by Gene Kemp
‘Kill, Puddy, kill,’ he instructed.
And Puddy nearly did just that despite his tooth shortage. Dilly and Dally, weeping, rushed their mother in to save him. Mum followed.
‘No, darrling,’ wept Caroline, ‘I’ve never been one to complain but that Monster of Sadism and his beastly animal will be the death of poor wee beautiful Nanas if Something Isn’t Done.’
Mother’s success lies in the fact that she always knows what’s to be done, and she soon came up with the answer.
‘Jess,’ she said. I was bathing Bananas’ nose, now the size of a light bulb, as Caroline felt faint and the twins didn’t know how. ‘Jess,’ she repeated as I tried not to hear. ‘Do something about the dog.’
In the end I fixed him with a box in the shed, and made a kind of run with bits of board and rope. Then I pinned up his exercise rota in the kitchen and told everybody to read it. Nobody took any notice. I was the only one to take him for a walk, though I kept telling Colin that jogging was good for animals.
Then Puddy turned peculiar – even more than usual, I mean. He made little rushes up and down pretending to chase things and made himself so giddy he kept falling over. He found a ball of wool nearly as old as he was and patted it coyly, peering at us out of the corner of his wicked old eyes to see if we were watching him being a pretty puddicat. He took to rubbing round legs and purring.
‘What on earth’s got into him?’ asked Mum angrily. ‘He nearly made me scald myself making the tea this morning.’
‘He’s pretending he’s a kitten all over again,’ explained Jed. ‘He’s trying to be lovable. Idiot Puddy. I don’t suppose you were lovable even when you were a kitten.’
‘But why?’ I asked.
‘You’re slow. Because of the dog, of course. He’s afraid he might have to go. You’re safe, Puddepha. The swines shall never get rid of you.’
‘Talking about yourself as usual?’ Colin had arrived.
Mum stopped that fight by hauling them apart by their ears. A big woman, my mum.
The following day Puddy laid three dead mice on Caroline’s bed, and a dead hamster on each of the twins’. Their hamsters.
‘How can we stay in this Cruel, Heartless Household?’ cried Caroline, while the twins wailed in the background. Jed sprang to the door.
‘Don’t let me stop you. Feel free to leave at any time. I’ll help you pack.’
But they still stayed.
‘Why?’ I asked. ‘They don’t like us and they know we don’t like them.’
‘They’ve no money and nowhere to go, and they’re my kith and kin, and whither they go, I shall go –’ Mum began.
‘You’ve got it all wrong,’ Jed said. ‘You always do when you go Biblical.’
‘I had a very Biblical upbringing, remember. Not like you lot.’
‘Yes, and it’s made a saint of you, Mo,’ Jed went on, being always cheekier with her than I was. ‘As for that lot, parasitical layabouts, as long as it’s all free and they can eat your cooking and she doesn’t have to stir her idle self to do anything, then they’ll stay as long as we let ’em. But I’m gonna get rid of ’em. You see. I’ll find a way.’
‘I half agree with you,’ said Mum, sounding tired for once.
The atmosphere in our house grew even more strained. Even the weather was awful. At last, it stopped raining, the sun came out, and it felt like summer so I rang up my friend Zoe and we went swimming. I returned home feeling great cos I got whistled at. That great feeling lasted till I turned into our street. I could hear the row at our house from the corner. I ran.
Jed and Colin were battling in the hall, Dilly and Dally were kicking Jed, and above it all Caroline was shouting, ‘I’ll ring for the police. I’ll ring for the police.’
I managed to get the receiver off her, and wondered what the heck to do for there was no sign of Mum and I couldn’t cope with all the loonies. But I had to. There wasn’t anybody else, only me, the world’s greatest coward. I ran to the kitchen, filled a bucket with water, squirted in some washing-up liquid, ran back to the hall and threw all of it over all of them.
‘Jolly good,’ said Mum right behind me. ‘You’re learning. Only make it pepper next time. Less damage to the house. Shut up, you lot.’
They shut up, even Caroline, bubbles rising from her new hair set.
‘What happened? Jed?’
‘Puddy …’ he stood and shook with dripping water and laughter.
‘I knew that cat would be mixed up in it somewhere …’
‘It’s not funny,’ shouted Colin.
