by Duncan Ball
“I’m with you, Larry,” Selby said as he started to take a little cat-nap during the commercial.
Aunt Jetty was just then driving full-bore around Bunya-Bunya Crescent when she slammed on her brakes, sending her truck skidding over the kerb and into the roses in front of the Trifles’ house.
“The Trifles’ cardboard possum!” she screamed, starting for the front door and then remembering that her sister and Dr Trifle were out at the BBBB&BC fete along with everyone else. “They collected all that money for the Doorknock and left it in the cardboard possum piggy bank on the sideboard. If I can only get it and dash back to Doorknock headquarters before it closes I’ll have the golden wishbone! Yahoo!”
Aunt Jetty tore around to the back of the house, narrowly missing a rake that was just waiting to be stepped on to pop up and hit someone on the head knocking them senseless. She quickly went to work prising open the TV room window with her Girl Guides twenty-four-in-one pocket knife and window priser.
Selby had hated Aunt Jetty since the day she told the Trifles the story of how she’d fought off a pack of African wild dogs by wading into the thick of them and thumping them on the head one by one with her walking stick. So he wasn’t any happier about her when she jumped through the window where he lay napping and landed her size sixteen track-shoe on his ear.
“Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!” Selby yelled as he dashed about the room till the pain in his ear died down.
“Ouch? Ouch?” Aunt Jetty said with a grin that spread slowly across her face like hot Vegemite. “Shouldn’t you be saying ‘Arf arf’ or ‘Bow wow’ or some such doggy-talk?”
“You stepped on my ear, you great galumph,” Selby said, then suddenly realised his mistake.
“Well, well, well. How do you like that, a talking dog,” Aunt Jetty said, grabbing the cardboard possum and emptying it into her collection bucket. “You could be very useful indeed — very, very useful. If you don’t make Aunt Jetty filthy rich, then I don’t know anything”
“Grrrrrrrr! Bow wow!” Selby snarled. “Don’t grrrrrrrr me. You can talk as well as the next fellow and don’t try to hide it,” Aunt Jetty said. “Now tell me in the Queen’s good English how you came to talk.”
“Grrrrrrrr!” Selby said again as he thought of the terrible fate that was in store for him.
“None of that now. Out with it!” Aunt Jetty said, raising her famous walking stick in the air. “Or I’ll have your guts for garters”
Suddenly Selby lunged for Aunt Jetty’s collection bucket and came out with a mouthful of dollars.
“You touch me,” he warned her (though it came out “oo-utch-ee” because of the money in his mouth), “and I’ll swallow the dough.”
“Wait a minute. Be reasonable,” Aunt Jetty said as she thought of the golden wishbone pin that she was about to lose if Selby gulped.
“Reasonable schmeasonable. One step closer and I gobble the lolly,” Selby said with a slight growl.
“Okay, okay,” Aunt Jetty said, dropping the walking stick, “you win.”
“And,” Selby added, “not a word to anyone about you-know-what.”
“Okay, dog, it’s a deal. Just give me back the swag. I have other fish to fry.”
“Scout’s honour?” Selby said, holding up his right paw and remembering that Aunt Jetty had been a Girl Guide till she was twenty-six, when they found out she was lying about her age.
“All right,” Aunt Jetty said. “Scout’s honour.”
Selby dropped the money and watched as Aunt Jetty snapped it into the bucket. She then leaped through the window, yelling back over her shoulder as she went, “Too bad, dog, but I had my fingers crossed and it’s no deal. I’ll be back tomorrow and then we tell the world all about your talents,” only to land squarely on the waiting rake which popped up and knocked her senseless.
“Wow,” Aunt Jetty said, staggering around in circles trying to remember who she was and what she was doing wandering around in someone’s backyard. “What happened? Who am I.”
Selby watched from the window as she bent down and put the money back in the bucket and then turned and looked at him.
“There was something about you,” she said, still seeing more stars than anything else. “Something … hmmmmmm … I’ve got it! You can talk, can’t you?”
Selby looked straight at her and gave her his most convincing “grrrrrrrr".
