Unreal!

by Paul Jennings

  Then I noticed something. The wind had stopped blowing. It was very still. I listened carefully. Yes, I could hear music. The door of the lighthouse opened and out came the clarinet and the saxophone. They were playing ‘When The Saints Come Marching In’.

  The driver of the crane couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His eyes nearly popped out of his head. A saxophone and a clarinet were floating through the air and playing a tune. He jumped off the crane and ran down the track. He was screaming his head off.

  The saxophone floated up above the seat of the crane. The crane started moving backwards towards the sea. One of the ghosts had put it into reverse gear. It rumbled slowly towards the cliff. The ghost was still sitting on it. I could see the saxophone – it was still over the driver’s seat. Then the crane started to tumble over the cliff. At the last minute the ghost jumped clear. The saxophone came floating back.

  The driver of the bulldozer let out a roar. He put the blade up and drove towards the lighthouse. Stan jumped up and pulled one of the levers. The bulldozer turned and headed towards the cliff. Stan and the driver were both struggling over the controls. The bulldozer got closer and closer to the edge. The driver suddenly jumped off. Stan tried to jump off too, but his leg was stuck. The bulldozer tipped over the edge and fell. Down, down, down it went. And Stan went with it. It tumbled over and over. And then it crashed on the rocks beneath.

  The ghosts started playing louder and louder. It wasn’t a tune, it was a loud roaring noise. It was angry and sad at the same time. Then both instruments fell to the ground. I didn’t know where the ghosts were. Then I saw the driver rise up into the air. The ghosts were lifting him up. They suddenly dropped him. He fell onto his head. He let out a scream and started running down the track. The other men followed him. They were scared to death.

  I went and looked over the edge of the cliff. The two ghosts picked up their instruments and stood next to me. I couldn’t see them. I could just see the saxophone and the clarinet floating in the air. I knew that Stan was dead. No one would have lived through that crash.

  The ghosts started playing a sad, sad tune. I knew the first lines. They were: ‘We’ll meet again. Don’t know where, don’t know when. But I know we’ll meet again some sunny day.’

  I looked at the grey sea. The wind was blowing the spray high into the air.

  The wind.

  ‘Quick,’ I yelled. ‘Back to the lighthouse. The wind is getting up.’ But I was too late. A sudden gust of wind blew both ghosts over the edge and out to sea. I watched as the clarinet and the saxophone drifted away, getting smaller and smaller. They looked like two tiny leaves blowing along in a storm. In the end I couldn’t see them any more; they were gone.

  10

  Well, that is just about the end of the story. Stan was buried in the tiny cemetery next to the other two graves. The wreckers left and didn’t come back. Their union said that the men would not work on the island. They said it was too dangerous.

  I was made lighthouse keeper. I have been here for a year now. I love the island; I hope I can always stay here. But it gets very lonely. I often wish that Stan was still alive.

  Last night something happened. Something good. It was Friday. I was just closing my eyes when I thought I heard music. It was coming from the lighthouse. I jumped out of bed and ran as fast as I could. I stopped when I reached the music room door. It was a saxophone and a clarinet. But something was different. I pushed open the door a tiny bit and peeped in. The clarinet and the saxophone were floating in the air as usual. But there was another instrument as well. It was a violin. It looked as if it was playing itself. But I knew that Stan was playing it. There were three ghosts now.

  I smiled to myself and closed the door. As I walked back down the stairs I hummed a tune to myself. I knew the song well. It was ‘Happy Days Are Here Again’.

  Smart Ice-Cream

  Well, I came top of the class again. One hundred out of one hundred for Maths. And one hundred out of one hundred for English. I’m just a natural brain, the best there is. There isn’t one kid in the class who can come near me. Next to me they are all dumb.

  Even when I was a baby I was smart. The day that I was born my mother started tickling me. ‘Bub, bub, bub,’ she said.

  ‘Cut it out, Mum,’ I told her. ‘That tickles.’ She nearly fell out of bed when I said that. I was very advanced for my age.

  Every year I win a lot of prizes: top of the class, top of the school, stuff like that. I won a prize for spelling when I was only three years old. I am a terrific speller. If you can say it, I can spell it. Nobody can trick me on spelling. I can spell every word there is.

