Paul Jenning's Weirdest Stories

by Paul Jennings

  And it likes you. It nuzzles up for a pat. Oh, it is so wonderful. It moos in a real soft way. It looks at you with those big brown eyes. Straight away you decide to call it Moonbeam.

  You have never loved anything like you love this little calf.

  ‘Dad,’ you say. ‘Can Moonbeam be mine? To keep forever? Just mine? Please.’

  Dad shakes his head sadly. ‘Sorry, Bomber,’ he says. ‘We can’t afford to have it eating grass and not earning its way. Once it’s weaned we have to sell it.’

  ‘There’s plenty of grass around here,’ you yell.

  ‘No there’s not,’ says Dad. ‘We need every blade for the heifers who are going to give us milk. Steers do not grow up into cows. They become bulls. And they eat plenty.’

  Tears fill your eyes. You just can’t stand it. ‘I won’t let him go,’ you shout. But deep in your heart you know that you are only a kid. You have no power. There is nothing you can do to stop them selling Moonbeam. You run off to your room and bang the door. You are so angry that you don’t come out for at least five minutes.

  The next day is really the start of all the weird things that happen. You wake up in the morning to find a terrible smell in the room. In the bed in fact. You look at your hands and give a scream. Your hands are all covered in sloppy green slime.

  It stinks something terrible. How did it get there? Is someone playing a trick? What is going on here? Where did this horrible stuff come from? It looks like the goo that bubbles in the bog down by the front gate.

  You think about it for a while and decide not to tell Mum and Dad about it. But it is too late. Mum is already in your bedroom and she is not rapt in what she sees.

  ‘I told you to have a shower last night,’ says Mum angrily. ‘Look, your sheets are all dirty. They’re covered in green slime.’

  ‘I did have a shower,’ you say. ‘Honest.’

  You can tell that Mum doesn’t believe you. You find it hard to believe yourself. How could your hands have got so dirty when you were asleep in bed all night?

  You don’t worry too much about it though because you have Moonbeam to think about. You take a walk down to his paddock for a visit. He is the best friend that you have ever had. When he licks your hand it is like being rubbed with soft, wet sandpaper. You put your arms around his neck. ‘I will never let them sell you,’ you say.

  Suddenly you notice Dad standing behind you. ‘Don’t keep going on about it, Bomber,’ he says. ‘Every animal on a farm has to earn its keep. Moonbeam has to go. Times are bad and we need every penny we can get.’

  Moonbeam sucks your fingers. He is only a calf. It is not his fault that he was born a male. Your heart is breaking because Moonbeam is going to be sold.

  You worry about it all day and on into the evening. It is so bad that you find it hard to get to sleep that night. You toss and turn and try to hatch up plans to save your calf. In the end you nod off into dreamland.

  2

  At seven o’clock you are awakened by a smell. It is not the whiff of eggs and bacon sizzling in the kitchen. It is not the smell of toast. It is not the scent of a warm, summer morning. It is the stink of slimy mud. You look under the blankets. You are soaked in it. Your pyjama trousers and top. Your feet and hands. A terrible, squelching, green ooze. The sheets are soaked.

  Your brain freezes. Someone must have sneaked into the room and dumped sloppy mud on you. But who? Mum and Dad would never do such a thing.

  You grab the sheets and try to sneak down to the laundry with them before Mum sees the mess.

  But you are too late.

  Mum catches you. At first she doesn’t say anything. She just stares at you with one of those looks that says, ‘How could you, Bomber?’

  She calls a family conference.

  This is the very worst thing. Family conferences are for times when the three of you have to work through a problem. ‘Communicating,’ says Mum.

  But what it really means is that you get a big lecture.

  ‘I slave away in that laundry,’ says Mum. ‘And Dad does the ironing. And what do you do, Bomber? You wander around outside in bare feet and make the sheets filthy. Now is that fair? I ask you.’

  You start to give your side of the story. ‘But I haven’t been outside. I don’t even remember …’

  Dad doesn’t wait for you to finish. ‘It’s that silly calf,’ he says. ‘The boy is going down the paddock talking to the calf in the middle of the night. It’s not good enough, Bomber. As soon as that calf is weaned I’m taking it to the market.’