“Oh, sorry,” Aunt Jetty said, suddenly remembering that she was due at Doorknock headquarters in five minutes and dashing away to collect the golden wishbone pin. “Isn’t that funny, for a minute I thought he was a talking dog. What a riot!”
Just then Selby spun around in time to hear the Giant Killer Question and before it was fully out of Larry Limelight’s mouth he had the answer: “Queen Victoria,” he said calmly, “1819 to 1901. Ask us something hard for a change will you, Larry?”
The Screaming Skull with Eyes that Glowed with Terror
It was just after sunset when Selby went to the bookcase and picked up the book he’d been reading called Creepy Tales for Late-Night Enjoyment. He knew it would be safe to do some reading without anyone seeing because Mrs Trifle had just gone out to a meeting of the council and Dr Trifle had gone to bed early.
“She’ll be gone for hours,” Selby said as he started to read the last story in the book, The Case of the Headless Cat, “and nothing short of a major explosion would wake Dr Trifle.”
Selby curled up on the carpet and read the story and then put the book back on the bookshelf.
“Headless cat,” he said with disgust. “That was no headless cat. It was just a white cat with a black head and everybody thought it was headless because they couldn’t see its head at night. What a rip-off! Every story in the book was like that. There was a haunted house that wasn’t haunted after all and there was a ghost that wasn’t a ghost. Scary stories just aren’t scary any more. I know what I’ll do, I’ll write my own scary story, something really creepy.”
With this Selby went to the Trifles’ desk and put a piece of paper in the typewriter and typed The Screaming Skull with Eyes that Glowed with Terror at the top.
“So much for the title,” he said. “Now all I have to do is write the story. Let’s see now, how will I start it? Once upon a time there was a screaming skull … No. Too much like a fairy tale. How about: It was a dark and stormy night… No, I think it’s been done before. I’ve got it! Suddenly the sundial struck midnight.That’s great!” he said, not really knowing what it meant but knowing that it sounded good.
Suddenly the sundial struck midnight, Selby wrote, and a fierce wind pelted Scrunchminster Castle with rain. Lord Scrunch sat at the great oak table sipping his soup and looking at the hideous statue that his great-grandfather had stolen from a temple in Feeblestan three hundred years before.
“Great stuff'!” Selby said as a fierce wind came up and started pelting the Trifles’ house with rain. “I’m a natural writer. This is going to be easy.”
All at once Lord Scrunch heard a tap tap tapping at the window, Selby continued. And when he peered out through the old shutters there was nothing there.
“Wow,” Selby said, looking around nervously and then getting up and turning on every light he could find. “Now that’s creepy the way creepy should be.”
Suddenly Lord Scrunch remembered that it was his one hundredth birthday. He remembered that his father and his grandfather and his great-grandfather had all died mysteriously on their one hundredth birthdays right there at the dining table at Scrunchminster Castle.
“Sheeeesh!” Selby said, looking around again. “This is almost too good.”
Suddenly Lord Scrunch heard a knock knock knocking at the … Selby was in the middle of the sentence when he heard a tapping at the window.
“Gulp,” he said, going into the lounge room and listening. “I wonder what that could be?”
The tapping came again and Selby followed its sound to the back bedroom where Dr Trifle lay sleeping. He waited for a moment and then pul
led up the shade and peered into the darkness. There was nothing there.
“Probably j-just a b-branch hitting the window,” he said, going back to the lounge room and turning on the TV. “I’ll just put this on and then I won’t feel quite so alone.”
The picture on TV was of a foggy night in a graveyard. A dog barked in the background and a man with a long cape came out of the mist and gave an evil laugh. He pulled out a knife and Selby’s hair stood on end from head to tail.
“I j-just changed my mind about TV,” Selby said, turning off the TV and turning on the radio. “Maybe a little m-m-music would be better.”
“Sit back in your chairs,” the voice on the radio said, “and I will tell you the story of The Ghost’s Revenge.”
“Oh no, you won’t,” Selby said, turning off the radio and returning to his story.
