Paul Jenning's Weirdest Stories

by Paul Jennings

  ‘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?’

  ‘Have you ever thought,’ says Tattooless, ‘what happens to tattoos when you die? They thought I was done for. They were getting out of it like rats deserting a sinking ship. They didn’t want to shrivel up with me when I died so they cleared out onto you. But now I want them back.’

  ‘How?’ I ask. A nasty thought comes into my mind. I saw a man skin a rabbit once.

  ‘They might come back to me,’ says Tattooless. ‘After all, it’s a bit crowded on you. You’re not as big as me and the tattoos are all bunched up.’

  I have to admit that he has a point there.

  ‘Hold out your hand,’ he orders. I hold out my hand and we shake like old friends. Nothing happens. We stand there clasping each other for quite a while. Suddenly, with a rush, the tattoos start to move. The whole lot swirl and twirl like slides shining on a moving curtain. They drain off down my arm and back to their owner.

  We all grin. I have no tattoos and Tattooless is not tattooless any more. He is covered all over in his drawings again. The tattoos have left me and returned home.

  He stands up and heads for the door. ‘Wait,’ says Dad. Don’t go yet. I want to make sure there are none left. You might have missed one.’ Dad orders me to take off my clothes. I strip down to my underpants and Dad checks me for tattoos. He does not
find any.

  ‘Okay,’ says Dad to the tattooed man. ‘You can go now.’

  The tattooed man holds out his hand but I do not want to shake. Neither does Dad. We decide to give the shaking a miss and make do with a wave.

  7

  Well that is just about the end of the story. Dad does another check for tattoos but he doesn’t find any. I’m glad he doesn’t look down the back of my underpants though.

  Otherwise he might see my little bear behind.

  Snookle was delivered one morning with the milk. There were four half-litre bottles; three of them contained milk and the other held Snookle.

  He stared sadly at me from his glass prison. I could see he was alive even though he made no sign or movement. He reminded me of a dog on a chain that manages to make its owner feel guilty simply by looking unhappy. Snookle wanted to get out of that milk bottle but he didn’t really expect it to happen. He didn’t say anything, he just gazed silently into my eyes.

  I placed the three full bottles in the fridge and put Snookle and his small home on the table. Then I sat down and looked at him carefully. All I could see was a large pair of gloomy eyes. He must have had a body but it was nowhere to be seen. The eyes simply floated in the air about fifteen centimetres above the bottom of the bottle.

  Mum and Dad had already left for work so I wouldn’t get any help from them. I gave the bottle a gentle shake and the eyes bounced around like a couple of small rubber balls. The gloomy expression was replaced by one of alarm and the eyes blinked a number of times before settling back to their original position.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you.’ There was no reply, just a long reproachful look.

  ‘Where did you come from?’ I asked. ‘And how did you get here? What sort of creature are you? What is your name?’ I received no reply to my question. In fact, the eyes began to close. He was falling asleep.

  A nasty thought entered my mind. What if he was dying? There is not much air in a milk bottle. He might be suffocating if he was an air-breathing creature. I thought about opening the bottle and letting him out. But if I did I could be in for big trouble. He might not go back into the bottle and he could be dangerous. He might bite me or give me some terrible disease that would kill off the whole human race. He might nick off, spreading death and disease wherever he went.

  I went over to the window and looked outside. Maybe one of the kids from school would be passing. Two heads would be better than one, especially if the thing in the bottle attacked me. Then I remembered. It was Correction Day and there was no school. The only person in the street was poor old Mrs McKee who was hobbling down her steps to get the milk. She wouldn’t be any help. She had arthritis and it was all she could do to pick up one milk bottle at a time. It took her half an hour to shuffle back to the front door from the gate.

  Some weekends I used to go and do jobs for Mrs McKee because her hands were so weak that she couldn’t do anything by herself. Her garden was overgrown with weeds and her windows were dirty. All the paint was peeling off the house. I once heard Mum say that Mrs McKee would have to go into an old folks’ home soon because her fingers wouldn’t move properly. No, Mrs McKee wouldn’t be any use if the eyes in the bottle turned nasty.

  2

  I looked at my visitor again. His eyelids were beginning to droop. At any moment he might be dead. I decided to take the risk. With one swift movement I took the metal cap off the bottle.

  The expression in the eyes changed. They looked happy. Then they started to move slowly up to the neck of the bottle. I could tell that the little creature was climbing up the glass even though I couldn’t see his body. The eyes emerged from the bottle and floated in the air just above the rim. He sat on the top of the bottle staring at me happily. I couldn’t see his mouth or any part of his face but I knew he was smiling.

  ‘What’s your name?’ I asked. It might seem silly to talk to an unknown creature as if it could answer but I had a feeling that he would understand me. Even so, I got a shock when he did answer. He didn’t use words or speech. I could hear him inside my brain.

  The word ‘Snookle’ just sort of drifted into my mind.

  ‘Who are you, Snookle?’ I said. ‘And what do you want?’

