Paul Jenning's Weirdest Stories

by Paul Jennings

  I rushed over to the closed doors. I had to find him and quick. If he went home alone Mum would murder me. I pushed the button on the wall and waited. That’s when I heard the voice. A high, squeaky voice. ‘Help,’ it said. ‘Help me. I can’t hold on much longer.’

  I looked around but I couldn’t see anyone. ‘Over here,’ squeaked the voice. ‘Over on the edge.’ I ran over to the edge of the building. A steel rail ran all the way around to stop people falling over. I still couldn’t see anything. Then I noticed a hand hanging on to one of the rails. Someone was dangling over the edge of the building. And we were six storeys up. I looked again at the hand – there was something strange about it. It wasn’t an ordinary hand. It was a very hairy hand with claws on the end. Long, bent claws like those of a lion.

  I peered over the edge and could just make out a dark figure hanging on for grim death. ‘Here,’ I said. ‘Take my hand.’ Another clawed hand grasped mine and I heaved the panting figure over the edge. It fell gasping to the floor.

  ‘Thank you,’ said the squeaky voice. ‘You have just saved the life of Santa Claws number 16,543.’

  I peered at the weird little man who stood before me. He was short with a grubby face and dirty tangled beard that might once have been white. He was wearing a faded Santa Claus outfit which had a big hole in the pants. But the strangest thing about him were the claws on his hands. He held up his hands and extended the claws. They were long and sharp. He could have ripped my ear off with them if he wanted. ‘Santa Claws,’ he said again. ‘Number 16,443.’

  I grinned. ‘You’ve got it wrong,’ I said. ‘It’s spelt C-l-a-U-s, not C-l-a-W-s.’

  The little man sighed. ‘Yes, they’ve changed it. It should be spelt with a “w” but they thought it frightened the children. Nothing is the same these days.’

  I started to laugh. ‘Santa with claws. That’s a good one. What would Santa want claws for?’

  He looked cross. He didn’t like me laughing at him. ‘How do you think we get up all those chimneys?’ he said. ‘We have evolved claws just like giraffes have evolved long necks. We need the claws for scrambling up the chimneys.’

  ‘We,’ I said. ‘What do you mean, “we”? There is only supposed to be one Santa and he certainly doesn’t look like you.’

  ‘Rubbish,’ he replied. ‘How could one Santa possibly get down all those chimneys on one night? There are millions of us.’

  ‘Well, how come you’re so grotty then?’ I asked. Boy, this bloke was really a nut. I decided to humour him. He might be dangerous.

  ‘You try scrambling up and down chimneys in the middle of the night and see how clean you stay,’ he said hotly.

  I decided to leave. I didn’t want that little brat Robert getting home before me and telling Mum that I said there was no such person as Santa Claus. She wouldn’t like that very much at all. I turned round and headed for the lift. Santa Claws came with me. The lift opened and we both stepped in. ‘Where are you going?’ I asked him.

  ‘Home with you. You saved the life of a Santa Claws and now I have to reward you.’

  ‘Think nothing of it,’ I said. ‘I don’t need a reward.’

  I didn’t want this grubby, peculiar little clawed person walking around town with me.

  ‘I have to give you your reward. It’s the rules,’ he insisted. ‘You saved my life and now you and all the children in your family get two wishes each. Anything you want.’

  This bloke was mad. I looked at his claws again. With one swipe he could rip my hair off. I didn’t answer. I was too scared. The lift went straight down to the ground floor and we stepped out into the busy shop. I walked quickly, hoping he would get lost but no such luck. He stuck to me like glue. People were looking at us and whispering to each other but Santa Claws didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘Your fly is open,’ I told him. ‘Do your fly up for heaven’s sake.’ He bent over and pulled up his zip with one of his claws.

  A lady with blue hair came bustling up to us. ‘Shameful,’ she said angrily. ‘Disgusting. How can you walk around in front of all these children with that filthy Santa’s outfit? How can they believe in Santa when you look like that?’

  Just then the shop Santa came walking along with a sackful of toys over his shoulder. He had a huge woolly beard and shiny vinyl boots. My Santa waved to him. The shop Santa didn’t wave back. People were starting to boo and shout at us. ‘Let’s get out of here,’ I said. ‘You’re making a lot of trouble.’

