Just Crazy

by Andy Griffiths

  I push my head through a load of mouldy bread, empty dog food cans and used kitty litter.

  But I don’t care. I can see the sky!

  I raise my duck above my head.

  ‘We’re going to make it,’ I say.

  My duck quacks with joy.

  I squirm and wriggle the rest of my body out from under the rubbish until I’m sitting on top of it all.

  I wipe the slime from my eyes and look around.

  We’re travelling along a main road. The truck is obviously full and they’re heading back to the tip to empty it. I’ve got to get out before that happens. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life as landfill.

  We pull up at a set of traffic lights.

  This is my chance to escape.

  I climb down over the back of the truck onto the platform, and just as the truck starts moving again, I jump clear. I hit the ground running, trip and roll into the gutter.

  Ouch.

  It hurts, but it’s better than being in a rubbish truck any day.

  ‘Are you all right?’ says a voice.

  A beautiful voice.

  The voice of an angel.

  I must be dead.

  The bubonic plague got me after all and I’ve gone to Heaven.

  But there’s something familiar about that voice.

  I open my eyes.

  It’s Lisa.

  Lisa Mackney looking down at me.

  ‘Andy?’ she says.

  ‘Lisa?’ I say. ‘When did you die?’

  ‘Die?’ she says. ‘What are you talking about? We arranged to meet, remember?’

  I sit up.

  I look around.

  This is not Heaven. This is Hell.

  I’m outside the park.

  Right where I said I would meet Lisa.

  I’m right on time, but everything else is wrong. As wrong as it possibly could be.

  There she is looking clean and fresh and princess-like, her soft hair shining in the morning sun. And here am I, sitting in the gutter in my pyjamas covered in rubbish, surrounded by flies, clutching my rubber duck.

  ‘I should have known you weren’t serious,’ she says, pinching her nose and backing away from me. ‘I should have known it was all a joke.’

  ‘No, it wasn’t!’ I say, getting up and stepping towards her. A big slimy chunk of maggot-infested meat slides off my shoulder and plops onto the ground in front of her.

  She puts her hand over her mouth and takes another step back.

  ‘Keep away from me!’ she says. ‘You . . . you . . . you stink!’

  I step towards her — kitty litter, cigarette butts and broken egg shells fall from my clothes and hair as I move.

  She turns and runs.

  I watch her. The girl I love. Running away from me in disgust.

  What was supposed to be the best morning of my life has turned out to be the worst.

  And the worst thing about it is that she’s never going to want to kiss me now. All that practice on the mirror for nothing.

  But at least I got the rubbish out. At least the neighbourhood is safe once more from the bubonic plague.

  There’s no telling how many lives I’ve saved.

  Not to mention my rubber duck.

  Perhaps all is not lost, after all.

  I’m going to go home, cut this stupid string off my finger and have a long shower. A really long shower. I might even use some more of that air freshener — it was pretty strong. Then I’ll go to school and explain everything to Lisa.

  I’m sure she’ll understand. In fact, I can see it now.

  When she hears about what I’ve done, she’ll realise what a hero I am. She’ll apologise for saying that I stink. She’ll beg me to forgive her. I will, of course. And then we’ll kiss.

  It’s lucky I did all that practice on the mirror, after all.

  ut, Mum,’ I say. ‘I can’t look after them. I’m busy.’

  ‘Busy?’ says Mum. ‘Busy doing what? Watching television?’

  ‘It’s a very important program,’ I say. ‘We have to watch it for school.’

  Mum comes into the room.

  I quickly change the channel.

  ‘I saw that!’ she says. ‘Since when did cartoons become important programs?’

  ‘Ever since they were first invented,’ I say. ‘But fine. If you don’t want me to do my homework then I won’t. I’ll fail. I’ll drop out. I’ll become a full-time babysitter.’

  ‘Oh come on,’ says Mum. ‘It’s just for half an hour. They won’t give you any trouble.’

  I groan.

