The Emily Eyefinger Collection

by Duncan Ball

  ‘Hey,’ Carol said. ‘How did you find me so fast?’

  ‘I saw where you went,’ Emily said. ‘I did what you told me to do.’

  Now Carol was puzzled.

  ‘You saw where I went?’ Carol said. ‘You weren’t meant to see. You were supposed to put your hands over your face.’

  ‘I did,’ said Emily.

  Emily put her hands over her face and Carol saw her eyefinger. She gave a big laugh.

  ‘I completely forgot about your extra eye,’ Carol said. ‘You have to keep it closed too, or it’s cheating. No wonder you didn’t understand how to play the game.’

  Carol gave Emily a big hug.

  ‘Come on now,’ Carol said. ‘Let’s play it the right way.’

  After that Emily and Carol played lots of games of hide-and-seek. Emily always kept the eyelid on her finger closed when she was counting.

  Emily loved playing hide-and-seek with Carol. She could peek around corners and into closets with her eyefinger. When she saw Carol she would say, ‘I spy with my little eye someone beginning with C.’

  When Emily was hiding she could watch with her eyefinger and see Carol coming. Then it wasn’t so scary when Carol found her.

  4.

  Emily Gets a Pet

  One evening just before her birthday Emily and her parents were playing Go Fish. Emily did not feel very well that day. She had taken the bubble cover off her eye and had fallen down and bumped it. The eye was all red and sore.

  Mrs Eyefinger asked Emily if she wanted the doctor to take the eye off.

  ‘Then you wouldn’t have to bother with finger bubbles,’ she said. ‘You’d be just like everyone else.’

  ‘I don’t want to be just like everyone else,’ Emily said, dealing out the cards. She kept her eyefinger closed so she wouldn’t see which cards she was giving people. ‘At least not yet. I love my eyefinger even if it bothers me sometimes. I can do things that nobody else can do. I’m so lucky to have it.’

  ‘I guess eyefingers don’t grow on trees,’ her father said.

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘When someone says that something doesn’t grow on trees it means that there aren’t many of them. Eyes on the end of fingers certainly don’t grow on trees.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Emily said.

  ‘Hmm,’ said her father as he looked at his cards.

  ‘Give me all your aces,’ Emily said.

  Mr Eyefinger wanted to say, ‘Fish,’ but instead he started to pick out his aces to give to Emily. ‘Are you sure that you didn’t peek at my cards with that eyefinger of yours?’ he asked.

  Mr Eyefinger smiled. He only said it to be funny. He knew that Emily would never ever pcheat.

  ‘Don’t be a bad sport, Dad,’ Emily said. ‘You know I would never ever cheat. I’m just lucky.’

  ‘That’s true,’ he said, handing over three aces.

  ‘Okay, Mum. Give me all your jacks,’ Emily said.

  Mrs Eyefinger looked through her cards. She picked out her two jacks and gave them to Emily.

  ‘By the way,’ Emily’s mother said. ‘What do you want for your birthday?’

  Emily thought for a minute.

  ‘Fish,’ she said.

  ‘Just a minute,’ her mother said. ‘It’s still your turn. I’m the one who’s supposed to say “fish”.’

  ‘No. Not that kind of fish,’ said Emily. ‘I want a fish for my birthday. A pet fish in a fish bowl.’

  ‘Oh, a real fish,’ said Mrs Eyefinger. ‘We’ll see what we can do.’

  Emily’s first pet was the fish she got for her birthday. It was a goldfish in a nice round bowl. Emily watched it swim around and around and around.

  ‘Do you think he’s happy?’ she asked.

  ‘Of course he’s happy,’ her father said. ‘He lives in a nice house and has a nice little girl to feed him. What more could a goldfish want?’

  ‘I suppose you’re right,’ Emily said. ‘He does look happy.’

  ‘That’s the important thing,’ her father said. ‘A goldfish that looks happy is a happy goldfish. That’s what I always say.’

  When her mother asked her what she was going to name him, Emily said, ‘I think I’ll call him Fluffy.’

  ‘Fluffy?’ Mrs Eyefinger said. ‘You can’t name a goldfish Fluffy.’

  ‘Why not?’ asked Emily.

  ‘Because he’s not fluffy. Kittens are fluffy. Fish are slippery. Why don’t you call him Slippery or Slick or Slimy?’

