Selby Sprung Page 5

‘What they’re saying is just a stupid rumour started by Aunt Jetty!’ Selby thought.

  ‘Hey, all you vampires,’ Gary called out. ‘Thanks for listening. Now I’ll get out of your way and let you watch the film.’

  The curtain closed again and Selby caught a glimpse of a worried Gary Gaggs hurrying out the side exit.

  ‘Poor Gary,’ Selby thought. ‘He must think his jokes were no good.’

  Just then someone stood up and screamed, ‘There’s a real vampire here!’

  ‘He’s over there!’ someone else yelled, pointing towards the side of the theatre.

  ‘No! It’s her!’ someone said, pointing in another direction. ‘Get me out of here!’

  In a second, people were falling over each other in a panic to get out of the theatre.

  ‘This is dangerous,’ Selby thought. ‘I’ve got to do something before someone gets hurt! All this because of a rumour!’

  Selby leapt onto the stage, ran behind the curtain and grabbed the microphone.

  ‘Stop it!’ he yelled. ‘Get a grip before someone gets hurt. There is no vampire!’

  Slowly the noise died down.

  ‘The truth is,’ Selby went on, ‘that the mayor scratched her hand. That’s all.’

  ‘So it was just a rumour,’ a voice from the crowd yelled back.

  ‘That’s right. I saw the scratch. It wasn’t a vampire bite — it was a little scratch from a rose bush. Now will you all go back to your seats.’

  ‘Who said that?’ someone else asked. ‘Who’s talking?’

  ‘Never mind who I am,’ Selby said. ‘Hey, look, we know that vampires are only make-believe. So settle down and let’s all enjoy the movie.’

  Everyone started to quietly make their way back to their seats.

  And that would have been fine if the curtain hadn’t suddenly opened just when Selby was putting the microphone back in its stand.

  ‘Hey! You’re a dog!’ someone yelled.

  ‘Well, ah, well, ah …’ Selby stammered.

  ‘And you’re talking!’

  ‘I, ah, I mean, I …’

  ‘You’re a talking dog!’

  ‘You could say that,’ Selby said. ‘But the point is that —’

  ‘He’s a shape-shifter!’ a woman screamed. ‘He’s the vampire! He’s turned himself into a dog!’

  ‘Hold on a tick,’ Selby said. ‘I’m not a vampire! You’ve just —’

  ‘Get him!’ people screamed. ‘Drive a stake through his heart or he’ll suck our blood!’

  ‘I don’t want your blood!’ Selby screamed back. ‘I’ve got plenty of my own! Stay away from me!’

  Selby ran for the side exit, and in a second he was tearing down the street, chased by hundreds of vampires.

  ‘Get him! Get him!’ they all screamed. ‘Don’t let him get away!’

  Selby tore along as fast as he could run, fear gripping his brain.

  ‘They’re all bonkers!’ he thought. ‘I’m not a vampire! I’m just a friendly little talking dog!’

  Down the street he flew, with the crowd getting closer and closer.

  ‘I can’t outrun them so I’ll have to outsmart them!’ he screamed in his brain. ‘I’ll just duck around this corner into the laneway.’

  Selby whizzed round the corner — straight in front of him stood a tall, dark figure, its cape stretched out, its teeth dripping blood. Selby tried to get around it but slammed smack into it, and the two of them landed on the ground.

  ‘Stinky Guts!’ it screamed, picking itself up. ‘You stupid dog!’

  ‘Aunt Jetty!’ Selby thought (he didn’t scream it, he only thought it), and slipped behind a rubbish bin.

  At that very moment, the crowd ran around the corner. They stopped in their tracks.

  ‘Who are you?’ someone asked.

  ‘I’m a vampire,’ Aunt Jetty said. ‘What do I look like?’

  ‘Are you a real vampire?’ a young woman asked.

  ‘Of course I’m a real vampire!’ Aunt Jetty yelled. ‘And I’m coming to the movie!’

  With this, she showed her fangs and let out a horrifying vampire scream.

  ‘It’s the real vampire!’ someone cried. ‘She’s shape-shifted back again! Let’s get out of here!’

  The crowd of vampires turned and ran.

  ‘Stop!’ Aunt Jetty screamed. ‘I’m one of you! I want to join your group! Don’t run away.’