Suddenly Lord Scrunch heard a knock knock knocking at the back door and he sat in silence knowing that it was the screaming skull with eyes that glowed with terror. Lord Scrunch waited and soon the knocking was at the front door and a voice cried out: “Let me in. You have something of mine and I’ve come back to get it!”
Just then Selby heard a knock at the back door.
“It c-can’t be,” he said, ripping the page out of the typewriter and tearing it to shreds. “The story is coming true! Next thing you know it’ll be a knocking at the front door! I can’t stand it! I’ve got to tell Dr Trifle.”
Selby dashed into the bedroom where Dr Trifle was sleeping and started barking. But the doctor was sleeping so soundly that even Selby’s loudest barking couldn’t wake him.
“Help!” Selby screamed in plain English. “The screaming skull with eyes that glow with terror is at the back door! Wake up!”
Selby grabbed the doctor’s pillow in his teeth and shook it. For a minute the knocking stopped but then it came again — this time from the front door.
“Dr Trifle!” Selby said, shaking the sleeping man. “It’s me, your faithful dog, Selby! I can talk! I don’t care who knows it now! Just wake up and take care of the screaming skull and I’ll be your servant for life!”
Dr Trifle stopped snoring for a second and then rolled over and started snoring again.
“This is hopeless,” Selby said, tearing out of the bedroom with the pillowcase in his teeth. “You can’t depend on humans. I’ll have to take matters into my own paws. And the only way to deal with this monster is to fight fire with fire.”
“Let me in! You have something of mine and I’ve come back to get it!” the voice outside yelled in the wind.
Selby pulled a high stool to the front door and then climbed on top of it and put the pillowcase over his head.
“Good,” he thought. “I can see through the pillowcase. I’ll just open the door and when I see the skull I’ll leap at it and scare it to death — or scare it anyway.”
“Let me in!” the voice outside the door said again; and the knocking got louder and louder.
“I’ll let you in,” Selby thought as his heart pounded like a bass drum. “I’ll let you in all right!”
With this Selby flung open the door and with a mighty “Aaaaaaaaaaggggggggghhhhhhh!” jumped into the darkness, clearing Mrs Trifle’s head by centimetres, and ran across the front lawn and into the bushes.
“That’s odd,” Dr Trifle said as he stepped into the lounge 0.0room rubbing his eyes. “I wonder what’s got into Selby. He seems to have got stuck in a pillowcase or something, poor old thing.”
“I don’t know,” Mrs Trifle said. “I just came back to get the bag you took from the car this afternoon. It has all the papers I need for the meeting and my house keys as well. You certainly are a sound sleeper. I’ve knocked on every door and window in the place”
By the Skin of His Teeth
Selby’s first problem was a terrible toothache. His second problem was that somehow he had to tell Dr and Mrs Trifle he had a toothache without coming right out with it in plain English and giving away his secret — a secret that he was going to keep even if it killed him.
“Look,” Mrs Trifle said to her husband. “Look at the cute way Selby can curl his lip back. Isn’t that clever.”
“Clever schmever,” Selby thought. “I’ve got a toothache you silly sausage. Don’t look at the lip, look at the teeth.”
Finally, when Selby’s lip was almost as sore from curling it back as his tooth was, he put a paw to his jaw and let out a sound like a werewolf howling at a full moon.
“My goodness,” Dr Trifle said, looking up from the book he was reading, The Inventor’s Guide to Fast-Moving Cam Shafts and Water-Driven Floral Clocks, “I do believe Selby has a toothache.”
“No kidding, Sherlock,” Selby muttered under his breath. “You’re lovely people, both of you, but sometimes you forget that we dogs have our problems too. Now how about doing something about it?”
“The poor old thing,” Mrs Trifle said, looking at Selby’s swollen gums. “I’ll take him to the vet tomorrow and have the tooth pulled.”
Vet? Pulled? The words raced through Selby’s brain like a two-headed goose through clover. “When they have a toothache do they go to a vet and have it pulled? Not on your tonsils,” Selby thought. “They go to a proper tooth-carpenter and have it fixed. But when it’s a poor dumb animal,” he thought, knowing that there was nothing dumb about this animal, “they’d have his tooth pulled as quick as they could blow their noses. Oh, spare me. I’ll have to think of something …”
That afternoon when Mrs Trifle was at a special meeting of the Possum Protection Committee and the doctor was in his workshop making a model of the floral clock at the Bogusville Memorial Rose Garden, Selby sneaked to the phone and dialled Rita Houndstooth, the town dentist.
