Just Annoying! (7 page)

Grandpa is sitting at the kitchen table with his back to me.

‘Morning, Grandpa,' I call.

‘Good morning, Andy,' he says. ‘I found your friend in the backyard.'

‘Huh?' I say.

Grandpa turns around.

In his hand is the gnome. He has glued the head back onto the body.

A huge jagged crack runs from shoulder to shoulder. He looks even uglier than before.

‘Gee, thanks, Grandpa.'

‘That's alright, son,' he says. Have an accident, did ya?'

‘Ah, yeah, you could say that.'

‘You must be really attached to that gnome,' says Grandpa, ‘to bring him all this way.'

‘Ah, yeah, you could say that, too,' I say. It's late afternoon. Grandma and Grandpa have gone out. I'm home alone. This is the moment I've been waiting for.

 

I pick up the gnome by his hat, hold him at arm's length and take him out to the backyard.

I've got a little job for Grandpa's mulcher.

I flick the switch. The engine roars. The mulcher is hungry—ready for action.

I pause.

What am I doing?! I am about to throw a garden gnome into a garden mulcher. The gnome is not smiling now. He's looking up at me with big pleading eyes like an innocent child. But this is just part of his evil magic. He is not a child. And he is definitely not innocent.

I push him into the mulcher.

He flies straight back out. The gnome is lying on the ground grinning at me. His two painted eyes are cold and black.

There is no doubt. The gnome is a killer. It's either him or me. I pick him up again.

‘Say your prayers,' I tell him.

I drop him into the top and use a tree branch to force him into the blades.

The blades whine. Or is that the gnome screaming?

The mulcher coughs out an enormous wad of dust and propels coloured shrapnel into the air.

I flick the switch off.

All is silent.

I lean on the mulcher. Panting. Waiting. Half expecting the gnome dust to reassemble itself and come at me.

But nothing happens.

I have saved the world from the evil gnome. Not that anybody will ever know. I hate that. You do this brave heroic thing and you can't tell anybody because if you do they'll think you're crazy.

I go back inside.

Grandma and Grandpa are home.

‘Are you feeling alright?' says Granny. ‘You look a bit pale.'

‘I'm okay,' I say. ‘Just a bit tired—I'm going to lie down.'

I push open the door of my bedroom.

I scream.

The gnome is lying on top of the bed. Staring straight at me. Grinning. He
has
reassembled himself. Payback time. The room starts spinning and I fall to the floor.

Grandma and Grandpa rush in.

‘Andy!' says Granny. ‘What's the matter?'

I'm trying to tell them, but nothing is coming out. I just open and shut my mouth like a fish out of water. I point at the gnome. My hand is shaking.

‘The gnome,' I whisper. ‘The gnome . . .'

‘Do you like it?' says Grandpa, helping me up. ‘We found it at the market. It's exactly the same as your other one—only without a broken neck. Thought it might cheer you up.'

‘It's not the same gnome?'

‘No, of course not,' says Granny. ‘But it's almost identical. We thought you'd like it.'

‘I do! I do!' I say. ‘I love it!'

I pick it up, cuddle it and give it a big kiss.

Granny and Grandpa smile, pleased with their work. They leave.

I place the gnome back on the bed. I'm not taking my eyes off him for a moment. But nothing happens.

I kneel down and put my face close to his.

‘Any funny stuff and it's Grandpa's mulcher . . . just like your friend. Got it?'

The gnome just stares.

And smiles.

Well, it could be a smile. It could be a grimace. It's hard to tell.

omorrow is our school sports carnival. I don't want to go. Not because I'm not good at sport. I can run faster, jump higher and throw stuff further than anybody in the school, but I don't like to do it. It would be boring with me just winning everything all day long. I like to give the other kids a chance. That's just the sort of thoughtful person I am.

But try telling that to my Mum. She has this crazy idea that I don't like sport and that I try to get out of it whenever I can.

