Paul Jennings' Trickiest Stories Read online

  ‘And now he never will,’ said Mum. ‘I wish he could see snow before he…’ She found it almost impossible to say the word. ‘Dies.’

  The eye in the ceiling vanished. A terrible banging and crashing came from above. A long barking howl filled the air. ‘Aaaargh, aaaargh, aaaargh.’

  ‘What on earth…?’ said the doctor.

  They all looked up at the ceiling. ‘It’s Richard,’ said Dad. ‘He’s had a bad day. Don’t worry. I’ll get him down. He’ll be okay.’

  After the doctor had gone Dad climbed the ladder to the loft. The noise grew worse and worse. Dad pushed up the hatch and peered inside. A hail of toilet rolls drove him back.

  ‘What’s happening?’ said Mum.

  ‘He’s gone crazy. He’s completely wrecked the castle. Demolished the whole thing. Toilet rolls everywhere.’

  Suddenly the noise stopped. Mum climbed the ladder and peeped in.

  ‘Well?’ said Dad.

  ‘He’s angry about something,’ said Mum. ‘He’s sitting there with a toilet roll. He’s pulling it to shreds. Just biting it and ripping it to bits like a wild animal.’

  She quietly lowered the hatch and climbed down.

  ‘Do you think he knows?’ said Dad. ‘About Tim?’

  ‘Who knows what he knows,’ said Mum. ‘But just for once we are going to have to forget about Richard. And worry about Tim.’

  8

  Two days passed and Tim grew weaker and weaker.

  In the ceiling above all was quiet. Richard refused to come down. Every time the hatch was lifted a furious hail of toilet rolls met the intruder.

  ‘Just leave him,’ said Dad. ‘He’ll get sick of it up there and he’ll come down like he always does.’

  ‘He’s hardly touched the food I put up there,’ said Mum. ‘But I’ve got something special. I’ve been keeping it for an emergency.’ She fetched a two-litre jar of honey from the kitchen. ‘This ought to bring him down.’ She climbed the ladder and carefully lifted the hatch. Then she waved the honey jar through the opening. ‘Richard,’ she said softly. ‘Look what I’ve got.’

  There was no reply. Then, before she could blink the honey disappeared. Snatched from her hand. ‘Rats,’ she yelled. ‘He’s grabbed it. Now he’ll never come down. We’ll just have to leave him.’

  Both parents went down to Tim’s room. They were shocked by what they saw. ‘Get the doctor,’ said Dad. Tim was pale and sweaty. His eyes rolled wildly in his head and his breath came in heavy gasps.

  Above them in the ceiling an eye stared down and then disappeared.

  Outside the warm summer breeze was swinging around and becoming cooler.

  The doctor arrived within twenty minutes and gave Tim an injection. ‘Stay with him,’ he said. ‘I’ll wait in the lounge. It’s not going to be long now.’

  Tim opened his eyes and tried to sit up. His father lifted him so that he sat upright on the pillows. ‘I want to look out,’ said Tim. ‘At the garden.’

  His father pushed the bed until it was hard up against the window. Without warning something crashed onto the path outside.

  Dad stared out. ‘A tile,’ he gasped. ‘A tile’s come off the roof.’ Another tile hurtled down and smashed into a thousand pieces. And then another and another.

  ‘It’s Richard,’ said Mum. ‘He’s on the roof. And he’s wrecking the place.’

  Like a furious fiend Richard grabbed tile after tile and threw them to the ground. Then he crawled up and over to the other side of the roof. He grabbed tiles wildly and tossed them into the air. Soon there was a yawning hole on both sides of the roof.

  The wind dropped completely. It was the stillness that always comes before a cool change in Melbourne.

  9

  And still the tiles fell.

  ‘Get the fire brigade,’ said Mum. ‘We have to get him down.’

  ‘No,’ said Dad. ‘This is one time when Richard is not getting all the attention.’ He took his wife’s hand and led her back to their fevered son.

  ‘What’s going on?’ said Tim weakly.

  ‘Nothing for you to worry about,’ said Dad. ‘You just like back there and think about…’

  ‘Snow,’ said Mum softly. She nodded through the door at the doctor. He quietly left the room and went outside.

