Unreal Collection!

by Paul Jennings

  Mrs Billings was just going to ask Marcus what he wanted when a strange look came over her face. Her eyes went large and round. They looked as if they were going to pop out. Then she threw her arms around Marcus’s neck and kissed him on the mouth.

  It was hard to say who was more surprised, Marcus or Mrs Billings. They sprang apart and looked around to see if anyone had seen what happened. Marcus didn’t want anyone to see him being kissed by a forty-year-old woman. How embarrassing. ‘My goodness,’ said Mrs Billings. ‘What am I doing? Kissing a perfect stranger. And you’re so young. What has got into me? What would my husband think? Please excuse me. I must be ill. I think I had better go and have a little rest.’ She turned around and walked slowly into the house. She shook her head as she went.

  6

  Marcus rode home slowly. He was not pleased. This was not working out the way he wanted. What if someone had seen him being kissed by an old lady like Mrs Billings? He would never live it down. He had had the lipstick for two weeks now and had only received one decent kiss. None of the girls would go out with him. And he couldn’t wear the lipstick just anywhere – he didn’t want any other mothers kissing him.

  He decided to make Fay Billings kiss him at school, in front of all the other kids. That would show them that he had something special. All the girls would be chasing him after that; he would be the most popular boy in the school.

  He picked his moment carefully. He sat next to Fay for the Maths lesson the next day. She looked at him with a funny expression on her face but she didn’t say anything. Miss White was late for the class. She was a young teacher and was popular with the students, but she was always late. This was the chance that Marcus had been waiting for. He bent down under the desk and put on some of the lipstick. Then he sat up in the desk and looked at Fay.

  The lipstick worked. Fay’s eyes went round and she threw herself onto Marcus and kissed him. Then she jumped back and gave a little cry. Marcus looked around with a grin on his face, but it did not last for long. All the girls’ eyes were wide and staring. Tissy came up and kissed him. And then Gerda and Helen and Betty and Maria. They climbed over each other in the rush to get to him. They shrieked and screamed and fought; they scratched and fought and bit. Marcus fell onto the floor under a struggling, squirming heap of girls.

  When all the sixteen girls in the class had kissed him there was silence. They were in a state of shock – they couldn’t understand what had happened. They just sat there looking at each other. Marcus had his tie ripped off and his shirt was torn. He had a cut lip and a black eye.

  Then Gerda yelled out, ‘I kissed Marcus! Arrgghh . . .’ She rushed over to the tap and started washing her mouth out. All the girls started wiping their mouths as if they had eaten something nasty. Then everybody started laughing. The boys laughed, and the girls laughed. They rolled around the floor holding their sides. Tears rolled out of their eyes. Everybody laughed, except Marcus.

  He knew that they were laughing at him. And he didn’t think that it was funny.

  7

  After all the kissing at school everyone called Marcus ‘Lucky Lips’. Nobody liked Marcus any better than before and the girls still stayed away from him. Everyone talked about the kissing session for a while; then they forgot about it and talked about other things. But Marcus didn’t forget about it. He felt like a fool. Everyone had laughed at him. He was worse off now than he had been before.

  He thought about taking the lipstick back to Ma Scritchet and telling her what he thought about it, but he was too scared. There was something creepy about that old lady and he didn’t really want to see her again.

  Marcus didn’t use the lipstick again for about a month. None of the girls would go out with him and he wasn’t going to risk wearing it just anywhere. Not after what happened at school that day. But he always carried the lipstick with him, just in case.

  The last time he used it was at the Royal Melbourne Show. The whole class at school went there on an excursion. They had to collect material for an assignment. Marcus and Fay Billings and two other boys walked around together. The others didn’t really want Marcus with them; they thought he was a show off. But they let him tag along. They didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

  The favourite spots at the show were the sideshows. There were knock-em-downs and rides on the Mad Mouse. There was a fat lady and a mirror maze. There was a ghost train and dozens of other rides. One of the side shows had a sign up saying ‘BIG BEN THE STRONGEST MAN IN THE WORLD’.

  They all milled around looking at the tent. It was close to one of the animal pavilions. There was a great hall full of pigs nearby. ‘Let’s go and look at the pigs,’ said Fay.

  ‘No,’ answered Marcus. ‘Who wants to look at filthy pigs. Let’s go and see Big Ben. He fights people. Anyone who can beat him wins one thousand dollars and gets to kiss the Queen Of The Show.’

  ‘That would be just the thing for Lucky Lips,’ said Fay. They all laughed, except Marcus. He went red in the face.

  ‘I could get a kiss from the Queen Of The Show,’ he said. They all laughed again. ‘All right,’ said Marcus. ‘Just watch me.’ He paid his dollar and went inside Big Ben’s tent. The others all followed him; they wanted to see what was going to happen.

  Inside the tent was a boxing ring. Big Ben was standing inside it waiting for someone to fight him and try to win the thousand dollars and a kiss from the Queen Of The Show. She sat on a high chair behind the ring. Marcus looked at her. She was beautiful; he wouldn’t mind a kiss from her. Then he looked at Big Ben. He was the biggest man Marcus had ever seen. He had huge muscles and was covered in tattoos. And he looked mean – very mean.

  Marcus ducked around the ring to where the Queen Of The Show sat. He quickly put on some of the invisible lipstick, and at once the beauty queen jumped off her chair and kissed Marcus. Everyone laughed except Big Ben. He roared in fury. ‘Trying to steal a kiss without a fight, are you?’ he yelled. ‘I’ll teach you a lesson, my boy.’

  Marcus tried to run away but he was not quick enough. Big Ben grabbed him and lifted Marcus high into the air. Then he walked outside the tent and across to the pig pavilion. Marcus wriggled and yelled, but it was no good; he couldn’t get away. Big Ben carried Marcus over to one of the pig pens and threw him inside.

  Marcus crashed to the floor of the pen. He felt dizzy. The world seemed to be spinning around. He tried to stand up, but he couldn’t. The floor was covered in

  foul-smelling muck. In the corner Marcus could see the biggest pig that he had ever seen. It was eating rotten vegetables and slops from a trough. It was dribbling and slobbering as it ate. Its teeth were green. It turned around and looked at Marcus. It was a sow.

  Marcus suddenly remembered something that Ma Scritchet had said about the lipstick. She had said: ‘It will work on any female.’ Marcus started to scream. ‘Get me out. Get me out.’

  But it was too late. The sow came over for her kiss.

  ‘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 t
he 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.

  I cried out and sat up in bed. The cupboard door had swung open. The fox’s glass eyes glinted in the moonlight. I thought it moved. It seemed to sigh gently.

  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.

  I gasped. That bone had not been there the day before.

  The next night I visited the lemon tree again. Again I fed the fox. And again his tail grew firmer. Strengthened by another bone.

  Each day I helped my father chop the trees and feed the mulcher. And each night I fed the fox from the lemon tree.

  At the end of two weeks the fox was round and plump. Its fur had lost its dust. It glistened, strong and full. It was a fine fox. But it still hung from the peg. Its head flopping near the floor.

  My work was nearly done. On the second-last night I placed my hand on its chest.