Selby Shattered (9 page)

Selby watched in horror as Jigsaw’s finger headed for the DELETE button.

‘He doesn’t know what he’s doing!’ Selby screamed in his brain.

‘Don’t do it!’ Selby blurted out. ‘You’ll be sorry you did!’

But the last thing Jigsaw did before slumping back in his chair and falling into a deep sleep was to press the DELETE button. Soon he was dreaming of his film career; of this, his last movie; and thinking about the very furry DELETE button that he’d just pressed. A furry DELETE button with claws on it.

‘Thank goodness,’ Selby thought as he lifted the man’s finger from the back of his paw. ‘I saved the film. Now to send it. Let’s see now …’

Selby searched the keyboard of the laptop and found a button that said UPLOAD and was just about to press it.

‘Now hang on a tick,’ he thought. ‘What am I doing? I mean, I loved the film but Jigsaw didn’t like it and it’s
his
film. Who am I to send it? But, if I don’t send it right now, it’ll never get shown in theatres. And maybe he didn’t like it because he was just too tired. If I delete it, he might wake up and wish he still had it.’

Selby rested his paw on the keyboard again. He looked at the boy-genius film-maker and shook his head.

‘Oh, Jigsaw,’ he sighed. ‘Why couldn’t you have made a film that has songs and dancing and lots and lots of great jokes like the ones Gary Gaggs tells? Who cares if no one likes it? Oh well.’

At the sound of the word ‘songs', something mysterious began to happen. A little light on the computer began to blink. And then, with the words ‘dancing’ and ‘jokes', there was more blinking and even a faint whirring sound.

‘This computer’s got a brain of its own,’ Selby thought. ‘I’d better do something before it deletes the movie.’

With this, Selby’s paw slipped silently sideways, hitting the UPLOAD button.

Two hours later, Jigsaw Jabbar was woken by the sound of his mobile phone ringing.

‘Hello?’ he said sleepily. ‘No, I feel great now, Harry. Sorry I got so cranky. I just needed a good sleep. And I’m sorry about the film. They what? They loved it? They said it’s completely original? It isn’t like anything they’d seen before? But hang on, Harry, I never sent the film. Are you sure? What’s this about singing-and-dancing
battles scenes? And the princess telling jokes? I can’t remember any of that. Oh, look, I didn’t delete it, after all. It’s still on my computer. I’ll watch it right now and see what you’re talking about. Where’s that dog? No, a dog, Harry. There was a really nice dog in here — unless I dreamt him.’

For a second, Jigsaw Jabbar was sure he saw a tail disappear through the crack in the curtain. But then he looked again and wasn’t so sure.

It was a smiling self-satisfied dog that slipped out through the back window of the theatre and into the cool night air.

‘That’s what I call a good night’s work,’ Selby thought as he headed for home.

The Funny Little Bunny

Space Monsters From Hell Get Blown to Bits

Aunt Jetty went on and on to the end.

‘Now that’s a story!’ she said. ‘And I reckon it’ll win.’

‘Don’t you think it’s a bit violent?’ Mrs Trifle asked.

‘Of course it’s violent. Kids love violence. Willy and Billy helped me write it and they’re kids. Now it’s your turn, Sis. Let’s see if you can beat that.’

Mrs Trifle turned pink with embarrassment.

‘I’m afraid I haven’t written a word,’ she said.

‘But you can’t just dip out,’ Aunt Jetty said. ‘This whole story-writing thing was your idea. You wanted everyone to go in it and see if we could win the prize money for the school library.’

‘I just don’t know what to write about.’

‘Why not? You even took a writing course.’

‘That was years ago and it was just to help me write reports for the Council. Making up stories is completely different.’

‘I do think it’s only fair that you write something, too,’ Melanie Mildew said. ‘I’ll be back tomorrow to see how you’ve gone.’

*  *  *

That afternoon, Selby watched Mrs Trifle scribble on pieces of paper and then throw them all away. From time to time, she pulled her hair and sighed and moaned the way writers sometimes do when they can’t think of what to write.

‘Poor Mrs Trifle,’ Selby thought. ‘She can’t write a story because she can’t make things up. She’s too honest.’

Mrs Trifle scrunched up another piece of paper.

‘I give up,’ she sighed.

‘This is terrible!’ Selby thought. ‘I’ve got to help her, but how can I?’

Suddenly an idea-light went on in Selby’s head.

‘Hold the show! Where’s that how-to-write book from her writing course? It’s got to be around here somewhere.’

Selby raced to the bookcase and found the book. It was called
Writing for Ninnies.

‘I’m sure there was a chapter on story writing,’ he thought, as he pawed through the pages. ‘Yes! Here it is! Let’s see now —
Story Starters.
‘

‘This is just what Mrs Trifle needs to get her started,’ Selby thought. ‘I’ll just leave the book lying open on the floor.’