  Again he answered without talking. His reply melted into my thoughts. ‘I am your servant. Your every thought is my command.’ They weren’t his exact words because he didn’t use words but it is more or less what he meant. Especially the bit about my every thought being his command. That was the next thing I found out – he could read my thoughts. He knew what I wanted without me saying anything.

  3

  My stomach suddenly rumbled. I was hungry. The eyes floated across the table and over to the pantry. Snookle could fly. The next thing I knew a packet of cornflakes and a bowl flew slowly back with the eyes following close behind. Then the fridge opened and the milk arrived the same way. The cornflakes and milk were tipped into the bowl and sugar added. Just the right amount and just the way I liked it. This was great. He knew I wanted breakfast and he got it for me without even being told. I didn’t eat it straight away because I like my cornflakes soggy.

  I decided to try Snookle out on something else. I thought about bringing in the papers from the letterbox. Snookle floated over to the front door and opened it. Then he stayed there hovering in the air. ‘Go on,’ I said. ‘Out you go.’ The eyes moved from side to side. He was shaking his head. I looked out the door and saw a man riding by on a bike. As soon as the cyclist had passed Snookle flew out and fetched the papers. I knew what had happened. Snookle didn’t want anyone to see him except his master. I was his master because I had let him out of the bottle. He would only show himself to me.

  I went back to my bedroom followed by Snookle. His preferred altitude was about two metres off the ground. I decided to wear my stretch jeans as there was no school that day. The moment the thought entered my mind Snookle set off for the wardrobe. My jeans, T-shirt and underwear were delivered by air mail and laid out neatly on the bed. The next bit, however, gave me a bit of a surprise. Snookle pulled off my pyjamas and started to dress me. I felt a bit silly. It was just like a little kid being dressed by his mother. I could feel long, thin, cold fingers touching me.

  ‘Cut it out, Snookle,’ I said. ‘You don’t have to dress me.’ He didn’t take any notice. That was when I found out that Snookle helped you whether you wanted it or not.

  My nose was itchy. I could feel a sneeze coming on. As quick as a flash Snookle whipped my handkerchief out of my pocket and held it up to my nose. I sneezed into the handkerchief and said, ‘Thanks, but that wasn’t necessary.’

  I went back to the kitchen for my breakfast. Snookle beat me to the spoon. I tried to grab it off him but he was too quick for me. He dipped the spoon into the cornflakes and pushed it into my mouth. I tried to stop him by keeping my lips closed but he prised them open with his chilly little invisible fingers and shoved the next spoonful in. He fed me the whole bowl of cornflakes just as if I was a baby.

  Now I hope you will understand about the next bit. I am not really a nose picker but I have thought about it now and then. My nose was still a bit itchy and the thought just came into my mind to pick it. I wouldn’t have done it any more than you would. Anyway, before I could blink, this cold, invisible finger went up my nose and picked it for me.

  Snookle was picking my nose! I nearly freaked out. I screamed and tried to push him off but he was too strong.

  After that things just got worse and worse. Snookle wouldn’t let me do a thing for myself. Not a single thing.

  4

  I went back to the kitchen and sat down. This wasn’t working out at all well. I could see my future looming in front of me with Snookle doing everything for me. Everything. He had to go. And quick.

  I dropped a cornflake into the empty milk bottle and thought hard about getting it out. Snookle floated over and went into the bottle to get it. I moved like greased lightning and put the top back on that bo
ttle before Snookle knew what had hit him. He was trapped. He didn’t even try to get out but just looked at me with sad, mournful eyes as if he had expected nothing better.

  Now I was in a fix. I didn’t want to leave Snookle in the bottle for the rest of his life but I didn’t want him hanging around picking my nose for me either. I looked out of the window. Poor old Mrs McKee had managed to get back to the house with one of her bottles of milk. Soon she would make the slow trip back to the letterbox for the next one.

  I picked up Snookle and slowly crossed the road. Then I put his bottle down outside Mrs McKee’s house. I grabbed her full bottle of milk with one hand and waved goodbye to Snookle with the other. His eyes stared silently and sadly back at me.

  That was the last I ever saw of Snookle.

  Over the next few days a remarkable change came over Mrs McKee’s house. The grass was cut and the flowerbeds were weeded. The windows were cleaned and someone repainted the house. The people in the street thought it was strange because they never saw anyone doing the work.

  I went over to see Mrs McKee about a week later. She seemed very happy. Very happy indeed.

  ‘I am never eating meat again,’ I yelled at Dad.

  He just smiled at me as if I was crazy.

  You might think I’m crazy too. I mean most people who live on farms eat meat. So I’ll tell you what. You be me for a while and see how you feel about it at the end.

  1

  It all starts because of the new steer. We have this cow called Slipped-in-the-Mud and it gives birth down in the bottom paddock. To the sweetest little calf you have ever seen.

  The calf has a cute white patch on its face. It sucks away at its mother’s udder and gets white froth all around its mouth.