Paul Jenning's Weirdest Stories

by Paul Jennings

  ‘Now,’ I told him, ‘push the bin into the freezer. Push it in with the truck.’ I opened the freezer doors and Jack nudged the steel bin into the freezer. He left the rope hanging out of the bin.

  ‘To get the ice block out with,’ said Jack.

  We shut the freezer doors. ‘How long?’ I asked. ‘How long till she’s frozen?’

  ‘Tomorrow lunchtime. By lunchtime tomorrow Jingle Bells will be frozen inside the biggest man-made ice block in the world.’ We grinned at each other. It was better than letting her wash out to sea.

  Just then we heard a loud banging coming from the street. Jack went over and opened the door to the street. It was Gravel. He was still as mad as a snake. ‘Where’s my cow?’ he yelled. ‘I want my cow.’

  ‘It’s dead,’ said Jack angrily. ‘Are you satisfied now?’

  Gravel narrowed his eyes. ‘A dead cow’s worth eighty dollars for pet food,’ he said. ‘I want it back.’

  Jack opened and closed his fist. For a moment I thought he was going to punch Gravel but he didn’t. He slammed the door closed in his face. ‘Buzz off,’ he shouted. ‘Jingle Bells stays here.’

  Gravel screamed at us through the door. ‘I’ll be back. Just you see. I’ll be back.’

  ‘Ratbag,’ said Jack under his breath.

  I went home for the night. But Jack slept at the ice works just in case Gravel came back.

  At lunchtime the next day we opened the freezer. Jack backed in the crane and attached it to the rope. The crane groaned and smoked. Nothing happened. It had never lifted anything so heavy before. ‘Try again,’ I yelled.

  This time the ice block started to move. Slowly at first – and then with a ‘pop’ and a ‘slurp’ it jumped out of the bin. Jack lowered it to the floor.

  And there stood Jingle Bells. Inside the great block of ice. A frozen statue. Her unblinking eyes seemed to stare at us. But I knew they couldn’t see anything.

  ‘Where does she go?’ asked Jack.

  ‘Well,’ I said, ‘Jingle Bells starts with “J”. “J” comes between “I” and “K”. You will have to put her between the ibis and the kookaburra.’ Jack started up the truck and pushed Jingle Bells’ icy home against the wall in front of the kookaburra. Then he started filling the bin up again with tap water.

  ‘Leave the hose running on its own,’ I said to Jack. ‘I want to talk to you.’

  We went outside and shut the freezer door. ‘Look,’ I said, ‘it’s not right to leave poor old Jingle Bells there. She is still locked inside. There are no windows in the freezer. It’s just like in the shed. I want her to be under the blue sky. In a paddock of grass. And anyway, Gravel might come back and get her. We have to take Jingle Bells to the country.’

  Jack scratched his head. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘Let’s do it now.’

  9

  We loaded Jingle Bells’ ice block onto the back of the truck and drove off. We didn’t care what people thought. We drove out over the West Gate Bridge with Jingle Bells standing on the back inside the ice block. We were followed by a great, long, snaking queue of cars. Everyone wanted to catch a glimpse of the cow inside the ice block.

  After a couple of hours we turned off a side road and headed for the hills. There was no one following us. I hoped.

  We went by streams and stretching farms. We went through gum forests and wattle-lined roads. ‘This is more like it,’ I said. ‘This is where Jingle Bells belongs.’

  At last we came to a quiet, shady glen. There was long, cool grass surrounded by a leafy gum forest. There were no fences. ‘This is it, Jack,’ I said. ‘This is what we have been looking for.’

  We drove the truck into the middle of the field and stopped. Then we unloaded Jingle Bells onto the grass. The ice had melted a fair bit. Her horns were sticking out into the air. I took a shovel out of the truck.

  ‘What’s that for?’ asked Jack.

  ‘To bury her,’ I said. ‘To bury her after the ice melts.’

  ‘Don’t start digging yet,’ said Jack. ‘Let’s wait awhile.’

  Jack and I sat down and gazed at poor frozen Jingle Bells standing in her ice block in the middle of the field. We were hot and tired. The bees buzzed. The birds called. The golden sun shone in the heavens. A hot north wind was blowing.

  We sat and watched the still, silent ice cow for a long time. Then we both fell asleep.

