The Toilet Rat Of Terror and Other Naughty Stories for Good Boys and Girls

by Christopher Milne

  Kathy caught a bus to West Park and sat on a seat at the bus stop. For a very long time she just stared into space. Thinking. She felt cold and lonely and scared. Scared to go back to that toy shop and all the terrible memories that went with it.

  Finally, she worked up the courage. West Park had changed a lot but the toy shop was still there. So was the seat outside, but she could hardly bring herself to look at it. She ran past and into the shop.

  Kathy walked straight up to the shop lady and said, ‘This is going to sound so stupid, but I lost my mother outside here six years ago. Can you help me?’

  The lady looked very surprised. ‘Now that’s amazing,’ she said. ‘There was a lady in here just five minutes ago asking almost exactly the same thing.’

  Kathy didn’t wait to hear any more. She rushed outside and there, sitting on the seat, was a lady. The lady turned and looked at Kathy.

  ‘Mummy!’ screamed Kathy.

  ‘Kathy!’ yelled her mum.

  They raced to each other and her mum threw her arms around Kathy and hugged her very, very tight. She was crying and said not a day had gone by without her feeling sick about leaving. She said she hadn’t stopped loving her for a single minute, and could Kathy ever, ever forgive her. And Kathy’s mum kept holding her tight for a very long time. As if she would never let go again.

  And she didn’t.

  Jane Stoltz stood in front of her whole class and read out the following poem:

  Some are small and some are large

  And it’s true that we’ve all got ’em.

  But my favourite teacher, Marj,

  Has got the biggest bottom.

  ‘How dare you!’ screeched Mrs Marjorie Jolley. ‘Stand in the corner. You may be clever with words, young lady, but nothing excuses rudeness. I’ve told you before and I won’t tell you again!’

  Trouble was, that’s almost exactly what poor Mrs Jolley had said the last time. And the time before that. I guess I’d better explain.

  Our principal, Mrs Staley, had decided that Jane Stoltz was a genius. A star poet in the making! Sure, she’d won a couple of prizes and stuff — in fact, the All Schools Prize for Poetry — but I didn’t think she was that good.

  Mrs Staley was so proud, especially because she got to accept the All Schools Prize on Jane’s behalf. She said Jane should be an example to us all. Which meant that Jane got away with much more than she should.

  ‘I’m sorry!’ Jane had pleaded to Mrs Jolley. ‘Let me try again. This time, not rude.’

  ‘Promise?’ asked Mrs Jolley.

  ‘Promise,’ said Jane. ‘How about this?’

  ‘Some are big and some are huge,

  But it’s safe to bet,’

  Then Jane paused, as if searching for words.

  ‘Until you see my teacher’s butt,

  You ain’t seen nothing yet.’

  ‘That’s it!’ screamed Mrs Jolley. ‘Go to the principal’s office.’

  Jane marched up to Mrs Staley’s office and for the umpteenth time was given a good talking to.

  ‘You have such a great talent, Jane,’ said Mrs Staley. ‘It breaks my heart. Why waste it on silly poems about bottoms? Why not do more poems like the one you won a prize for — about nature and trees and butterflies?’

  ‘Because I’m bored,’ said Jane. ‘I want to do real poems. About people. Exactly like they are. The good and the bad.’

  ‘Which is exactly what a good poet should do,’ said Mrs Staley. ‘But there comes a time, young lady, when we have to get serious.’

  And Jane noticed that, suddenly, Mrs Staley was very serious indeed. ‘The All Australia Schools Competition is exactly three weeks away today,’ she said, with a gleam in her eye, ‘and I’m expecting your very best poem about nature. Do I make myself clear? I’m not just hoping you’ll win, I’m expecting that you’ll win with your very best poem. Lose, and I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes!’

  ‘Hey, that rhymes,’ said Jane. ‘Lose, shoes…’

  But Mrs Staley wasn’t smiling.

  Well, this is what Jane read at the All Australia Schools Competition:

  Jane didn’t win the All Australia Competition. Or any other for that matter. She decided that competitions weren’t worth the worry. And Mrs Staley became such a pain that Jane decided to swap to another school. It was nearer to her home, anyway.