  He placed a ladder against the wall and climbed to the top. ‘Good grief,’ he said as he stared into the roofless house. He turned and scrambled back down. He beckoned Mum through the window.

  ‘What’s up?’ she whispered.

  ‘He’s taken off all his clothes,’ said the doctor. ‘And he’s smeared honey all over himself. And those toilet rolls. He’s…’

  A cold breeze stirred and turned into a gust.

  ‘He’s torn up all those toilet rolls into little scraps. There’s not one left.’

  The gust became a gale. And lifted a billion tiny pieces of toilet paper into the air.

  From his bed by the window Tim’s eyes grew wide. He stared in amazement at the eddying cloud of white flakes.

  ‘Snow,’ Tim choked. ‘Oh, it’s snowing. Oh, just look at that snow. That snow,’ said Tim, ‘is as fresh as an apple still on the tree. It’s as cool as the breeze across a deep, deep lake. Oh, I thought I’d never see it.’

  Another gust lifted the paper and drove it crazy like a billion white bees swarming in furious silence over a winter garden.

  Then the wind dropped. And the paper began to settle. It filled the air and flurried down covering the brown grass with a snow-white coat. Branches bowed in reverence. The car disappeared like a cake under Christmas icing.

  Drifts formed on the window. Distant houses vanished under the swirling clouds. The world was white, white, white.

  ‘Look,’ called Tim. ‘Look. Yes, it is. I’m sure it is. A snowman. Oh, can you see that snowman?’

  And there, faintly emerging from his private storm, was Richard. Paper stuck to the honey. A wild, snowy figure. Prancing and dancing amongst the flurries. The finest snowman ever. Dressed in a warm, white coat.

  Tim gazed in wonder as his dream came true before his staring eyes. ‘Just look at that,’ he said in wonder. ‘A snowman. Look at him go.’ He gave a happy laugh.

  His last laugh.

  He lay back on the pillows with an enormous smile on his face.

  His last smile.

  Then he closed his eyes for the last time.

  And went off to dance with the snowman.

  For ever.

  Just Like Me

  I love you.

  Now that’s a thing no self-respecting twelve-year-old would say to a girl.

  Well, you couldn’t really, could you? Not when she was the most beautiful girl in the class. In the school. In the country. In the whole world. In those days I would have said the whole universe.

  A skinny, dorky kid like me couldn’t have said it to her.

  Here I am, a grown man. Twenty-one years old and my stomach still gets the wobbles when I think about Fay.

  Maybe it’s because I might see her again. In five minutes or so.

  See, we buried a time capsule in the wall of the old school. And Mr Wheeler made us promise to come back exactly nine years later. When all the kids would be twenty-one years old. I feel a bit foolish actually. Probably no one else will turn up. They will have forgotten. I’ll be the only idiot there. And I’ve flown all the way out from England.

  I turn my car into Brewer Road. Soon I’ll be at the school. Everything looks different. Where did all those office blocks come from?

  The old park has gone. And the fish and chip shop. And the pond where we used to catch frogs.

  Oh, oh, oh. No. It isn’t. It can’t be. It must be a mistake. Look what they have done. No, no, no.

  The school is not there.

  There’s a dirty big shopping centre. With a car park and thousands of cars. Signposts. Balloons. Loud speakers. Escalators. Security guards.

  They have pulled down the school and the trees and the bike shed.
They have pulled down my dreams and built a nightmare.

  I park my car and wander in through the huge doors. Jaws, more like it. I ride the escalators to the top of the mall and look down at the fountain far below. There are hundreds of shoppers. People sipping coffee, staring into windows, pushing trolleys, dragging children, carrying parcels.

  There is no one digging out a time capsule from a school wall. There is no one from Grade Six at Bentleigh West State School. And even if there was I wouldn’t recognise them.

  All I have left is memories.

  I think back and remember what I wrote when I was twelve. The letter I put in the time capsule. The letter that has gone for ever. That no one will read. The letter I wrote to a girl I will never see again.

