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Short Tales

Storm Cloud Publishing


Short Tales

  A collection of short stories for kids 8 – 12 years

  Short Tales

  Copyright remains with the individual authors

  Published by Storm Cloud Publishing (2015)

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient.

  Junior Fiction: A collection of short stories from writers all around the world.

  Fun and adventure, Fantasy and fantastical creatures, Science fiction and light horror, Music, Realism and drama, Courage, Family relationships, New friendships, Learning and living, Conflict and resolution

  Ages 8 – 12 years

  Contents

  Cheeky Goblin and Peepee

  The Yellow Ukelele

  Bob’s Mythological Garden

  The New Recruits

  Andre’s Surprise

  Alteration

  It’s an Illusion

  A Present from Paris

  Pipe Dream

  About the Authors

  Storm Cloud ebooks

  Cheeky Goblin and Peepee

  Esinu Afele

  You know... and I know... that girls and boys never burp or even worse they never pass wind. Right, boys and girls? I know that YOU would NEVER do that. Do you know how I know? Because I know and you know that CHEEKY GOBLIN makes those noises.

  Who is Cheeky Goblin? Mums and dads don´t really know him. But we do. I´ll describe him.

  Cheeky Goblin is as big as a hand. Cheeky Goblin is green and he has got a big nose. He has got a VERY big nose. THAT is a Cheeky Goblin.

  Cheeky Goblin is bad. NO, no, Cheeky Goblin is VERY bad. He is always naughty.

  Do you know about the time when Cheeky Goblin followed Pauline to school? Have you got a minute? I´ll tell you.

  “More beans, Mum!” said Pauline.

  Pauline (Peepee) was the most perfect girl in her house. She was the most perfect girl in her street; the most perfect girl in her school. In fact, she was the most perfect girl in the whole wide world!

  “Peepee,” said her mum, “you have already eaten five portions of beans.”

  “Mother,” added Peepee irritated. “I am perfect and I know I have eaten five portions. Today I have got a very important football match, so I have to eat lots of beans for energy.”

  Peepee ate another spoonful of beans, but Peepee did not see that something was behind her schoolbag. It was Cheeky Goblin. Cheeky Goblin looked at all the beans on her plate and had an idea. He had a very naughty idea.

  He rushed home and grabbed a very noisy cushion – a whoopee cushion – and a stink bomb.

  “Whoo, whoo, whoo, haa, haa, whoo, hoo,” laughed the Goblin.

  He rushed back to Peepee’s home, climbed into Peepee’s school bag and hid under her exercise book.

  Peepee looked at her watch. “ARGH - it’s 8.15. The bus.”

  As she stood up to go, Cheeky Goblin squeezed the cushion. “BAAARRRPPP.”

  It was very loud. To make it worse, Cheeky Goblin let off a stink bomb.

  “Oh my GOODNESS, Pee! That´s shocking!” her mum said, wafting the air.

  Peepee went red.

  “I´m perfect. It wasn’t me!” protested Peepee.

  She took her school bag and ran to catch the bus.

  Cheeky Goblin howled with laughter, “Haha ho hoo hoo.”

  But no one could hear him as he was so small.

  Oh dear! Cheeky Goblin was inside Peepee’s bag. What do you think he was going to do with that whoopee cushion? He is very naughty.

  Peepee ran to the bus stop. The bus was already there. The bus was very full. Peepee jumped onto the bus just as it was leaving.

  “BBBAAARRRPPP” went the cushion as Cheeky Goblin squeezed it and let off another stink bomb.

  “That´s shocking!” exclaimed the children.

  They moved away from Peepee and held their noses.

  “Oh, that´s disgusting!”

  “Hahahaha hoo hohohoho,” laughed Cheeky Goblin. Cheeky Goblin almost fell out of Peepee´s bag.

  “It wasn’t me. It wasn’t me. I´m perfect, I don’t pass wind!” protested Peepee.

  But no one listened. Some children pointed a finger at her; others moved away.

  Poor Peepee was very embarrassed. She got off the bus and walked to school.

