Mother Ghost Grimm Page 12

  I tried to warn Tommy. Three of us had snuck into the Duvale house – and run screaming back out of it. But Tommy was fifteen, and just happy that he wouldn’t have to change schools or leave Samantha.

  “Tommy, three of us snuck through a window a couple months ago. The smell was rank. And it was like the house hated us. We felt like we’d been swallowed, all covered with spit and stomach juice. It burned like hell. And we’d just climbed in through the kitchen window, not doing anything.”

  Tommy didn’t buy it. “Pete, my dad and I have been through the house a couple times, no problem- we even crawled through the basement looking for leaks- nothing but cobwebs. Tell me another one.”

  “You were there during the day, Tommy, we were there at night.”

  “I never saw any burns on you.”

  “I said it felt like it. And we ran out the kitchen door after a couple seconds- the burning and the smell drove us almost crazy.”

  “The only thing that happened to me was coughing on the dust. We have to move, Pete, and the price is really cheap- something we can live with. The place is just old and dirty. We can fix it up.”

  “Tommy, when the cops finally broke into the house, old man Duvale and his wife had been dead for weeks, and nobody knows how they died. That doesn’t get you worried?”

  “The rotten smell’s mostly gone, and like I said, we need this place.”

  Tommy was taller than me by half a head, and bigger all around. Not much scared him, but he needed to be frightened. He’d been my best friend ever since he pounded on a kid who’d been pounding on me, and I couldn’t let him go down in that house.

  “Okay, you don’t believe me.” I took in a breath. There was only one way I could see to convince him, and I was afraid to do it.

  “Can you get the key to the Duvale house?”

  “Sure, it’s in our front hall.”

  “How about, tonight, after supper, you and I go to the house and last as long as we can. If nothing happens, I’ll shut up and not bug you again.”

  I think Tommy saw that I believed what I said.

  “Okay, Pete, after dinner. And when nothing happens, I’m going to remind you about it for a year.”

  That afternoon I thought about taking my pocket knife or a hammer with me, and decided not to. There’d been nothing to cut or swing at. I almost called Tommy twice to back out, but knew I had to go.

  Our house was closer to the Duvale place than Tommy’s was, so he walked over around seven that evening. We didn’t say much as we walked further on.

  The power had been turned off to the house, so Tommy and I had brought flashlights. Once he’d unlocked and opened the door, the smell hit us. A rank-sweet odor that choked up our throats.

  “Stinks worse than last time,” Tommy said.

  The flashlights swept across the bodies of hundreds of dead corpse flies who’d run out of food after the Duvale bodies had been removed. Our sneakers made no noise on the wood floors as we slow-walked through the foyer and into the living room.

  “Let’s stop here,” I said. I didn’t want to be too far from the door. We did and listened. A beam made a settling creak and I almost ran out.

  Tommy waved his flashlight. “See, nothing but a rotten smell.”

  We stood there for a few seconds, looking around at the worn through and faded furniture. I felt a vibration and spun my own flashlight around. The air near the front door was a floor to ceiling wall of pulsating lime colors that bulged toward us.

  I yelled- more like screamed- “Tommy we’ve gotta get out of here!”

  Tommy, the idiot, ran toward the slime. “No Tommy, the other way!” I yelled, but I couldn’t leave him and ran after. Tommy hit the green curtain and yelled in pain before he sank halfway into it. I dropped my flashlight and grabbed him, my hands sinking into the goo.

  My hands felt like they were on fire and I almost let go of Tommy but yanked him loose. He was screaming through the gunk around his mouth. He’d held onto his flashlight and I grabbed it as I pulled him away.

  “Tommy, we gotta go out the kitchen,” I yelled.

  Tommy staggered and tried to rub his eyes- he couldn’t see. I grabbed his arm and yanked him toward the back of the house. I took a wrong turn and wound us up in the pantry as the goo surged toward us.

  “Hang on,” I yelled again and pulled him out into the corridor and then the kitchen. There was no time to get the key out of Tommy’s pocket, so I started kicking the kitchen door. The door frame splintered but held. I looked back and the goo had filled the door frame into the kitchen.