  I was awakened by something licking my face. I sat bolt upright. It was night time. There was no moon. ‘Jack,’ I yelled. ‘Jack. Wake up.’ I couldn’t see anything. The air was still warm but the night was black.

  I heard heavy footsteps crashing off into the bush.

  ‘What is it?’ said Jack. ‘What’s going on? Where are you?’

  Suddenly the moon came out and we peered at each other in the soft light. Then we looked at the ice block. Or I should say we looked at where the ice block had been. It was gone. Melted. And Jingle Bells was gone too. Jack ran over and felt the wet grass. Then he pointed at something. It was a pat of sloppy cow dung. And footprints, no, not foot prints – cow prints. Leading off into the bush.

  ‘Let’s go and find her,’ I yelled.

  Jack put his hand on my arm. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Our work is done. Let’s go home.’

  I looked at him for a long time without saying anything. I knew he was right. I nodded slowly. We climbed into the truck. Just before the engine fired I heard something wonderful. Six short, happy moos. They sounded a bit like the first few bars of the Christmas carol ‘Jingle Bells’.

  Jack and I both smiled as we drove down the road without talking. After a while I said, ‘Did you know that was going to happen?’

  Jack nodded. ‘Well,’ I went on, ‘why don’t you thaw out all the animals in the collection and bring them back to life?’

  ‘Because,’ said Jack slowly, ‘the tank had different water. And now it’s gone. I was saving it up for someone or something special.’ He wouldn’t talk about it any more after that.

  10

  When we got back to the ice works Jack went inside the freezer to check his collection. ‘Look at this,’ he yelled. ‘Someone has broken in.’

  There was a small hole in the roof of the freezer and a short bit of rope hanging down. There was no one around though. And nothing had been touched. All of the frozen animals sat silently on their shelves.

  The big bin of water was directly under the hole in the roof. I climbed up and looked in. ‘There’s something in there,’ I said. ‘And it’s frozen inside the ice. Something has fallen into the water and couldn’t get out. It’s been frozen with the water inside the bin.’

  Jack brought in his truck and tipped the bin over on its side. A giant ice block crashed out onto the floor.

  We both stared and stared. Gravel was frozen inside. He must have broken in through the freezer roof looking for Jingle Bells and fallen into the water. Now he was frozen in a block of ice.

  His frozen fingers were clawed as if he was just about to scratch someone. His mouth was snarled back in a silent scream. His eyes stared without seeing.

  ‘What will we do with him?’ gasped Jack.

  ‘Well,’ I said, ‘Gravel starts with “G”. That comes between “F” and “H”. So we put him over there.’

  And as far as I know he is still there. Staring out from the ice. With a frozen fox on one side and a hare on the other.

  THUMP.

  ‘Oh, gawd,’ said my friend Derek.

  ‘What?’

  ‘We’ve run over a dog.’

  Derek’s dad looked in the mirror and pulled the Mercedes over to the side of the road. The three of us jumped out and started walking back to the small, still bundle in the middle of the road.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Derek. ‘My dad will take care of things.’

  We were on our way to a volleyball game. Derek’s dad was taking a shortcut because we were late.

  It was dark and hard to see. But the dog seemed to be lying very still. I didn’t want to look.
What if it was dead and all squashed, with blood and guts hanging out? Or even worse – what if it was squashed and alive? What would we do then?

  I could feel my stomach churning. I rushed over to a bush and threw up. The spew splashed all over my shoes. Ugh. I hate being sick. And I hate looking like a wimp.

  Derek’s dad had already reached the dog. He was bending down, trying to see in the dark. Before he could move, a feeble voice filtered through the trees. ‘Tinker, Tinker. Come here, boy. Where are you?’

  A little old man with wispy hair stumbled onto the road. ‘Have you seen –’ he started to say. His gaze fell on the small dog lying on the road. ‘Tinker?’ he said. He fell to his knees with a sob and started to feel all over the dog. He tried to find a pulse.

  ‘Gone,’ he said looking up at us as if we were murderers. ‘Our poor little Tinker.’

  We all stared guiltily at each other. I didn’t know what to say. Derek and I walked over to the dog. It was very dark but I could see a little smear of blood coming out of one nostril. The dog was a bit flat and stiff. But that was all. No bones sticking out or anything awful like that. If it wasn’t for the glassy, staring eyes you might have thought it was still alive.

