Uncanny!

by Paul Jennings

  Next he put on the blue tightrope walker’s set of clothes. He went down to the back fence and walked along the top edge. It was a high paling fence and it was a bit wobbly. Matthew held out his arms to the side like plane wings and started to walk. He was great. He walked the whole length of the fence without falling off. ‘That was terrific,’ I yelled. I gave him a big clap.

  The scarecrow regarded us with its frozen grin.

  It didn’t clap.

  That was when I noticed how quiet the garden was. There was no noise at all. Not a rustle. Not even a bird call. I looked around and saw the crows sitting far off in some trees. The birds were too frightened to even come into the garden.

  ‘Those clothes have done wonders for the scarecrow,’ said a voice behind us. ‘The birds won’t come anywhere near it.’ It was Dad.

  ‘I don’t blame them,’ I answered. ‘I’m not going anywhere near it either.’ The scarecrow seemed to have its gaze fixed on Dad. It hated him. I knew that it hated him. ‘It’s proud,’ I said. ‘And it’s haughty. And it’s mean.’

  ‘And it’s only a scarecrow,’ added Dad. ‘I don’t care what it looks like as long as it keeps the birds off.’

  The crows started to caw. Long, mournful cries like lost babies in the night.

  3

  Matthew went inside and put on the knife-thrower’s outfit. The whole thing was made of leather covered in little scratch marks. When Dad wasn’t looking Matthew took a sharp knife out of the kitchen drawer and snuck off along the cliff. I knew that he was going to pretend to be a knife-thrower in the circus.

  I looked out of the window at the scarecrow. It seemed to be closer to the house than it was before. It was on the edge of the vegetable patch instead of the middle. It was grinning horribly. It was staring straight at me. 1 went into my bedroom and hid behind the curtain. I peeked at it through a chink so that it couldn’t see my face. I felt a bit silly. Dad was right. It was only a scarecrow.

  And then my heart almost stopped. The scarecrow now stood on the edge of the lawn. It had moved forward about a metre while I was changing rooms. There was no one around outside. Dad was in the lounge watching the football on television.

  ‘It’s coming,’ I screamed. ‘It’s coming.’

  Dad rushed into the room. ‘What’s coming?’ he asked.

  ‘The scarecrow,’ I said. ‘It’s coming to get us. No. It’s coming to get you Dad. It hates you. Look. It’s moved onto the lawn.’

  Dad peered out of the window. The scarecrow was back in the middle of the vegetable patch.

  ‘You’ve been watching too much television,’ said Dad. ‘I don’t want to hear any more nonsense about that scarecrow.’ A great roar erupted from the TV set. ‘A goal,’ said Dad. ‘And I missed it because of a scarecrow.’ He gave me a black look and rushed back into the lounge.

  A little later, Matthew’s face appeared at the window. He was holding his finger up to his lips. ‘Sh,’ he whispered. ‘Come and watch this.’

  I followed Matthew along the cliff until we were out of sight of the house. He was still dressed in the knife-thrower’s costume. He stopped at a large fence-post on the edge of the cliff. Then he turned and walked backwards twenty steps until he was about seven metres from the post. He took out the silver kitchen knife and suddenly threw it at the post. It spun like a propeller flashing silver in the sunshine. With a dull ‘thunk’ it dug into the post. It quivered silently in the still sea air.

  I didn’t like what I was seeing. I started to understand what was happening but I had to be sure. Matthew was grinning. His grin was almost as big as the scarecrow’s. ‘Do it again,’ I said. ‘Let’s see you do it again.’

  ‘No worries,’ said Matthew. ‘I’m an expert. I have natural talent.’ He fetched the knife and walked back another twenty paces. This time he turned his back to the post. ‘Watch this,’ he said. He held the knife by its blade and threw it over his shoulder. He threw the knife at the post without even looking. Once again the knife spun, glittering and humming in the air. Once again it thunked into the post, splintering the grey wood as its point found the target.

  Matthew smiled. A happy, boastful smile. ‘I’m a fantastic knife thrower,’ he said. ‘I never miss. Fancy that. I lived for fourteen years without knowing what a good knife thrower I am.’

  ‘It’s not you,’ I whispered hoarsely. ‘It’s the clothes. You are getting strange powers from the clothes. That outfit belonged to a knife thrower in a circus. Now he is dead and you are getting his skill from the outfit.’

  The smile fell from his face. ‘What do you mean?’ he said. I could tell that he didn’t like what I was saying.

  ‘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 back yard 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 w
e 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 1 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 against 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. And 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 which 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 n
ot 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.’

  About the Author

  Paul Jennings is Australia’s multi-award winning master of madness. The Paul Jennings phenomenon began with the publication of Unreal! in 1985. Since then, his stories have been devoured all around the world. The top-rating TV series Round the Twist and Driven Crazy are based on his stories.

  Paul Jennings has been voted ‘favourite author’ by children in Australia over forty times and has won every children’s choice award in Australia. In 1995 he was made a Member of the Order of Australia for services to children’s literature, and in 2001 was awarded the Dromkeen Medal for services to children’s literature.