‘It’s disgusting!’ shrieked Caroline.
‘What is?’ I yelled.
‘Puddy … Puddy …’ Jed spluttered. ‘Made a mess in Colin’s training boots and Colin didn’t realize and put them on.’
‘AND WE’RE LEAVING!’ shouted Caroline.
My mother started to laugh and laugh and tears rained down her face. At last she quietened down. I waited.
‘Jess,’ she said. ‘Put the cat out and make some coffee.’ I knew it.
But still they didn’t go. There was always yet another good reason for putting off their departure. A sneaky, early autumn wind whipped yellowing leaves up the street. The summer heat had gone.
‘The holidays are nearly over,’ Jed muttered as we crashed out listening to Pink Floyd.
‘Wasn’t much of a holiday. And they’re still there.’
‘But not for long, Jess. I’ve got an idea.’
‘Tell me.’
‘No, it’ll work better if you haven’t a clue. Just follow any lead I give and don’t let on a thing. OK?’
‘OK.’
It was quiet at home these days, even Puddy keeping out of trouble. So quiet was he, in fact, that he didn’t turn up to his evening meal. I didn’t worry because he’d stayed out before, especially in his courting days though at age one hundred and seventy-five he was getting a bit past that now. By the next day, though, I was worried, went round to inform any neighbours that might care, put an ad in the paper and walked up and down the street carrying his food bowl crammed with raw liver, shouting ‘Puddy’ and feeling an idiot. Caroline and company kept fairly silent, though Colin kept grinning. Jed walked about the house, black and sombre as an undertaker.
‘If anything’s been done to that cat, I’ll see they suffer the torments of Hell,’ he remarked over Mum’s glorious Lancashire hotpot.
‘Shut up,’ she said. ‘Puddy will probably turn up in all good time. He has before, and if he doesn’t, well, he’s a very old cat and has had a good innings. He may have gone away to die quietly without any fuss, you know, for he was never a fussy cat.’
Jed leapt into the air, shaking his fists (and the table and the plates of hotpot), and slammed out of the room, turning and catching my eye as he left. And I cottoned on. I might be slow but I always got there in the end. I didn’t mention it when I spotted him coming out of the joke shop with a parcel under his arm, though I couldn’t resist whispering, ‘I know. Where have you got him?’ later that day.
‘Belt up,’ he snarled, eyes green glass chips. I didn’t mind. I’d got the message. But how was Jed going to manage it, I wondered.
The house felt like a morgue or what I imagine a morgue feels like. And we waited. Waited for something somewhere to happen. Like something about to burst. After a time I couldn’t bear this any longer, so I rang up my friend Zoe and we went to the pictures. And it was a horror film all about this family trapped in a haunted house.
‘That was horrible,’ said Zoe, as we walked home. ‘It really scared the living daylights out of me.’
‘Seemed phoney to me.’
‘How would you know?’
‘You’d be surprised. But I just know it wasn’t really frightening.’
As soon as I stepped in my house I knew what I’d meant, for here was the real thing. Fear gathered me up, so that I could hardly breathe. Jed, how do you do it? I thought, as I ran to the kitchen for company. You’re a genius.
They’ll never be able to stand this. It’s nearly too much for me and I know it’s all a trick. They were all seated round the table waiting for me. And a tin of Kit-e-Kat leapt off the shelf and rolled across the floor. Caroline screeched.
‘Who did that?’ cried Colin.
‘It’s beginning,’ Jed moaned in one of those doom-laden voices.
‘What do you mean?’ cried Colin. Mum came out of the pantry where she’d been getting some dishes.
‘Look, let’s get on. Some of us have work to do this evening. Jess, pick up that tin, will you?’
It was after twelve when Caroline arose, pale and fragile with dark rings round her eyes. She was sorry but she could only manage a Tiny cup of Weak Tea.
‘What’s the matter now?’ asked my mother who seemed to be irritable all of the time instead of part of the time.
‘Never has anyone suffered from such Awful Nightmares.’
‘What sort of awful nightmares?’
‘Terrible Grrreat Beasts. Swirling and Looming around poor little me.’
‘Beasts?’ I saw a beast prowling past my door in the night when I got up to go to the bog,’ announced Colin. ‘It went in to see the twins.’
