So Festy! Page 5

  ‘How could you not?’ asked Flutterbum, his eyes narrowing as he rubbed a sore spot on his hip.

  ‘I didn’t know!’ cried FlatuLance. ‘You see, blowing up the toilet was an accident.’

  ‘What do you mean, an accident?’ asked Flutterbum, flapping his wings in indignation. ‘You almost killed me!’

  ‘Yes, FlatuLance,’ said Foreman Phat. ‘Explain how you can have an accident like that.’

  FlatuLance hung his head.

  Several fairies cried out, ‘Tell us! How?’

  ‘After I stole the Pepper Pie Popper I heard someone coming,’ explained FlatuLance.

  ‘That’d be me,’ interrupted Fogbottom. ‘I was gonna do a whoopsie before work but then I heard someone in another cubicle and decided to go later.’ He looked sheepish as he said, ‘A fairy’s gotta ’ave ’is privacy.’

  Foreman Phat shook his head in amusement then turned to FlatuLance saying, ‘Go on.’

  ‘I heard someone coming and I didn’t want to be caught with the Pepper Pie Popper so I hid it.’ Here, he turned a wretched red. ‘I hid it up my bum.’

  Flutterbum growled, grabbing FlatuLance by a pointy ear. ‘But why break the insertion device?’

  ‘The insertion device was the key to the Fantastic Fart Factory,’ explained FlatuLance. ‘Without it, it would not work.’

  ‘Clever,’ said Flutterbum in reluctant admiration.

  ‘Ridiculous!’ said Fluff in annoyance. ‘Go on.’

  ‘And then I stole all the food and ate it because without food the Triple-F would be useless. But the food gave me gale-force gas,’ FlatuLance went on. ‘I had a terrible tummy-ache.’

  There was not one sympathetic look from the fairies.

  FlatuLance’s voice was getting higher and higher. ‘I knew I had to get rid of the gas or I’d burst. I was in such pain, you see. And I knew I’d broken the insertion device so there was no chance of removing the Pepper Pie Popper and delivering it to Mrs Bottomlee.’ FlatuLance faced the crowd, his hands open in an appeal for sympathy.

  There was none. The fairies were grinning mercilessly.

  ‘Yes?’ asked Fluff in encouragement. ‘You still haven’t told us how you blew up the toilet?’

  ‘I could not get rid of the Pepper Pie Popper’ said FlatuLance. ‘But I could destroy the gas evidence. So, I did the only thing I could, given the circumstances.’

  ‘What? What?’ chorused the fairies. ‘What did you do?’

  ‘You know that trick where you light your farts with a lighter?’ asked FlatuLance with a sheepish grin. ‘It works!’

  Tales from the Freezer

  Chapter One

  It is midnight. A van steals down the hushed street. It cruises. Stops. Two figures get out, carrying something between them. They disappear through a side door. A third figure, smaller than the others, emerges from shadows. It creeps to the van. Stops. Peers over the bonnet. A sniff rents the air. The small figure turns to the darkness, then beckons. Quickly it is joined by another small figure. They dart inside.

  ‘Business looks dead today,’ Lenny whispers to his friend, Max.

  Max grins, nudges Lenny in the ribs, then replies, ‘Deader than a doornail.’

  ‘Wouldn’t be seen dead in there,’ counters Lenny.

  Max groans, saying, ‘Drop dead, why don’t you.’

  The boys start to giggle, then Lenny starts up again, ‘Doctor, Doctor I only have 59 seconds to live…’

  Max finishes for him. ‘Hang on a minute!’

  The boys double over. They are standing outside a building. Out the front is an official-looking sign. Starting up again Lenny says, ‘Dead Centre of town.’

  ‘That’s an old one,’ says Max, giving Lenny a punch. Just then an ambulance drives past. It pulls in to a side entrance.

  ‘They’re doing the graveyard shift,’ says Lenny, wiping his nose with his sleeve.

  Max looks at the sky. Night-time is a long way off. He rolls his eyes, but doesn’t correct Lenny.

  The boys watch as the ambulance men open the back doors and erect a trolley. Then, they lift a large long bag onto the trolley. One man loses his grip. The boys watch, intrigue turning to horror as the body slips.

  ‘It didn’t bend!’ whispers Max.

  Lenny nods, then adds solemnly, ‘The real Mr Stiffy.’

  The boys crack up again, howling as the body is wheeled in.

  ‘Wouldn’t ya just love to see inside,’ says Lenny, nudging Max in the ribs. ‘Just like those crime shows on TV.’