  “Tommy, trust me. Grab my arm and we’re going to slam into the kitchen door together. Football block, don’t stop when we hit it.”

  Tommy yelped from the pain in his hand when we interlocked arms, but he held on.

  “Run like hell,” I yelled.

  We rammed into the door and broke through, tumbling down the back stairs and onto the ground. Tommy was in shock and crying. I probably was too.

  We crawled a little further away from the house and sat up.

  “I’m almost blind, Pete.”

  “If it’s like last time it’ll go away.”

  He sucked in some air. “What the hell do I tell my dad?”

  “Try the truth. And, listen, I think we’re even.”

  His laugh was shrill with relief. “Yeah.”

  We reached out and very, very gently shook hands.

  The Itsy Bitsy Spider

  Story // Lena Ng

  * * *

  There were a lot of things eight-year-old Tara didn’t like. She didn’t like her five-year-old little brother, Thomas. “Go away,” she said whenever he appeared whether she was cutting out paper dolls or coloring in her book or building lock block houses. “Stop bugging me.” She was a big girl and couldn’t be bothered by little brothers.

  She didn’t like insects. Not crawly black beetles. Not fuzzy bumblebees who enjoyed a good buzz. Not even black-spotted lady bugs or green, chirpy crickets or ambling caterpillars who would grow up to be lovely butterflies.

  And she certainly, most definitely, absolutely positively didn’t like spiders, all fat, hairy bodies and scurrying legs. Any time Tara saw one, even though her mom and dad told her to leave it alone, she’d bend her knee, raise up her foot and—

  squash

  --be done with it. It might be minding its own business, catching flies. It might be spinning delicate, complicated webs with its own home-made silk, its thread as strong as steel. It could be doing an eight-legged tap dance wearing four pairs of tiny, shiny shoes. Did any of that impress Tara? No. Tara just had to see one and—

  squash

  It would be a splotch on the pavement. Or a smoosh on the wall. Or a smear in the corner.

  Yes, some spiders can be dangerous. Yes, some spiders can be venomous with a wicked bite. Yes, some spiders can pop out of a cupboard and look at you with their eight beady, black eyes.

  But Tara didn’t live in a place where the spiders were big or angry or venomous. She just didn’t like a lot of things.

  One day, Tara was on her way to the playground. She skipped over all the sidewalk cracks. She tangled through a random skipping rope. She stuck a tongue at Mrs. Langhorne’s old and yappy, fuzzy-haired Pomeranian. As she turned down the street, an eight-legged, minding-its-own-business, not-causing-anyone-problems spider strolled across the sidewalk. An itsy, bitsy spider the size of a marble. It looked at Tara with all eight of its black, beady eyes and said, “Hello there!”

  Tara heard it, bent her knee, raised up her foot and—

  squash

  And that was the end of the spider. A miracle of a talking spider, now a squish on the sidewalk.

  Tara strolled on her way. She hop-scotched over Mr. Chang’s yard. She swatted Mrs. Johnson’s birdfeeder. She climbed over Mr. Singh’s fence. As she yanked a tulip from Mrs. Garcia’s garden, an eight-legged, fuzzy-bellied spider, the size of a baseball popped out from under the bushes. “Hello,” it
said, in a tinny, worried voice. “Have you seen my little brother?”

  Tara heard it, bent her knee, raised up her foot and—

  squash

  And that was the end of the spider. A miracle of a talking spider, now a splotch by the bushes.

  Tara power-walked on her way. Where were all these spiders coming from? She was getting rather worried. She hurried through Mr. Ladipo’s hedges. She yanked on Mrs. Bannon’s oak tree branches. She rushed through Mr. Dawson’s backyard. Her trip to the playground seemed to take much longer than usual. As she squeezed through Mrs. Olsen’s fence, an eight-legged, fuzzy-faced spider, the size of a puppy, bounded out from under a car. “Hey,” it said, in a squeaky, worried voice. “Have you seen my little sister?”