“With a name like Houndstooth,” Selby said, “she ought to know a little about my problem.”
“Hello,” the voice on the other end of the phone said, “dentist’s surgery. Dr Houndstooth here, can I help you?”
“This is Dr Trifle of Bunya-Bunya Crescent,” Selby said, putting on his best imitation of the doctor’s voice. “Do you treat dogs?”
There was a deathly silence on the phone and then Dr Houndstooth said, “Good heavens no. Is this a joke?”
“Joke schmoke,” Selby thought, trying to stay calm. “Do you mean to say that if my dog had a toothache, you wouldn’t treat him?”
“Oh!” Dr Houndstooth said, and she let out a great scream of a laugh. “I thought you asked me if I eat dogs. Oh, treat dogs … well let me see. I’ve never treated a dog before but I’ll have a go. I mean they have teeth like everybody else, don’t they?”
“They do indeed,” Selby said, drawing in a deep breath as a stab of pain shot through his jaw.
“He doesn’t bite, does he?” Dr Houndstooth asked.
“Bite? Certainly not,” Selby said. “I can assure you that Selby is the most mild-mannered dog on God’s green earth. He’s a perfect gentle — er … gentledog.”
“Well then, bring him in by all means,” Dr Houndstooth said, wondering if gentledog was one word or two.
“Mrs Trifle will be bringing him in,” Selby said. “But there’s just one problem. Mrs Trifle isn’t quite herself these days.”
“Then who exactly is she?” Dr Houndstooth asked.
“Well I’m not sure,” Selby said. “It’s just that she’s under so much pressure because of her work that she often comes out with some very strange things. So when she brings Selby in, just agree with everything she says.”
Selby slammed down the phone, dashed to the typewriter and wrote a letter:
Dear Dr and Mrs Trifle,
We are pleased to announce a new service. We now offer dentistry for dogs. If your dog has teeth problems, bring him to us.
Yours sincerely, Rita Houndstooth
That evening Mrs Trifle found Selby’s letter tucked under the front door and the next day she and Selby were off to the dentist’s surgery.
“Your letter arrived just in time,” Mrs Trifl
e said. “We were just about to take Selby to the vet to have his tooth pulled. Maybe you can save it.”
“Yes, yes, Mrs Trifle,” Dr Houndstooth said, sitting her down in a comfortable chair and handing her a seven-year-old copy of You and Your Teeth magazine. “You just have a good rest and leave Selby to me.”
Selby lay back innocently in the dentist’s chair, looking at the mobile overhead.
“Vet,” he thought as Dr Houndstooth started to put him to sleep with gas. “Can you imagine? They were going to send me to the vet to have my tooth pulled. This is more like it.”
A warm and wonderful feeling spread through his body as the gas started to work and Selby felt just a little like whistling the theme song from The Lucky Millions Quiz Quest. Then, suddenly he was awake and his tooth was fixed. He lay back in a happy daze and, without thinking, began to sing:
“Love that money madness,
See those dollars drifting down,
Sing away your troubles,
Hang upside down.”
“What was that?” the dentist said, spinning around like a windmill in a cyclone. “Who said that?”
Selby realised his mistake and gave her a blank stare.
“It was you, wasn’t it?” the dumbfounded dentist said, staring at Selby’s innocent face.
It was a stealthy paw that crept out and slowly turned on the radio that stood on the bench next to the dentist’s chair. Slowly, he turned the sound up and then just as slowly he pulled his paw back under the dental bib.
“Oh,” Dr Houndstooth said with some relief. “I must have left the radio on. For a second I thought you — a dog — were actually singing. What a scream!”
“That was a close one,” Selby thought as he climbed down from the chair and headed for the waiting room. “Any closer and everyone would have had something to scream about.”
A Snake in the Grasp