  ‘But …’ you start to say.

  ‘No buts,’ says Dad. ‘That calf has to go.’

  Nothing will change his mind. Usually Dad is reasonable. He is a great father. But nothing will make him believe that you have not been down with Moonbeam in the middle of the night.

  This is ruining your life. What is going on? How are you getting dirty in your own bed? Something has to be done. And quick.

  That night you go to bed as usual. Well, not quite as usual. You get your alarm clock and tie it around your neck. Then you set it for one o’clock in the morning. If someone is dumping mud in your bed you are going to be awake to catch them.

  Finally you fall asleep.

  3

  No sooner have your eyes closed than, ‘Ding, ding, ding, ding.’ What a racket. The alarm makes a terrible noise. Straight away you wake up and find out that it is one o’clock.

  But where are you? Everything is dark around you. Overhead there are pinpoints of light. What are they doing there on the ceiling? You look again. There is no ceiling. The lights are stars. You are outside in the cold, still night.

  The wind is fresh on your cheek. The water is wet on your arms and legs.

  ‘Water?’

  Is this some terrible dream? No, it is not. Worse luck. Your heart sinks. You know where you are.

  You are on your hands and knees scratching in the bog down by the front gate. You are covered in green gunk.

  Oh no. What is going on here? Why are you outside? You must be sleepwalking. Sleepdigging. This is terrible. Horrible.

  You quickly start off towards the house. But you feel uneasy. You keep looking back at the bog. It seems to be calling you. Your feet want to take you back to the disgusting, bubbling slime. It is almost as if a magnet is pulling you back. You have this terrible urge to turn around and dig in the bog.

  But you are strong. You don’t go. The feeling gets weaker as you move away from the bog. But it is still there all the same. Like a silent voice in your mind calling.

  Just as you reach the front door you hear noise from the barn. A moo. Moonbeam.

  ‘What the heck,’ you say. ‘I might as well go and check on him while I’m here.’

  You sneak into the barn and see Moonbeam curled up in the hay. Oh, he is beautiful. You start to stroke his soft, brown coat. You don’t think of anything but wonderful Moonbeam. You do not realise that someone else is there too.

  A hand falls on your shoulder and you just about jump out of your skin.

  ‘Bomber. What are you doing here?’

  It is Dad.

  Your mind starts to race. What can you tell him? This looks bad. ‘I was sleepdigging,’ you say. ‘In the bog. That’s where all the slime is coming from.’

  Dad does not believe you. That is clear. ‘Bomber,’ he says. ‘Don’t give me that. You are sneaking out to see Moonbeam. You have used up your last chance. I am definitely taking him to the market on Saturday. This has to stop. Now get back to bed.’

  ‘But, but …’

  It is no good. You can see by his eyes that, as usual, no buts are allowed.

  You have a shower and get back into bed. You lie there thinking. Dad is going to take Moonbeam to the market. But Moonbeam is not weaned yet. How will he get milk without Slipped-in-the-Mud?

  4

  Dad doesn’t want Moonbeam because he is no good for milk. Why would anyone else buy him? There is a nasty thought in the back of your mind but you can
’t work out what it is.

  Because.

  The bog is calling.

  Your hands pull back the sheets. Your legs touch the floor. Your feet take you across the room. You don’t want to go but you can’t stop yourself. The bog. The bog. The bog.

  Out into the night. Past the milking shed. Along the track to the front gate.

  You find yourself staring into the slime. Frogs are croaking. Green bubbles are floating on the surface. The smell is revolting.

  In your mind you scream to yourself, ‘No, no, no.’

  You try to hold back. You try not to go. Your head feels as if it is filling up with water and is going to burst. The pressure is unbearable.

  Suddenly you leap forward. You don’t want to go but you can’t stop yourself. You hit the water with an enormous splash. You fall onto your hands and knees and start digging with your fingers. You are crazy. Green water sprays everywhere. You are soaked. What are you looking for? You don’t know. You don’t care. Dig, dig, dig, dig. That is all you can do.