  Max nods and smiles as he agrees, ‘They’re the best!’

  ‘Especially those murder ones,’ says Lenny. He nods at the building. ‘Wouldn’t it be mad to go inside?’

  Max’s smile fades, then disappears. ‘We can’t afford to get into any more trouble. We’re on a caution, remember? One more thing and we’ll be roasted.’

  ‘Gutless?’ goads Lenny.

  ‘Nah.’ Max shakes his head then argues, ‘Besides, they wouldn’t let us in.’

  ‘Don’t have to.’ Lenny’s voice is a whisper as he points. ‘See that window above the side door. It’s wide open.’

  Several hours later…

  ‘Wonder where they keep ’em,’ whispers Lenny.

  ‘What?’ asks Max.

  ‘The bodies, you dead head.’

  Max shrugs but Lenny doesn’t see. ‘In drawers I expect.’

  The air is cold, cold enough to wedge in throats and seep through skin. The silence burrows down. Max takes a step forward. He trips. He reaches out. Rigid fingers clang against cold metal when…

  ‘Boo!’

  ‘Aaaagh!’ shrieks Max, springing backwards and jerking into Lenny.

  ‘Steady,’ says Lenny, anchoring Max by the elbows. ‘What’re you trying to do? Kill yourself?’

  ‘Well, stop trying to scare me. I’m terrified as it is!’

  For once Lenny stays silent. Folding his arms close to his chest he peers through the darkness. His eyes make out a wall, it’s shiny surface pocked with drawers—row upon row upon row. A lump forms in Lenny’s throat. It won’t swallow away. In the centre of the room is a low table, steel sterile, reflecting light from the moon. Apart from the ricketty-rack of Max’s breathing, the room is…

  ‘Deathly quiet,’ whispers Lenny. He sniffs as Max pokes him in the ribs.

  ‘Dead right.’

  ‘Wonder where the body bags are?’ says Lenny. ‘Like on the telly.’

  Max gulps.

  ‘And the toe tags,’ adds Lenny.

  ‘And the Formalin,’ joins in Max, keen to prove he knows crime shows, too.

  ‘Formaldehyde,’ corrects Lenny.

  ‘Formalin!’

  Lenny shrugs and says, ‘Whatever.’ Looking around the room he spies a cupboard and walks over to it. Max follows. Lenny reaches for the door, surprised when it opens easily. Inside, there is a stack of plastic, scissors, rolls of tape, something that looks like a pile of sheets and some large brown bottles.

  ‘I heard that when they embalm an Egyptian mummy they pull the brains out the nostrils,’ says Lenny, picking up some long-handled tweezers and clamping them on Max’s nose. ‘Dead from the nose up.’

  ‘Cut it out,’ says Max, twisting from Lenny’s grip.

  ‘Good one,’ says Lenny.

  Unaware that he’s made a joke Max ploughs on. ‘They don’t have mummies today, stupid.’

  Lenny snorts and raises his eyebrows as he says, ‘Well, not that sort.’ He reaches for a sheet. ‘Wonder what these are for?’ He throws one over his head and lurches around the room echoing, ‘Oooohhhh! OoooOOOHHHH!’, getting louder all the time.

  ‘Shh!’ hisses Max, snatching off the sheet. ‘You’ll wake everyone.’

  Lenny gives a snort, ‘What? From their Eternal Sleep?’

  Max looks sheepish. ‘Just be quiet,’ he cautions.

  ‘Quiet as a graveyard,’ Lenny says in a solemn voice, but his eyes twinkle.

  Max shakes his head. ‘Wil
l you be serious!’ he says. ‘We don’t want to get caught.’

  Lenny folds the sheet and places it back where he found it. Max watches as Lenny pulls out a bag saying, ‘Look! A body bag. It’s got a zipper down the front, just like Dad’s suit bag.’ He runs the zipper up and down.

  ‘Wonder if they come in different sizes?’ says Max, thinking aloud. He grabs a plastic bag and holds it up to himself. It drapes on the ground. ‘This one must be for a huge man. Or a fat person.’ Max chitters on. ‘I once saw this monstrous grave at the cemetery, when we went to visit my grandmother. I tell you…’ He starts pacing out the room. ‘The person was THAT fat!’

  Lenny shakes his head in disbelief and gives Max a shove. ‘Those fat graves aren’t for fat people, you mush-for-brains. They’re for two people—married people—people who want to lie side by side for the rest of their lives.’