  The last Selby saw was one oversize vampire running after hundreds of smaller vampires, fleeing in terror.

  And it was a relaxed dog who listened to the Trifles’ conversation the next day at breakfast.

  ‘It’s so quiet out there,’ Dr Trifle said.

  ‘Yes, the FangFunFest finished early last night,’ said Mrs Trifle. ‘Apparently they didn’t even stay to see the movie.’

  ‘Why not?’ Dr Trifle said. ‘It was supposed to be the highlight of the festival.’

  ‘They say that a dog talked to them.’

  ‘A dog?’

  ‘Yes, they said it was a shape-shifting vampire. And then it turned into a real vampire and chased them all the way to Poshfield.’

  ‘Chased by a vampire to Poshfield? What a load of nonsense. Where on earth did you hear that?’

  ‘I heard it from Melanie, who heard it from Postie, who heard it from someone else.’

  ‘It sounds like a rumour to me,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘Your sister probably started it. Honestly, you can’t believe a word that woman says.’

  ‘That’s one rumour,’ Selby thought as he closed his eyes to go to sleep again, ‘that you can believe.’

  THE CONTORTIONIST

  A contortionist lady I know

  likes to tie herself into a bow

  then grabbing her nose

  with six of her toes

  she gets out her hanky and blows.

  A Note from the Author

  One day a package arrived on my doorstep. It was a diary and on the cover it said DIARY OF A DOG. I knew immediately whose it was. Selby had already told me that something very strange had happened to him and that he wanted to write about it himself. Anyway, here it is in Selby’s words:

  G’day Diary,

  I’ve never kept a diary before and I’m not sure what to do. I’d better start by writing what day it is.

  Saturday

  OK. Hi, how are you? I’m fine, thanks. Now what do I write?

  I’m 10 yrs old. I live in Bogusville in Australia. It’s good here. I live with my owners, Dr and Mrs Trifle.* C U L8er.

  Sunday

  G’day Diary,

  I forgot to say I’m a dog. Only I know how to read and write and stuff. It’s too hard to explain. Trust me, it’s true. I talk to Duncan Ball on the phone (he’s not a dog) and tell him my stories and he writes them down for me. There are lots of books of my adventures. You should read them — only you’re a diary, so you can’t read.

  Bad luck.

  I’m getting writer’s paw after all that. Gotta go.

  Monday

  (Think I’ll stop with the G’days.)

  Got up this morning. Ate some Dry-Mouth Dog Biscuits (yucko!). Went for a walk. The Trifles were out so I watched TV. Answered emails from kids. Went to bed.

  Tuesday

  Got up. Ate Dry-Mouth Dog Biscuits (yucko again!). Walked. Watched TV with the Trifles. Went to bed.

  Friday

  Got up. Ate Dry-Mouth Dog Biscuits. Walked. Watched TV. (Nothing good on. Mrs T says she and Dr T watch too much TV.) Went to bed.

  Sunday

  (Same again.) Writing in a diary has made me see how boring my life is. Got to do more stuff and make life interesting.

  Monday

  It’s Mrs Trifle’s birthday today. So he wouldn’t forget, I wrote in Dr Trifle’s diary. Today he noticed it and rushed out and bought her a nice prezzie.

  It’s a necklace with big shiny stones. She loved it. She said it must have cost a fortune. He said it didn’t.

  Wednesday

  Something
very strange happened today. The Trifles were out for the morning. Postie Paterson came right into the house and sat down next to me. He patted me and talked a lot. (He doesn’t know I can understand, of course!)

  He said that he didn’t have much mail to deliver because everyone sends emails these days. He must be lonely to come and talk to me like this.

  Postie isn’t just a postman. He also runs Bogusville Zoo. He said a baby chimp was just born yesterday. Everyone’s going to the zoo to see her.

  Friday

  A really big tragedy! Mrs T LOST HER BIRTHDAY NECKLACE! She thinks she dropped it while walking to work. Postie said he’d keep an eye out for it.

  Dr T said he’d buy another necklace but she wants this one cuz it’s a special birthday one.

  Monday

  I went to the zoo and saw the baby chimp. She is sooooooooooo cute! The kids from Bogusville School named her Champ. Champ the Chimp. Good name.