  Peepee had a Maths test. ‘I´m perfect!’ thought Peepee.

  She entered the classroom feeling confident that she would be the best in the class.

  “OK class, the Maths Test,” Mrs Apple said. “What is two plus three?” She looked around.

  “It´s four!” shouted out Forgetful Freddy.

  ‘Oh, I know it, I know it. I´m perfect!’ thought Peepee.

  Cheeky Goblin looked out of the school bag and waited for Peepee to stand up.

  “I know it, Mrs Apple. I know it, Mrs Apple!” shouted out Peepee.

  Mrs Apple smiled at Peepee. “Peepee, please stand up and tell us, nice and loudly, what the answer is.”

  Mrs Apple looked proudly at Peepee. Peepee looked boastfully at her classmates and pushed her chair back to stand up. As she stood up, Cheeky Goblin squeezed the cushion “BARP” and let off a stink bomb.

  Mrs Apple was shocked, the boys were shocked, the girls were shocked – even the chairs were shocked. Peepee was shocked and glowed red with embarrassment.

  Cheeky Goblin laughed, “Hahahaha wowowhoo.”

  He laughed so much that he almost fell out of her bag.

  ‘What a horrid day!’ thought poor Peepee as the lunch bell rang.

  Then Peepee remembered the very important football match. “Now I must eat lots of protein. I need lots of energy.”

  The smell of chips and beans wafted from the school dinner hall.

  “Ok, I´ll eat more beans and that green thing there!” thought Peepee.

  Peepee sat down and made sure that she ate every bean on her plate.

  Cheeky Goblin was still in her bag. He was asleep. Snoring.

  After school, Peepee went excitedly to her match and left her school bag in the changing room. Cheeky Goblin was still asleep.

  “Phewwwwwwwwwww.” A whistle blew to start the match. It woke Cheeky Goblin up.

  “Ahhh... Ohhhh... Where am I?” Cheeky Goblin wondered. He looked out of the bag. He was locked in the changing room. He jumped out of the bag and looked out of the window to see where Peepee was.

  There she was on the football pitch. There were lots of boys and girls, parents and a few dogs watching the match. Cheeky Goblin heard a lot of cheering.

  ‘Oh no!’ he thought. ‘How can I use my whoopee cushion now? How can I get out of here? The door is locked.’

  Then he remembered: A Cheeky Goblin can make himself big or small. A Cheeky Goblin can make himself invisible. A Cheeky Goblin is very clever!

  There were only two minutes to go and the score was 3 – 3.

  Peepee had already scored two goals and she was now running towards the goal with the ball.

  “Peepee, Peepee, Peepee, Peepee,” chanted the crowd.

  Could she score? Could she shoot the winning goal?

  Peepee tackled one, and then two, and then three players. Now there was only Peepee and the goalie. She could see the goalie leaning towards the left. Could she score; would she score?

  Peepee lifted her leg to swing it at the ball. As she lifted her leg to make the winning goal, Cheeky Goblin squeezed the cushion as hard and as long as he could, giving it a terrific noise.

  “BAAARRRPPP.”

  Everyone on the field and on the neighbouring field stopped and stared. Th
ere was silence. The ball flew over the goal post.

  Cheeky Goblin was invisible. No one could see or hear him. Cheeky Goblin laughed and rolled on the floor.

  “Hahahahahoho.”

  He could not believe how funny it was.

  “Beans, beans good for your heart. The more you eat, the more you...”

  No one could see Cheeky Goblin. No one could hear Cheeky Goblin. But SOMETHING could hear and see him. Something that Cheeky Goblin did not like. Something that had big teeth and barked. That something watched him rolling on the floor with laughter. A BIG DOG!!!

  “Grrr. Woof woof woof.”

  “Oooh, ooow!” exclaimed Cheeky Goblin. “Help, help!”

  Cheeky Goblin jumped up and ran off as fast as his little legs could carry him. Will Cheeky Goblin be good now?

  What do you think?

  Back to top

  The Yellow Ukelele

  Sarah Cowan

  We are eating dinner when my foster mum tells me about Writers Camp. I freak out. I’m not much good at writing. Suddenly my pumpkin soup tastes like porridge.