‘Oh, NO, No, No! Not my Little Ones. Anything but That!’ shrilled Caroline. She went to the door and called for them. After a while they came in. Very muddy they were. Caroline clasped them to her.
‘I wish you wouldn’t do that,’ said Dally, wriggling free.
‘My darrlings! Did you … were there … did you have Bad Dreams last night? Tell your mummy. Don’t be Afraid.’
‘No, we didn’t have nightmares. Puddy came and sat on our beds. In turn.’
‘Puddy?’ Caroline’s voice rose to a shriek. ‘Puddy came? He’s still alive then?’
‘Oh no. Puddy dead.’
‘He sat on Dally’s bed first, then Dilly’s. Can we go now? We’re having a lovely funeral.’
‘Funeral? Do you mean Puddy’s Funeral?’ screeched Caroline.
‘No, Teddy’s funeral. He died in the night. So we buried him. Bye-bye.’
‘Oh, I can’t Stand this,’ cried their mother.
It’s all going well, I thought. Everything’s helping. Just wish it wasn’t so cold … and spooky, though.
Colin’s yells woke us at midnight. Mum and I arrived together. He was absolutely scared rigid and for the first time I felt sorry for him.
‘It’s only Bananas howling,’ explained Mum as if she was talking to the twins. ‘It’s nothing to be afraid of. Your mother took him to bed with her for company and he doesn’t seem to like it much …’
That was the understatement of the year. Bananas was wailing like an ambulance speeding through a crowded city.
‘… but it’s nothing to worry about, so just go to sleep.’
‘It’s not that,’ he trembled. ‘A great cat face keeps appearing at the bottom of my bed and miaowing at me.’
‘There’s nothing there, you know,’ said Mum gently. ‘I’ll leave your door open and the landing light on. Then you’ll be all right. Good night, Colin.’
‘G-g-good night.’ His teeth chattered but he slid down into bed.
Mum paused outside my door.
‘You know, Jess, I’ve got the feeling there’s something fishy going on.’
‘Nothing … fishy, Mum.’
‘I expect it’s just me imagining things.’
I felt that I wanted to tell her there and then, that I needed all her common sense, but Jed’s been funny before if I’ve told what was supposed to be hush-hush.
‘It’ll be all right,’ I said.
‘I hope so. I’d hate to think it was just me going nutty.’
‘Not you, Mum. Night.’
‘Goodnight, Jess.’
I thought I couldn’t possibly get to sleep but I did.
‘Are you going jogging today?’ I asked at breakfast. ‘I thought I might come with you.’
Colin shook his head. ‘I don’t feel fit enough.’
‘You mustn’t mind Puddy visiting you at night. It’s nothing to be upset about. Now he’s a ghost he can’t make messes in your boots any more. What’s the matter? You are a funny colour.’
‘That bloody cat!’ cried Colin, standing up and knocking his chair over. I’d never heard him swear before.
‘I told you something would happen if you harmed him,’ said Jed, sounding like Judge Jeffreys on a good hanging day.
‘But I didn’t. I never touched him,’ shouted Colin, rushing from the room.
That night a force eight gale surged through the mad skies, hurling dustbins, flinging down aerials, tossing tiles contemptuously off roofs. And tomorrow’s the last day of the holidays, I thought, watching the telly screen flicker. For once we were all watching together, even the dog. No one had put the twins to bed. No one seemed to want to move. I know I didn’t fancy being on my own at all.
I wonder what Jed will get up to next, I thought, looking at him, but he was absolutely still, and at that moment the screen blanked, and the sound stopped. Outside the wind dropped abruptly and in the unexpected silence could be heard the sound of Puddy wailing wildly right above our heads. Bananas lifted up his head and howled.
The doorbell rang. Everybody jumped, except my mother. ‘Jess,’ she said. Despite being the world’s worst coward, I answered the door. A man stood there.
‘Does a Mrs Caroline …?’ He got no further. I was nearly knocked down in the rush.
‘Darrling, oh darrling Peter! You’ve come! To take us home. Away from here. Away from this Horrible Haunted House,’ shrieked Caroline, wrapping herself all round him.
‘Dad, am I glad to see you,’ cried Colin.
I helped them pack.
‘But I don’t want to leave Puddy,’ protested Dally. I’d always liked her better than Dilly.
