Paul Jenning's Weirdest Stories

by Paul Jennings

  4

  I race down the street towards the beach where the toilets are.

  Yip, yip, yip.

  ‘I’m coming, Spot,’ I yell.

  I reach the toilets. Oh no. Wouldn’t you know it? Spot is in the wrong one. I look at the picture again. He is in the ladies’ toilets. I can’t go in there.

  Yip, yip, yip.

  I have to do it. I look around. There is no one to be seen. But what if there is someone inside? What if a girl is in there? I will get arrested. I will be in deep trouble. I will never live it down. Everyone knows everything in a country town.

  I can just hear the kids at school. ‘Tony took a tinkle in the ladies’ toilets.’

  I can hear something else too.

  Yip, yip, yip.

  I take a deep breath and rush into the ladies’ toilets. Phew, no one in sight. I have never been in the wrong side of the loo before. There is nowhere to stand and take a leak against the wall. It feels strange. But then everything feels strange. I don’t feel well at all.

  There is Spot. He is behind one of the toilet bowls. His head is stuck. I gently hold his body and remove him from where he is lodged under a pipe.

  But this time I don’t let go.

  ‘You’re not going anywhere,’ I say. ‘I’ve had enough of this. You are coming to the footy with me.’

  But Spot has other ideas. He squirms around in my hands and jumps to the ground. Then he bolts out of the toilet. By the time I get outside there is no sign of him.

  Rats.

  I know before I even look at the picture that Spot is no longer in the toilets. I am right. He has gone.

  I also know that there is one more dog hidden somewhere because Mum told me there were four.

  I don’t care. I can’t take any more. I can’t rescue any more dogs. I can’t live in a world without people. I don’t want to go on playing Spot the Dog any longer. I have had enough.

  I start to run for home. It is quite a way back but I don’t stop. Not once. I puff and pant and grow hot. My head is spinning. I feel as if my brain is going to burst out of my earholes. But I keep going until I am safely in our own garden.

  I climb through the window and jump into bed.

  Just in time. I can hear Mum’s footsteps.

  ‘Are you okay, Tony?’ she says as she walks into the room. She doesn’t even know that I have been gone.

  I decide to tell the truth. After all, parents are there to help you. That’s what they are for. When it is all said and done it is best to tell them if you are in trouble. To be honest, I am scared. Dogs are not supposed to vanish out of pictures.

  So I tell Mum all about my hunt for the dogs.

  And she doesn’t believe me. Not one word.

  ‘I wouldn’t tell you a lie,’ I yell.

  ‘Wouldn’t you?’ she says.

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘I’ve found three of the Spots in your picture.’

  ‘There are no dogs in my picture,’ says Mum. ‘And I should know because I painted it.’

  I take a deep breath. I can’t believe it. She did tell me to look for Spot the dog. Oh, my face is so hot. And I am itchy. Why is Mum lying?

  ‘There was a Spot dog in that rubbish bin,’ I yell. I point to the drawing of the bin outside the video shop.

  ‘I can’t see it,’ says Mum.

  ‘The dogs vanish when you find them,’ I say.

  ‘Very convenient,’ says Mum.

  ‘No,’ I shout. ‘Really. I’ve been seeing Spots everywhere.’

  ‘So have I,’ says Mum. She puts her hand on my forehead with a smile.

  ‘Where?’ I say eagerly.

  ‘All over your face. You’ve got the measles. You weren’t faking after all. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.’

  ‘The measles?’

  ‘Yes, you’ve been seeing things. Hallucinating. You haven’t been out of this room. I didn’t tell you to spot anything. There are no dogs in my painting. You just think there were because you’ve got a fever.’

  I look at the painting carefully. There were four dogs but I only found three. There must be one left. I search and search while Mum sits with me with a worried look. I have to prove that it all really happened. I just have to.

  ‘Yes,’ I yell. ‘There it is. I have been telling the truth. See Spot.’

  ‘Where?’ says Mum. ‘I can’t see anything.’ She leans over and examines the painting carefully. She looks at where I am pointing.

  ‘There,’ I say. ‘That’s a dog.’

  Mum shakes her head and walks off to phone the doctor. She doesn’t believe me.

  5

  So that is how it all happened.

