then splashes into the sea. Quick as a flash a seagull swoops down and swallows it. The finger has gone.

  I have to hand it to that seagull. It swallows the whole finger in one go.

  Just then Dad comes rushing up from below. ‘What’s going on?’ he yells. ‘Did it bite you?’ Dad thinks the dead shark has bitten me.

  ‘No,’ I croak. ‘A finger. In the shark. A man’s finger. With a ring and a bear.’

  ‘What are you babbling about boy?’ says Dad. ‘What finger?’

  ‘In the shark’s stomach. I found a finger. It had a little picture of a bear on it. And a ring. Oooh. Oh. Yuck. It was all shrivelled up and horrible.’ As I tell Dad this a little shiver runs down my spine.

  Dad goes a bit pale. He has a weak stomach. ‘Where is it?’ he asks slowly. Dad does not really want to see a human finger but he has to do the right thing and ask to see it.

 
I point to the empty sky. There is not a seagull in sight. ‘A seagull ate it. I dropped it in the sea and a seagull ate it.’

  Dad looks at me for a long time without saying anything. Then he starts up the engine. ‘We will have to report it to the police. There goes our day’s fishing.’

  ‘How did it get there?’ I ask slowly.

  ‘Don’t ask,’ says Dad. ‘It’s better not to think about it.’ Then he stops talking. He is staring at my hand. He is staring so hard at my hand that I think maybe he has never seen a hand before. His face turns red.

  He grabs my wrist and starts shaking my arm around. ‘What’s this?’ he yells. ‘What on earth have you done?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I say. ‘I haven’t done anything. What are you talking about?’ I can tell that Dad is as mad as a snake. Then I look down at my hand and I can see what the matter is. There on the back of my right hand is a little picture. A tattoo of a bear is on the back of one of my fingers.

  3

  We both gaze at the drawing of the little bear. ‘You fool,’ yells Dad. ‘You’ve gone and had yourself tattooed. Don’t you know that tattoos don’t come off? You’re stuck with it for life.’ He rushes over to the locker and comes back with a whopping big scrubbing brush. He brushes at my hand so hard that my skin goes red. Tears come to my eyes. Dad stops scrubbing and has another look. The little bear is still there. It has a sad expression on its face. I have a sad expression on my face also.

  ‘It came from the finger,’ I tell Dad. ‘It must have jumped from the finger onto me. The finger from the shark’s stomach.’

  Dad looks at me through narrowed eyes. ‘Don’t make it worse boy,’ he says angrily. ‘Don’t add to your folly by making up a pack of lies about a finger. There was no finger.’ He shakes his head. ‘This is all the thanks I get for everything I’ve done for you.’ He is really angry about the tattoo.

  ‘There was a finger,’ I yell. ‘There was, there was, there was.’

  Dad turns the boat around and heads for the shore. The fishing trip is over. ‘Don’t you mention one more word about a finger in the shark’s stomach,’ says Dad. ‘You must think that I’m as silly as you. Don’t let me hear another word of that cock-and-bull story. Or else.’

  It is no good saying anything. He won’t listen and I don’t really blame him. I can hardly believe it myself. How can a tattoo jump from a dead finger onto a live one? Tattoos don’t move. I sit down in the bow and look at my little bear.

  This is when I notice something strange. The bear is different. When I first saw my bear he had all four feet on the ground. Now he has one paw pointing. Pointing out to sea. I move my hand around so that the paw is pointing to the shore. The bear turns around. My tattoo moves. It turns around so that its paw once more points out to sea.

  The tattoo is alive and it is pointing out to sea.

  ‘It moved,’ I say to Dad. He shakes his head. He won’t listen. ‘The bear can move,’ I yell. ‘It’s pointing out to sea.’ Dad revs up the engine and heads for shore even faster than before.

  I look at the bear again. It seems to be staring back at me. It wants something. It wants us to go out to sea.

  ‘Go the other way,’ I say to Dad. ‘The tattoo wants us to head out to sea.’

  Dad turns off the engine and the boat stops. He is staring at me with wild eyes. I can tell that he thinks I have gone crazy. Either that or he thinks I am the biggest liar in the world. ‘Come here Lucas,’ he says. ‘We need to have a talk.’ He goes down the steps into the cabin.

  Quick as a flash I hop up and slam the cabin door. I slide the bolt across and lock Dad inside. He starts to bang and yell but I don’t let him out. Instead I start up the boat and head away from shore. The bear knows best. I decide to follow the bear.

  4

  I push the throttle forward and the boat surges ahead at full speed. The bear is nodding its little head. It thinks I am doing a good job. It is a nice little bear really. I am quite pleased to have it.

  ‘Let me out,’ yells Dad.

  The bear shakes its head.

  ‘No,’ I say.

  ‘Don’t go out of sight of land,’ shouts Dad. ‘We’ll get lost.’

  ‘We have the compass,’ I say. ‘And the bear. The bear knows where to go.’ I am not quite sure but I think I hear a groan come from down in the cabin.

