Baby Teeth: Bite-sized tales of terror Page 5

  He hoped that he’d reach the end of the rainbow soon and the leprechaun, or the unicorn, or whatever was supposed to be waiting there would zoom him home. The mystery of what exactly he would find at the end of the rainbow had got him this far; it could get him further.

  When Jonny had told his father where he was going, he’d laughed at him, and said something like ‘philosophy killed the cat’, but Jonny didn’t believe that. A car had killed the cat. Jonny had found the body in the gutter one morning, cold and still and stiff. Mum had put it in a shoebox and buried it in the back yard. Besides, with all the conviction his eight years on Earth could muster, he knew there were real magical creatures out there. There was actual magic that you couldn’t explain with wires and mirrors like the man on TV. The real trick was you had to be in the right place when the magic happened.

  The trees that bordered the path were getting taller and darker as he walked on. They loomed over him, blocking out the late afternoon sunshine and making the air even colder. He stuck his hands in his pockets to let the trees know that he didn’t care what they did.

  Jonny heard a noise. He whistled to show the noise just how very much it didn’t bother him, but he hadn’t quite got the hang of whistling yet so he just made little half ‘whoo’ sounds. The noise continued, a rustling from the trees, following behind him on the left hand side. He looked over his shoulder but he still couldn’t see anything but path. The noise was keeping pace with his steps.

  Jonny stopped walking and glared at the trees.

  ‘I don’t know who you are and I don’t care! Don’t follow me!’

  The rustling stopped. There was a sound like a twig breaking. The silence was slightly offended.

  ‘I mean it,’ Jonny said. ‘I’m cold and tired and I’m in no mood to be followed. If you keep following me where I can’t see you, I’ll hit you.’ The threat was scary to say. He knew hitting was something you mustn’t do. Jonny swallowed, hoping he didn’t really have to hit anyone.

  Something moved in the corner of Jonny’s vision, and then there was a dog-like thing on the path, looking at him with big, wild eyes. Jonny backed away. His sandal caught on a rock and he fell. The dog-like thing came closer.

  ‘Go home!’ Jonny shouted, as loud as he could. It was something he’d heard his mother shout at dogs before. The dog-like thing cocked its head to the side.

  ‘I don’t want you to hit me,’ it said.

  ‘I don’t want you to bite me,’ said Jonny.

  ‘Biting people is scary,’ the dog-like thing said. ‘It’s all hard and painful and then they hit you. I don’t bite people anymore.’

  ‘All right, then, why were you following me?’ Jonny picked himself up. The thing definitely wasn’t a dog. It was taller than Jonny and its fur had a feathery quality to it. Its eyes were big and green like new spring leaves on the tree outside Jonny’s bedroom. Its feet were big too, and round like plates.

  ‘I haven’t seen anyone like you on this path for a long time,’ it said, and Jonny nodded. He rubbed his muddy hands off on his shorts and shivered, because it really was cold.

  ‘I’m going to the end of the rainbow,’ Jonny said, but it was very dark now, and there was no rainbow left in the sky. ‘I’m Jonny. What’s your name?’

  The thing made a woofing noise, which to Jonny sounded a bit like ‘ruff’ so he made that its name, and together Jonny and Ruff walked the path for what felt like hours. Ruff stayed close to Jonny’s side and he wasn’t so cold any more, and when the twig goblins jumped out and tried to scratch him, Ruff growled and barked impressively, and they ran away.

  Jonny was so tired, and his feet were sore and his legs were cold and he was wishing very hard for his bed and a warm cuddle from Mum. He stumbled and fell, skinning his knee, and he couldn’t stop the tears from coming.

  ‘We’re almost there,’ Ruff said, leaning against Jonny a little to share some heat, and Jonny nodded and pulled himself up again, one hand in Ruff’s feathery hair as they walked because it was comforting, like a teddy bear’s fur.

  The trees seemed to lighten, become less scary, less dark and twisty and more leafy-green-friendly, and Jonny’s tears stopped flowing. A spring came back into his step. There was a glowing light, like the branches were full of glow worms or fireflies, and Jonny heard soft singing.

  A door opened in the path in front of him, and the light from it was as comforting as the nightlight he was too big to use anymore, except when there was a storm. Together, he and Ruff went through the door. Surely now, they were at the end of the rainbow.