  Speaking of names, Mrs T wants a new name for the river right in back of Gumboot Mountain. Everyone has always called it ‘Right-in-Back River’ cuz that’s where it is. Mrs T wants a competition to find a proper name. I reckon Right-in-Back River is okay cuz it tells you where it is. No one ever has to ask.

  No one’s found Mrs T’s necklace. She’s really sad about it.

  Wednesday

  Dr T invented another uninvention.

  His uninventions uninvent inventions. Like his potato re-peeler. It puts the peelings back on potatoes in case you peel too many by mistake. Dr T is a genius. Mrs T thinks we watch too much TV. So Dr T uninvented it. He took stuff out of the screen and put ants in instead. Real ants. White ants. White ants are termites, so they eat wood. Dr T put lots of bits of wood in the un-TV for them to eat.

  Mrs T said, ‘Get those white ants out of here!’

  Dr T said, ‘But with my un-TV we can watch them at work and learn all about them.’

  Mrs T said, ‘We already know enough about white ants! They eat houses! They’re going to eat our house if we’re not careful! Take them a long way away and let them go, thank you very much.’

  (Sometimes she says ‘thank you very much’ when she’s not really thanking anyone.)

  Dr T took the ants a long way away and let them go.

  Monday

  The Trifles were away shopping for a new TV. Postie came in and patted me and talked again.

  Then he went into the house across the street. They’re away on holidays. Maybe he had a package that didn’t fit in the mailbox. Or maybe he went to pat Tigger, their cat. Maybe both. Postie is such a great guy. Everyone loves Postie.

  Tuesday

  I started reading Terror in Taffeta, the Blake Romano book that has Blake’s secret agent dog in it. Mrs T gave the book to Dr T for Christmas. Great beginning, but I got tired of reading after page 3.* Then I sneaked into the Bogusville Bijou movie theatre and saw Fang Blood. It’s even better than the TV series. It’s really really scary, but it’s a love story too. I love love stories.

  Wednesday

  WHEN IS IT GOING TO STOP RAINING???????????

  I wish Dr T would invent something to make it stop raining. Un-rain.

  I saw a great show on TV called Steal Street. All about burglars. It showed all the tricks they use to break into houses. And most burglars are friendly. People trust them, so they don’t suspect them. Sometimes they have jobs that take them all over, so nobody thinks it’s strange when they see them somewhere. When they get caught, they have excuses like: ‘I was here to fix your window. Isn’t this the Smiths’ house? Oh, my mistake,’ and things like that.

  Very creepy.

  Thursday

  It’s stopped raining. Finally!

  I went to see the Rose Garden in the middle of town. Melanie Mildew was putting new flowers on the floral clock. Someone said, ‘The clock’s showing the wrong time.’ Melanie said, ‘If you want the right time, look at your watch.’

  Fair enough.

  On the way home I saw Postie coming out of the back of a house. I guess he had another package to deliver. Maybe the front door was locked and the back door wasn’t. He works too hard. He stopped and gave me a pat.

  Saturday

  Madame Mascara showed Mrs T new lipsticks from her company and she got Mrs T to buy one called Pink Tapioca. Mrs T looks terrible with lippy. She only bought it to be nice.

  Still no necklace.

  Sunday

  Aunt Jetty came over for lunch with her two brats Willy and Billy. I got out of there quick-smart and went down to Bogusville Creek. I saw Postie down near the creek. He was climbing out of the window of a house. It’s Sunday! That guy just can’t stop working!

  Tuesday

  The worst day of my life!

  (You’ll see why in a minute.)

  Rain again! Dr and Mrs T went to the city and left me alone. That’s okay. I watched the new TV. Would you believe it? There was a program about white ants! Didn’t watch it. Watched Steal Street instead. Then I locked all the doors and windows. That show has me spooked.

  Read some more of Terror in Taffeta. The secret agent dog is JUST LIKE ME! Great dog!

  This is when it all started to happen. It was like this:

  Postie Paterson comes to the front door. Rain is running off his hat like a waterfall. He looks so cold and wet, poor guy.

  He tries to open the door but I’d locked it. I think, ‘He probably has an important package and he wants to leave it somewhere dry — like in the house.’

  He’s looking in the side windows, so I can’t unlock the door or he’ll see me. But then he disappears for a tick so I unlock the front door. I think, hey, if he comes back and tries again he’ll just think it was stuck before.