‘Come on, lend a hand,’ I said to Jed, who was sitting there as though carved out of marble. ‘They’re leaving. You’ve done it.’ He didn’t stir.
‘Oh well, be like that,’ I said as I went to wave them off. Mum had been called out on a late night problem. I made some coffee and took it in to Jed. ‘You genius.’ I tried to kiss him. He pushed me off.
‘You idiot,’ he replied. ‘Don’t you understand? I didn’t do anything, only pull that Kit-e-Kat tin with a bit of cotton. Then Puddy took over …’ His face crumpled. I felt terrible. ‘And Jess, I’m absolutely scared silly of ghosts, even the ghost of Puddy. What are we gonna do?’
I knew what I’d got to do, me, the world’s worst coward. With the wild wind shouting and raving all round, and Puddy miaowing from every window in the house, I searched the garden, until I found his body hidden in the undergrowth by the wall at the back of the garden. When I’d buried him, I bent my head and said the Our Father, which came first to mind, and then, right out of the blue from my infant school, Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep. The miaowing was fainter now, and because I was pretty knackered, I said, ‘For Heaven’s sake, Puddy, be a good cat and do just that.’ The wind dropped and silence settled.
I got back just in time to make coffee for Mum who’d just arrived. ‘Worn out,’ she said.
‘Me, too,’ I said.
‘You can’t be, you’re young,’ she grinned.
We never saw or heard anything of Puddy again.
Humblepuppy
JOAN AIKEN
Our house was furnished mainly from auction sales. When you buy furniture that way you get a lot of extra things besides the particular piece that you were after, since the stuff is sold in lots: Lot 13, two Persian rugs, a set of golf clubs, a sewing machine, a walnut radio cabinet, and a plinth.
It was in this way that I acquired a tin deed box, which came with two coal-scuttles and a broom cupboard. The deed box is solid metal, painted black, big as a medium-sized suitcase. When I first brought it home I put it in my study, planning to use it as a kind of filing cabinet for old typescripts. I had gone into the kitchen, and was busy arranging the brooms in their new home
, when I heard a loud thumping coming from the direction of the study.
I went back, thinking that a bird must have flown through the window; no bird, but the banging seemed to be inside the deed box. I had already opened it as soon as it was in my possession, to see if there were diamonds or bearer bonds worth thousands of pounds inside (there weren’t), but I opened it again. The key was attached to the handle by a thin chain. There was nothing inside. I shut it. The banging started again. I opened it.
Still nothing inside.
Well, this was broad daylight, two o’clock on Thursday afternoon, people going past in the road outside and a radio schools programme chatting away to itself in the next room. It was not a ghostly kind of time, so I put my hand into the empty box and moved it about.
Something shrank away from my hand. I heard a faint, scared whimper. It could almost have been my own, but wasn’t. Knowing that someone – something? – else was afraid too put heart into me. Exploring carefully and gently around the interior of the box I felt the contour of a small, bony, warm, trembling body with big awkward feet, and silky dangling ears, and a cold nose that, when I found it, nudged for a moment anxiously but trustingly into the palm of my hand. So I knelt down, put the other hand into the box as well, cupped them under a thin little ribby chest, and lifted out Humblepuppy.
He was quite light.
I couldn’t see him, but I could hear his faint enquiring whimper, and I could hear his toenails scratch on the floorboards.
Just at that moment the cat, Taffy, came in.
Taffy has a lot of character. Every cat has a lot of character, but Taffy has more than most, all of it inconvenient. For instance, although he is very sociable, and longs for company, he just despises company in the form of dogs. The mere sound of a dog barking two streets away is enough to make his fur stand up like a porcupine’s quills and his tail swell like a mushroom cloud.
Which it did the instant he saw Humblepuppy.
Now here is the interesting thing. I could feel and hear Humblepuppy, but couldn’t see him; Taffy, apparently, could see and smell him, but couldn’t feel him. We soon discovered this. For Taffy, sinking into a low, gladiator’s crouch, letting out all the time a fearsome throaty wauling like a bagpipe revving up its drone, inched his way along to where Humblepuppy huddled trembling by my left foot, and then dealt him what ought to have been a swinging right-handed clip on the ear. ‘Get out of my house, you filthy little canine scum!’ was what he was plainly intending to convey.