  ‘I don’t like Slippery or Slick or Slimy. He is fluffy,’ Emily insisted.

  Mrs Eyefinger put on her glasses and looked at the little fish swimming around.

  ‘Explain to me what is fluffy about this fish,’ she said.

  ‘His tail,’ Emily said.

  Mrs Eyefinger looked again at the goldfish’s wide tail.

  ‘The tail is lacy,’ Emily’s mother said. ‘It’s not fluffy, it’s lacy. I know! You could call him Lacy.’

  ‘Lacy sounds too much like Lucy,’ Emily said. ‘And Lucy just isn’t a good fish name. I still like Fluffy best.’

  The next day, Emily’s mother came home with a book and gave it to Emily. It was called Naming Your Goldfish. Emily and her mother looked at the book. There were lots of pretty pictures of goldfish in it.

  ‘Is he a boy or a girl?’ Mrs Eyefinger said. ‘That’s the first question.’

  Mr Eyefinger looked up from his newspaper.

  ‘He’s a boy,’ he said.

  ‘How can you tell?’ Mrs Eyefinger asked.

  ‘He’s are always boys. She’s are always girls. You said “Is he a boy or a girl?”’

  ‘Very funny,’ Mrs Eyefinger said. ‘But is it a boy or is it a girl?’

  ‘Now that’s a different question,’ Mr Eyefinger said, ‘I don’t have any idea.’

  ‘What do you think, Emily?’

  Emily shrugged. She wished that no one had said anything about names.

  ‘I’ll read you out some names,’ Mrs Eyefinger said. ‘You can pick the right one. How about Aaron?’

  ‘No,’ Emily said.

  ‘Abigail?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Abelard?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Adriana?’

  ‘No.’

  Mrs Eyefinger read through hundreds and hundreds of names. There were names like Mirabel and Montague and Sharleen and Skipper and even names like Trinette and Theobald and Wulstan and Walburga.

  ‘He doesn’t look like a Walburga to me,’ Mrs Eyefinger said. ‘Does he to you?’

  Emily just shook her head. Mrs Eyefinger closed the book and threw it on the lounge.

  ‘It’s not a very useful book,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry I bought it.’

  Emily sprinkled some fish food on top of the water. The goldfish came up to eat it. His mouth was shaped like a perfect O. He ate the bits of food and then went back down.

  ‘I’ve made up my mind,’ Emily announced. ‘I’ve decided that he’s a boy and I’m going to call him Fluffy after all. I don’t care if it’s a good name or a bad name. I don’t even care if it’s the right name.’

  Emily had made up her mind and that was that.

  Then she put the bubble on her eyefinger and put it down in the water. She looked Fluffy straight in the eye. He wasn’t frightened. He looked as though he’d seen hundreds of eyefingers. And he never looked happier.

  One morning Emily got up and couldn’t find Fluffy. He wasn’t in his bowl.

  ‘Mum!’ she cried. ‘Fluffy has escaped!’

  ‘Don’t panic, dear,’ her mother said. ‘He probably just jumped out of the bowl. Goldfish do that sometimes just by accident. Let’s look around on the floor and see if we can find him.’

  Emily and her mother got down on their hands and knees and looked. But there was no sign of Fluffy.

  ‘I know!’ Emily said. ‘Maybe he’s under the bookcase.’

  Emily wiggled her eyefinger under the bottom of the bookcase. Sure enough, there w
as Fluffy. Emily reached in and picked him up. He was all covered in dust. She very carefully put him back in his bowl. The little fish lay on his side at the bottom. Then he straightened up and started swimming slowly around the bowl. All the dust fell away and he looked like his old self again.

  ‘Is he going to be all right?’ Emily asked.

  ‘Yes, darling. I think you found him just in time,’ her mother said. ‘Fish can’t live out of water for very long. You’re so lucky that you have an eye on your finger.’

  ‘It’s lucky for me and it’s lucky for Fluffy,’ said Emily.

  ‘And you chose just the right name,’ Mrs Eyefinger said. ‘All that dust made him look very fluffy.’

  Emily put Naming Your Goldfish on top of the bowl, leaving a tiny space at the side for air. Now Fluffy couldn’t jump out again.

  ‘You see?’ she said. ‘It’s a very useful book now.’