  We ran out of Myer’s and jumped onto the tram. Santa Claws sat next to me. Everyone in the tram stared at us the whole way back. Santa was smelly. Even his breath smelled and he had yellow teeth.

  ‘Don’t they have toothbrushes at the North Pole?’ I asked sarcastically.

  Claws looked offended but he didn’t say anything. When the conductor came I had to pay Claws’ fare. He didn’t have any money. ‘Left it in the sleigh,’ he said. ‘When I made that forced landing at Myer’s.’

  2

  Mrs White and the hypnotist snatched at each page as Sean finished writing it. ‘Astonishing,’ cried the hypnotist. ‘Absolutely astonishing.’

  Sean continued scribbling away, still in a trance.

  3

  We finally reached home and I opened the front door. ‘Goodbye,’ I said to the grubby little Santa. ‘You enter by the chimney, I believe.’

  To my amazement Claws pushed past me into the lounge room. Mum was out but my big sister Helen and Robert were sitting under the Christmas tree. Robert was crying with large fake tears. ‘There he is,’ he yelled pointing at me. ‘He said there was no Santa. He said Santa was fake.’

  Then Helen started in. ‘What a mean thing, Sean. Fancy telling a little boy there is no Santa. And on Christmas Eve too. And don’t think that bringing that horrible little person here will make things better. Where did you get your outfit?’ she said to Claws. ‘At the tip?’

  ‘I am in a hurry,’ said Claws. ‘I have a lot more homes to visit tonight. You have two wishes each. Now quickly, you first, Sean.’

  I looked at those claws. They were sharp enough to rip my face off. I decided to humour him. ‘Sally Fritz,’ I said. ‘She is my favourite rock star. Bring Sally Fritz here for a visit.’

  In a flash Sally Fritz stood before us. She held a microphone in her hand and was dressed in fishnet stockings, high-heeled shoes, lace panties and a blouse you could almost see through. She must have been in the middle of a concert before Claws produced her in front of us. Her eyes were staring wide. She couldn’t work out what had happened. One minute she was on stage in New York and the next she was in an Australian lounge room with three kids and a scruffy little Santa looking at her.

  ‘Repulsive,’ said Helen. ‘Mum will kill you for bringing someone like that here.’

  Sally Fritz put her hands up to her mouth. Then she started to scream at the top of her voice. She was scared out of her wits.

  ‘Quick,’ I yelled at Claws. ‘Get rid of her.’ Sally Fritz vanished without a trace, just as quickly as she had arrived.

  ‘Well, that’s your two wishes gone,’ said Claws. He looked at Robert. ‘What’s your first wish, lad? What do you want for Christmas?’

  ‘A machine gun,’ yelled Robert. ‘A real machine gun.’

  A grey, steel machine gun materialised in Robert’s hands. It was the most real-looking machine gun I had ever seen. With a cry of joy Robert pulled the trigger. Bullets spat out with a deafening roar. They drilled holes across the floor, up the walls and across the ceiling. We all dived for cover behind the sofa. When the noise stopped the room was filled with bitter blue smoke. And the room was in ruins. There were smashed ornaments and pieces of plaster all over the room.

  ‘Look,’ gasped Helen. ‘Mum’s grandfather clock. It’s smashed to smithereens. You’re in big trouble, Robert. Mum will skin you alive for this.’

  Robert started to cry. He always cried when he thought he was in trouble. ‘I don’t want it,’ he yelled at Claws. ‘I wish
I never had it.’

  The gun disappeared and the room and the clock returned to normal. ‘That’s your two wishes gone,’ he said to Robert. Claws looked at Helen. ‘Now it’s your turn. What are your two wishes, my girl?’

  Helen stamped her foot in temper. ‘I don’t like you,’ she shouted. ‘I wish none of us had ever heard of you.’

  Suddenly we were alone in the room. Claws was gone. We all looked at each other. None of us could remember what had happened. We had no memories of Claws at all. He had wiped them all out. But for some reason I can remember them now.

  4

  The hypnotist was reading over Sean’s shoulder. He nodded his head smugly. ‘The trance,’ he said to Mrs White excitedly. ‘He remembers because of the trance.’