  ‘Look at the petrol,’ yells Dad. ‘For heavens sake don’t use up more than half or we’ll never get back.’

  He has a point there. I look at the bear on my finger for guidance. It is still waving me on. The sea is becoming rough and the sky is growing dark but on we go. On and on until we can no longer see the land. A wind gets up but still my bear waves me on. The sun is sinking low and clouds are starting to race across the sky. The petrol gauge is showing half full.

  And then I see it. A tiny speck on the horizon. ‘Is this it?’ I say to my tattoo. I am very fond of this little bear. It is nice having a little helper around when you need him.

  The bear gives me a paws-up signal. This is it. This is what we have come for.

  The speck grows larger and larger until I can see that it is a small rowing boat. There does not seem to be anyone aboard. Dad is still yelling and banging from below but I don’t take any notice of him. I slow the boat down and stop next to the dinghy. There is someone in it. A man lying in the bottom. He is lying very still. Very still indeed.

  5

  I stop the boat and let Dad out. Without a word he rushes over to the edge and looks into the boat. ‘See if he’s alive,’ says Dad. ‘I’ll get some water.’

  I climb down into the little boat and peer at the unconscious figure. He is dressed only in a pair of faded shorts. One hand is wrapped in a bloodstained handkerchief. I can see at a glance that the man has a finger missing. I can also see something else. He is covered, absolutely covered, in tattoos.

  There is not one bit of skin that does not have tattoos on it. There are skulls with toothless smiles. There are tigers and forests. There are daggers with snakes twined around them. There is a large heart with ‘Sophie’ written in it. There are mermaids and eagles. There is even an eye on the bald patch on his head. The tattooed man is terrific. But is he alive?

  I put my hand down to see if he has a pulse. I feel just under his neck like they do in the movies. And then it happens. You may not believe this but it really does happen.

  The tattoos start to move. It is sort of like pulling out the plug in a bath and watching the water run out. The tattoos swirl and slide across his skin. They move in a rush. They pour across his flesh to the same spot. His neck. And from his neck they move on – and out. They swarm up my arm and flow across my chest. Before I can blink the whole lot have completely covered me. I am a tattooed boy. And he has clear, white skin. Not one tattoo is left on him. Not one.

  I give a shriek and fall over backwards in the dinghy. I am covered in a zoo of animals, birds, plants and people.

  Dad climbs down and holds up water to the non-tattooed man’s lips. He swallows. He is alive.

  The trip back is a nightmare. The man without the tattoos lies unconscious below. Dad drives the boat flat out for home. I sit staring in the mirror. My whole face is covered in tattoos. They are also on my ears, nose, cheeks and even my eyelids. They cover my chest, my back, my arms and my legs. I sneak a look inside my underpants but thank goodness there are none down there.

  We finally get home and the man is taken to hospital.

  So am I.

  There is nothing the doctors can do for me. Tattoos don’t come off. No one believes our story about the shark or the tattoos. The doctors all think Dad and I are mad or delirious. They are especially angry with Dad for letting his son get himself tattooed all over his body. There is talk of taking me away from Dad and putting me in a home.

  The man without the tattoos does not wake up. He is in a coma.

  Finally they let Dad and me go home. I sit in the house feeling very sorry for myself indeed. I scrub and scrub but the
tattoos are there to stay. The love heart with ‘Sophie’ written on it is right in the middle of my forehead. I know what my girlfriend Cheryl will think of that. I’m too worried to leave the house – I don’t want anyone to see me.

  The little bear is still there on my finger although he is difficult to see among all the tigers and snakes. He seems to smile at me. I wouldn’t mind keeping the bear but I do not want the rest. These tattoos have ruined my life. I can’t go to school. I won’t be able to get a job. I will have to be a tattooed boy in a circus. Sitting there for everyone to gaze at. How embarrassing. I start to cry. Little tears roll across the mermaids on my cheeks.

  6

  Weeks pass and I do not leave the house. I sit in my room without talking to anyone. Now and then the little bear seems to wave at me. He is my only friend. I would not like to lose the bear but I would give anything to get rid of the other tattoos.

  Then, one day, there is a knock on the door. It is the man without the tattoos. He has recovered from his coma. Dad invites him in and tells him to sit down.

  The man thanks us for saving his life. He is grateful that we found him in the dinghy. His boat had drifted out to sea and he would have died if my little bear hadn’t shown us where he was. After a bit of this polite chat, Tattooless gets down to the point. ‘Look, Lucas,’ he says, ‘you have some things of mine and I want them back.’

  He is talking about the tattoos. It turns out that he is a tattooed man from the sideshows. ‘They are the best tattoos in the world,’ he says. ‘They cost me thousands of dollars. And the pain. Oh the pain. It hurts to get them done. I have sat for hundreds of hours while they drilled away at me. And all for nothing. You’ve got the lot. The tattoos all nicked off and left me. Except the bear. The shark got that when I put my hand over the side of the boat.’

  ‘But why?’ I say. ‘Why would they leave?’