  There was a bed for him, certainly, and a beautiful lady wrapped him in the softest blanket and he got warm again very fast. Ruff curled in a circle at the foot of the bed. Fairies gathered to tell him how strong and brave he’d been.

  ‘You can rest now,’ the voices said, rasping and quiet. ‘You’re safe, you’ll have gold.’ Jonny caught one last glimpse of the world his parents inhabited before the door to the path closed forever, and he fell asleep.

  Kiss Your Mother

  Alan Lindsay

  ‘There! Right there. That’s where she hung herself.’

  This was the last room, the largest, and the only one with a high ceiling. For all the anticipation of sneaking into the empty ‘hanging house’, the boys were getting bored. Then this. Six pairs of eyes watched as Bub’s bike lamp played on the beam above their heads.

  ‘How do you know?’ asked Eric, annoyed at being trumped by his little brother.

  ‘Look,’ said Bub. ‘All along the beam. Dust, dust, dust – no dust – dust. The rope must’ve knocked the dust off.’

  The other boys followed the light.

  ‘Jeez, I reckon you’re right.’

  ‘That means she must’ve used one of these chairs,’ said Jake.

  ‘Wha’ d’you mean?’

  ‘You’ve got to stand on something and kick it away. Then your feet can’t reach the ground and you’re gone!’

  ‘Awesome.’

  There was a sudden crash and a gargling croak. Everyone turned.

  The face hung in mid-air, tongue lolling, eyes bulging. The light shining upwards from the torch made it look pink, almost transparent.

  ‘Eric! You scared the shit out of me!’

  Eric straightened his head and laughed. ‘You should’ve seen your faces!’ He picked up the chair and put it back by the table.

  ‘Hey. Look at this.’ Josh pointed. Leaning against a cabinet at the far end of the room was a circular board. They cocked their heads to look at the five-pointed star scraped in the centre of its wooden surface. In a ring around the star were the numbers zero to nine. Around that, small rectangles were marked at regular intervals.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Dunno.’

  ‘Let’s put it on the table.’

  ‘Shit, it’s heavy!’

  ‘We shouldn’t move things,’ said Bub.

  ‘Well, they’re not going to fingerprint anyone for shifting furniture, are they?’

  ‘We shouldn’t even be here. Mum says we’re not to cross the highway on our bikes.’

  ‘Mum’s not going to find out,’ said Eric. ‘Not unless you blub, Bub.’

  ‘Shut up, you two.’

  Mike’s face lit up. ‘I know what this is. It’s one of those ouija boards.’ Blank looks all round. ‘For contacting the spirits and stuff. I saw one on YouTube. There must be some letter cards around, as well.’ His beam danced wildly before settling on the cabinet. ‘Here.’ He took down a small black tin. In it were a deck of cards, two candles and a glass.

  ‘My mum always reckoned that old lady was a witch,’ said Josh.

  ‘Hey. Light those candles, eh. My batteries are nearly gone.’

  Mike counted the cards in the flickering light. ‘Twenty-two. Should be twenty-six. Four missing.’

  ‘No kidding, Einstein,’ said Eric.

  ‘What do you do with them?’ asked Josh.

  A siren sounded in the distance. The
y stood still, each holding his breath while it approached, then let out a collective sigh as the note changed and the vehicle went on its way.

  ‘I don’t like this,’ said Bub. ‘We should go.’

  ‘Go and watch the front then, if you’re scared,’ said Eric. ‘Let us know if anyone comes.’ As Bub left, Eric muttered ‘Wuss’ behind his back.

  *

  Always know your way back. That’s what their dad had taught them on their hunting trips. Bub switched off his lamp and counted the paces down the corridor. Five steps, turn right, six steps, right again through the next door. They’d been in this lounge earlier, the first room they’d explored. Four steps straight ahead, round the coffee table, feeling his way. Four more paces in the pitch dark. He reached out his hand and took hold of the curtain, proud to have calculated correctly. He pulled it towards himself and slipped past it to the window. He let the heavy material fall behind him, cutting off the voices from the other room.

