Paul Jenning's Spookiest Stories

by Paul Jennings

  ‘When you had the blue tightrope walker’s outfit on you could walk the fence without falling off,’ I said. ‘And when you wore the clown’s clothes you kept acting the fool. You get the powers from the clothes.’

  ‘Bull,’ said Matthew angrily. ‘You’re jealous. You’re a know-all. You think you know everything.’ He turned around and stomped off.

  ‘It’s the same with the scarecrow,’ I said. ‘It’s got powers from the red tightrope walker’s outfit. Only it’s got something else as well. Something worse. It’s got the evil mind of whoever owned the clothes. And it’s coming to get Dad. It’s moving. I saw it.’

  Matthew looked at me in a funny way. ‘You really saw it move?’ he asked.

  I went red. ‘Well, I didn’t actually see it but it did move. It was in a different place.’

  Matthew turned round and stormed off. He wouldn’t let me say one more thing. He went so fast that I couldn’t catch up with him.

  4

  By the time I got home Matthew had told Dad the whole thing. Dad was cross with both of us. He told Matthew off for taking the kitchen knife but he was really mad at me. ‘I don’t know what’s got into you,’ he said. ‘First you start raving on about the scarecrow coming to get us and now you’re trying to make out that these clothes have strange powers. Don’t be such a know-all, Kate.’

  Then he said something that made my blood run cold. ‘I’m taking Matthew into town. He’s staying with Aunty Ruth for the night. You can make the tea while I’m away.’

  ‘You can’t leave me here alone,’ I yelled. I pointed out the window at the scarecrow. ‘Not with him.’ Dad’s face grew angry. I knew that I had better not say any more. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Okay. I’ll see you when you get back.’

  I heard the car drone off into the distance as Matthew and Dad bumped down our track to the front gate. I was alone. The sea was strangely quiet. I gazed along the bleak and empty cliffs. There was no wind and mist was rolling in from the sea. I looked around the landscape for comfort but there was not another house in sight. In the backyard the scarecrow grinned with a twisted smile. I stared at it like a mouse hypnotised by a snake. I couldn’t take my eyes off it.

  Its hat was cocked to one side. Its red tightrope outfit bulged over the straw stuffing. Its legs dangled, moving gently in the breeze.

  What breeze?

  There was no breeze.

  I gave a stifled cry as it made another movement. The scarecrow’s mouth opened. Its jaw just slowly fell open revealing a black hole. A horrible black hole. I screamed and ran into the loungeroom. I looked out of the loungeroom window. It had moved. It was dangling from its pole, which now erupted from the middle of the lawn. It was much closer to the house.

  My mind went numb. I was only a kid. A kid alone in a house with a live scarecrow outside. A scarecrow which was coming towards the house. I panicked. I ran to the front door and bolted it. Then I ran to the back door and turned the key. I checked all of the windows. I told myself that I was safe – but I knew that I wasn’t.

  The scarecrow still stood in the same position. I watched it from the window. It didn’t move. It didn’t seem to want to move while I was watching it. My heart beat a little slower. My brain started to work. I would stand there and not take my eyes off it. Then it couldn’t move.

  We stood there, we two. We stood watching, staring, neither of us moving. I frowned at him and he grinned at me. An hour passed. My legs grew numb but I dared not stir. As long as I held the scarecrow in my gaze, he would not move. The afternoon sky darkened and the sea mist grew thicker.

  How long could I stand there? Where was Dad? What if he didn’t come back until after dark? Would the scarecrow stalk the darkness, knowing that he was safe from my gaze? Would his powers increase at night? Would he care if I saw him move in the blackness of midnight?

  I looked around for a weapon. I had none. None that could fight this terrible spectre. I had to do something before darkness fell. And then my glance fell upon the pile of circus clothes. I tore my eyes from them and fixed the scarecrow with my gaze. I couldn’t let my eyes wander but my mind was free to roam. An idea nibbled away at the back of my mind. There was help in those clothes – I was sure of it.

  5

  I backed towards the pile, still keeping my eyes firmly on the scarecrow. I bent down and picked up one of the outfits. I put on one piece after another until my normal clothes were completely covered. Then I sat and stared and stared and stared.

  ‘Now, Mr Scarecrow,’ I said after a long time. ‘Now I know what to do.’

  I tore off the outfit. I had a big job in front of me and it had to be done before dark. I gathered up all of the circus clothes and stuffed them into a plastic garbage bag. Then I rushed out to the garage and fetched a coil of rope, a short length of chain and Dad’s wire strainers. I also grabbed his longest fishing rod – a huge bamboo surf rod. My load was heavy, but fear gave me strength.

  I headed off towards the cliff, pausing every now and then to look behind me. I came to a fork in the track. One track led down to a small bay and the other headed off to the edge of Dead Man’s Drop – a deep chasm between two high cliffs. Dad would never let Matthew or me go near Dead Man’s Drop. The cliffs fell straight down to the surging waves beneath. Anyone who fell would not return.

  I struggled on until I reached the edge of Dead Man’s Drop. A barbed-wire cattle fence ended at the edge of the cliff. Whoever had put the last post in had been brave. It was concreted into the ground at the very edge. I put down my load and picked up the surf rod. I took off the hooks and tied a heavy sinker to the end. Then, after checking the reel, I cast the sinker towards the cliff on the other side. It arced high into the air – too high. The sinker plunged down into the savage waves below. I wound the line in as fast as I could. I knew that my first cast wouldn’t work.