  Your fingers touch something smooth. You grab it. And then it happens.

  All the madness falls away. Now you are full of peace. You are happy. A wonderful feeling washes all over you. You have found it.

  A bottle.

  A small bottle covered in mud.

  You give it a wash and tip out the bog water. The night is dark and you can’t see it properly. Is this what it is all about? The sleepwalking. The digging. Just for a bottle?

  Rain begins to fall so you head back to the farmhouse.

  Where Dad is waiting on the front step.

  He doesn’t say anything. He just stands there glaring at you. He is angry. Boy, is he mad. He looks at your soaked pyjamas. He thinks you have been down to see Moonbeam again.

  You hold up the bottle and try to explain. ‘Er, sleepdigging. The bog was calling. Found this …’

  Dad points upstairs. He only says one word.

  ‘Bed.’

  5

  You scamper inside as quick as you can go. You have another shower and while you are there you give the bottle a good wash.

  It is just made of glass but it sure looks odd. On the bottom is strange writing. On the sides are moons and stars and bunches of grapes. The neck is swollen and shaped like the head of a witch.

  You have seen a bottle like this before. It is a baby’s bottle. Without the teat. But it is not a normal bottle. No way.

  You fill it up with water.

  Now it just needs a cap. A little teat. You sneak down to the junk cupboard and find the bottle that Mum used to feed you with when you were a baby. You take off the teat and put it on the witch bottle. Now it is complete. The teat is just like a hat on the witch’s head.

  You give a smile and put it under your pillow. In ten seconds you are fast asleep.

  The next morning Mum and Dad do not say anything about the sleepdigging. They just stare at you without talking. They shake their heads and look at each other sadly. They are giving you the silent treatment. They are trying to make you feel guilty. And it is working.

  You decide that you had better not mention the bottle. Not under the circumstances. You jump in the car and wait for Dad to drive you to school.

  He is taking his time so you decide to have a little drink from the witch’s hat. Just one sip. It can’t do any harm. It is only water after all.

  You suck away on the bottle just like a baby. The water tastes a bit strange. Bitter and sweet at the same time. Suddenly things start to happen. The countryside seems different. Colours are brighter. The wind is fresher. Bird songs are sweeter.

  But not everything is an improvement. The smell from the milking shed is worse. And the bog seems to bubble and seethe with more gunk than before. The world is bigger and bolder. A little shiver runs up your spine.

  Dad steps into the car and starts off. He is thinking about Moonbeam.

  He is thinking about Moonbeam?

  How do you know? Because you can read his mind. That’s how.

  You shake your head. You whack your skull with the palm of your hand. Are you going crazy or what? When you drink out of the bottle you can read people’s minds.

  You know every thought that Dad is thinking. He is planning to sell Moonbeam at next Saturday’s sale.

  ‘Please don’t sell Moonbeam on Saturday, Dad,’ you say.

  Dad gives you a funny look. ‘How did …?’ But he does not finish the sentence. ‘We have to, Bomber,’ he says.

  ‘Who will buy him?’ you say. ‘What if it’s not someone nice? What if they don’t love him like I do?’

  Dad doesn’t say anything. But a word comes into his mind. The word is ‘veal’.

  ‘What’s veal?’ you ask.

  Dad gives you another strange look. ‘It’s meat,’ he answers.

  ‘What sort of meat?’ you say.

  Dad doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. You already know what is in his mind. Veal is the meat of young calves. Your heart stops inside you. Now you know why he doesn’t have to wait for Moonbeam to be weaned.

  ‘No,’ you scream. ‘No, no, no. You can’t send Moonbeam off to be slaughtered.’

  ‘Look, Bomber,’ says Dad. ‘You had bacon for breakfast. Where do you think that came from?’

  ‘That’s different,’ you yell. ‘Moonbeam is almost human. He has a name. Moonbeam loves me.’

  Dad sighs. ‘Most vealers end up on the table,’ he says.