  ‘Are you kidding?’ I say. ‘They’re psychos!’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ says Mum. ‘Look at them. They’re lovely little girls.’

  She points towards the kitchen. The girls are sitting at the table having a tea party with their dolls.

  ‘Yeah, they’re lovely when you’re around,’ I say, ‘but it’s just an act. As soon as you leave the room they go crazy.’

  Mum rolls her eyes and picks up her car keys.

  ‘That’s enough, Andy,’ she says. ‘I’m not asking you — I’m telling you. You’re looking after them and that’s that.’

  The girls — my cousins — have been here for three days now and I’m almost out of my mind. They have been messing up and breaking stuff all over the house and I’ve been getting the blame. Mum is looking after them while my aunty is in hospital having a baby. I wish she’d hurry up and have it. The sooner these kids are out of this house the better.

  ‘Don’t leave me here with them, Mum,’ I say. ‘Please, I beg you . . .’

  ‘Bye-bye,’ she calls to the girls, ignoring me. ‘I’m going out for a while but Andy will look after you, won’t you, Andy?’

  She fixes me with a icy glare. I know what that look means. It means that I’d better take very good care of the girls . . . or else.

  ‘Bye-bye,’ call the girls. They wave and smile so sweetly that for a moment I almost believe they are completely innocent normal little girls.

  Mum leaves.

  I go to the lounge room window and watch her back the car out of the driveway and drive away down the hill.

  I look at the girls.

  They’re still having their tea party.

  So far, so good. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

  I sit back down in front of the TV and change the channel back to my cartoon. Luckily I haven’t missed too much. The mouse is still chasing the cat around, hitting him on the head with an enormous hammer. That poor cat. He never wins. He always gets clobbered. Uh-oh. Now the mouse has a box of matches. He sets the cat’s tail on fire.

  Wow. That’s so realistic I can practically smell the smoke.

  Wait on.

  I can smell smoke.

  That’s not coming from the TV. It’s coming from the kitchen. And what’s that racket? There’s all this banging and clattering. I don’t think the girls are playing tea party anymore.

  I jump up and run to the kitchen.

  There’s a haze of blue smoke and the smell of burning rubber.

  Jemima’s standing up on a chair next to the bench with a fork in her hand which she’s about to stick into the top of the toaster.

  ‘NO!’ I say.

  She turns around.

  ‘But it’s stuck,’ she says, completely unaware of how close she is to being electrocuted. ‘It’s burning.’

  ‘Just leave it,’ I say, moving towards her. ‘I’ll do it.’

  ‘I can do it myself,’ she says.

  ‘NO!’ I scream.

  But it’s too late. She plunges the fork into the toaster.

  I stop. I can’t touch her. She must have 240 volts flowing through her body. The electricity might go from her to me.

  But I can’t just leave her there.

  Maybe if I put rubber dishwashing gloves on . . .

  ‘Got it!’ says Jemima, turning to me with something black and smoking on the end of her fork. It doesn’t look like toast �
�� it’s a dishwashing sponge.

  ‘See,’ she says. ‘I told you I could do it myself.’

  ‘But . . . how . . . what . . .’ I stutter, ‘why didn’t you get electrocuted?’

  ‘Because I turned the switch off and pulled out the plug first, you dum-dum,’ she says. ‘Everybody knows to do that.’

  ‘And what were you doing burning a sponge anyway?’ I say.

  ‘It’s not a sponge,’ she says, talking to me like I’m stupid. ‘It’s toast for my tea party.’

  ‘It’s not toast,’ I say. ‘It’s a sponge and it smells disgusting!’

  Something clatters to the floor behind me.

  I turn around.

  Eve has her dolls lined up against the wall and is throwing knives at them.

  ‘And what do you think you’re doing?’ I say.

  ‘I’m playing circus,’ she says.

  ‘Well cut it out,’ I say. ‘You’re not allowed to do that!’

  ‘Who says?’ says Eve.

  ‘I say!’