  Dear Fay,

  My Mum and Dad are moving to England. So it looks like I will never see you again. Not till I’m twenty-one, anyway. And that’s ancient. Anyway, that’s how old you will be when you get this letter. If you are there. When they dig out the time capsule, I mean.

  I will be there for sure.

  I feel stupid writing this. But no one will know. If Luke Jeffries knew he would give me heaps. So would his nerdy mates. They pick on me. Just because I’ve got freckles. I hate them, I hate them, I hate them.

  My first day at this school was awful. I knew I would cop it. I’m not like you. See, you are the netball captain. You are good at everything. You get As for every subject. The teachers always pick you to do jobs. They hold up your work out the front.

  You are good-looking. No – scrub that. You are better than that. I’ll tell you what I think about you. It will be all right because no one will read this until the time capsule is opened.

  You are gorgeous. If I was a cat you would be the cream. If I was a dog you would be the bone. If I was a rock you would be the waterfall running over me.

  You are the top and I’m the bottom. I’m not any good at anything. Except drawing. Mum says I’m a good drawer.

  Anyway, I’m getting off track. I want to tell you about my first day at school. There I was standing out the front with nowhere to sit. In the end I had to use Mr Wheeler’s chair. He said, ‘You can sit there for the present.’

  Everyone gawked at me. You were the only one who smiled.

  When the bell went I stayed on my seat. Mr Wheeler said, ‘What are you waiting for, Ben?’

  I said, ‘I’m waiting for the present.’

  Everyone packed up. They all laughed like mad. Except you. My face was burning, I can tell you that. Talk about embarrassing.

  After that my problems just got bigger and bigger. I couldn’t get out what I was thinking. When they picked on me I couldn’t say a thing.

  I would like you to be my friend. But you are popular and I’m not.

  You sit at the desk in front of me. Your ponytail hangs down and swishes across my books. It is gold like the tail of an angel’s horse. I would like to touch it but of course I never would.

  My stomach goes all wobbly when I look at you.

  I wanted to give you something. But I didn’t have any money. Mum is always broke. ‘Make something,’ she said. ‘It’s the thought that counts. If you want to give a present make it yourself.’

  Well, it was coming up to Easter so I decided to draw on an Easter egg. Seeing as how I am good at drawing.

  I got an egg and put a little hole in each end. Then I blew out all the insides and started painting.

  Three weeks. That’s how long it took. I sat up every night until Mum went crook and made me put out the light. It was going to be the best egg ever in the history of the world. I painted rabbits. And a gnome with a fishing rod. And a heart with your initials on it. All covered in flowers.

  Mum reckoned it was a little ripper. ‘Ben,’ she said. ‘That is beautiful. It is the most lovely Easter egg I have ever seen.’

  So I wrapped it up in cotton wool and put it in a box.

  Then I started to get scared. What if you didn’t like it? What if you showed everyone and they laughed? What if you laughed?

  Oh geeze. I’m scared, Fay. I’m glad you won’t get this until I’m twenty-one.

  It turned out worse than I thought.

  As soon as I walked in the school gate I was in trouble. Luke Jeffries grabbed the box. ‘Look at this,’ he yelled. ‘Ben has a cute little egg for Fay. I wonder why?’

  All the kids gave me heaps. They really rubbished me. ‘Give it back,’ I whispered. My face was burning like an oven.

  Luke Jeffries threw the box on the ground. ‘This is an egg,’ he said. ‘So we will hatch it.’ He sat down on the box and clucked like a hen. The egg was smashed to bits.

  I turned and went for it. I just ran and ran and ran. I didn’t care about wagging school. I didn’t care about anything. Except a present for you.

  I ran into the kitchen and grabbed another egg. There was no time to blow it out. There was no time to paint rabbits and gnomes and things. I put on some boiling water to hard-boil an egg. Then I tipped in some dye.

  And that’s when it happened. I was angry and rushing around. I slipped over with the saucepan in my hands. The water sloshed onto my cheeks. Oh, the pain. Oh, my face was burning. Oh, it hurt. I’m not a sook. But I screamed and screamed and screamed.

  I didn’t remember anything else till I woke up in hospital.

  My face still burned. But I couldn’t touch it. I was wearing a mask. Bandages. I looked like a robber. There were little holes for my mouth and eyes and nostrils.