  Some kids don’t like me; I know that for a fact. They say I’m a show-off. I don’t care. They are just jealous because they are not as clever as me. I’m good looking too. That’s another reason why they are jealous.

  Last week something bad happened. Another kid got one hundred out of one hundred for Maths too. That never happened before – no one has ever done as well as me. I am always first on my own. A kid called Jerome Dadian beat me. He must have cheated. I was sure he cheated. It had something to do with that ice-cream. I was sure of it. I decided to find out what was going on; I wasn’t going to let anyone pull a fast one on me.

  It all started with the ice-cream man, Mr Peppi. The old fool had a van which he parked outside the school. He sold ice-cream, all different types. He had every flavour there is, and some that I had never heard of before.

  He didn’t like me very much. He told me off once. ‘Go to the back of the queue,’ he said. ‘You pushed in.’

  ‘Mind your own business, Pop,’ I told him. ‘Just hand over the ice-cream.’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘I won’t serve you unless you go to the back.’

  I went round to the back of the van, but I didn’t get in the queue. I took out a nail and made a long scratch on his rotten old van. He had just had it painted. Peppi came and had a look. Tears came into his eyes. ‘You are a bad boy,’ he said. ‘One day you will get into trouble. You think you are smart. One day you will be too smart.’

  I just laughed and walked off. I knew he wouldn’t do anything. He was too soft-hearted. He was always giving free ice-creams to kids that had no money. He felt sorry for poor people. The silly fool.

  There were a lot of stories going round about that ice-cream. People said that it was good for you. Some kids said that it made you better when you were sick. One of the teachers called it ‘Happy Ice-Cream’. I didn’t believe it; it never made me happy.

  All the same, there was something strange about it. Take Pimples Peterson for example. That wasn’t his real name – I just called him that because he had a lot of pimples. Anyway, Peppi heard me calling Peterson ‘Pimples’. ‘You are a real mean boy,’ he said. ‘You are always picking on someone else, just because they are not like you.’

  ‘Get lost, Peppi,’ I said. ‘Go and flog your ice-cream somewhere else.’

  Peppi didn’t answer me. Instead he spoke to Pimples. ‘Here, eat this,’ he told him. He handed Peterson an ice-cream. It was the biggest ice-cream I had ever seen. It was coloured purple. Peterson wasn’t too sure about it. He didn’t think he had enough money for such a big ice-cream.

  ‘Go on,’ said Mr Peppi. ‘Eat it. I am giving it to you for nothing. It will get rid of your pimples.’

  I laughed and laughed. Ice-cream doesn’t get rid of pimples, it gives you pimples. Anyway, the next day when Peterson came to school he had no pimples. Not one. I couldn’t believe it. The ice-cream had cured his pimples.

  There were some other strange things that happened too. There was a kid at the school who had a long nose. Boy, was it long. He looked like Pinocchio. When he blew it you could hear it a mile away. I called him ‘Snozzle’. He didn’t like being called Snozzle. He used to go red in the face when I said it, and that was every time that I saw him. He didn’t say anything back – he was scared that I would punch him up.

  Peppi felt sorry for Snozz
le too. He gave him a small green ice-cream every morning, for nothing. What a jerk. He never gave me a free ice-cream.

  You won’t believe what happened but I swear it’s true. Snozzle’s nose began to grow smaller. Every day it grew a bit smaller. In the end it was just a normal nose. When it was the right size Peppi stopped giving him the green ice-creams.

  I made up my mind to put a stop to this ice-cream business. Jerome Dadian had been eating ice-cream the day he got one hundred for Maths. It must have been the ice-cream making him smart. I wasn’t going to have anyone doing as well as me. I was the smartest kid in the school, and that’s the way I wanted it to stay. I wanted to get a look inside that ice-cream van to find out what was going on.

  I knew where Peppi kept his van at night – he left it in a small lane behind his house. I waited until about eleven o’clock at night. Then I crept out of the house and down to Peppi’s van. I took a crowbar, a bucket of sand, a torch and some bolt cutters with me.