  ‘You’re not the boss of us,’ she says, throwing another knife at her doll. The knife misses the doll and takes a chunk of plaster out of the wall.

  ‘Yeah, you can’t tell us what to do,’ says Jemima, throwing the fork she was using on the toaster at me.

  I duck. The fork flies over my head.

  ‘Right,’ I say. ‘You’re in big trouble!’

  The girls giggle and run out of the kitchen. I run after them but they’re gone. I can’t see them anywhere. I walk through the lounge room to the foot of the stairs.

  CRASH!

  A chess and ludo set lands at the bottom of the staircase. Chess pieces and ludo tokens go flying all over the floor.

  I look up.

  A game of Monopoly crashes down on my head. Houses and hotels go everywhere. Monopoly money flutters down around me.

  Jemima and Eve are hanging off the bannister. They’re smiling and looking very pleased with themselves.

  ‘Get down here and pick this all up!’ I yell.

  They just laugh.

  ‘Now!’ I say.

  I start to climb up the stairs.

  Jemima pulls a picture off the wall and frisbees it at me.

  I reach out and grab it as it flies through the air. It’s a photo of me when I was a little boy. I look like such a nice little kid — not an out-of-control brat — not like them.

  I put the picture down and start up the stairs again. But Jemima opens the door of a display case hanging on the wall. Mum keeps her crystal animal collection in there.

  ‘No, Jemima!’ I say. ‘Don’t touch that! They’re Mum’s!’

  Too late.

  She flings a small sparkly object at me.

  I catch it. It’s a little crystal mouse. Mum treasures those stupid animals. If anything happens to them I’ll be in big trouble. Even bigger trouble than if anything happened to the girls.

  Eve grabs one as well and throws it.

  I catch it in my other hand.

  ‘No more,’ I plead. ‘No more! I’ve got no hands left!’

  Jemima smiles and then lobs a third one.

  I watch as it arcs through the air towards me.

  This is the greatest challenge of my life. But I have to do it.

  I position myself underneath it, tilt my head back and open my mouth as wide as I can.

  The little crystal animal drops onto my tongue. Safe and sound. All that practice throwing bits of food up into the air and catching them in my mouth at the dinner table has finally paid off.

  The girls stand at the top of the stairs and giggle.

  I’m going to kill you!’ I scream, although with my mouth full it sounds more like ‘WYMEGWANAILLOO’.

  I spit the crystal animal out of my mouth and put it and the other two in my pocket.

  I look up towards Eve and Jemima but they’re gone. No doubt to find something else to throw.

  I run up the stairs.

  I look in my room.

  They’re not there.

  I check Jen’s room.

  They’re not there either.

  I look in Mum and Dad’s room and the bathroom but there’s no sign of them.

  Where can they be?

  I check under all the beds, in all the wardrobes and behind all the curtains.

  They’re gone.

  Vanished.

  ‘Eve! Jemima!’ I yell. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Here!’ they call.

  That’s weird.

  Sounds like they’re outside.

  But they couldn’t be outside.

  Could they?

  Yes, they could!

  I look at the window.

  I feel sick.

  I can see a row of tiny fingertips lined up neatly along the windowsill.

  They’re hanging outside the house!

  Hanging from the first floor!

  I rush across to the window. I look down at them.

  ‘You can’t catch us,’ sings Eve. ‘You can’t catch us.’

  ‘Girls,’ I say, ‘this is not a joke. You could kill yourselves.’

  ‘Don’t get your knickers in a knot,’ says Jemima. ‘We’re just hanging out the window.’

  ‘You’re just about to die!’ I say.

  I brace my legs against the wall underneath the window, reach out and grab Eve’s wrist with one hand and Jemima’s wrist with the other.

  Got them!

  Now all I have to do is pull them in. But they’re heavier than they look. As I try to lift them up it’s hard to keep my feet on the floor.

  ‘You’re hurting my arm!’ says Jemima.

  ‘Shut up!’ I say. ‘I’m trying to save you.’

  ‘Um-mah!’ says Eve. ‘You told Jemima to shut up.’