  The old man clasped the dog to his chest as if it was a baby. Then he stumbled off towards a nearby farmhouse without another word.

  I wanted to get back in the car and drive off. I just wanted to put a big distance between us and what we had done. But not Derek’s dad. He was so calm. He always knew what to do. He was a pilot in the airforce. He flew Phantom jets. Once he had to bail out over Bass Strait when an engine caught fire. He was a hero. Strong and handsome and tough.

  Just the opposite of my dad. Don’t get me wrong. I love my dad. But … well, let’s face it. He’s no oil painting. And he drives a beat-up old truck. And he’s not a pilot. He’s a …

  I just couldn’t bring myself to say it. Derek was always asking me what my dad does. I didn’t want to tell him. It was too awful.

  Derek’s dad stared up the track. What was he going to do? Jump in the car and drive off? No way. ‘Listen, boys,’ he said. ‘We have to do the right thing. We have to try and make up for what we’ve done.’

  ‘Dad always does the right thing,’ said Derek proudly.

  A light was shining on the porch of the small farmhouse. Derek’s dad started to walk towards it. We followed along behind. I had a sinking feeling in my stomach. And it wasn’t because I’d just been sick.

  The old man might not be very pleased to see us. He might go troppo.

  But then I cheered up. After all, Derek’s dad had parachuted out of a jet fighter at ten thousand metres. He could handle anything.

  2

  Derek’s dad knocked on the farmhouse door. Not a little timid knock like my dad would have done. A real loud, confident knock. Derek smiled.

  There was a bit of shuffling and rustling inside and then the door swung open. I could just make out the shape of the dog covered by a blanket in front of the fire inside. The old man stared at us with tear-filled eyes. His lips started to tremble. For a minute I thought he was going to faint.

  ‘The dog just ran out of nowhere,’ said Derek’s dad. ‘We didn’t even see it.’

  ‘Tinker,’ said the old man. ‘Poor darling Tinker.’

  ‘We’d like to do something,’ said Derek’s dad.

  ‘I know how you must feel.’

  The old man beckoned us inside. Derek’s dad gave us a confident nod and led the way. The room was gloomy, lit only by a lamp. The old man collapsed into a chair and sank his head into his hands. He started to sob and rub at his eyes. Then he looked up and spoke.

  ‘Please excuse me,’ he said. ‘I’m not crying for me. I’m crying for Jason.’

  ‘Jason?’ said Derek’s dad.

  The old man held a finger to his lips. Then he hobbled across the room and silently opened a door. We tiptoed over and peeped in. A small boy with a pale face was sleeping peacefully in a rough wooden bed.

  ‘My grandson, Jason,’ said the old man. ‘His parents were both killed in a car accident last year. He wouldn’t talk to anyone. Not a word. Just sat looking at the wall. Until I bought him that dog. As a puppy. It got him talking again. “Tinker,” he said. “I’ll call him Tinker.” ’

  A tear started to run down the old man’s cheek.

  We all fell silent and stared at Jason lying there asleep. The poor kid. His parents were dead. And now his dog, Tinker, was dead too. What would he say when he woke up? Would he lose his speech again?

  Derek’s dad pulled out his wallet. ‘I’ll pay for a new dog,’ he said.

  ‘Good on ya, Dad,’ said Derek. His dad was so kind. He couldn’t bring Tinker back to life but he was going to pay for a replacement. We all stared at the wallet. It was stuffed full of money. That was another good thing about Derek’s dad. He was rich.

  The old man shook his head. ‘He won’t take to a new dog,’ he said. ‘It’ll have to be Tinker or nothing.’

  Derek’s dad shook his head sadly. ‘I can’t bring Tinker back from the dead,’ he said. ‘No one can do that. But where did you get the dog?’

  The old man brightened up a bit. ‘Fish Creek,’ he said. ‘There’s a guy down there who breeds them.’

  3

  We spent ages driving around country back roads. In the middle of the night. Looking for the kennels at Fish Creek where the dead dog came from. ‘We’ll never find it,’ I groaned.

  Derek’s dad stopped the car at a dark crossroads. ‘Get out, boys,’ he said.

  We scrambled out of the car and stood there in the silent countryside. Derek and I didn’t have a clue what was going on.

