Just Crazy (16 page)

‘I suppose you're going to tell me all this is the girls' fault as well?' says Mum.

‘Yes!' I say. ‘It is. I tried to stop them. In fact I saved their lives.'

Mum snorts.

‘Don't make it worse by lying,' she says. She strokes the girls' heads. ‘Are you all right? You poor darlings. What happened?'

‘We were just trying to have our tea party,' says Jemima, sniffling, ‘and he came into the kitchen and started bossing us around.'

‘He wouldn't let me play with my dolls,' says Eve.

‘But,' I say. ‘She was . . .'

‘Then he held us out of his bedroom window,' says Jemima. ‘And he hurt my arm.'

‘And he said rude words,' says Eve.

‘But,' I say. ‘They were . . .'

‘He left us on the roof!' says Jemima.

‘Not exactly,' I say. ‘I was . . .'

‘He swung on the fan and broke it!' says Jemima.

‘And he broke the table too,' says Eve.

‘No, I didn't,' I say.

‘You did!' says Jemina. ‘It was your fault.'

‘Well, it was sort of my fault,' I say, ‘but . . .'

‘Then he dressed up as that scary man and chased us round the house,' sobs Jemima.

‘And he tried to hit us with tennis racquets,' wails Eve.

Gee. I've got to hand it to them. Those girls are the best truth-twisters in the world. They're pretty good at fake crying too. They're even starting to make
me
feel sorry for them.

They're standing there with their sweet innocent faces and big tear-stained eyes. I don't stand a chance. There is nothing I can say. No way is Mum going to believe the real truth.

Poor Mum. I feel sorry for her too.

I think the full extent of the damage is beginning to dawn on her. She's just staring into the lounge room, shaking her head.

‘Andy, how could you?' she says. ‘The place is a mess. Everything is wrecked!'

I wish there was something I could say. Something I could do that would make her feel better.

Hang on! There is!

‘No, Mum,' I say. ‘Not
everything
!
'

‘Well, it certainly looks that way to me,' she says.

‘But I saved these,' I say. ‘Your crystal animals. Look.'

I put the tennis racquets down and reach into my pocket.

That's funny.

I thought I put three in there but it feels like a lot more.

I hold out my hand.

‘Um-mah,' says Jemima.

‘Um-mah,' says Eve.

‘Well?' says Mum, bending down to pick up one of the tennis racquets. ‘What have you got to say for yourself?'

I look down at the shattered crystal in my hand.

‘Um-mah,' I say.

anny is in my bedroom, pressing his face up against my goldfish bowl, staring intently at my new goldfish. He's got his hand above Goldie's bowl.

‘Here fishy, fishy, fishy,' he says, as he follows Goldie around with his fingers.

‘Danny,' I say. ‘Quit it.'

‘Did you know this guy in Texas in 1970 swallowed two hundred and twenty-five live goldfish?' he says. ‘It's the world record.'

‘Shush!' I say. ‘Goldie might hear you!'

‘Don't be stupid,' says Danny. ‘Goldfish can't hear anything — they're underwater'.

‘It doesn't matter whether they can hear you or not,' I say. ‘Goldfish are very sensitive. They pick up on your vibes. Especially Goldie.'

‘What do you think it would be like to have a live goldfish in your stomach?' says Danny. ‘Do you think you'd be able to feel it swimming around and around inside you?'

‘I'm warning you, Danny,' I say.

But he's not listening.

He dips his hand into the bowl and grabs Goldie. He tips his head back and dangles her above his mouth.

‘That's not funny!' I yell. ‘Put her back!'

Danny just laughs.

He lowers Goldie until she's almost touching his lips.

He's going to do it. He's really going to do it. I've got to stop him.

I throw myself across the room, but I'm too late.

Danny drops Goldie into his mouth and swallows her. In one gulp. Whole.

‘Hey!' I say, pushing him in the chest. ‘You ate my goldfish!'

‘It was an accident,' he says. ‘It slipped.'

‘That's a lie and you know it!' I say. ‘You deliberately ate her!'

‘Shush,' says Danny. He tilts his head as if listening to a faraway sound.

‘Hey,' he giggles, ‘I
can
feel it! It tickles.'

I'm so angry I'm shaking. Not only has he swallowed Goldie, he doesn't even care. Well, I'll make him care.

I clench my fist tight and swing at his head, but he steps nimbly to the side and I end up punching the air.

I look at my fist. I look at Danny. He is bouncing around on his tiptoes like a boxer.

‘Missed me,' he says. ‘Have another go!'

I punch again, but Danny skips out of the way.

‘Too slow,' he says.

I line him up again.

Then I let fly. And this time I connect.

KAPOW!

Danny's head snaps back.

There's an enormous cracking sound and the next thing I know Danny's head is flying across my room towards the window.

It bounces off the glass and splashes down into my fishbowl. His head completely fills the bowl. His distorted face looks out at me, his mouth slowly opening and closing.

This is crazy. It can't be happening. Punching someone can't make their head come off, can it? And even if it could, shouldn't they be dead? Their headless body shouldn't be
staggering around bumping into walls should it?

Because that's what Danny's headless body is doing.

And what's that noise?

It sounds like laughter. But it's horrible laughter. Evil and high-pitched. And it's coming from inside Danny's body.

This is too crazy. I mean, his head coming off was
crazy,
but this is TOO crazy.

I'm getting out of here.

I try to run but I can't lift my feet off the ground. They feel like they're nailed to the floor.

I bend down and try to lift them up with my hands, but they won't budge. The high-pitched laughter is getting louder and louder and louder . . .

Oh no . . . I don't believe what I'm seeing . . .