  Sean continued writing furiously without saying a word. Not that he could with a mouth the size of a small marble.

  5

  Well, that’s about the end of the story. I still don’t know how I got my small mouth.

  Helen was looking around the room. She couldn’t even remember that Claws had been there and promised her two wishes. ‘I feel as if someone was here,’ she said. ‘But I can’t remember who it was or what happened.’

  ‘Me too,’ I said. ‘I feel as if someone was talking to us. It had something to do with Santa Claus.’

  I wished I hadn’t said that. It reminded Robert of what happened at Myer’s. He pointed a finger at me and started up again with the phoney tears. ‘You said there was no Santa,’ he yelled. ‘You said he had cotton wool for a beard and a pillow down his shirt.’

  Robert started jumping up and down and screaming. Then he ran out of the room and slammed the door.

  Helen was mad at me. ‘That was mean of you, Sean,’ she said. ‘You shouldn’t have told him there was no Santa. I wish you didn’t have such a big mouth.’

  Everybody gets a crabby teacher sometimes. It only stands to reason. Look at it this way: you are going to have lots of teachers in your life. One of them has to be crabby so don’t worry about it.

  Unless you get one like Mr Snapper.

  Oh boy was he mean. He made every school day miserable. Every single one. But May the fifth was one of the worst. I remember it because it was the day we moved into a new house. This is what he did that terrible day.

  1. Hit me over the knuckles with a ruler for holding the pen the wrong way.

  2. Twisted my ear until it almost came off for asking Mike Dungey how you spell ‘urinate’.

  3. Made me say the nine times tables in front of the class when he knew I didn’t know them.

  4. Kept me in after school for putting chewing gum behind my ear.

  5. Took me to the office for smiling (when he was telling me off). I can’t help smiling. I am just a naturally smiling sort of person. Anyway, it wouldn’t have hurt him to smile a bit. Mr Snapper had never smiled in his life. He had a mean, boy-hating sort of face. You could tell what sort of mood he was in by the number of wrinkles on his face. There were so many that it took me ages to count them all. Two hundred wrinkles was a good day. Five hundred wrinkles was a bad day. They ran across his face like deep rivers of rage.

  6. Forced me to write out ‘It is rude to stare’ one hundred times.

  7. Made me take his rotten pot plant home for the night.

  Snapper had two things in the grade that he liked: Lucy Watkins, who was his pet, and the maidenhair fern which stood in a fancy-looking pot on his desk.

  Lucy Watkins was a real snob. She knew she was good-looking and she knew she was smart. She was the only person in the grade that Snapper liked. He nearly smiled at her once. That’s how much of a pet she was. He always picked her to take messages to other teachers. He always held up her work for everyone else to look at. And he never told her off. Even when she did the same wrong things as the rest of us.

  Anyway, just before home time on the fateful day, Snapper said, ‘Lucy, you can choose the person to take the maidenhair fern home for the night.’ It was supposed to be a big honour to take the maidenhair fern home and water it. The silly-looking plant couldn’t stay at school because of the dust raised by the cleaners when they swept up.

  Lucy Watkins went out to the front and looked around slowly. She stared straight at me. I didn’t want to take the maidenhair fern home. I knew something would go wrong if I did. I shook my head. ‘No,’ I whispered under my breath. ‘Not me. Please not me.’

  She gave a mean sort of a smile and pointed at me. ‘Him,’ she said. ‘Russell Dimsey. It will look nice in his new house.’

  2

  Snapper didn’t look too sure. He didn’t trust me to look after the maidenhair fern. ‘It’s all right Mr Snapper,’ I said. ‘Give the maidenhair fern to someone else for the night. I’m not too experienced with pot plants.’

  Lucy Watkins pouted.

  ‘Dimsey,’ Snapper growled at me, ‘I keep my word. Lucy has picked you so that is the end of the discussion. You take the maidenhair fern home for the night.’ He put his face right up to mine so that I could smell his breath (it was horrible). ‘And don’t let anything happen to it. If that pot plant dies I will murder you.’ He drew his finger across his throat like someone using a knife. ‘That pot is an antique. If anything happens to it you are dead meat.’ His wrinkles were about one centimetre away from my eyeballs. I could see the hairs in his nose twitching in the breeze when he breathed.