  The front garden was blanketed in shadow, but as his eyes grew accustomed to the dark, he could just pick out the real estate sign. Their bikes were well hidden behind the bushes. Even if someone did pass they’d have no idea anyone was in the house. Not unless they could see lights. Eric was an idiot. First thing he’d done when he climbed in the back window was try to switch on the kitchen light. Good job the electricity was off.

  Bub patted the bike lamp in his pocket and settled down in the silence.

  *

  ‘Shouldn’t they be in alphabetical order?’

  Mike had set out the cards in the rectangles, leaving four spaces at what he had described as ‘random intervals’.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ Mike said firmly, trying to convince himself. He couldn’t actually remember.

  ‘It won’t matter,’ said Eric. The others looked at him. ‘If she’s a witch she’ll be able to spell anyway. Ow! What was that for?’

  ‘No more puns, right?’ Glen, the oldest, had been quiet for some time.

  ‘Come on. We’ve got to take this seriously,’ said Mike. ‘Jake, you take the notes. I’ll be the medium. That’s the person in charge of talking to the spirits.’

  ‘You can’t,’ said Eric. They all looked at him again. ‘You’re way too fat. You’re an extra large at least.’ Glen shook his head.

  ‘Right. Everyone put a finger on the glass. Not you, Jake. You just record the letters. Now push or pull gently. Whatever seems right. Then the spirits take over. Once you start you’ve got to keep your finger on the glass. Otherwise they get angry. So if you’re going to chicken out ...’ Mike glanced round but nobody moved. ‘OK. You always start with a question to make contact. So – is there anybody there?’

  They sat in silence until Eric giggled.

  ‘Quiet,’ said Mike. ‘The spirits don’t like you laughing at them.’

  As if Mike’s words were a cue, the glass started to move. It crept slowly but steadily over the board.

  ‘Who’s pulling?’

  ‘Not me.’

  ‘Y – E—’ —the glass drifted to one of the blank spaces— ‘—something,’ said Jake.

  ‘Yes,’ said Mike.

  ‘It might not be. It could be “yep”,’ said Eric.

  ‘We’ve got a P, you egg.’

  ‘Well you were just pulling and pushing it anyway. This is ridiculous. It could be “yer”. We don’t have an R.’

  ‘Shut up. Don’t annoy the spirits. We’ve got to keep going now.’ Mike paused. ‘What is your name?’

  The glass started moving again.

  ‘You’re doing that. I can feel you pushing it.’

  ‘It’s not me!’

  ‘H – A – T – E.’ The glass stopped. Jake’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Hate. That’s what that old lady must’ve called herself. It must be that witch.’

  ‘How did you die?’ asked Mike quietly.

  ‘Something – U – I – C – I – D – E.’

  ‘This is stupid.’ Eric was the only one still talking loudly. ‘Everyone knows the answers to these questions. We should ask something we don’t know.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I know. Hey, Hate, mate.’ He smiled at his rhyme. ‘Make a prediction.’

  This time the glass moved immediately.

  ‘Y – O – U – W – I’ —the glass dipped twice to another of the blanks— ‘something, something,’ Jake wrote fast as the glass moved back and forth. The others, even Eric, seemed stunned. At last, the glass stopped on the star in the centre, their fingers still resting on it.

  Glen was first to speak. ‘Who did that?’ No one replied. ‘Well, it wasn’t me.’

  ‘That,’ said Mike dramatically, ‘was Hate.’

  ‘Bullshit,’ said Eric. ‘That was you, Mike. You were pulling ... Shhh!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Shush, I said.’ Sharper this time.

  They held their breath, until Mike whispered ‘What?’ again.

  Eric let out a massive fart.

  ‘Oh gawd! That’s disgusting!’

  ‘Keep your fingers on the glass,’ Mike said, but no one heard him.

  ‘That stinks. I’m getting out of here. Before the fumes kill me.’

  ‘You’ve got to keep your fingers on the glass.’ Mike’s voice was frantic. The glass began to shake, rattling against the board. ‘Come back!’

  The glass shattered. One candle went out. The boys raced to the kitchen and fought to be first through the open window.

  Only Eric was taking his time. He wandered slowly after the others, and stopped to casually twiddle one of the knobs on the stove. ‘Hey. The gas still works,’ he said.