  Jane quickly made friends at her new school and she ended up doing very well. And later went on to university. These days she works in advertising and publishes her own poems.

  When Jane first started at her new school, however, her teacher said she’d heard about her poetry prizes and asked if Jane would make up a new poem to read to the class.

  The teacher didn’t ask ever again, though, because this is what Jane wrote:

  Disgusting acts, I’d seen a few

  And thought that none could beat it.

  The Edwards sisters, Jan and Prue,

  Would pick their nose then eat it.

  Until the Mortons, Anne and Ted,

  Who picked and ate non-stop.

  ‘Those Edwards girls are weak,’

  they said.

  ‘You watch,’ they yelled, ‘we swap!’

  Simone Morris thought she must be losing it. Three mornings in a row her mum had yelled at her for leaving her clothes on the floor — yet all three nights before, she was sure she’d folded them neatly and placed them on the chair.

  ‘So what happened?’ asked her mother. ‘Did a ghost come in during the night and tip them off?’

  ‘Please don’t say that!’ said Simone quickly.

  ‘Where is this ghost thing coming from?’ asked her mum. ‘That’s the third time this week! Let me say it again. There are no such things as ghosts!’

  ‘Yes, Mum,’ said Simone, now absolutely sure there must be ghosts. Her clothes had been pushed onto the floor three times. What else could it be?

  The whole ghost thing had started with a girl from school, Rebel. Although everyone said Rebel was a bit mad, because she was kind of weird and her parents were hippy types, Simone thought she was all right.

  ‘Where do you think we go when we die?’ Rebel had said one day. ‘All the stuff in your head — all the memories and stuff, do you think it just disappears into thin air?’

  ‘I’ve never really thought about it,’ replied Simone.

  ‘Well, it’s time you did,’ said Rebel. ‘It’s like light. You can’t grab hold and it doesn’t weigh anything but if you shine a torch out into space the light goes on forever. Ghosts are just people going on forever.’

  That had really spooked Simone. She felt a cold shiver down her back and suddenly the whole world seemed a bit scarier. From that day on, she refused to think about ghosts. Otherwise she knew she’d be too scared to sleep at night without the light on. And so far, so good. That is, until her mother had made that stupid joke about a ghost moving her clothes!

  That night, frightened out of her wits, Simone lay in bed with her eyes wide open, the light on and her softball bat under the blanket. She couldn’t tell her mum and dad she was scared because they didn’t believe in ghosts. She’d just have to tough it out herself by not falling asleep.

  Two o’clock in the morning went by, then three o’clock, and still her clothes lay folded up on the chair. Three-thirty, the eight o’clock alarm…

  Wait, what? Eight o’clock! She had gone to sleep after all. Oh, no! Lying on the floor were all her clothes, just like the mornings before. But this time they were in a circle!

  Now Simone knew for certain that there was a ghost. And the ghost knew that she knew!

  When Simone walked into the kitchen for breakfast, she was white with fear. Her mum took one look at her and asked if she was sick. The silly thing is, although her mum would probably have let her stay at home, Simone thought she’d rather go to school. Anything other than staying in her bedroom with a ghost!

  ‘I’m fine, Mum,’ said Simone. ‘Didn’t sleep too well. Must have eaten
too much last night.’

  ‘That ghost didn’t come to get you, did it?’ said her mum, trying to make another joke. ‘They say that children are ghosts’ favourite things. Kids and animals.’

  Simone shuddered and went even whiter.

  If poor Simone thought it was impossible to become any more scared, she only had to wait until the next morning. Because she was so tired from the night before, she had again fallen asleep. But this time she was awoken by her mother shouting.

  ‘Simone, you’ve gone too far!’ yelled her mother. ‘Making a joke of my poor father. You’re disgusting!’

  Simone had no idea what her mother was talking about. Until she sat up and saw her clothes on the floor. This time, rather than forming a circle, they were arranged neatly to spell ‘Alan’. The name of her grandfather, who had died the year before!