  ‘Oh!’ says Max, glad that Lenny can’t see him blush. He shoves the body bag back on the shelf and grabs another. ‘Teeny weeny,’ he says, holding it up. ‘Must be for a baby.’ He pauses, then shoves it in his pocket as a souvenir. ‘Or one of those little people. You know,’ he adds as Lenny frowns, ‘an elf.’

  Lenny snorts. ‘You mean a dwarf, you thick head.’

  ‘Mum says we’ve got a cemetery at home. For single socks.’ Max knows he’s prattling but he can’t stop himself. ‘Who knows where their partners go?’

  ‘Who cares?’ says Lenny, leaning in to inspect the bottles. ‘Wonder what’s in here?’

  Max shrugs, then doggedly persists. ‘So Mum calls the pile of leftovers, The Sock Cemetery.’

  But Lenny isn’t listening. Unable to open the bottle he moves on, reaching for a box on the bench. He flips it open and peers inside. ‘Cool!’ he says.

  ‘Freezing,’ agrees Max with a shiver.

  ‘Not the temperature,’ says Lenny. ‘These.’ He holds up a pile of white tags. ‘Must be the toe tags,’ he says with excitement. ‘You know, for ID.’ Lenny grabs a pen and starts writing. Kicking off his shoes and socks he attaches the tag to his toe, admiring his handiwork. ‘One size fits all,’ he says with a chuckle.

  Just then, the room is swathed with light. Someone has flicked a switch in the hall outside. Footsteps echo through the corridor.

  Lenny and Max jump with such force their hearts lodge in their gut. They scan the room, looking for a place to hide.

  ‘The cupboard?’ squeaks Max.

  Lenny shakes his head. ‘No room.’

  The footsteps sound like cannonballs, threatening to smash the door.

  Lenny gives a yelp. He scoops up his shoes and socks and dashes to the wall of drawers, pulling one out. It is empty. ‘C’mon.’ He beckons to Max and starts to climb into the long metal drawer.

  Max hesitates, glances left, right, left, then decides to head for the door. Outside, the footsteps stop. Inside, Max stops. A key is placed in a lock. Max bolts, but when he pulls out a drawer a foot emerges, nails curved and clawed. Max grunts with fear, as though the foot has kicked him. Slamming the drawer shut he furiously opens another.

  A key turns in a lock.

  Empty! Max scrambles inside, levering the drawer shut.

  Footsteps and light flood the room.

  Max floods his drawer.

  Lenny grins into the darkness.

  Chapter Two

  ‘Who’s there?’ The voice is gruff and deep. It is a woman’s voice.

  The boys hear muffled footsteps, the creaking of cupboard doors. They lie rigid, cocooned in inky darkness.

  ‘Odd,’ says the woman. Her shoes scrape on the vinyl floor as she swings around. Lenny and Max lie doggo. The footsteps get louder, then stop. There is a long pause.

  ‘Could’ve sworn I heard voices!’ exclaims the woman, shaking her head. ‘Best to be on the safe side.’ She reaches for a bunch of keys in her pocket.

  Huddled in the dark the boys hear more keys turning in locks. Lots of them.

  What the…? thinks Lenny. Then, Oh, no! She’s locking us in! Sweat breaks out on his back. Why would you lock up corpses? Lenny wonders. It’s not as if they’re gonna escape. Lenny hears a whimper. Max!

  The keys stop.

  Lenny bites his lip, ESP-ing Max to keep quiet. A century of seconds passes.

  Finally the footsteps clang across the room. A door shuts. The footsteps fade.

  ‘L-Le-Lenny!’ shouts Max.

  ‘This is so cool,’ hisses Lenny. ‘I always wanted to see what it would be like inside a coffin and I reckon this must be pretty damn close.’

  ‘We’re locked in. We’re gonna die!’ A wailing comes from a drawer to Lenny’s right.

  Lenny thinks fast. He has to distract Max. ‘We’ll be outta here in a few short hours. Relax. Take a chill pill.’

  The wail snorts, then fades to a whine.

  ‘Hey, Max,’ calls Lenny. ‘Remember those old bikes we used to have.’

  Max sobs.

  ‘Remember?’ says Lenny with more urgency. ‘What did we used to call them?’

  ‘Dead. Deadly,’ says a very small voice. ‘Deadly tread…’

  ‘That’s right!’ squeals Lenny. ‘Deadly Treadleys. Amazing we didn’t kill anyone the way we flew down that hill.’

  ‘Amazing we didn’t kill ourselves!’ answers Max. ‘Although now, we may as well be dead.’ His voice breaks on the dead.