  You feel a lump in your throat. Someone eating Moonbeam. You can’t stand to think about it. ‘I am never eating meat again,’ you yell.

  Dad doesn’t say any more. But he keeps thinking. And you know what he is thinking because you had a drink from the bottle and can read his thoughts. He is feeling sorry for you. But he thinks that life on a farm is tough. And that you will have to get used to it. He thinks that he will take Moonbeam off to a neighbour’s farm after you are asleep tonight. Then he will go to the saleyards from there.

  But it won’t work. Because you know what the plan is. You will keep sucking from the bottle and you will know what Dad is planning to do. You will know what he is going to do before he does it. You will know his every thought. You will always be able to save Moonbeam by outsmarting Dad.

  6

  Dad drops you off at the school gate. Now that you have a plan you start to settle down.

  So. You can read people’s minds. This is going to be fun.

  The first person you see is The Bot. His real name is James Blessing but everyone calls him The Bot because he borrows from people and doesn’t ever pay them back.

  Straight away you know what he is thinking. It is amazing. You know what is going on inside his head. He has two all-day suckers in his pocket and he is going to sneak off behind the bike shed and eat one where no one can see.

  ‘Hey, Bot,’ you yell. ‘How about one of those all-day suckers?’

  He goes red in the face. A few kids gather round. ‘I ain’t got none,’ he lies.

  ‘In your pocket,’ you say. ‘In your left pocket.’

  A couple of kids grab him and turn out his pocket. Sure enough – two all-day suckers. The Bot goes red and hands you one.

  This is great. Knowing what people think is fun. You start to lick the all-day sucker. You are very pleased with yourself.

  Until you realise what The Bot is thinking. He is thinking about how his dad is out of work. How the family doesn’t have much money. How he never gets lollies like the other kids. How he was going to give the all-day sucker to his little sister.

  Suddenly you feel mean. And to make it worse you know that he is thinking about how he hates being called The Bot.

  He doesn’t like people thinking he is stingy. He is embarrassed because his parents can’t buy him things.

  You wish you hadn’t taken the all-day sucker. ‘Hey, James. You can have it back,’ you say.

  But he just shakes his head sadly. It is too late because you have licked the all-day sucker and its colours are running.r />
  The bell goes and everyone troops into school.

  Mr Richards is in a bad mood. You know this because you can read his mind. He is thinking about how his car had a flat tyre this morning. He is thinking that anyone who did not do their homework is going to be in big trouble.

  Your heart almost stops. You have not done your homework. What with all the trouble about Moonbeam you clean forgot about it.

  On the other side of the room Alan Chan is checking over his answers. The homework is one of those rotten things where you read a sheet and then tick the right answers at the end.

  You look at your blank sheet. You can tell what Alan Chan is thinking. He is a brain. He will get them all right. You start to tick the answers with his thoughts. Number one, A. Number two, C And so on. It is a bit hard to get all of his thoughts because everyone else is thinking things too.

  Sue Ellen is thinking about how she loves Peter Elliot.

  Peter Elliot is thinking about the pimple on his nose. He is hoping that no one notices it.

  Janice Roberts is also thinking about the pimple. She feels sorry for Peter Elliot because she loves him too.

  Rhonda Jefferson is thinking about her dying grandma. She is very sad. She is trying to blink back the tears. You start to feel sad and have to blink back the tears too.

  All of these thoughts are like static on the radio. They make it hard to tune in to Alan Chan. But in the end you check off all the answers that run through Alan Chan’s brain.

  7

  Mr Richards corrects the homework. He looks at the class.

  ‘Stand up, Bomber,’ he says.

  Your heart sinks but you stand up anyway.

  ‘And Alan Chan,’ says Mr Richards.

  Alan stands up too.

  ‘These two boys,’ says Mr Richards, ‘got everything right. Well done, boys.’

  You give a big grin. Usually you have to stand up for getting nothing right. Four other kids have to stay in after school for not doing their homework.

  You wonder how Alan Chan is feeling. It doesn’t take long to find out. After all, you are a mind-reader.