  The full story. You believe me, don’t you?

  Turn the page and take a look at the picture. You can see it. You can spot the dog. Can’t you?

  ‘You’re not taking that dung beetle with you,’ said Mum.

  ‘But Mum, Uncle Sid likes dung beetles. He won’t mind.’

  ‘Aunt Scrotch will. She doesn’t even like boys. You’re lucky that she lets you have a holiday there each year. You leave that dung beetle at home with me.’

  ‘Okay,’ I said. I put my dung beetle back in his matchbox and shoved it into my pocket. Aunt Scrotch would never know I had it.

  The first night at Aunt Scrotch’s house was terrible. There I was, lying in bed in the dark. Aunt Scrotch wouldn’t let me have the light on. She was too mean to use the electricity. Inside the room it was almost black. There was just enough light to see shadows on the wall. Just enough light to nearly see the eyes that were watching me.

  I didn’t know what to do. If I screamed the eyes might get me and finish me off. If I lay still, hardly breathing, they might go away. The night was long. I could measure the crawling time by my silent breathing.

  The eyes stared. I was sure they stared even though I couldn’t see them. Something moved. Near the clock on the shelf. A rustle? A whisper? A footstep? My dry mouth screamed silently. I wanted to cry out. I wanted to say, ‘Who’s that?’ I wanted to call out for Uncle Sid but my terrified tonsils refused to talk. Instead they trembled – trapped behind the tombstones of my teeth – quivering under the strains of a choked-off cry.

  Two pinpoints of light. I could see them now. Moving silently. Blinking on and off. My hand crawled towards the light switch. I fumbled among the tissues. I found my watch. I clasped some coins. Everything except the switch.

  Oh switch. Dear, dear, light switch where are you?

  ‘Click.’ I found it. The room blazed. I saw at once who owned the eyes. A mouse. A small, grey mouse. It peered at me without moving. It seemed unafraid. Then, to my amazement, it stood up on its hind legs and walked. It walked along the shelf on its back legs. Then it clasped its little paws together under its chin as if it was praying.

  I picked up my slipper and threw it straight at the mouse. It scampered off behind the clock as the slipper thunked into the wall.

  With a sigh I turned off the light and lay down in bed. I felt as if I was going nuts. Mice don’t walk on two legs. And they certainly don’t say their prayers. I told myself I was upset because of Uncle Sid. Aunt Scrotch said that he couldn’t be disturbed. She said I wasn’t allowed to see him. I had come all the way to their lonely old house for a holiday and now I couldn’t see Uncle Sid. It wasn’t fair.

  Footsteps. Oh no, not again. This time they were real footsteps. Human footsteps in the passage outside. I climbed silently out of bed and pulled the door open a fraction. It was Aunt Scrotch creeping along the passage with a torch. Why hadn’t she turned on the light? Why was she creeping? And why was every wall in the house lined with boxes of cheese? There were sausages of cheese hanging from the ceiling. There were cartons of cheese stacked in the lounge. There were cheeses in string bags. Cheeses in red wrappers. Cheeses like plum puddings. They dripped from the light fittings. They staggered across the tables.

  Cheese, cheese everywhere.

  2

  Aunt Scrotch tiptoed down
the passage to the cellar stairs. She picked up a carton of Edam cheese from the many that lined the walls and held it in both hands. She balanced the torch on top, making it roll from side to side. It sent creepy shadows flashing against the ceiling.

  Aunt Scrotch vanished down the cellar steps, leaving the house in darkness. I put on my thongs and crept towards the steps. With thumping heart I made my way down after her. At the bottom I peeped around the corner.

  There was a door that was not there last time I had visited. The door was locked from the outside with a large sliding bolt. It had a small window with bars in it. Aunt Scrotch tore away the cardboard from the carton and began throwing huge lumps of cheese through the bars. A loud scuffling, snuffling noise came from inside. It sounded like a hungry animal feeding at the trough.

  ‘Pig,’ said Aunt Scrotch as she turned around to come back. I flattened myself against the wall next to some boxes and held my breath. Aunt Scrotch passed by without looking in my direction. Her footsteps shuffled away upstairs to be finally silenced by the soft thud of her bedroom door. She was gone.