  There was no one around when I reached the van. I sprang the door open with the crowbar and shone my torch around inside. I had never seen so many tubs of ice-cream before. There was every flavour you could think of: there was apple and banana, cherry and mango, blackberry and watermelon and about fifty other flavours. Right at the end of the van were four bins with locks on them. I went over and had a look. It was just as I thought – these were his special flavours. Each one had writing on the top. This is what they said:

  HAPPY ICE-CREAM for cheering people up.

  NOSE ICE-CREAM for long noses.

  PIMPLE ICE-CREAM for removing pimples.

  SMART ICE-CREAM for smart alecs.

  Now I knew his secret. That rat Dadian had been eating Smart Ice-Cream; that’s how he got one hundred for Maths. I knew there couldn’t be anyone as clever as me. I decided to fix Peppi up once and for all. I took out the bolt cutters and cut the locks off the four bins; then I put sand into every bin in the van. Except for the Smart Ice-Cream. I didn’t put any sand in that.

  I laughed to myself. Peppi wouldn’t sell much ice-cream now. Not unless he started a new flavour – Sand Ice-Cream. I looked at the Smart Ice-Cream. I decided to eat some; it couldn’t do any harm. Not that I needed it – I was already about as smart as you could get. Anyway, I gave it a try. I ate the lot. Once I started I couldn’t stop. It tasted good. It was delicious.

  I left the van and went home to bed, but I couldn’t sleep. To tell the truth, I didn’t feel too good. So I decided to write this. Then if any funny business has been going on you people will know what happened. I think I have made a mistake. I don’t think Dadian did get any Smart Ice-Cream.

  2

  It iz the nekst day now. Somefing iz hapening to me.

  I don’t feal quite az smart. I have bean trying to do a reel hard sum. It iz wun and wun. Wot duz wun and wun make? Iz it free or iz it for?

  Wunderpants

  My Dad is not a bad sort of bloke. There are plenty who are much worse. But he does rave on a bit, like if you get muddy when you are catching frogs, or rip your pants when you are building a tree hut. Stuff like that.

  Mostly we understand each other and I can handle him. What he doesn’t know doesn’t hurt him. If he knew that I kept Snot, my pet rabbit, under the bed, he wouldn’t like it; so I don’t tell him. That way he is happy, I am happy and Snot is happy.

  There are only problems when he finds out what has been going on. Like the time that I wanted to see Mad Max II. The old man said it was a bad movie – too much blood and guts.

  ‘It’s too violent,’ he said.

  ‘But, Dad, that’s not fair. All the other kids are going. I’ll be the only one in the school who hasn’t seen it.’ I went on and on like this. I kept nagging. In the end he gave in – he wasn’t a bad old boy. He usually let me have what I wanted after a while. It was easy to get around him.

  The trouble started the next morning. He was cleaning his teeth in the bathroom, making noises, humming and gurgling – you know the sort of thing. Suddenly he stopped. Everything went quiet. Then he came into the kitchen. There was toothpaste all around his mouth; he looked like a mad tiger. He was frothing at the mouth.

  ‘What’s this?’ he said. He was waving his toothbrush about. ‘What’s this on my toothbrush?’ Little grey hairs were sticking out of it. ‘How did these hairs get on my toothbrush? Did you have my toothbrush, David?’

  He was starting to get mad. I didn’t know whether to own up or not. Parents always tell you that if you own up they will let you off. They say that they won’t do anything if you are honest – no punishment.

  I decided to give it a try. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I used it yesterday.’

  He still had toothpaste on his mouth. He couldn’t talk properly. ‘What are these little grey hairs?’ he asked.

  ‘I used it to brush my pet mouse,’ I answered.

  ‘Your what?’ he screamed.

  ‘My mouse.’

  He started jumping up and down and screaming. He ran around in circles holding his throat, then he ran into the bathroom and started washing his mouth out. There was a lot of splashing and gurgling. He was acting like a madman.

  I didn’t know what all the fuss was about. All that yelling just over a few mouse hairs.

  After a while he came back into the kitchen. He kept opening and shutting his mouth as if he could taste something bad. He had a mean look in his eye – real mean.