  ‘Listen,’ said Derek’s dad.

  We listened. We strained our ears. Nothing but crickets and frogs. But then. Then. Faintly. Far away. The sound of dogs barking. We all grinned. Derek’s dad was so smart.

  ‘You’re a genius, Dad,’ said Derek.

  I thought about my own dad. He would be at the volleyball match. He’d gone on ahead. On his own. He knew I wanted to have a ride in the Mercedes. He didn’t mind having no one to talk to. My dad was a quiet person.

  Derek’s dad followed the sound of the dogs until we came to the kennels. It was a ratty old place with cages and dumped cars everywhere. As we drew up to the house dozens of dogs began to snarl and snap and howl. I was glad they were in cages. They sounded like they wanted to tear us to pieces.

  A big guy in a blue singlet staggered out and looked into the car. He had a bushy beard. In one hand he held a stubby of beer. Over on the porch I saw a speedboat. A brand new one by the look of it.

  ‘Nick off,’ growled the guy in the blue singlet. ‘We don’t like strangers in the middle of the night.’

  Derek’s dad opened his wallet. ‘We’ve come to buy a dog,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Derek.

  The bloke grinned with big yellow teeth and opened the car door. ‘In that case,’ he said. ‘Come in.’

  Derek’s dad told him the story of little Jason and the dead dog and how we wanted another one the same before he woke up.

  ‘Only one left from the litter,’ said the dog breeder. ‘And I can’t remember if it looks the same as Tinker.’ He led us out to a shed and showed us a dog. We all smiled at each other. It was exactly the same as the dead dog. It even had a little brown patch on its left ear.

  ‘Just the shot,’ beamed Derek’s dad. ‘How much?’

  ‘A thousand dollars.’

  Derek’s dad turned pale. ‘How much?’ he said again.

  ‘A thousand bucks,’ said the dog breeder. ‘This is my breeding bitch. It’s the only female in the country. They are very rare dogs. Mongolian Rat Catchers.’

  ‘You can afford it, Dad,’ said Derek. ‘Go on, buy it.’

  Derek’s dad looked at us. He looked at the dog breeder. He looked at the dog. Then he handed over the thousand dollars. In cash.

  What a man. Fancy paying a thousand dollars. Just to
help out a little boy he didn’t even know.

  ‘My father doesn’t even have a thousand dollars,’ I thought to myself. ‘Geez, Derek is lucky.’

  4

  ‘Let’s go,’ said Derek’s dad. ‘We have to get back with this dog before little Jason wakes up and finds out that Tinker is dead.’

  We jumped into the Mercedes and tore back to the farmhouse. The little man opened the door before we could even knock. ‘He’s still asleep,’ he whispered. ‘Come in quick.’

  We all walked into the gloomy room and Derek’s dad put the new dog on the table. It immediately started to lick the little man’s hand. He peered at it carefully and then wiped tears of joy from his eyes. ‘Amazing,’ he said. ‘It’s exactly the same. Jason will never know the difference.’

  The new dog wagged its tail happily.

  ‘Where’s the dead dog?’ asked Derek’s dad.

  The little man picked up a sack and opened it. We all stared into the gloom at the dead dog. There was no doubt about it. You just couldn’t tell the difference between the two animals.

  The new dog jumped off the table, ran over to the sack and started barking like crazy. It didn’t like what was in there at all. The noise was enough to wake the dead. ‘Tinker, Tinker?’ came a boy’s weak voice. The old man threw a quick look at little Jason’s door and quickly pushed the sack aside. Then he grabbed the new dog and took it into the bedroom.

  We all followed him into the room. Jason was sitting up in bed, calling to the new dog feebly. He looked at it. He frowned. He looked puzzled. ‘Tinker,’ he said in a worried voice. ‘You’ve lost your collar.’

  The old man shuffled back into the kitchen, put his hand into the sack and took the collar from the dead dog. ‘Here it is,’ he said. ‘I was just cleaning it.’

  Jason threw out his arms and hugged the new dog. ‘Oh Tinker,’ he said. ‘I love you.’

  5

  The Mercedes wound it way through the mountains. Now we were really late for the volleyball match. ‘It was worth a thousand dollars,’ said Derek’s dad. ‘Just to see the look on that poor boy’s face.’