He felt a tingle in his fingers. A small vibration. A sort of frightened quiver. He threw the yuggle at Bandit. It hit the dog on the head and dropped onto the nature strip. The dog renewed its attack. Barking and lunging forward.
Then it stopped. And sniffed.
The yuggle had begun to grow. It bubbled and fizzed like brown soapsuds pouring out of a washing machine. Then it began to take shape. A bulge formed at one end. Four muddy stick legs grew underneath it. It sprouted fur.
The yuggle turned into a dog. A frozen copy of the savage animal that snapped and snarled around it. Not a live dog. More like a stuffed dog. A replica of Bandit. It had fur. It had red swollen eyes. And its mouth was pulled back in a solid snarl. But it wasn’t alive. It was only a statue. Of sorts.
Bandit growled and circled the new dog. It sniffed and snuffed. The woman peered over the fence in terrified silence. Pockets gave a nervous smile and stepped back. Cactus followed him. Time seemed to stand still. The minutes ticked by. Nothing moved except Bandit who darted in and out, snapping at its silent twin.
The yuggle dog quivered, just for a second. It gave a tense little shiver. Then it squeaked three times.
‘Oh no,’ yelled Pockets. ‘It’s going to collapse.’ He moved back. Bandit moved closer.
The copy of Bandit couldn’t keep it up. A bulge like a boil grew on its head. It suddenly erupted and a brown river of brommit poured out. Bandit grabbed the decaying dog in its teeth. The yuggle dog burst and melted into a brown stinking mess on the grass.
Bandit’s nose was covered it in. The poor animal yelped and wiped at its snout. It rolled over on the grass, rubbing its mouth on the ground in a pitiful effort to remove the smell. Then it gave a yelp and a squeal. And raced down the street at enormous speed. The woman took one last horrified look at the brommit. Then she ran after her dog. ‘Bandit,’ she called. ‘Bandit, come back.’
8
Pockets and Cactus ran too. They didn’t stop until they reached the school gate. They didn’t even notice the kids milling around the gym waiting for the mushroom weigh-in.
‘Boy,’ said Pockets. ‘These yuggles are dangerous.’
‘Maybe we should get rid of it,’ said Cactus slowly.
Pockets peered into the bag at the last yuggle and the one lonely mushroom next to it. ‘Nah,’ he said. ‘It might be useful. We can still win that Easter egg, you know. If we use our brains.’
‘How?’ asked Cactus.
‘This yuggle might be able to help,’ said Pockets. He reached into the bag and pulled out the last yuggle. He held it up and stared at it. Then he reached down and took out the little mushroom. ‘Go on,’ he said to the yuggle. ‘Change.’ He rubbed the yuggle and the mushroom together. Nothing happened.
‘Something’s missing,’ said Cactus slowly. ‘It’s not going to change. You know what? I think it only changes when someone mean is around. Maybe when it’s scared. Mr Took was real mean. And so was that woman with the dog. The yuggle only changes if someone nasty is around.’
Pockets was desperate. He thought of poor little Midge in hospital. He thought of that enormous Easter egg covered in chocolate angels. He thought of the bag of mushrooms that had been stolen. The prize should have been his. He watched sadly as kids walked into the gym carrying bags of mushrooms. None had a bag as big as the one that had been stolen. None except Smatter, that is.
9
Smatter and Johnson staggered up to the door carrying an enormous sack between them. They sneered at Pockets and his little mushroom and toadstool. Then they disappeared inside.
‘That’s it,’ yelled Pockets. ‘I can’t take any more of this.’ He was trying not to cry.
‘What are you going to do?’ asked Cactus in a worried voice.
‘I’m going in,’ said Pockets. ‘With the last yuggle. If it won’t do its thing, well I’ll …’
‘You’ll what?’ said Cactus.
‘I’ll nick the Easter egg.’
‘Steal it?’ yelled Cactus.
‘Yeah,’ answered Pockets. ‘It’s in a fridge, out the back. I’ll take it and escape out the back door. Everyone will be too busy watching the weigh-in. No one will know.’
‘You can’t,’ said Cactus. ‘It would be stealing.’