  Tara heard it, bent her knee, raised up her foot and—

  squash

  And that was the end of the spider. A miracle of a talking spider, now a smear on the pavement.

  Tara dashed on her way. She was becoming awfully afraid. She sprinted through Mr. Lao’s yard. She tore through Mrs. Wolak’s hanging laundry. She raced by Mr. Peterson’s RV. As she galloped by Mrs. Rudnik’s house, an eight-legged spider, as big as an elephant, stepped in front of the way. She clacked her fangs and asked in a deep, spine-tingling voice, “Hey, have you seen my children?”

  Tara didn’t answer, but she did drool a little.

  Mama Spider saw the squish on the sidewalk. She saw the splotch by the bushes. She saw the smear on the pavement. She bent her knee, raised a big, fat, hairy leg and—

  SQUASH!

  And that was the end of Tara.

  The Green Lady

  Story // Charlotte O’Farrell

  Illustration // K.M. Bennett

  * * *

  I was always the bravest girl in my class. Or I pretended to be.

  I climbed trees higher than anyone else. I was always first in line when we were going to the theme park, waiting for the scariest roller coasters. I thought I knew the secret of being brave: that “brave” didn’t mean “not being scared”. It meant “being scared but doing what made you scared anyway”.

  My big secret? There was one thing that scared me. And I walked past it every day on the way home from school.

  My town had an abandoned manor house. It was a long time since anybody lived there. The house had once been beautiful, but now it looked lonely. Its windows were boarded up. The big garden around it was overgrown with trees and bushes. All of the kids agreed it was haunted. We knew who haunted it, too: The Green Lady. She was a scary woman in a long, flowing green dress. Her skin was green, the legend said. Even her teeth were green. And she ate any children who got too close to the manor house.

  Kevin, a boy from the year above me, impressed everybody by sneaking into the garden. He was always getting into trouble at school, so a few “Do Not Enter” signs outside the grounds didn’t stop him. He ran away ten minutes later, screaming. He shouted to his friends he’d seen “a green light in the trees”, then went home sobbing for his Mum. He was off school for two days. Rumours started. Kids said he’d seen the Green Lady and been so scared, his hair turned white. (When he came back to school the next Monday, some people were disappointed that his hair was as ginger as it always had been.)

  When I walked past the house on my way back from school, I always covered my ears, closed my eyes and ran as fast as I could. My twin brother Vincent used to laugh at me, but he was used to it now.

  “The Green Lady doesn’t exist, you know,” he told me. “Ghosts don’t exist. Kevin’s a liar, or he’s playing a joke on us all. You’re scared of something that isn’t even there.”

  “She is there!” I said.

  We had this conversation so many times on the walk home. Until one day, Vincent stopped walking and sighed.

  “I’ll prove it to you, okay? We’ll come back tonight as it’s getting dark, and I’ll show you. Nothing’s there.”

  I shook my head. Vincent grinned at me.

  “Unless you’re scared, Sally,” he said. He started dancing around me. “Scaredy cat Sally! Scaredy cat Sally!”

  I felt so angry, like I might explode.

  “I’m not scared! Nothing scares me. I’ll come with you to the manor house. Just don’t come crying to me when we see the Green Lady!”

  I felt sick with worry all through dinner. Our parents thought I might be ill. I told them I’d be fine, but I wanted Vincent to take me for a walk in the park for some fresh air. They would never have agreed if they’d known we were really going to look for the Green Lady.

  It was a cold evening. I wrapped my arms around myself in my coat for warmth – and for comfort.

  Vincent was very quiet as we walked to the manor house. He would never have said it, but I think he was scared, too. Maybe he wasn’t quite so sure the Green Lady didn’t exist now. But it was too late.

  It wasn’t hard to get into the garden. The wall was broken down and wasn’t very high. The fence the adults put up to stop people getting in was old, and it was full of holes. We slipped through one easily.

  The sun was starting to set.

  I could hear bugs and bigger animals in the bushes. I hoped the rustling over there was from rabbits, not rats. We walked past the overgrown bushes as fast as we could.

  Most of the garden was surrounded by big trees. They made it dark even though it wasn’t nighttime yet. Some of them had grown twisted, so they looked extra scary.

