Short Tales 2

  * * *

  Abbey got up early on the day of the party. She measured out the cocoa, the rice bubbles and the icing sugar and put them into a bowl. She was reaching into the fridge for the copha when her mother came into the kitchen and asked what time basketball was starting.

  Abbey had forgotten all about basketball. “But the chocolate crackles!” she said.

  “I’ll make the chocolate crackles and bring them over,” said her mother.

  Taylor was the only girl in the club who didn’t play basketball. The previous Saturday was meant to be the last game of the year, but the game ended in a draw, so they had to play it again.

  They asked, or begged, members of their families to make the food they’d promised to bring to the party. Beck had to promise her brother, Simon, she’d be his servant for a day if he went to the shop and bought the pizzas.

  Taylor made the fairy cakes, then took them to the treehouse early.

  When she got there, Abbey’s dad was fixing the ladder and her mother was inside putting chocolate crackles and chips on the table and hanging Christmas decorations.

  Taylor crossed out “NO ADULTS” just in time.

  Katelyn’s mother wasn’t far behind them.

  Simon and his friend, Charlie, were next, picking their way carefully, carrying the pizzas.

  Taylor crossed out “NO BOYS” just in time.

  Kyle and Jacob came hurtling through the bush each carrying a big bottle of orange juice.

  When the girls finished their basketball game and climbed the ladder, there wasn’t much standing room left. There was enough for one little girl, which was just as well, because Joanna screamed so loudly about being left behind, that Madeline had to bring her too.

  Taylor crossed out “NO LITTLE KIDS” just as they arrived.

  It was so noisy, that everyone had to “Shush” when Abbey’s dad answered his mobile phone. “Bring him over here!” he said.

  Taylor crossed out “NO MOBILE PHONES”.

  When Abbey’s Auntie Jenny came up the ladder carrying a puppy, Taylor crossed out “NO ANIMALS”.

  Auntie Jenny was looking after Tippy and couldn’t find the dog food. There was no room on the treehouse floor for a puppy, so his soft, wriggly little body was passed around and everyone got to hold him. He wolfed down half the sausage rolls, although he wasn’t too keen on the ones with tomato sauce on them. Abbey thought he would wag his tail off.

  Auntie Jenny was the last adult to leave.

  “Gorgeous party. Such a friendly little club,” she said to Kyle.

  “Yeah, they’re real friendly girls. Not the sort who’d throw water bombs at a person who was just walking through the bush minding his own business,” he said, looking straight at Madeline.

  “Heavens, no,” Auntie Jenny said, as she swung her bottom around and backed carefully down the ladder.

  Back to top

  Bongo and Me

  Janet Moore

  “Quick,” I yell to Bongo, “to the cyclotron. The world as we know it is in danger. I have just received an urgent message from Headquarters.”

  I rush over to the exercise bike and start the super turbo, jet override thrusters. Bongo is already hanging off the handlebars, waiting for me. He is surprisingly fast for a giant spider. Ever since I accidently lasered him with my zippy zapper, his molecules have stretched, making him bigger and faster than any other spider in history. If he grows any more, it will be me hanging off the handlebars with Bongo doing the peddling.

  Hey, maybe that’s not such a bad idea.

  I check to make sure he has his seat belt on. We tend to have issues over this because Bongo gets confused over which arm (or leg) it has to go over. But now is not the time to lecture Bongo. As long as his seat belt is over something, I know he will be safe.

  Time is of the essence, we must away.

  I go through the take-off checklist.

  Number 1: seat belts secure – check.

  Number 2: hand brake off – check.

  Number 3: water bottles full – check.

  I go through the familiar list.

  Number 56: change of underpants – check.

  Number 57: umbrella – check, and finally, number 58: don’t lose the checklist – check.

  Everything is check. We’re good to go.

  Just then, Bongo mumbles something. It must be important because Bongo rarely mumbles, he usually hisses.

  “What’s that, Bongo?” I ask.

  “Helmets,” he repeats. “Don’t forget our helmets.”

  Well, by jingo, he’s right. We aren’t wearing our helmets.