  In the blackness the sounds of soft gobbling came from behind the locked door. I switched on the passage light and peered through the bars. I nearly fainted at the sight. It was Uncle Sid. His hair was long and wild. A tangled beard surrounded his dribbling mouth. Stains of cheese covered his torn shirt. His feet were bare. He was kneeling down on all fours and nibbling at the cheese with his mouth.

  The last time I saw Uncle Sid he was strong and neat and tidy. He was one of those uncles who is always finding ten cents behind your ear. Or pulling off the end of his thumb and putting it back again before you can see how he does it. He was my favourite uncle. And now horrible Aunt Scrotch had him locked up in the cellar.

  ‘Uncle Sid,’ I croaked. ‘It’s me, Julian.’

  He didn’t even look up. Uncle Sid just kept gnawing away at his cheese.

  I was frantic. What was up with him? Why didn’t he answer? Angry tears filled my eyes as I yanked at the bolt and opened the door. This time he did look up. Then he scampered over to the corner and peered at me with bright, wild eyes. Before I could open my mouth to say anything, he made a rush for the door and, still on all fours, bolted out into the passage and up the stairs.

  I ran after him. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Uncle Sid was tearing at a large box. On the side was written BLUE-VEIN CHEESE. He was tearing at it with his fingers and his mouth, trying to get at the cheese inside. At last he succeeded. He pulled out the blue and white cheese and began gobbling it down.

  The smell was terrible. I hate the smell of blue-vein cheese. Uncle Sid loved it though. He gnawed and nibbled for all he was worth.

  After what seemed ages and ages he stopped eating. He turned up his nose and sniffed. He held up his hands under his chin like a dog begging. Then he headed up the stairs towards the house. Suddenly he froze. He began moving backwards. He was frightened of something.

  It was Aunt Scrotch. Her mouth was cruel and twisted. And in her arms she held Tiger, her fat tom cat. ‘Get him, Tiger,’ hissed Aunt Scrotch.

  She put Tiger down on the floor and he crouched low, hissing and spitting. Uncle Sid was terrified. He backed down the stairs slowly, never taking his eyes from the vicious cat.

  Tiger flattened himself on the floor and crept slowly forward. His tail quivered. His whiskers twitched. He crouched, ready to spring. Uncle Sid seemed to be hypnotised by the cat. I rubbed my eyes. Poor Uncle Sid was scared of a cat. My head swam. Was I going crazy? Was this some terrible dream?

  Suddenly Uncle Sid turned and ran for it. On all fours. He fled back into his little prison cell. He darted in with incredible speed.

  Aunt Scrotch was almost as quick. She grabbed Tiger just as he was about to pounce. Then she slammed the door closed and locked it. Uncle Sid was trapped inside again.

  ‘You fool,’ snarled Aunt Scrotch as she pulled me out from my hiding place. ‘Why did you let him out?’

  ‘He shouldn’t be locked up,’ I yelled. ‘Why is Uncle Sid locked up?’

  Her voice was like fingernails on a blackboard. ‘Can’t you see? Can’t you guess? Your precious Uncle Sid thinks he is a mouse.’

  3

  I tried to take it in. I tried to make sense of it. My head swirled. It was true. Uncle Sid acted like a mouse. He sniffed the air like one. He ate cheese. He moved around on all fours. He was frightened of cats.

  My poor, dear Uncle Sid thought he was a mouse.

  ‘He should be in a hospital,’ I said slowly. ‘Not locked up.’

  Aunt Scrotch grabbed me by the collar of my pyjamas and pulled me along to the kitchen. She dumped me in a chair. ‘He’s been in hospital,’ she snapped. ‘They can’t do anything for him. Now I’m stuck with him. I have to look after him. He acts like an animal so I treat him like an animal.’

  ‘It’s cruel,’ I yelled. ‘You don’t have to be cruel. You don’t have to put cats onto him.’

  ‘You stay away from him,’ ordered Aunt Scrotch. ‘Don’t you go near him. He tries to escape all the time. It’s hard to get him back once he is outside. And another thing. I want your help. I am looking for something. Something that is lost.’

  ‘What is it?’ I asked. I knew that whatever it was I wasn’t going to help Aunt Scrotch. I was angry. I was real mad at her. She was treating Uncle Sid terribly.