  ‘You shut up too!’ I tell her.

  ‘Um-mah,’ they both say.

  I struggle some more, but it’s hopeless. I’m not pulling them in — they’re pulling me out!

  I can’t do it.

  I’m bent over double, already half out the window and I can feel my knees scraping against the window ledge.

  In a few moments we’re all going to fall!

  Not that the girls seem to care.

  They’re giggling and kicking their feet as they dangle in the air.

  I hear a clanging noise.

  What’s that?

  ‘Hey, there’s a pipe here,’ says Jemima.

  She’s right.

  Her feet are almost touching a drain pipe that runs along the outside of the house. It juts out a fair way from the wall. If I can just lower them onto it then I can leave them there while I go and get the ladder.

  ‘Can you stand on it?’ I say.

  ‘Sure,’ she says.

  I lower Eve onto the pipe as well.

  ‘Now I’m going to let go,’ I say. ‘I want you to stand on the pipe and lean into the wall. Stay there until I get the ladder! Don’t move.’

  Jemima starts bobbing and tapping her foot on the pipe.

  ‘DON’T MOVE!’ I yell.

  ‘You’re a bossy boots,’ says Eve.

  I sigh.

  ‘Please don’t move,’ I say. ‘It’s for your own good.’

  That’s the trouble with babysitting little kids. If they hurt themselves it’s the babysitter who gets the blame. It’s not fair. Babysitting sucks.

  I pull myself back into the window. I’ve got to be quick. If they fall I’m going to be in more trouble than I’ve ever been in in my whole life.

  I sprint downstairs and through the kitchen. It’s a big mess. Knives all over the floor.

  I slip on one and go skating across the room headfirst into the fridge.

  Ouch.

  I pick myself up and stagger outside.

  I check the side of the house.

  But the girls are not there.

  I’m too late.

  I feel sick.

  I look down at the ground under my window, expecting the worst.

  But they’re not th
ere either.

  A roofing tile shatters on the ground beside me.

  I look up.

  Eve and Jemima are standing on the roof.

  ‘What the hell are you doing up there?’ I say.

  ‘Um-mah,’ says Eve. ‘You said a rude word. You’ll get in trouble.’

  ‘Not as much trouble as you’re already in!’ I say. ‘I told you to stay put until I got the ladder!’

  ‘We thought you weren’t coming,’ says Jemima. ‘So we climbed up the pipe.’

  Eve bends down, picks up a roofing tile and throws it at me.

  I step back. It shatters at my feet.

  ‘Hey!’ I say. ‘Cut it out!’

  ‘You can’t stop us!’ says Jemima. ‘You’re not the boss.’

  ‘We’ll see about that,’ I say.

  I run to the garage. The ladder is stuck behind a stack of folding chairs and old paint tins. I move them all out of the way and carry it outside.

  I lean the ladder up against the house and climb up onto the roof.

  The girls are gone.

  But that’s impossible.

  ‘Eve?’ I call. ‘Jemima? Where are you?’

  I walk up the roof to the highest point.

  I can’t see them.

  How could they not be here?

  Unless they climbed back down the pipe.

  Those girls are unstoppable.

  I walk back down the roof and get onto the ladder.

  I’m climbing back down when I hear giggling.

  I look down.

  The girls are standing at the bottom of the ladder.

  Uh-oh.

  ‘Now, Eve!’ yells Jemima.

  They both pull the ladder out from the side of the house so it’s standing straight up in the air.

  ‘No!’ I yell as the ladder tips backwards and I go crashing into the garden.

  I hear the girls laughing hysterically. I push the ladder off and struggle to my feet, just in time to see Eve running down the driveway.

  ‘Eve!’ I yell.

  She looks up at me, laughs and keeps running.

  I run after her but she’s already rounding the corner at the bottom of the hill.

  I have to catch her. There’s a busy intersection at the bottom of that hill. It’s really dangerous. And I should know. I nearly got killed going through it in a pram once.