  Vincent and I kept walking. I jumped as something lunged out of the trees right next to my head. I fell, screaming – but it was only a bird, flying from tree to tree.

  “You scared me!” hissed Vincent.

  After five minutes of slow, careful walking, we couldn’t see the street anymore. It was getting dark and the sounds in the trees were getting louder.

  That’s when we saw the green light. It was small at first, but it got bigger and bigger. It was coming towards us.

  Vincent screamed. He pulled my arm, trying to get me to run with him, but I couldn’t move. My eyes were fixed on the green light in the trees and my feet felt stuck to the ground. My brother ran away, shouting about the Green Lady.

  Once he was gone, the light got bigger again and turned into a tall, beautiful woman.

  She looked just like the stories said she did: with a lovely, flowing green dress, and pale skin that glowed light green too.

  I don’t know why I wasn’t scared. But I didn’t know what to say to a ghost. Would you?

  “H-hello…” I said quietly.

  The Green Lady smiled. I think most children ran when they saw her. Maybe I was the first person to try to talk to her instead.

  She beckoned to me with her fingers. She turned away, and I followed her.

  We walked through the trees. I already knew she wasn’t going to eat me. She had a kind face and seemed gentle.

  We reached an old well. It looked deep and dangerous, with stones falling off it. It would be easy for someone to walk into these gardens and fall in. The Green Lady looked down into it. Her face seemed sad.

  “I understand,” I said quietly. The Green Lady nodded.

  I turned around and walked back to the road. I wasn’t scared now, so I walked home slowly.

  Vincent was already home, being cuddled by our Mum. He was crying. I told them we’d been to the manor house and that there was a deep, broken well there. I said I nearly fell in! My parents were angry we’d lied and grounded us for a week. But my Dad rang someone on the phone. I heard him say something about the well, and how it was a “death trap”.

  The next day, someone from the council went to fix the well. I knew this because it was in the newspapers two days later that the bones of a woman had been found. She used to live in the house over a hundred years ago. She had gone missing, and her family had been very sad. They thought she ran away. They never thought she’d fallen down the well. When I looked at the portrait of the young woman, I knew right away who she was: The Green Lady.

  She hadn’t stay
ed as a ghost to hurt people, or to scare children. She wanted to stop people falling down the well, like she had.

  A week later I sneaked into the garden again. The well was blocked up now, and safe. I wanted to see the Green Lady and thank her, but she wasn’t there. I think now that she had done her job of keeping children safe from the well, she could rest in peace and see her family again.

  I never saw her after that. I never ran past the manor house when I walked home from school, either. There was no reason to be scared.

  In my final year at that school, a new family moved into the manor house. They decorated it so it didn’t look old and broken anymore. It looked beautiful. As I walked home, I heard the sound of children playing in the garden, which was now a lot neater and full of flowers. I think the Green Lady would have been happy to see it.

  Vincent told everyone that I stopped and spoke to the Green Lady. Once again, people recognized me for what I was: the bravest girl in class.

  The 180 Kickflip

  Story // Lee Murray

  Illustration / J.T. Hayashi

  * * *

  When I arrived at Hitchcock Memorial Skateboard Park, the boy was there again. Before school, after school, in the weekend. Whenever I came, he was there. It was like he lived at the park. No wonder he was so good.

  I gave him a wave.

  He lifted his chin at me in greeting, then dropped into the half-pipe, pumping his legs to get his speed up. He skated to the other side of the ramp, then skated back.

  Once.

  Faster.

  Twice.

  Faster.

  Three times…

  He swooped upwards, flying into a backflip.

  On the ground, all I could do was stare.

  How did he do it? So much air!

  His board was amazing too, the curved black deck had purple lightning bolts and ‘Demon Rider’ emblazoned across it in silver. I would’ve given anything to own a board like that. Instead, I had my cousin’s ratty hand-me-down because Mum said she wasn’t buying me a new board until I’d proved I was going to stick at it. “I know you,” she said. “It’ll be another one of your five-minute wonders.”