  And they both laughed.

  5.

  Emily Goes to School

  Emily had a cold on the first day of school so she didn’t go until the next day. On the first day, when Emily was still sick, her new teacher, Ms Plump (who was just a little overweight) gave the class a special talk. She said that they should all be nice to Emily when she came the next day.

  ‘Don’t look at the eye on the end of her finger,’ Ms Plump said. ‘It might embarrass her. Just pretend you don’t notice it.’

  The next day Emily’s mother brought her to school and all the children sat silently at their desks looking a little scared.

  ‘Class, I’d like you to say “good morning” to our new student, Emily Eyefinger,’ Ms Plump said.

  ‘Good morning, Emily Eyefinger,’ the children said very slowly the way children do when they’re asked to say ‘good morning’ all together. They looked in every direction, trying not to look at Emily’s finger.

  Then Simon Sickly, who had also been sick the day before and had missed Ms Plump’s little talk, yelled, ‘Hey look! Her name’s Eyefinger and she’s got an eye on the end of her finger!’

  Before Ms Plump could scold him, Emily laughed a big laugh. Then the whole class laughed and even Ms Plump laughed along with them.

  ‘Yes, I do have an eye on the end of my finger,’ Emily said, holding it up for everyone to see. ‘Here, have a good look.’

  That day Emily made twenty-five good friends all at once.

  A month later, a new boy started school. His name was Terry Meaney and he was a real bully. He wore dirty white socks that smelled terrible and he never smiled.

  Now the thing about bullies is this: they look for anyone who is different and then start picking on them. They like to pick on children who are smaller than they are. But Terry was very big for his age so he picked on everyone.

  For the first few days Terry just sat quietly in class looking grumpy. Then one day at recess he saw Emily’s eyefinger.

  ‘Hey, you,’ he said, ‘what’s that thing on your finger?’

  ‘It’s an eye,’ Emily explained.

  ‘Does it work?’

  ‘Yes, of course it does.’

  Emily took off the bubble. She looked at him through her eyefinger and he looked back.

  ‘That’s stupid,’ Terry said. ‘That’s the stupidest thing I ever seen.’

  ‘You mean it’s the stupidest thing you have ever seen,’ Emily corrected him.

  ‘Ha ha ha ha ha,’ Terry sang. ‘She’s got an eye on her finger. Ha ha ha ha ha. That’s really stupid.’

  The other children stopped playing. They were all afraid of Terry Meaney. They thought he was going to beat Emily up.

  ‘Ha ha ha ha ha,’ Terry sang again, pointing to Emily.

  Emily was patient at first. Then she said, ‘I’m sorry, Terry, but you can’t have one.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Terry asked.

  ‘You want an eye on the end of your finger but you can’t have one,’ Emily said. ‘They don’t grow on trees, you know.’

  Terry wasn’t expecting her to say this. He was completely baffled.

  ‘Oh yes, I can have one,’ he said angrily.

  ‘Oh no, you can’t. You have to be born with one,’ Emily explained. ‘That’s the only way to get an eyefinger. You weren’t born with one so that’s too bad for you. Too late. Bad luck.’

  ‘My dad said he can get me one,’ Terry said. ‘He says I can have anything I want.’

  ‘You may be able to have lots of things but you definitely can’t have an eyefinger.’

  ‘Yes, I CAN.’

  ‘No, you can’t.’

  ‘Yes, I CAN.’

  ‘You do want one, don’t you?’ Emily said.

  Terry had to think for a minute. He knew Emily was right: that you couldn’t just get an eyefinger. Emily had tricked him. He didn’t know what to say.

  ‘I could have one if I wanted,’ Terry said. ‘But I don’t want one because they look stupid.’

  Just then the bell rang and the children started back into the school. Emily smiled and wiggled her eyefinger at Terry. Then she put the bubble over it again and put her hand in her pocket.

  ‘I’ll get you,’ Terry said. (Bullies always say, ‘I’ll get you.’)

  ‘No, you won’t,’ Emily said back. ‘And you won’t get an eyefinger either.’

  Every time Terry tried to pick on Emily, she made him feel silly. So he stopped picking on her. But he kept right on picking on the other children.

  Terry sat in class looking grumpy. He gave everybody angry looks.