  ‘Your uncle invented a new type of mouse trap,’ said Aunt Scrotch. ‘It is like a little electric fence. Whenever a mouse steps on the wire, its brain waves run along the wire into a little box. Then they run back to the mouse. The mouse sees visions of the countryside, of fresh air. Of fields. Of corn and blue sky. It runs straight off outside and never comes back. The electric fence makes the mice long for the fresh air. They can’t stay in a house. The mice are never hurt by it. This mouse fence would be worth millions. Millions of dollars. But after silly Sid started thinking he was a mouse someone stole it. Or Sid hid it somewhere. Anyway, it’s gone. If you find it give it to me. It is mine.’

  My mean aunt got up and went to the pantry. She took down a jar of chocolate freckles and tipped them onto a plate. All she ever ate was chocolate freckles – little buttons of chocolate covered in hundreds and thousands. I could never figure out how she stayed so thin. You would think that she would get fat from eating nothing but chocolate. She ate about thirty chocolate freckles and never even offered me one.

  ‘Go to bed,’ she ordered. ‘And remember. If you see that electric mouse-trap fence – give it to me.’

  4

  I went to bed and turned off the light. But I couldn’t sleep. Little eyes were watching me. Little mouse eyes. It was the same mouse that had been watching me earlier. I just knew it was.

  I switched on the light and blinked at the little grey mouse. It was in the corner of the room. And close by was a mouse trap with a piece of cheese set in it. It wasn’t Uncle Sid’s electric-fence type of mouse trap though. It was an ordinary one. The type that snaps down and kills the mouse by squashing it.

  The mouse crept closer to the cruel trap. ‘Don’t,’ I said. The mouse took no notice. It crept forward until it was almost touching the trap. Then it did something I still find hard to believe. It picked up a matchstick and held it in its little paws. Then it poked the cheese in the trap with the matchstick.

  Crack. The spring snapped down like lightning. The mouse had set off the trap without getting hurt. It was the smartest mouse in the world.

  I put one leg out of the bed onto the floor. The mouse just stood there. It didn’t seem afraid. Then it started walking across the floor slowly towards the other side of my bed. It stopped every now and then and looked up at me. At last, seeing that I was following, it walked slowly under the bed.

  I knelt down and peered after it. A mousey smell came out from under the bed. I could see mouse droppings on the polished wooden floor. There was something different about them though and at first I couldn’t work out what it was. Then I realised. The mouse droppi
ngs were all laid out in a pattern. They spelt out a word. The mouse droppings formed the word HELP.

  The little grey mouse had written a message the only way it could.

  Before I had time to take this in the mouse was off again. This time it ran into a small hole in the wall and disappeared. It came out a minute or two later tugging a piece of paper in its mouth. The mouse dropped it at my feet.

  I picked up the paper and looked at it. It was a bit of a page out of a diary. Uncle Sid’s diary. I recognised his writing. The scrap of paper had been chewed out of the book by tiny teeth.

  This is what it said:

  I have just discovered that the mouse-trap electric fence is dangerous. If two creatures touch the wire at the same time their brains will swap over. Yesterday a frog and a mouse touched at the same time. The mouse hopped off and the frog scampered aw…

  I couldn’t read the rest of the page as it had been chewed off. My mind started to work overtime. I thought about Uncle Sid who thought he was a mouse. And I looked at the mouse who seemed to think he was a person. Suddenly it clicked. I knew what had happened. Uncle Sid and the mouse had touched the electric mouse fence at the same time. Their minds had swapped over.

  This mouse was Uncle Sid.

  5

  ‘Don’t worry, Uncle,’ I said to the mouse. ‘We will get you back.’

  But how? I didn’t have the faintest idea what I could do.

  The mouse scampered off into its hole once again. This time it tugged out something different. It was a piece of wire. I pulled out the wire. It was about four metres long with little posts hanging off it. There was a small black box attached to the end of it. It was the electric mouse fence.

  Suddenly I knew what to do. I picked up Uncle and put him in my pocket. Then I took the electric mouse fence down to the kitchen. I crept quietly. I didn’t want to wake Aunt Scrotch.