  ‘What are you thinking of?’ he yelled at the top of his voice. ‘Are you crazy or something? Are you trying to kill me? Don’t you know that mice carry germs? They are filthy things. I’ll probably die of some terrible disease.’

  He went on and on like this for ages. Then he said, ‘And don’t think that you are going to see Mad Max II. You can sit at home and think how stupid it is to brush a mouse with someone else’s toothbrush.’

  2

  I went back to my room to get dressed. Dad just didn’t understand about that mouse. It was a special mouse, a very special mouse indeed. It was going to make me a lot of money: fifty dollars, in fact. Every year there was a mouse race in Smith’s barn. The prize was fifty dollars. And my mouse, Swift Sam, had a good chance of winning. But I had to look after him. That’s why I brushed him with a toothbrush.

  I knew that Swift Sam could beat every other mouse except one. There was one mouse I wasn’t sure about. It was called Mugger and it was owned by Scrag Murphy, the toughest kid in the town. I had never seen his mouse, but I knew it was fast. Scrag Murphy fed it on a special diet.

  That is what I was thinking about as I dressed. I went over to the cupboard to get a pair of underpants. There were none there. ‘Hey, Mum,’ I yelled out. ‘I am out of underpants.’

  Mum came into the room holding something terrible. Horrible. It was a pair of home-made underpants. ‘I made these for you, David,’ she laughed. ‘I bought the material at the Op Shop. There was just the right amount of material for one pair of underpants.’

  ‘I’m not wearing those,’ I told her. ‘No way. Never.’

  ‘What’s wrong with them?’ said Mum. She sounded hurt.

  ‘They’re pink,’ I said. ‘And they’ve got little pictures of fairies on them. I couldn’t wear them. Everyone would laugh. I would be the laughing stock of the school.’

  Underpants with fairies on them and pink. I nearly freaked out. I thought about what Scrag Murphy would say if he ever heard about them. I went red just thinking about it.

  Just then Dad poked his head into the room. He still had that mean look in his eye. He was remembering the toothbrush. ‘What’s going on now?’ he asked in a black voice.

  ‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘I was just thanking Mum for making me these nice underpants.’ I pulled on the fairy pants and quickly covered them up with my jeans. At least no one else would know I had them on. That was one thing to be thankful for.

  The underpants felt strange. They made me tingle all over. And my head felt light. There was something not quite right about those und
erpants – and I am not talking about the fairies.

  3

  I had breakfast and went out to the front gate. Pete was waiting for me. He is my best mate; we always walk to school together. ‘Have you got your running shoes?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, no,’ I groaned. ‘I forgot. It’s the cross-country race today.’ I went back and got my running shoes. I came back out walking very slowly. I was thinking about the race. I would have to go to the changing rooms and get changed in front of Scrag Murphy and all the other boys. They would all laugh their heads off when they saw my fairy underpants.

  We walked through the park on the way to school. There was a big lake in the middle. ‘Let’s chuck some stones,’ said Pete. ‘See who can throw the furthest.’ I didn’t even answer. I was feeling sick in the stomach. ‘What’s the matter with you?’ he asked. ‘You look like death warmed up.’

  I looked around. There was no one else in the park. ‘Look at this,’ I said. I undid my fly and showed Pete the underpants. His eyes bugged out like organ stops; then he started to laugh. He fell over on the grass and laughed his silly head off. Tears rolled down his cheeks. He really thought it was funny. Some friend.

  After a while Pete stopped laughing. ‘You poor thing,’ he said. ‘What are you going to do? Scrag Murphy and the others will never let you forget it.’

  We started throwing stones into the lake. I didn’t try very hard. My heart wasn’t in it. ‘Hey,’ said Pete. ‘That was a good shot. It went right over to the other side.’ He was right. The stone had reached the other side of the lake. No one had ever done that before; it was too far.

  I picked up another stone. This time I threw as hard as I could. The stone went right over the lake and disappeared over some trees. ‘Wow,’ yelled Pete. ‘That’s the best shot I’ve ever seen. No one can throw that far.’ He looked at me in a funny way.