  I shuddered.

  It took me ages to get home. I missed the bus because I was kept in. And I had to carry the maidenhair fern home in my arms. It was heavy and the delicate fronds kept brushing against my nose and making me sneeze.

  When I finally reached home there was someone waiting for me. It was Lucy Watkins. She was sitting on her bike with one foot on the footpath.

  She smiled a mean smile. ‘Seen the ghost yet?’ she said.

  ‘What?’ I yelped.

  ‘The ghost. The ghost of the boy who died in there.’ She nodded at our new house.

  I just looked at her. ‘Someone died in our house?’

  ‘Why do you think you got it so cheap?’ she sneered. ‘No one else would buy it.’

  ‘Who died there?’ I asked. I didn’t like having to talk to Lucy Watkins but I had to find out.

  ‘Well, two people actually. A boy called Samuel. He died a little before his uncle. His uncle snuffed it later. He was a magician called The Great Minto. He did tricks. And he kept things in bottles.’

  ‘What sort of things?’ I tried to stop my voice trembling.

  Lucy Watkins smiled a secret sort of smile to herself. ‘All sorts of things. Creepy things. Some people said he was a wizard.’ The next bit was worst of all. She pointed up to the little attic window on the roof of the house. The window of my new bedroom. ‘They both died in that room. And one of them is still there. On moonless nights Samuel’s ghostly face looks out. An unhappy little face. The face of Samuel the sad spook.’

  ‘Bulldust,’ I said. ‘You’re making it up. You’re just trying to make me scared.’

  ‘You’ll see,’ said the horrible Lucy Watkins. ‘Just you wait until the darkest part of the night. That’s when he comes out.’ She pointed to the maidenhair fern. Its lacelike fronds were gently waving in the wind. ‘You had better not take it into the bedroom. You wouldn’t want it to shrivel up from fright. Mr Snapper wouldn’t like that.’ She started laughing to herself. Cackling away like a chook. Then she rode off without another word.

  3

  I raced inside as fast as I could go. ‘Mum,’ I yelled, ‘did you know that people died in my room? Two people?’

  Mum didn’t say anything. Not a word. I knew then that it was true. Now I knew how we could afford such a posh house. It was haunted. No one wanted to buy it so Mum got it cheap.

  ‘I’m not sleeping up there,’ I said. ‘Not with a ghost hanging around.’

  ‘There’s no such thing as ghosts,’ said Mum. ‘It will be all right after the first night.’

  ‘There isn’t going to be
any first night,’ I yelled.

  ‘Yes there is,’ said Mum. ‘And it’s going to be tonight.’

  I took the maidenhair fern up to the bedroom with me. I put it on my bedside table where it would be safe. I knew that I would have to spend the night in the room. Mum was very strong-minded. She had been like that ever since Dad left home.

  I looked at the maidenhair fern. I had to admit that it was a lovely plant. Even if it did belong to Snapper. I poured a little water into the pot. I didn’t want the plant carking it in the night. There had already been enough deaths in this room and I didn’t want any more.

  It was around about midnight when I first saw Sad Samuel. I just sort of knew in my sleep that someone else was in the room. I could feel a presence. I didn’t want to look but in the end I forced open my eyes and saw him. By the window. A little wispy ghost with an unhappy mouth. A boy of about my age. He just stood there looking at me sadly.

  ‘Mum,’ I screamed. ‘A ghost. A ghost. He … I.’

  The ghost didn’t look the least bit surprised. He shook his head as if I had done just what he expected.

  Mum crashed into the room in her dressing gown. ‘What’s up Russell?’ she yelled. ‘Did you have a nightmare?’

  I pointed to the ghost.

  ‘What?’ she said.

  ‘Him. The ghost.’ I managed to gasp.

  Mum peered around the room. Then she stared straight at Sad Samuel. ‘I can’t see anything,’ she said. ‘It must have been a bad dream.’

  ‘It wasn’t a dream. He’s still there. Over by the window.’

  Mum walked over to the window. She walked right into Sad Samuel. And when I say into him I mean into him. She stood inside the ghost just as if he was a cloud or the end of a rainbow. And she didn’t even see him.