‘No it won’t,’ yelled Pockets. ‘It should be mine. We had the most mushrooms. Smatter stole them.’
Without another word Pockets rushed into the hall.
‘I’m not coming,’ shouted Cactus. ‘Not if you’re going to steal it.’ Cactus stood there, looking at the gym and listening to the shouts and cheers coming from inside. He felt sorry for Midge. But stealing the egg wasn’t the answer.
Minutes ticked by. Half an hour passed. Cactus waited and worried. Suddenly an enormous cheer went up inside the hall. Cactus wondered what had happened. It didn’t take long to find out.
Smatter had won the competition. He burst out of the door followed by dozens of cheering kids. He held the enormous Easter egg above his head like a trophy. Then he spotted Cactus standing there looking at his boots. Smatter smirked. ‘Suffer,’ he yelled at Cactus.
Cactus felt the anger boiling inside him. But he didn’t say anything. Not a word. Smatter came over. He broke a chocolate angel off the egg and ate it. He stuffed it into his mouth. Then he started eating the egg. In front of everybody.
‘Pig,’ said Cactus.
‘You think I’m a pig,’ said Smatter. ‘Just watch this then.’ He broke off enormous chunks of chocolate and stuffed them into his mouth. No one had ever eaten so fast. Or so greedily.
Cactus felt his heart sink inside him. He thought of grabbing the remains of the egg and running for it. But it wouldn’t be any good now. Little Midge wouldn’t want a half-eaten egg. And anyway all the chocolate angels had already disappeared down Smatter’s gullet.
Cactus took a step forward. He couldn’t control himself. He wanted to punch Smatter on the nose. But before he could move, he noticed something. It was Pockets. He was waving through the gym window. Making signals. And shaking his head. Cactus stopped. And watched as Smatter scoffed down the whole Easter egg. What a guts. No one else even got a taste.
10
Smatter looked around at the crowd of kids outside the gym. They couldn’t believe that anyone could scoff so much chocolate in so short a time.
Just as Smatter was wiping the last traces from his lips, Pockets burst out of the door. He was carrying another Easter egg. It was exactly the same as the one Smatter had just eaten. Even the little angels were identical.
Cactus couldn’t take it in. He tried to work out what was going on. The yuggle must have copied itself into an Easter egg. And Pockets was carrying it. ‘Drop it,’ screamed Cactus. ‘Run for it.’
Pockets just smiled. He wasn’t scared at all.
Smatter stared at the egg in Pockets’s hands. His mouth fell open. But he didn’t say anything. Not a word. He just stood there sort of quivering. And then something strange happened. He gave three little squeaks. Or, to be more exact, three little squeaks came out of his mouth.
Cactus stared at Pockets. He pointed at Smatter with a question on his face. Pockets nodded. ‘He’s eaten the yuggle,’ he yelled.
Well, it was horrible. Just horrible. You wouldn’t want me to tell you how that brommit came pouring out of Smatter’s mouth. You really wouldn’t want to know how everyone screamed and jumped back from the foul flow. It was too terrible to tell. Too terrible.
But you probably won’t be surprised to hear that Smatter didn’t want the real Easter egg. Neither did anyone else. Except Pockets.
It was something to see when he took it to the hospital. Little Midge’s face lit up. She had the biggest smile. She just couldn’t believe it when Pockets walked in the door with that egg all covered in chocolate angels.
Grandad’s Gifts
‘We can’t open that cupboard,’ said Dad. ‘I promised my father. Grandad locked it up many years ago and it’s never been opened.’
; ‘What’s in it?’ I asked.
‘No one knows,’ said Mum.
‘But it’s in my bedroom,’ I said. ‘I need to know what’s in it. It could be anything.’
‘I lived in this bedroom for nineteen years,’ said Dad. ‘And I kept my promise. That cupboard has never been opened. Now I want you to promise me that you’ll never open it.’
They both looked at me, waiting for my answer. Suddenly there was a knock on the door downstairs. ‘It’s the removal van,’ said Mum. ‘About time too.’
Mum and Dad rushed down to help move in our furniture. I wandered around my new room. It was small and dusty with a little dormer window overlooking the tangled garden.