  Carefully I get my pen out, which is number 27 on the list, and some paper, number 33, and update my checklist. Number 59: helmets.

  “Great, Bongo, thanks for that. If we have an accident, we don’t want to be hurt. Not when we are on a mission to save the world as we know it.”

  Bongo hisses at me, “If we don’t hurry, the world as we know it will become the world as we don’t know it, and we will have failed in our mission.”

  I take his point. Maybe the checklist is a tad long, but safety first, I always say.

  I grab the helmets and now it’s a “Roger” for lift off. I signal to Roger that we are ready. Roger lumbers over and lifts us off the exercise bike stand and put us on the runway.

  Roger is another creature that I accidently lasered with my zippy zapper. Most people find the sight of a large, lumbering cockroach unappealing but I think Roger has a certain amount of charm.

  Anyway, I have now thrown the zippy zapper away. Responsibly, I might add, in the recycling bin. It was more trouble than it was worth.

  Now we are away.

  Peddling fast, I build up speed. The turbo thrusters start to whine as we reach optimum velocity. Up the garden path, round the lamp post three times (in a clockwise direction), past the statue covered in pigeon poo and behind the giant waterfall at the swim park to “Saving the World as We Know it Headquarters”.

  Bongo is a bit late putting the umbrella up as we go behind the giant waterfall and we arrive at the secret door soaking wet.

  When we arrive, I spit onto the secret scanner by the fake rock. The scanner scans and a door behind the waterfall slides open. Most secret agencies have fingerprints or eye scanners but our agency is so secret we spit.

  Once inside, I’m whisked away to the top floor, to the most secretest room of all. Here, we have to shout to be heard above all the water crashing down from the waterfall. It’s right above us. The ceiling leaks a bit, but luckily Bongo has remembered to bring the umbrella with him.

  He doesn’t want to share it though so I am forced to grab an umbrella from a visitors umbrella stand. It’s rather a nice blue and white striped one; I wonder if they would miss it?

  “What’s up,” I yell to my boss. “Why did you summon us and what’s the danger?”

  My boss, simply called Big B, yells back, “It’s Spiral, the giant noodle. He’s holed up in a takeaway noodle shop across town and he’s rallying all the noodles of the world together. He’s planning something diabolical. We need you and Bongo to capture him before he gets into any hot water. You know what it might mean if he does. It could be the end of the world as we know it.”

  I gulp. This is bad.

  Spiral has always been a slippery character but, if he manages to get into any hot water, he will go all bendy and he could then slither his way down a drain and disappear completely. We must capture him quickly.

  Big B was right when he said it could be the end of the world as we know it because no one knows what the world would be like if it was run by a giant noodle.

  “Come on Bongo,” I yell, “to the cyclotron. We must find Spiral before it’s too late.”

  I quickly go through the checklist while trying to smuggle the blue and white striped umbrella into the basket of the cyclotron. (I really do like it.)

  Then the super turbo, jet override thrus
ters kick in and we are away again. As we peddle to the other side of town, it is easy to spot Spiral.

  He is hiding out at “Lumpy’s Noodle Bar” and, by the looks of it, he hasn’t wasted any time. He’s got saucepans of hot water starting to boil and he’s sending out steam messages. Litres of water are bubbling away as he sends out his steam messages urging noodles everywhere to join.

  We can see oodles of noodles answering his call. Long rivers of noodles are making their way to the takeaway shop. Flat noodles, rice noodles, noodles of every shape and size are marching down the streets.

  The situation is code red. I must get inside the noodle bar to find out what is going on. I have to think fast. I know, I’ll use one of my many famous disguises.

  Instantly, I disguise myself as a two minute noodle. Bongo doesn’t need a disguise. As a giant spider, he can go anywhere he wants.

  We manage to creep inside the noodle shop undetected.

  As we make our way past the saucepans full of boiling water, I spy Spiral. I am filled with dread as I see he has been joined in his plotting and scheming by Willy the Wok and Egg E Noodle, two of the toughest noodles in the business.