  ‘That Terry Meaney is a real meany,’ Emily thought. ‘I’ll have to come up with a plan to stop him from being a bully. Hmm. I don’t know how but I’m going to get him!’

  6.

  Emily Ghost Finger

  Emily’s chance to get Terry came one day when all the children were talking about ghosts. Janey Star said that her aunt knew someone who had seen a ghost. Then Annabelle said that her uncle had seen a ghost too. Then Emma said that her mother had seen a ghost when she went to her grandmother’s farm. Jonathan’s brother had seen a ghost when he spent the night at a friend’s house. Everybody had something to say about ghosts.

  By the time lunch was over Emily’s whole class was scared of ghosts. But Terry was bragging. He said he’d seen lots and lots of ghosts, maybe even a hundred of them. He said he saw them all the time.

  ‘They don’t scare me,’ he said. ‘I laugh at ghosts. Ha ha ha!’

  Emily didn’t believe in ghosts. But suddenly she had an idea.

  ‘You’d better not say that, Terry,’ she said.

  ‘I can say whatever I want,’ he said.

  ‘If you do,’ Emily said, ‘they’ll come and get you.’

  ‘I’m not scared of any stupid ghost,’ Terry said. ‘If one ever did anything to me I’d get him back!’

  ‘That’s what you think,’ said Emily.

  ‘That’s what I know!’ said Terry.

  When the class started again the children were sitting quietly in their chairs.

  ‘My my,’ Ms Plump said. ‘Such long faces. Is anything wrong?’

  ‘Annabelle’s uncle saw a ghost,’ Janey said.

  ‘And so did Jonathan’s brother,’ Annabelle said.

  Ms Plump laughed.

  ‘You’re a bunch of silly billies,’ she said. ‘There aren’t any such things as ghosts. They’re all in your heads. You’ve just frightened yourselves. Now sit up straight. We’re going to have a spelling lesson.’

  On the way home from school, Terry was still on the lookout for ghosts. He looked all around as he walked. He kept looking over his shoulder to make sure nothing was following him.

  Then he turned a corner and a slow deep voice said, ‘Terry Meaney. I see you.’

  Terry stopped and looked around. But no one was there, only a big rubbish bin. He started shaking all over.

  ‘Who said that?’ he said.

  ‘I did,’ the voice said. ‘You can’t see me because I’m a ghost.’

  Terry smiled a nervou
s smile.

  The voice said, ‘What are you smiling at? This isn’t funny.’

  ‘Wh — Wh — Where are you?’ Terry said.

  He couldn’t think of anything else to say because he was scared silly.

  ‘I’m right in front of you. I can see you but you can’t see me. I’m invisible. Are you laughing at me?’

  ‘N — N — No!’ said Terry.

  ‘I hear that you laugh at ghosts.’

  ‘I don’t! It’s not true!’

  ‘You said that you did. I heard you say it.’

  ‘I was kidding. I never laughed at a ghost! Please don’t hurt me,’ Terry pleaded. ‘Please!’

  ‘Say “pretty please”.’

  ‘Pretty please. Pretty please. Pretty please,’ Terry said and his knees where knocking together so much that he could hardly stand up. ‘I’ll do anything you say!’

  ‘Anything I say? Well then change those smelly socks? They’re horrible!’

  Terry looked down at his dirty socks.

  ‘And there’s another thing I want you to do,’ the voice said.

  Terry’s mouth opened like a big round O. He kept turning in a circle, looking for the ghost. But he didn’t see a ghost. He didn’t even see Emily’s eyefinger poking over the top of the rubbish bin.

  ‘Wh — Wh — What do you want me to do?’ Terry stammered.

  Emily said in her deepest voice: ‘Stop picking on people!’

  ‘I don’t pick on people! Honest, I don’t!’

  ‘Don’t lie to me, Terry Meaney! Ghosts know everything! If you ever pick on anybody again, I’m going to get you!’

  ‘I won’t! I promise I won’t!’ Terry cried. ‘Please don’t get me!’

  ‘Okay, you can go now,’ Emily said. ‘I’m tired of looking at you.’

  Terry ran away as fast as he could.

  And from then on the children noticed a big change in Terry. He didn’t pick on anybody. He didn’t tell Emily that her eyefinger was stupid. Sometimes he even smiled and talked to the other children. He was a nice boy, really. And his socks were always remarkably clean.

  7.