No one had lived in the house for years. It was high in the mountains, far from the city. The garden was overgrown. Ivy had climbed the gum trees. Blackberry bushes choked the paths and strangled the shrubs.
I walked over to the forbidden cupboard and gave the handle a shake. It was locked firm. I put my eye to the keyhole but everything was black. I sniffed under the gap at the bottom of the door. It was musty and dusty. Something silent inside seemed to call me.
It was almost as if a gentle voice was stirring the shadows of years gone by. The stillness seemed to echo my name, ‘Shane, Shane, Shane …’
2
‘Shane.’ Mum shouted up the stairs. ‘Come and help bring these things in.’
They were lifting a large machine from the van. The removalist man had one corner and there was one left for me. ‘Quick, grab it,’ said Dad. ‘It’s heavy.’
I helped lower the machine onto the ground. ‘What is it?’ I asked.
‘A mulcher,’ Dad told me. ‘You put in branches and leaves and twigs and it chews them up into mulch. We’re going to use it to clear up this garden.’
I stared around at the tangled yard. That’s when I saw the two lemon trees for the first time. A big one over near the gate. And a small, shrivelled up one near the back fence. The big tree was covered in lemons. But the small one had only two. It wasn’t much of a tree.
Dad pointed to the big lemon tree. ‘It’s always grown well,’ he said. ‘Grandad shot a fox. He buried its remains under that tree.’
I gave a shiver. I knew that I would never peel one of those lemons. Or eat one.
I carried a box back to my room and started to unpack. I turned my back on the secret cupboard and tried not to listen to the gentle voice lapping like waves in my head. ‘Shane, Shane, Shane …’
Once again I peered through the keyhole. This time I thought I saw two points of light twinkle in the darkness. I shivered. This was creepy. I didn’t really want to live in this room.
3
That night I couldn’t sleep. Every time I opened my eyes I saw the cupboard door. After a long time I finally drifted off. I had a wonderful dream about trees. The branches reached out and stroked me. They lifted me high into the air and passed me along the roof of the forest. I was filled with a wonderful floating power. The soft branches took me wherever I wanted to go.
In the morning I woke feeling wonderful. Instead of getting dressed I decided to move the bed. I wanted to sleep so that I could see out of the window. The bed was old and heavy. It wouldn’t move. I could see that it had been in that spot for years and years.
I ran outside and fetched a long plank. I used it to lever the bed. After a lot of creaking it started to move. Inch by inch. Finally I had it up against the window. The place where the bed had been was covered in dust. I swept it up gently.
The floor creaked under my feet. I knelt down and looked. There was a loose board.
‘Breakfast,’ yelled out Mum.
‘Coming,’ I shouted back.
I tried to prise up the board but it wouldn’t budge. Suddenly it gave way and sprang out. It was almost as if a hidden hand had heaved it up.
I stared inside. Something glinted dully. I reached down and pulled out a rusty key.
‘Shane,’ yelled Mum.
‘Coming,’ I called. I shoved the key in my pocket and raced downstairs. I bolted my breakfast down. I was sure that the key would fit the door of the cupboard. The cupboard I had been forbidden to open.
‘You can help me today,’ said Dad. ‘I’m going to cut back the overgrown trees and put the branches through the mulcher.’
I groaned inside. I was dying to run up and try the key in the cupboard. Now I wouldn’t get a chance until after tea. Dad was a slave driver. He’d give me a big lecture about laziness if I tried to nick off.
4
All day we worked; cutting down branches and feeding them into the mulcher. It roared and spat out a waterfall of woodchips. It was amazing how it could turn a whole tree into sawdust in no time at all.
‘Are you going to cut down the lemon trees?’ I asked.
‘Yes,’ said Dad. ‘I’m putting in native plants. Go on, you can go now. Thanks for helping.’
I ran up to my room and shut the door. Then I took out the rusty key and walked over to the cupboard. I put it in the lock and tried to move it. Blast. It didn’t seem to fit. I jiggled and wiggled it. Then, just like the floorboard, it moved without warning. As if hidden fingers had twisted it.