  ‘Leave the bloody gas,’ shouted Mike. ‘We’ve got to get out.’

  ‘Whatever.’

  Eric took a last look around then climbed over the sill and dropped onto the wet grass, bending his knees to break his fall. Standing up, he pushed the window closed, put his hands in his pockets and strolled round the corner of the house. He caught up with the others as they tried to untangle their bikes. ‘Chill out, you guys. What’s the problem?’

  ‘You saw that glass break,’ said Mike.

  ‘That was you, wasn’t it?’

  ‘It was bloody not.’ Mike was in Eric’s face.

  ‘It must’ve been. You were the only one touching it.’

  Glen stepped between them. ‘All right. All right. We’re out now aren’t we?’

  ‘What was that last message, anyway?’ asked Josh.

  Jake pulled out the scrap of paper. They gathered round and read by the light of Josh’s lamp.

  Y O U – W I _ _ – K I _ _ – Y O U _ – _ _ O T H E _

  They all stared. Then Mike piped up. ‘Ha. You will kiss your mother! Must be for you, Eric! You’re the mummy’s boy.’

  Jake looked serious. ‘Nah. That’s two letters there.’ He pointed. ‘And M wasn’t missing anyway.’

  ‘Where’s Bub?’ said Eric.

  *

  Bub watched them race for their bikes. Glen first, always the strongest and fittest, Josh and Jake following. Then Fat Mike. Eric last. Ambling along where the others had run. They didn’t seem very happy with each other. Bub smiled. Served them right for forgetting him.

  He stepped out from behind the curtain. The room seemed darker than ever. He could use his bike lamp, but ...

  Four steps, round the coffee table, four more. He felt the door frame. Left, six steps, left again. He could just make out the white of the stove in the kitchen at the far end of the passage. No need to count now. As he passed the big room, he saw the burning candle.

  Can’t leave that.

  The board is still on the table, bits of glass scattered over it and on the floor. There is a weird smell. He covers his nose and picks up the candle. Holding it ahead of him, he turns back.

  Towards the kitchen.

  Practice Makes Perfect

  Sally McLennan

  My grandfather told me to practise and so I did. ‘Start small,’ he said,
and I listened. Mom says you should always listen to grown-ups. So I do.

  The expression on my parents’ faces is amazing. I love it. There are little ducks on my pyjamas. I don’t like them. My room has ducks around the top of the walls too, even though I’m too old for it and boys shouldn’t have stencils – Gary Langdon said so. The stencils and pyjamas are there because of my second ever pet. It was a duck until last night when I took it to bed. The duck had followed me ever since it had hatched – everywhere around the farm – if you can call it a farm. I think they say ‘hobby farm’. But I’m not sure what the hobby is.

  ‘They love each other so much,’ Mom said once. Because the duck followed me and I let it.

  The duck even comes to sleep with me sometimes and Mom pretends she’s OK if it poops. It is soft and warm but annoying. Now the duck is just feathers and limpness. I held its beak shut and put my hands over its nostrils and lay on it. Then I called Mom and told her the truth: ‘Rocky won’t move.’

  She took one look and put her arms around me and held me against her. She called my dad and he slipped into the room while she held me. He took the not-Rocky, not-duck away. That night they made my favourite food and told me Rocky had gone to heaven. My favourite foods are macaroni and cheese and chocolate milkshake. I was still hungry and Mom asked what I wanted. She made pancakes. Pancakes are my next favourite food.

  Rocky was a big success.

  ‘Go slow and build up,’ Grandfather said, and so I did. I looked for something that was bigger than Rocky, and the neighbours had a cat. I waited more than two weeks. Because this time I needed help. I wanted some digging done but I don’t like to touch the dirt. If I got caught I didn’t want to be on my own. Not after Rocky. So I got my little brother and told him he had to dig a hole for me behind the shed. I told him we were looking for something buried, and if he didn’t do it I would punch him. He cried but he dug the hole. I went and got the cat and it scratched me but not really bad. I put it in the hole and held it down with the shovel. Then I kicked dirt in with my foot.

  ‘You’ve got to help,’ I told Matt. He just snivelled, so I told him to hold the shovel and he did. But he wouldn’t stop crying. I didn’t even punch him.