It wasn’t long before Mrs Trifle noticed the book and picked it up.

‘My old book. I forgot that I even had it. It must have fallen off the shelf,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘And what a coincidence. It’s opened to a page on story writing. Hmmm.
Look at your pants.”
Mrs Trifle looked down at her pants.’
What if they were on fire?
Well, they’re not. Pants on fire. That’s just silly. How would you make a story out of that?’

‘There are lots of ways,’ Selby thought. ‘What if someone told a lie and the old
liar, liar pants on fire
rhyme came true?’

‘Look out the window,’
Mrs Trifle went on.
‘It’s summer and it’s hot.
No, it’s not. It’s winter.
What if it suddenly turned cold and started snowing?
Well, it wouldn’t surprise me.’

‘It would me,’ Selby sighed silently in his brain. ‘Because it’s never snowed in Bogusville before. But who cares? Just make something up! Think! What if a volcano came right up under Bogusville?’

‘Look at your husband or wife,’
Mrs Trifle read on. ‘Well I don’t have a wife and I can’t look at my husband because he isn’t here. All I can write about is what I do. And being the mayor of Bogusville isn’t interesting enough for a story.’

‘If only she could let her imagination run wild,’ Selby thought. ‘Why doesn’t she imagine that she’s not just the mayor of Bogusville but the mayor of … of the
universe?
Hey, I like it. Maybe I’ll write it myself.’

That night, when the Trifles were sound
asleep, Selby went to the computer and answered some emails from kids.

‘Now for my story,’ he thought. ‘What will I call it? How about
Mrs Trifle, Mayor of the Universe.
Okay, there’s this evil dude from a different dimension who’s trying get her sacked …’

Selby’s mind was racing ahead when he heard the sound of the toilet flushing.

‘Uh-oh!’ he thought. ‘Someone’s out of bed! They’ll catch me using the computer! My secret will be out!’

Selby quickly turned off the computer and dived for the light switch. By the time Mrs Trifle looked into the study, Selby was lying innocently on the floor, pretending to sleep.

‘Something very odd happened last night,’ Mrs Trifle said at breakfast the next morning.

‘Oh, yes? What was it?’ Dr Trifle asked without looking up from his newspaper.

‘Selby was in the study using the computer.’

‘Gulp,’ Selby gulped. ‘I’ve finally been sprung!’

Dr Trifle put his newspaper down.

‘Selby was using the computer?’ he exclaimed. ‘Are you kidding?!’

Mrs Trifle laughed.

‘That got your attention,’ she said. ‘Yes, of course I’m kidding. I got up in the night and I thought I saw the light in the study go off. When I looked in, Selby was asleep on the floor.’

‘You probably weren’t completely awake,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘You imagined it.’

‘I agree but it was great because it started me thinking about a story I want to write. I thought, what if Selby actually could understand what we say? What if he could read, write, speak and even use a computer?’

‘Willy and Billy think that he
can
talk,’ Dr Trifle said.

‘I know, but you can’t believe a word they say. Anyway, I’m going to write a story for Story Week about a dog that can talk.’

‘I’m not sure I like this,’ Selby thought. ‘It’s a little too close to the story of you-know-who.’

‘Will this dog of yours talk to his owners?’ Dr Trifle asked.

‘No, it’ll be a better story if he’s trying to keep it a secret.’

‘Why on earth would he want to do that? Will you make his owners nice people?’

‘Of course. They’ll be … sort of like us. I’ve thought about this. I think the dog is keeping his talking a secret from his owners because he doesn’t want to have to help out around the house,’ Mrs Trifle said, looking over at Selby.

‘She’s making me feel guilty,’ Selby thought.

‘This sounds like those books about that talking dog,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘What’s his name? Selby
, that’s it.’

‘I keep forgetting about those books,’ Mrs Trifle said.

‘And remember the Search for Selby Society
and how they were trying to find him?’

‘How could I ever forget that,’ Selby thought.

‘Oh yes, I remember,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘Well, I’m not going to call the dog in my story Selby.

I’ll name him after our own dear Selby
instead.’

‘This is getting worse by the minute!’ Selby thought.

‘That’s funny,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘While you were talking, Selby’s ears were up as if he was listening to us. Look, now they’re not.’

‘Can’t a dog do anything around here any more?’ Selby thought.

‘There have been times when I’ve wondered about Selby,’ Mrs Trifle said.

‘Me too,’ said Dr Trifle. ‘Think of all the times we’ve come home and found the TV on and Selby lying there sleeping.’

‘Or maybe just
pretending
to sleep,’ Mrs Trifle said.

‘How could you tell if he’s pretending?’

‘I could never be sure but when he’s really sleeping he often has nightmares. And, when he does, his legs twitch and he makes those little
yip
and
yelp
sounds.’