The doorknob turned easily. I swung open the door.
The fox didn’t move. It had been dead a long time. It hung from a hook at the back of the cupboard. Its body was flat as if it had been run over by a steam roller. Its long, bushy tail hung almost to the floor. Its eyes stared ahead without movement. They were made of glass. I could see that they were sewn on like buttons.
Suddenly the fox moved. Its mouth opened a fraction. My brain froze. The world seemed to spin. I was filled with terror. I gave a scream and slammed the door shut. Then I ran downstairs.
Tea was on the table. I didn’t know what to do. Had the fox’s mouth really opened? It couldn’t have. Maybe I had disturbed it with the breeze of the door opening.
I wanted to tell Dad and Mum. But they had ordered me not to open the cupboard. Dad had lived in that room for all those years and he had never opened it. I could just hear him giving me a lecture. ‘One night,’ he would say. ‘You couldn’t even go one night without breaking your word.’
I hadn’t given my word actually. But that wouldn’t make any difference. An order is an order.
As I ate my tea I thought about the fox. I’d seen it somewhere before. Then suddenly I realised. On the kitchen wall was an old photo of Grandad. Behind him was a hall stand. There were hats and scarves and umbrellas hanging on it. And a fox skin.
‘What’s that thing?’ I said to Dad. I jumped up and pointed to the fox skin.
‘A fox fur. It’s the one Grandad shot. He preserved the skin and made it into a fur wrap for Grandma. But she wouldn’t wear it.’
‘Why not?’
‘She said that she wasn’t going to wear a dead animal around her neck. She felt sorry for it. She said it looked as if it was alive. Grandad was disappointed that she didn’t like his gift.’
‘What happened to it?’ I asked.
‘No one knows,’ said Dad. ‘I couldn’t find it after Grandad died.’
‘It might be in that locked cupboard,’ I said.
Dad looked at me in a funny way. I went red. ‘If it is,’ he said, ‘it stays there. A promise is a promise.’
We all looked at the picture. ‘Pity the photo’s only brown,’ said Dad. ‘That coat of Grandad’s was bright red. And his eyes were the clearest blue.’
I wasn’t really interested in the colours that weren’t in the photo. I was in a real pickle and I didn’t know what to do. I had to sleep in a room with a dead fox in the cupboard. Why had Grandad locked the door and made everyone promise not to open it? What was it about that fox?
5
That night I dreamed more dreams about trees. But this time it was lemon trees. Or should I say lemon tree. A voice seemed to call me. It wanted me to go to the large lemon tree. The voice inside my head told me to go out into the night. And pick a lemon.
Suddenly I knew I had nothing to fear. The fox was my friend. It was sad. Lonely. Lost.
I walked over and gently reached out. I stroked the soft fur with my hand. Dust fell softly away. A great sadness swept over me. The fox was like a beautiful empty bag. Its bones and heart and life were long gone.
And I knew where they were.
‘All right,’ I said. ‘I’ll do it.’
The fox made no answer. It hung limply like the moon’s cast-off coat. I crept down the stairs. Mum and Dad were asleep. I walked between the shadows until I reached the large lemon tree. Where the carcass of the fox had been buried, many years before.
The ripe lemons drooped between the silvery leaves. I knew which one to pick. My hand seemed to have a life of its own. It reached up and plucked a lemon from high on the tree.
I tiptoed back inside the house and crept up the silent stairs. The cupboard was open like a waiting mouth. I wasn’t sure what to do with the lemon. The fox skin hung silently on its peg. I gently opened its jaws and placed the lemon between its teeth. Then I shut the door and jumped into bed.
I pulled the pillow over my head. But even so, I could hear a gentle chewing, sucking, swallowing sound from behind the door.
The fox was feasting.
I finally fell asleep. Deep in carefree slumber.
6
In the morning I peered into the cupboard. At first I thought that nothing had changed. The fox fur still flopped from its peg. But the lemon had gone. I stroked the fox. I ran its tail between my thumb and finger. At the very tip of its tail I stopped. It was hard inside, as if a piece of a broken pencil had been inserted there. It was a small bone.
Unbearable! Page 7