  As I creep closer, I can hear Spiral bragging as he outlines his dastardly plan. He is telling Willy the Wok and Egg E Noodle that as soon as the water in the saucepans reaches boiling point, he will give the signal and all the noodles will jump into the water. As soon as they are “al dente,” they will then slither down every drain, sewer, and plug hole in the world. When they cool, they will form a soggy congealed mass of gelatinous slime, blocking up every hole. No one will be able to wash or shower. People will start to stink and will rush out to buy pegs for their noses. Eventually, there would be a worldwide peg shortage and by then, the stink would be so bad everyone would be forced to smell it. Nothing would be clean and everyone would die from stink disease.

  Pretty clever, actually.

  (And not washing does have some appeal but not enough to stink to death.)

  But I have a plan.

  I tell Bongo. He hisses his approval and hisses that as plans go he thinks it’s quite good.

  I’m pleased he likes the plan because it’s actually the only one I’ve got.

  We swing into action.

  I make my way down to where Spiral and his head noodles are standing, talking their evil talks, and Bongo hides behind the saucepans.

  I go as close as I dare and then, throwing off my disguise, I confront Spiral.

  “The game is up,” I shout. “Your noodle is cooked.”

  Now, I have to add here that Spiral is a strange looking noodle, almost certainly one of a kind. He has five bulging multi coloured eyes.

  As I shout out to him to stop, he slowly turns and looks at me. Now this can be very confusing because when he looks in your direction, steeling you with his steely gazes, you never actually know where he’s looking.

  I start to feel dizzy, but Spiral is counting on this. He’s hoping that I will fall over from all the dizziness and then he can capture me.

  But I am ready for him.

  As Spiral fixes me with his steely gazes, he doesn’t know that I have underneath my disguise… another disguise and this one has seven eyes. I can out-eye him.

  Spiral is confused. My seven eyes dance round Spiral’s five eyes and he now he starts to get dizzy and he’s the one who falls over. He lands on Willy the Wok and Egg E Noodle. Quickly, I run over and tie them up in noodle knots.

  But just before Spiral collapses, he manages to give the launch signal. The water has reached boiling point and all the noodles start jumping into the saucepans.

  “You will not stop my plan for world domination,” yells Spiral. “It will be the end of the world as you know it. It cannot be stopped now. Noodle Power will win.”

  “Not if I have anything to do with it,” hisses Bongo. And, using his eight legs, he quickly puts the lids on all the saucepans.

  Now all the noodles are trapped. Escape is impossible.

  I go over to high five Bongo, or should I say high five, high five, high five, high five, high five, high five, high five, high five. I never can work out which of his arms or legs to high five so we usually end up doing them all.

  “By jingo, our plan worked,” I say. “Now we won’t all die from stink disease. In fact, we will all have a good feast of noodles.”

  As I report back to Big B, Bongo is already getting out the soy sauce.

  The takeaway owner has returned and is really pleased. Business is brisk and he’s taking lots of orders.

  Spiral is led away in disgrace. He’ll be an old and crunchy noodle before he is ever released from prison.

  “I will get even,” he threatens. “Even if it means joining forces with my cousins.”

  I shudder.

  His cousins, the Pasta Family, are notorious. There are so many of them. They can disguise themselves in all sorts of shapes; round, long, fat and flat, as butterflies or shells. Some are thick, some are thin and all are quick. An attack by the fasta pastas would mean the end of the world as we know it.

  But, thankfully, we have captured Spiral in time.

  Bongo and I jump on the cyclotron and prepare to peddle back to “Saving the World as We Know it Headquarters”. We have our takeaway noodles and we are happy, but we must remain alert and vigilant. We must be ready to swing into action at a moment’s notice, keep any eye out for any unusual pasta movement just in case. Otherwise, it could be the end of the world as we know it.

  But first, I must go through my checklist.

  Back to top

  Lame Duck Protest

  Goldie Alexander

  The duckling hides in the bulrushes on the edge of the lake. His head droops and his eyes are closed.

  “Zoe,” I say. “That duck’s asleep.”

  “No, Hannah. He’s sick.” She reaches in and picks him up.