  ‘Remember how we had that major stack and ended up in Mr Mac’s garden?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Lenny is relieved that Max is sounding more normal. ‘Remember when we found that dead cat?’ he goes on. ‘Remember that song we made up? The Rigor Mortis song?’ From here he breaks into song:

  Ri-i-i-g-or Mortis. Ri-i-ig-or Mortis.

  First eyes ’n toes,

  Then legs ’n nose,

  Neck and bum,

  And last your tum.

  Rig-or Mortis!

  ‘We had actions,’ reminds Max.

  Despite the narrow space Lenny slaps his hand in his fist. ‘That’s right! We did.’ He pauses for a minute. ‘And we’d get faster and faster. C’mon, Max. Sing it with me.’ The morgue is treated to a rousing rendition of the Rigor Mortis song. ‘Again!’ yells Lenny.

  They get faster and faster, louder and louder until, ‘Ouch!’ says Max. ‘I’ve poked myself in the eye.’ Despite the pain, he has to admit, ‘Thanks, Lenny. I do feel a whole lot better.’

  ‘That’s alright,’ answers Lenny. ‘The way to get through this is to distract ourselves.’

  ‘But how?’

  ‘Games.’

  ‘Games?’ scoffs Max. ‘In case you haven’t noticed, there’s not much room for handball.’

  ‘Ha, ha,’ says Lenny. ‘What about a word game?’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I dunno.’ Lenny thinks for a moment then grins into the darkness. ‘I Spy?’

  It is Max’s turn to say, ‘Ha, ha. Very funny.’

  ‘You’re being a dag,’ cries Lenny. ‘I’m trying to help us here. I know! Let’s think of how many ways you can say the word ‘dead’. Whoever gets the most, wins.’

  ‘Wins what?’

  ‘A free pass to tonight’s movie double!’ says Lenny sarcastically. He waits for a response from Max. There is none. Typical! thinks Lenny. Then out loud, ‘Think of that cat. We can’t use the word ‘dead’. Okay? The cat…’

  ‘Easy,’ interrupts Max. ‘Passed away! Carked it! That’s two for me.’

  ‘Let’s make it harder,’ says Lenny. ‘Each word has to start with ‘d’.’ He pauses for a moment, then says in a funny voice, ‘This cat is not dead! It is…’

  ‘Deceased,’ answers Max, quick as a flash. ‘Three for me.’

  ‘Now, you’ve got it.’ Lenny laughs. ‘My turn. This cat is not dead or deceased. It is…defunct.’

  Max giggles, then mimics Lenny’s voice. ‘This cat is not dead or deceased or defunct. It has permanently—departed!’ His voice slips back to normal. ‘I’m on four.’

  Lenny grun
ts, then sniffs. The game is heating up. ‘This cat is not dead…It is dispatched!’ he concludes, unable to keep the triumph from his voice.

  Max takes his time. Eventually he says, ‘It’s getting too hard. Let’s stop.’

  ‘You don’t want me to win, you cheater.’ Lenny goes on. ‘This cat is not dead or dispatched. This cat is…done for! Only one behind,’ adds Lenny.

  ‘We’re the ones who are done for.’ A long moan is the reply, followed by a sharp intake of breath. Max’s voice quivers. ‘We’ve been left for dead!’

  ‘Dead ducks,’ agrees Lenny.

  ‘I want my mummy,’ whimpers Max.

  ‘It’s you who’s the big mummy,’ answers Lenny. ‘Mummy’s boy, that is.’

  ‘Oh, will you shut up!’ yells Max. ‘We’re in a mess. And it’s all your fault.’ His voice catches. ‘If this doesn’t kill me, Mum and Dad will!’

  ‘No, they won’t,’ answers Lenny. ‘Your mum and dad think you’re at my place and my mum and dad think I’m at your place. We won’t even be missed.’

  Silence greets this remark. A few minutes later Max continues, ‘I’m cold. I’m hungry. And I have to do a number two.’

  At this, Lenny starts to laugh.

  ‘It’s not funny,’ barks Max.

  The laugh turns into a cough. ‘Use the body bag you snaffled,’ says Lenny. ‘Poo in that.’

  A few minutes later Lenny can hear the sound of a zip closing. ‘Ahhh! That’s better,’ says Max.

  Cramped and cold the boys stay awake till morning.

  ‘I’m so stiff you’d think I did have rigor mortis,’ says Max, but his words are cut off by an unknown voice and a rapping on the door.

  ‘New arrival!’

  Lenny strains to work out the words. Max starts to tremble.