  “But, Lucy, I’m no good at writing!” I say.

  Most people have one thing that they are really good at, but I don’t. I’m pretty hopeless at most things.

  My teacher says not to worry.

  “You’ll find your special thing one day,” she tells me. “DB, it’s not spelling camp. It’s about writing from your imagination. You have a wonderful imagination! What about all those funny songs you make up? You’ll have fun.”

  * * *

  So, here I am on this crowded bus with my friends Max and Brendan. We are going to Dragonfly Lake Writers’ Camp.

  “Look,” says Mr Saw. “There’s Dragonfly Lake. Isn’t it good to see some green grass?”

  We all stare, amazed at the bright emerald colour. We have had years of drought, so we’re all used to sunbaked patches of dust. And two minute showers.

  We tumble off the bus, get our bags and find a bed. I throw my bags on a top bunk and immediately feel a thump in the back of my head. I turn around. I see Kyle Jordan with a pillow in his hand. My spine goes cold.

  “Not so fast, Barlow. That’s my bed. Didn’t you see my bags?” sneers Kyle.

  He throws his bags onto the bed.

  “You little kids can sleep somewhere else.”

  Kyle is a bossy grade six boy. I am in grade four. I will have to stay out of his way. I find a bunk at the other end of the dormitory with a view of the lake from a little window.

  The mess hall is bubbling with chatter. Max and Brendan wave me over. The only spare chair is next to Grace. Grace is pretty with very dark brown skin and beautiful pink palms. I am lighter than Grace but darker than Max and Brendan. Grace’s teeth look very white. It is hard not to stare at her beautiful colours when she speaks.

  “Hi, DB, I didn’t know you liked writing.”

  My face goes hot and I think I have been found out.

  “I have a good imagination and I make up songs,” I say.

  Grace’s fifty braids dance on her shoulders as she turns back to her friends.

  On a long table, there are piles of new exercise books and big sheets of white card. There is a box of pens, an acoustic guitar and a little, tiny yellow guitar. It isn’t much bigger than a shoe.

  The workshop presenters tell us the things we will be doing: song writing with Harry and Sandra, story writing with Nina, poetry with Leon and sculpture with our teacher, Mrs Rellas.

  Leon reads a funny love poem. Nina reads a sad story about when she was a child. Mrs Rellas shows us a clay sculpture she made. Harry and Sandra pick up their instruments.

  “Does anyone know what this little instrument is?” asks Harry.

  Nobody does.

  “It is called a ukulele. That means “little flea” in Hawaiian. Some people find them very annoying, but I love them. They are small enough to carry anywhere and ANYONE can learn to play one.”

  Harry and Sandra start making up words to a blues song. The song is about camp. Before we know it, we are calling out lines to add. Sandra points to me and I am surprised to find my hand up.

  “Um... the green grass looks so fake...” I say.

  “Yes! Fabulous!” says Sandra and we all sing the song, all sixty of us, with my line in it.

  My chest feels like it is full of warm cotton wool. The song is called ‘Writing Blues at Dragonfly Lake’.

  We went to the lake. We went to the lake,

  Our gardens have been baked

  So we went to Dragonfly Lake.

  We went to the lake. We went to the lake.

  The green grass looks so fake

  Down here at Dragonfly Lake.

  We went to the lake. We went to the lake.

  Some stories we will make

  While we’re at Dragonfly lake.

  In the story-writing workshop, Grace writes a story about a family escaping from Africa. In the story, their huts get burnt to the ground by soldiers. I feel very sorry for Grace. I know it is a true story.

  Some people write funny things. Max writes a story called ‘Max the Wonder Dog’. I write a really short story about a boy who goes to survival camp, even though he’s afraid of the dark. I can’t figure out how to end it.

  After dinner, Harry comes and sits at our table and I ask, “Can anyone really learn the ukulele? Do you think I could learn?”

  Harry hands me the little yellow instrument. He shows me how to put my fingers on the strings.

  “Now strum,” says Harry.