  My heart gives an angry thump. Zoe’s always getting me in trouble. I yell, “We’re not supposed to touch wild birds.”

  Zoe holds the duckling closer. Fat tears trickle down her cheek. My little sister’s a cry baby.

  I look more carefully. One of the duckling’s legs sticks out the wrong way. “Let’s take him home and ask Mum,” I say.

  We’re nearly out of the reserve when old Mr Collins ZOOMS past. His chair does a wheelie and stops right in front.

  “Hi, Hannah. Hi, Zoe.” His shiny head bends over the duckling. “You’re not supposed to touch wild birds.”

  “We know,” says Zoe.

  “But we think something’s wrong with his leg,” I say.

  “Hmmmm,” says Mr Collins. “Best take him to the Vet.”

  On the other side of the gates, we meet Miss Browne and Mrs Hobson. Miss Browne is tall and thin. Mrs Hobson is short and round. If you scrunch up your eyes, they look like a 10.

  Mrs Hobson is pushing her walking frame. She sniffs like an insect’s gone up her nose. “Hi, Zoe,” she says. “What have you got there?”

  Zoe shows her.

  Mrs Hobson says sternly, “Children are not allowed to touch wild birds.”

  “We know,” Zoe says. “But he’s got a sick leg.”

  Miss Browne leans on her walking sticks and says, “Poor little thing. Best take him to the Vet.”

  At home, Mum is cooking tea. She says crossly, “You’re not allowed to touch wild birds.”

  “We know,” says Zoe. “But...”

  “We think he’s got a sick leg,” I say. “Maybe it’s broken.”

  Mum sighs and turns off the stove. She drives us to the Vet’s. We have to wait a long time before we go into her office.

  “I’m Kate,” she says. “Please put the duckling on the table.”

  Zoe does.

  The duckling does a greenie-brown poop.

  Zoe giggles.

  Kate peers at us over her specs. “You’re not supposed to handle wild birds.”

 
“We know,” I say. “But we think he’s broken his leg.”

  Kate stops looking stern. “What’s his name?”

  Zoe nibbles her thumb and looks at me.

  “Anton,” I decide. Anton is in my class. He’s my best friend.

  Kate turns Anton over. She shakes her head. “Anton is really Antonia. You’re right. She’s got a broken leg. Leave her with me. You can pick her up on Friday. Okay?”

  “Okay,” we chorus.

  * * *

  All week Zoe worries about Antonia.

  “She’ll be fine,” I say. “Kate will fix her leg.”

  But Zoe goes on nibbling her thumb.

  Friday, Mum drives us to Kate’s surgery.

  All the way there, Zoe keeps nibbling her thumb.

  Antonia is pleased to see us. When Zoe picks her up, she pecks at her hand. “She’s hungry,” Zoe cries.

  Kate says, “Antonia might always walk with a limp. When she’s really strong, you must return her to the Reserve. Meanwhile,” she hands me a bag, “feed her on Duck Pellets and any leftover vegetables.”

  At home, we line a carton with newspaper and put Antonia inside. She hunkers down and closes her eyes.

  “Antonia’s tired,” says Zoe. She tiptoes away.

  Sometimes my little sister surprises me.

  * * *

  Soon, Antonia loses her baby down. She grows speckled brown feathers edged with green. She looks like any wild duck. Except for her waddle.

  “More like a waddle-limp,” says Mum.

  Antonia follows Zoe everywhere. Even into the lavatory.

  I say, “That duck thinks you’re her mum.”

  Zoe just giggles.

  At night, Antonia sleeps in her special box next to Zoe’s bed. When Zoe and I are in school, she waddle-limps around our back yard looking for snails.

  Sometimes when Mum is late home from work, I babysit Zoe and we walk to the Reserve. I hold Zoe’s hand all the way there.

  Antonia waddle-limps behind us.

  Sometimes we meet Mr Collins. He does a wheelie and asks, “How’s your lame duck?”

  “Her name’s Antonia,” says Zoe. “She’s fine.”

  Mr Collins grins and his teeth slide up and down. “Reckon that duck thinks you’re her mum.”

  “Reckon she does,” says Zoe and giggles.