  Simone felt sick with worry. After her grandfather had died, Simone and her family had shifted into his house. It was bigger than theirs and it had a huge backyard.

  Simone went straight to her brother Richard. ‘When Grandpa died,’ Simone asked, trembling, ‘do you know which room he was in?’

  ‘Your room, I think,’ said Richard.

  That was it! There was no way Simone was going to spend another night in that room and she didn’t care what her parents said.

  Of course, her mother said there was no way that Simone would be sleeping anywhere else and it was time she stopped playing these stupid games. As punishment for the terrible joke she had played, Simone could go straight to her room every night after dinner for the next two weeks. And no television or computer!

  Simone started to get angry. Really angry. I haven’t done anything wrong, and I’m getting punished for it! Once she started getting angry, a strange thing happened. She stopped being scared.

  She thought, If I don’t care anymore about the stupid ghost, then why don’t I just wait up and ask what its problem is?

  So, that night, Simone waited up, absolutely determined not to go to sleep. She even turned out the lights so that the ghost would turn up like usual.

  But when she heard a noise at her window, all her courage seemed to leave her. The fear came flooding back and she just sat there, wide-eyed, as a flash of light seemed to dart across the room. It couldn’t be! Standing next to her window was a young girl completely covered in lace. A ghost!

  Slowly, the lace seemed to peel away, and the girl moved silently to Simone’s chair and began placing all her clothes on the floor. Simone’s fear was so great she couldn’t move. Gradually, however, a feeling began seeping into her bones that, although the ghost was only metres from her bed, it wasn’t going to hurt her.

  The ghost’s movements were gentle and quiet and not really scary at all. Simone couldn’t believe it. Here she was in the room with a ghost and yet she was starting to feel comfortable, almost as if she knew her!

  And then it hit her. Simone did know her!

  ‘Rebel!’ yelled Simone. ‘What are you doing in my room?’

  Rebel got such a fright she dropped to her knees. ‘You frightened me half to death!’ she said.

  ‘Hello?’ replied Simone. ‘You’re in my room playing ghost-girl and you’re telling me you’re scared?’

  ‘I am so sorry,’ said Rebel. ‘I’ve been coming in through your window for days and I thought you were a heavy sleeper.’

  ‘What?’ asked Simone, more shocked than angry.

  Rebel began to cry. ‘Because I’m so lonely,’ she sobbed. ‘I know everyone thinks I’m mad, and I haven’t got a single friend in the whole world. You’re the only person who even speaks to me at school. I just thought if I could make you believe in ghosts, then you might think I was right about them. That I’m not a complete nutter… Simone, I am so sorry.’

  Simone wanted to stay angry, especially because of how much trouble she was in with her mum, but when she saw the terrible sadness in Rebel’s eyes she couldn’t help but feel sorry for her.

  Well, Simone and Rebel are good friends these days, but there’s something I should tell you. Simone’s mum was right. There are no such things as ghosts. But there are plenty of people who will tell you they’ve seen one. I’d be more scared of them if I were you.

  ‘Dreamy’ Drake Johnson was one of those really annoying kids who thought he was better than everyone else.

  If you spoke to Drake, most times he wouldn’t even bother to listen. If he did, he’d get bored and drift off halfway through.

  ‘Earth to Drake?’ you’d say. ‘Testing.’

  But no response.

  I suppose it came from his snobby parents, who loved themselves so much they thought their first born child must surely be the most talented and intelligent little darling to have ever attended our school.

  I even heard Drake say one day that the only reason his parents sent him to mix with us losers at Warren Flat Primary School was so he’d appreciate a ‘good’ school later on.

  Not only were Drake’s oldies rich and snobby, they were strange, too. They fancied themselves as being a bit alternative and creative and clever. They were into brown rice and hairy legs and things dangling everywhere — ‘witchy stuff’, my mum called it.

  For some reason, they also thought carpet snakes were cool. So there were always a couple slithering about the house. Once, when I went to Drake’s house to get a shared lift for a school excursion, I was met by this dirty great thing curled around a curtain rod.