  So I do. I strum up and down and it isn’t so hard. Then Harry puts my fingers in a different shape and I slowly change from one shape to the other. We all laugh.

  “You’re a natural!” says Mr Saw.

  Harry draws some other chord shapes on a piece of paper. He even lets me take the ukulele out onto the veranda. I am so happy, my insides are smiling. I make a C chord with my fingers, then an F, then a G, over and over until my fingertips are sore. Then I watch the sun go down in the golden-pink sky and listen to the ducks telling each other stories as they fly home.

  That night I dream that I am back in the Northern Territory with Dad. We are sitting by a fire and he is teaching me how to play the didgeridoo. When I wake up in the morning, I can still smell smoke in my hair.

  In the song writing workshop, Harry and Sandra split us into groups of four. We choose names for our groups. Our group is called ‘The Nut Bars’.

  We write a group song and it is lots of fun. I am quite good at thinking up lines and rhymes. Sometimes I have to stop myself from blurting them out, so as not to take everyone else’s turn.

  Sandra comes around to the groups and asks, “Okay, what have you got?”

  She plays the chords on her guitar and we sing her our song.

  There’s nothing as nutty as a nut bar

  We don’t go fast but we’ll go far

  Maybe one day we’ll be rock stars

  And have a rock band called the Nut Bars!

  Yeah, yeah, yeah, gonna dye my hair

  Have a big black car – I’m a Nut bar!

  Sandra smiles. “That’s great! You have all worked so well.”

  “DB thinks up all the good lines,” says a girl called Courtney.

  The other kids all nod and smile at me. I get the warm thing in my chest again and my face goes hot. I have to look at the carpet.

  “Well, I can see you are in you element here, DB,” says Sandra.

  “I can show you the chords on the ukulele, if you like.”

  I nod very hard and say to the floor, “Yes, please.”

  In poetry, I am in a class with Kyle and his friend, James. I am afraid they will laugh at what I write or be mean to me. But Leon keeps us all busy and so interested that they don’t even notice I am there.

  As they work at their poems, I hear Kyle whisper, “I think I could turn this poem into a song.”
/>   “I can play guitar for you,” says James.

  James’ mum plays guitar in a band. He’s been learning since even before grade one.

  “Awesome!” whispers Kyle.

  Leon explains how good poems make you see pictures in your head. We all close our eyes to listen to each others’ poems. When Kyle reads his, I see wet, grey cliff faces and swooping dragons with metal claws breathing fire and black smoke. When it is my turn to read, my hands shake. It is hard to read my bad writing on the shuddering page. I am glad everyone has their eyes closed.

  “My poem is called Smoke,” I say and I take a big breath.

  Last night my dad came to see me.

  He was happy to see that I had grown.

  We sat together, late into the night

  And he taught me to play the didgeridoo.

  When I woke up, I missed Dad

  And I could still smell wood smoke.

  Later in the class, Leon says how strong the pictures in my poem are. He says he could see the smoke rising and the gum trees in the flickering firelight.

  Kyle looks at me and rolls his eyes.

  I swallow the lump in my throat. I notice how easy it is to go from happy to sad. How it only takes one look or one unkind word.

  After lunch, I borrow Harry’s little yellow ukulele and sit in the dorm practicing my chords. I play them over and over until I don’t have to stop to change chords.

  It is lucky I have my exercise book with me because words start coming into my mind. The words fit the pattern of the music. They start scrawling out of my pen. I find it hard to keep up. I hope I will be able to read my scrawly writing later.

  My song is called ‘One Kind Word’.

  For sculpture, we go for a walk and find things to make an artwork with. It is hard for me to concentrate; my brain is still practicing my new song. Suddenly there is a yell. Mr Saw is calling.

  “Mrs Rellas! Quick! James jumped off the barbeque and I think he has broken his arm.”

  “Oh, no,” groans Kyle. “Now I can’t do my song.”

  Before I can stop myself, I ask, “What chords are in the song?”

  Kyle tells me they are G, C and F. They’re the chords I can play.

  “I can play it,” I say.

  * * *