  I tried again.

  This time I did it right. The sinker curved beautifully through the air and landed on top of the cliff on the other side. I put down the rod and cut off the line. Then I tied the fishing line to one end of the long coil of rope. I tied the other end of the rope to the fencepost.

  I looked at the sky. It was growing dark. I looked down the empty track.

  Nothing.

  I took out one of the outfits and folded it up next to the post. All the other costumes I threw over the cliff into the sea. The greedy waves consumed them and the clothes soon vanished beneath the boiling water. I disconnected the fishing reel and laid the bamboo rod on top of the one remaining outfit.

  Taking the short length of chain and the wire strainers with me, I ran along the edge of Dead Man’s Drop. It was about a kilometre to the other side. As I ran I looked over my shoulder down the darkening track. Still nothing.

  At last I reached the other side. I searched around in the stubble for my sinker. I finally saw it lying close to the edge of the cliff. I managed to retrieve it by lying on my stomach and stretching out my hand. I pulled the fishing line in and drew the rope gently after it, across the top of Dead Man’s Drop. Next I tied the short chain to the end of the rope. Then I grabbed the wire strainers and stretched the rope tight against another fencepost. It had to be tight. Very tight.

  The sky grew dark. The clouds were now scudding across the sky and the angry waves below crashed and reached up at me with foaming claws.

  Across the other side, down the darkening track, I saw a stumbling figure. It was Dad. He was running and looking over his shoulder as he went. Behind him, with its straw arms stretched to the sky, came the scarecrow. It strode with sure and savage steps, its pole held in one crooked claw, its mouth agape, twisted into an angry snarl.

  I could see that Dad was terrified. He stumbled to the fork in the track and took a few steps down towards the bay and then, changing his mind, headed towards Dead Man’s Drop as I knew he would.

  With amazing speed the scarecrow circled out from the track, trapping Dad against the edge of the cliff. It raised its quivering arms again
st the heavens and gave a terrible roar. I knew that Dad would be no match for its evil strength.

  6

  Dad first gazed down at the sucking sea and then he looked up. He saw me on the other side. ‘Put on the clothes,’ I yelled. ‘Put on the blue outfit.’

  I watched him examine the tightrope walker’s outfit and shake his head. The snarling red scarecrow had tripped over. It let out a grizzly groan and then began crawling forward.

  ‘Quick,’ I screamed, ‘put on the clothes. It’s your only chance.’ Dad pulled off his shoes and clothes, tearing at them like a madman. In a flash he was dressed in blue. He picked up the long bamboo fishing rod and, using it as a balancing pole, took a few steps out along the rope that I had stretched across the ravine. The sea called to him in a savage voice. The needle-sharp rocks thrust upwards from the smashing foam. Dad tottered and then, as if he had been doing it all his life, began walking across the rope. There has never been a feat like it. With firm, unfaltering steps Dad walked out to the middle of the rope. Not once did he look down. The skills of the long-dead tightrope walker passed on to Dad through the suit of clothes.

  By now the scarecrow was on its feet at the edge of the cliff. Its face was twisted with hate and rage. It bent down and tried to shake the rope but I had strained it too tight. It wouldn’t move. The scarecrow tried to untie the knot which held the rope to the post but its straw-filled fingers could not budge it.

  With an angry scream the scarecrow picked up its pole and followed Dad out onto the stretched rope. Two acrobats, the blue and the red, held onto their balancing poles and stepped firmly but precariously into the misty evening air.

  ‘Come on,’ I yelled. ‘Keep going. You can make it. I know you can.’

  And he did. It seemed like a million years but at last Dad stepped onto firm ground. I threw my arms around him and gave him a big hug. ‘No time for that,’ he screamed. He was looking at the scarecrow, coming, coming, coming, across its road of rope.

  ‘Quick,’ yelled Dad. ‘Untie the knot before it gets here.’

  ‘No need,’ I said. ‘The birds will get it.’

  Dad looked around at the empty sky. ‘What are you talking about?’ he yelled. ‘I don’t see any birds.’

  ‘They will be here in a minute,’ I said.

  The scarecrow strode forward. I could see its horrible black hole of a mouth twisted with rage.

  7

  ‘Look,’ I shouted. ‘There they are.’ Hundreds of birds swept low across the cliff. They flew high above the red figure of straw and then began to swoop. The scarecrow’s hat was knocked from his head and it tumbled into the waiting sea. He raised his stick and began swiping at the birds like a man trying to swat flies. Faster and faster they swooped, pecking, fluttering, flapping.

  And then, slowly but certainly, the creature of straw began to totter. He fell, twisting and turning in terrible loops until at last he plunged into the arms of the tearing tide beneath.

  The birds vanished as quickly as they had arrived. Dad and I stood silently staring.

  After a bit Dad took off the blue outfit and threw it into the sea. He stood there shivering in his underpants. ‘How did you know those birds were coming?’ he demanded.

  ‘I knew,’ I answered.

  ‘And how did you know that I would take the track to the cliff and not the track to the beach?’

  ‘I knew. I knew what would happen. I knew you would get across safely.’

  ‘How did you know?’ he said urgently. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘Back at the house,’ I said. ‘I put on an outfit.’

  ‘Which one? Which outfit did you wear?’

  He laughed when I told him, ‘It was the fortune teller’s costume.’

  ‘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 woul
d 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.’