  Drake wasn’t quite as keen on snakes as his parents, so he slept out the back, in a specially designed carbon-friendly eco-tent. With his pet rats. Ugly-looking things they were, too. One looked as if its head had been through a blender.

  How he could live with such disgusting-looking things amazed me, because the one thing we did know about Drake was that he had a weak stomach. When he saw me pick up a dropped sandwich from the ground, brush it on my shirt and eat it, he spewed everywhere.

  Anyway, when Drake wasn’t being a total snob, he spent the rest of the time in a dream. Most times he would have a dopey grin on his face, because he was either thinking about how wonderful he was, or imagining himself at his ‘good’ school when he could at last mix with some PLH — People Like Him.

  Even though Drake thought he was so much better than us, we still didn’t understand why he wanted to stay in his own little dream world all the time. Wouldn’t it get lonely? And what was so bad about us all, anyway?

  But no-one could ever get through to him to ask. In the end, I just stopped trying.

  I suppose he thought we just weren’t worth talking to. He did his schoolwork well enough — in fact, he was really smart — but try getting him to play bockers with us, or footy, or chuck stones, or swap lunches, or muck around down at the drain or do anything normal? No way.

  And so the days and then years went by with Drake in his dream world and, from Drake’s point of view, us in our loser world. My dad said that was the way Drake’s father thought, too. He’d overheard him one day call the rest of us a waste of space.

  My father said it was Drake’s dad who was the idiot. ‘Doesn’t he know head-bands went out twenty years ago?’

  By Year Six, though, something very strange happened. Drake started to speak. And listen.

  You know how I said before that he was smart? Well, suddenly we couldn’t shut him up, because Drake had become desperate to prove just how smart he was.

  Answering this question, answering that one, showing over and over again what a pack of meat-heads the rest of us were.

  Guess why? To impress Candice Wyman. My girlfriend! Drake had suddenly discovered girls, and of all the girls in the school, he had to pick mine!

  Well, sort of mine. I’d never really spoken to her but my best friend, Snotty Smith, had told Candice’s best friend that I liked her and that was all you had to do. I think.

  It was really good because when you wanted to dump someone, you could do it the same way.

  Well, one day we’d had this test and Drake said
to me, so everyone could hear, ‘By my calculations, I did better than you by thirty-two percent.’

  ‘Yeah?’ I said. ‘By my calculations, you’re a jerk. A jerk in trouble because you’re going to get decked.’

  Guess who got decked instead? Drake beat me easily. He had me down on the ground in a head-lock in about two seconds.

  How embarrassing! I was the first guy ever to get decked by Drake. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Candice whispering, ‘What a loser.’ I don’t think I’ve ever felt so bad.

  What could I do to get back at him? Drake was stronger than me. And smarter. Maybe I could set traps for his pet rats? Or sneak a carpet snake into his bed?

  And then I thought of it. The perfect way to get him back.

  The next day was a school trip to the snow. I knew that we’d be going by bus and I knew Drake would be sitting next to Candice. Pretending not to care where I sat, I just happened to flop down right behind them.

  Then, as soon as we left, I took one of my little brother’s books out of my bag and pretended to read. ‘I can’t understand most of this,’ I whispered loudly to myself. ‘What does this word mean?’

  Of course, Drake heard me — which is exactly what I wanted. Being such a smarty pants these days, Drake couldn’t resist saying, ‘Would you like me to read to you, little boy?’

  ‘Well, yes I would,’ I replied. ‘Mum and Dad said I’ve got to improve my reading, so they’ve given me something hard.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Drake, taking the book. ‘Poor little boy. Now, let me see. Oh, yes, I can see what you mean. It is a bit hard for you.’

  And so Drake began to read out loud, of course making sure that everyone was listening. ‘John had a ball. John bounced the ball. John and his sister, Betty, had a dog called Spot.’

  Of course, all the other kids laughed their heads off, so Drake kept going. ‘Am I going too fast for you?’ he asked. ‘They also had a cat called Fluffy. Spot and Fluffy.’