That's why I've brought Fred home. Fred's my imaginary friend. I'm going to tell Mum he's sick and that I have to stay home from school to look after him. It can't fail. Either she'll think that I'm going crazy and keep me home from school, or she'll be sucked in and let me stay home to look after Fred. I can't lose.

I open the back door and drop my bag on the laundry floor.

‘Mum?' I call.

I'm in here,' she says.

I find her in the kitchen. She's chopping onions.

‘Mum, I'd like you to meet a friend of mine. His name is Fred.'

‘But there's nobody there,' says Mum.

‘Don't be like that,' I say. ‘You'll hurt his feelings.'

Mum frowns.

‘Are you feeling alright?'

‘Who are you asking,' I say. ‘Me or Fred?'

‘You,' she says.

‘I'm fine,' I say. ‘It's Fred who is not feeling so good. He's got a stomach ache. He wants to know if I can stay home from school tomorrow to look after him.'

I pretend to help Fred over to a chair. I go to the sink, run a sponge under cold water and then mop Fred's brow with it. Mum is watching me with a frown.

‘I think he's running a temperature,' I explain. ‘I don't want to miss out on the school sports carnival, but I really think I should stay home and look after him.'

‘What about his parents?' says Mum.

‘They've gone on an overseas holiday.'

‘And left him all alone?'

‘They didn't want him to miss out on any school.'

‘I could look after him,' says Mum.

‘Don't be silly, Mum—you've got plenty to do without having to look after Fred as well.'

‘No, it would be a pleasure,' says Mum. ‘Your friends are very important to me.'

‘Fred is very important to me, too,' I say. ‘I wouldn't feel right leaving him.'

‘But I know how much the sports carnival means to you,' says Mum.

‘Yes, but I couldn't enjoy the carnival knowing Fred is home sick. If he gets any worse overnight, I'll have to stay home.'

‘I really don't think that will be necessary,' says Mum. ‘I
am
a trained nurse. I think the best thing you could do for Fred would be to go out there tomorrow and just do your best. Make him proud of you.'

‘Maybe,' I say, ‘assuming that he lives long enough to hear the results.'

‘Dinner's ready,' calls Mum.

I walk into the kitchen.

Mum has set three places. But there's only two of us. Jen is away on a school camp and Dad is on a work trip.

‘Who's coming to dinner, Mum?'

She gives me a strange look.

‘Why, Fred of course.'

‘Oh yeah,' I say. ‘Of course.'

‘Well,' says Mum. ‘Don't just make him stand there. Invite him to sit down.'

‘Have a seat, Fred,' I say.

Mum motions to me to pull the chair out for him.

We both know this is completely stupid, but to not do it would be to admit that Fred is not real. And that means the sports carnival for sure.

I walk around to the chair against the wall. I pull it out and bow low.

‘Your chair, Monsieur Fred,' I say.

I give him time to sit down and then I push his chair in.

Mum places a heaped plate of steaming casserole in front of Fred.

‘There you are,' she says. ‘I know you're probably not hungry, but try to eat as much as you can. You need to keep your strength up when you're as sick as you are.'

My mouth is watering. I'm so hungry.

Mum places a plate in front of me. But it's not as generous as Fred's serve. In fact it's hardly enough for a mouse.

‘Is there a food shortage?' I say.

‘There is tonight,' she says. ‘I didn't plan for an extra guest. You'll have to share your dinner with Fred.'

‘But he's getting more than me.'

‘He's sick! Don't you want him to get better?'

‘Well of course I do, but . . .'

‘But what?'

‘It's no use him getting better if I starve to death.'

‘Andy,' says Mum, ‘I must say I'm a little shocked at your selfishness. Fred is a very sick boy. We have to do everything we can to help him.'

‘Yes, Mum.'

I eat my dinner in about three seconds flat.

Fred, of course, doesn't touch his.

At the end of the meal Mum starts collecting the plates.

‘What's going to happen to Fred's dinner?' I say.

‘I'll put it in the fridge. He might want it tomorrow.'

‘And if he doesn't want it can I have it?'