  Anyway, suddenly he’s at the back of the house trying to open the sliding glass doors. I’d locked them too. He calls out, ‘Hi there, Selby. How are you?’ Of course I can’t unlock them, because he’ll see me do it.

  Now I feel really really really bad, cuz it’s bucketing down and he’s cold and wet and I’ve ruined everything cuz I locked him out.

  I run to the bedrooms and unlock all the windows. I hope he’ll try them, and I’m thinking, ‘Please don’t go away, Postie!’

  Anyway, I’m back in the lounge-room and I have this terrible thought:

  WHAT IF POSTIE IS A BURGLAR!?

  He’d be the perfect burglar! His job takes him everywhere. Everyone trusts him. Even me! (Except now maybe I don’t any more.)

  I’m about to start locking everything again, when I hear the window going up in the Trifles’ bedroom.

  HE’S CLIMBING IN THE WINDOW! HE’S GOING TO ROB THE HOUSE!

  I grab the phone and dial triple 0. This lady says, ‘What is the nature of your emergency?’ I whisper, ‘I think there’s a burglar breaking into my house right now!’ and I give her the address. She says she’ll send the police.

  I hang up and Postie comes into the lounge-room and he says, ‘Selby, my old friend,’ and starts patting me.

  Now I can’t stand him touching me but I don’t want him to stop before the police get here. So I even LICK HIS HAND! Gross! I’ve never licked a hand before. I’m not a hand-licking kind of dog.

  WHERE ARE THE POLICE?

  Anyway, he keeps telling me what a great dog I am. I kinda like it after a while, so I’m thinking, ‘Maybe he’s not a burglar.’ And then he starts looking though the Trifles’ drawers.

  HE IS A BURGLAR, AFTER ALL!

  He looks through the drawers in the desk and in the telephone table.

  WHAT’S TAKING THE COPS SO LONG?

  And guess what? HE FINDS MRS T’S NECKLACE! It was in the telephone table. It wasn’t stolen after all — yet.

  Just when Postie picks up the necklace, Sergeant Short and Constable Long come running in.

  Sergeant Short says, ‘Oh, it’s only you, Postie. We heard someone was robbing the house.’

  ‘No burglars here,’ Postie says. ‘Only Selby and me,’ he says, slipping the necklace into his pocket.
>
  ‘So what brings you here, Postie? Delivering a parcel?’ Constable Long asks.

  ‘Postie’s Pat-a-Pet,’ Postie says, handing the policeman a card.

  And I’m thinking: Pat-a-Pet? What is he talking about?

  ‘It’s a free service,’ Postie says. ‘If you want, I’ll pat your dog, your cat, your guinea pig, your rabbit — any pet you leave alone during the daytime. I do it when I’m bringing the mail.’

  ‘Do you pat parrots?’ Sergeant Short asks. ‘I have a parrot.’

  ‘I’m not a parrot patter,’ Postie says. ‘But I’ll talk to it, if you wish. But please leave your doors unlocked. Everyone’s locking up because of a TV program and it’s making things very difficult for me.’

  Now I feel TERRIBLE! The Trifles must have asked Postie to pat me. How could I ever think that Postie was a burglar? It was all because of Steal Street.

  Just then the Trifles come in looking all worried.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Mrs T asks. ‘Is Selby okay?’

  ‘Everything’s fine,’ Sergeant Short says. ‘Someone thought Postie was a burglar and called us.’

  Okay, so everything is okey-dokey. Postie and the police are about to leave, when I have another thought.

  Hang on just a mini-mo, I think. If Postie climbed in the window to pat me, why was he looking through drawers and stuff? Why does he still have Mrs T’s necklace in his pocket?

  POSTIE IS THE BURGLAR, AFTER ALL! HE’S FOOLED EVERYONE!

  So now I have to tell. I can’t let him get away with Mrs T’s special necklace and keep robbing houses. I make the biggest decision of my life: I’m going to talk. I’m going to give away my secret and maybe ruin my life forever. I clear my throat to speak and they all look at me.

  ‘Excuse me, Dr and Mrs Trifle and Sergeant Short and Constable Long. There is a burglar — and he’s right here. Okay, so you’re surprised that I’m a talking dog. I’ll explain about that later, but right now you’d better arrest Postie Paterson before he gets away. He’s got the necklace hidden in his pocket.’