  ‘Your face will be okay,’ said Mum. ‘But you will have to wear the mask for a long time while it heals.’

  ‘I’m not going to school like this. No way.’

  ‘You have to,’ said Mum. ‘You have to wear the mask for six months or your face won’t heal properly.’

  So I walked in the classroom late. Looking like a burglar. With my mask on.

  No one laughed.

  Because someone else was just like me.

  You.

  Not burned. But just sitting there with a mask around your face.

  Where did you get it? I don’t know. And you kept on wearing it for weeks.

  And I have never said thank you. And tomorrow my parents are moving to England. I want you to know that I… No, scrub that.

  You will get this when they dig up the time capsule. I want you to know that I… No, I just can’t get it out.

  Yours sincerely… No, scrub that.

  Yours with thanks… No, scrub that.

  Aw, what the heck…

  Love,

  Ben.

  Well, that’s what I wrote all those years ago. Something like that anyway. And here I am exactly nine years later. In the shopping centre. The school has gone. There is no Mr Wheeler and his grown-up class there to open the time capsule.

  There is just me and a million shoppers. I can’t even tell where the school was. It would take half an hour to walk from one end of the centre to the other.

  My face healed up long ago. I don’t even have any scars. I should feel happy but the school has been knocked down. And there is no time capsule with my letter in it. I guess the bulldozers must have uncovered it. Or it could still be buried, deep under the shops and fountains and car parks. Maybe some of the letters inside were sent to the kids. Who knows? No one would have been able to contact me – on the other side of the world.

  One of the other kids might be here in the shopping centre. Maybe, like me, they have come because they didn’t know the school was knocked down. But I would never recognise them. Not after all these years. Not now we are grown.

  I make my way sadly through the happy shoppers. I don’t notice the shouting and jostling and laughing. I reach the door.

  And for a moment my heart misses a beat.

  For standing there I see something that takes me back in time. Silently standing by the door is a person wearing a burns bandage on her face. Children are staring at her. They shouldn’t do that. Neither should I. But my heart is beating fast and I don’t k
now what I am doing.

  The woman’s eyes meet mine and slowly she starts to take off the bandage. The children gasp. And so do I as her hair falls down behind her like the golden tail of an angel’s horse.

  Just for a moment I am twelve again. I catch my breath. My stomach wobbles.

  I stare at the woman in front of me.

  I know that my life is going to be happy. Because she is smiling the biggest smile.

  Just like me.

  Ticker

  I hated the wind.

  Especially that night.

  Oh, yes, the wind. It ripped and tore at Grandad’s old house on the edge of the cliff. It was so bad that I hid my head under the pillow to stop the sound of its shrieking. But I was still scared. I could feel the floor trembling. And the water in the glass next to my bed slopped around as if shaken by an invisible hand.

  Outside, the sea boiled. Huge waves threw themselves at the cliffs in fury. Salt spray whipped against the windows. Fierce gusts flattened the grass in the paddocks.

  ‘Are you scared, Keith?’ said a friendly voice. It was Grandad. He sat down on the bed and took my hand. ‘It’s only a storm,’ he said. ‘It will be over soon. Try to go to sleep.’

  I felt safe while he was there. But I knew that he would soon go away and then I would be on my own again. So I tried to keep him talking. I pointed to his watch. The one they gave him when he retired from the railways. It was a great watch. I loved it. Made out of solid gold. Dependable. Like Grandad.

  ‘What makes it go?’ I asked him. ‘Does it have a battery?’

  ‘No,’ said Grandad. ‘No battery.’

  ‘Do you wind it up?’

  ‘Nope.’

  That had me puzzled. If you didn’t wind it up and it didn’t have batteries, how could it go?

  ‘What then?’ I asked.

  He waved his arm around. ‘When you move it the watch winds itself. The movement of your hand keeps it going.’

  ‘What about when you take it off?’ I asked.

  ‘It can go for twelve hours. Then it stops. But you only need eight hours sleep. So you can take it off at night.’ He gave my head a bit of a rub. ‘And sleep is just what you need,’ he said. He stood up, smiled and left me alone.