Curly and the Fent
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Curly and the Fent
9781742754307
A Random House book
Published by Random House Australia Pty Ltd
Level 3, 100 Pacific Highway, North Sydney NSW 2060
www.randomhouse.com.au
First published by Random House Australia in 2008
Text copyright © Sally Morgan, Ambelin Kwaymullina, Blaze Kwaymullina and Ezekiel Kwaymullina 2008
Illustrations copyright © Adam Hill 2008
The moral rights of the authors and the illustrator have been asserted.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity, including internet search engines or retailers, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying (except under the statutory exceptions provisions of the Australian Copyright Act 1968), recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of Random House Australia.
Addresses for companies within the Random House Group can be found at www.randomhouse.com.au/offices.
National Library of Australia
Cataloguing-in-Publication Entry
Morgan, Sally.
Curly and the Fent / authors, Sally Morgan … [et al.];
illustrator, Adam Hill, 1970–.
978 1 74166 292 4 (pbk.).
Series: Curly and the Fent; no. 1.
Target audience: For primary school students.
Subjects: Bullying – Fiction.
A823.3
Cover and internal illustrations by Adam Hill
Cover and internal design by Astred Hicks, Wide Open Media
CONTENTS
COVER
COPYRIGHT PAGE
IMPRINT PAGE
TITLE PAGE
CHAPTER 1: NOISES IN THE DARK
CHAPTER 2: THE MONSTER SLAYER
CHAPTER 3: BREAKFAST TIME
CHAPTER 4: GOING TO SCHOOL
CHAPTER 5: POISON FRUIT
CHAPTER 6: BILLY
CHAPTER 7: THE MAD INVENTOR
CHAPTER 8: BILLY COMES HUNTING
CHAPTER 9: CURLY GOES HUNTING
CHAPTER 10: CAPTURED!
CHAPTER 11: FAREWELL TO THE FENT
CHAPTER 12: EVERYTHING CHANGES
CHAPTER 13: NOT OVER YET
PREVIEW
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
WRITING CURLY AND THE FENT
ABOUT THE ILLUSTRATOR
It’s the noise that wakes me. A noise that doesn’t have any place in a house where everyone is asleep. I open my eyes slowly, straining my ears to catch the sound, but everything is still and quiet. I lie silently for a while, waiting. Crickets are chirruping outside, but that’s all. Must be the cat next door, going for his midnight prowl. Yawning, I close my eyes again. And that’s when I hear it – ‘Crrreeeeaaaak.’
That’s not a cricket! I’m scared now. My heart beats faster. Slipping a little deeper under my doona, I peer out into the moonlit darkness. Is something hiding in the shadows? I look around carefully. Everything seems all right. Nothing moves, and there are no more sounds. I let out the breath I am holding. There’s nothing there. Then I hear it again.
‘Creeeeeeaaaak.’
The door of my wardrobe opens itself. A single eye is staring out at me.
‘MUUMM!’ I scream at the top of my lungs.
The wardrobe door slams shut.
Mum stumbles in, tripping over all my junk on the floor. The light bulb has blown, so she can’t turn it on.
‘What is it, Curly?’ she demands.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘There’s something in the wardrobe!’
There is silence. Mum is annoyed – I can feel her rolling her eyes in the darkness.
‘Besides clothes?’ she finally asks.
‘A one-eyed beast!’ I say fearfully.
Mum sighs. ‘Curly, you’re eight. That’s too old to believe in monsters.’
‘But it was looking at me!’
‘Remember the time a werewolf was trying to break in through your window?’
That’s the trouble with parents; they never forget your most embarrassing mistakes. It wasn’t my fault the cat next door casts a very large shadow.
‘It’s not another werewolf, is it, Curly?’ she asks wearily.
‘It’s real this time, Mum,’ I protest. But it sounds weak, even to me.
Had I really seen an eye, or had I just imagined it?
‘There’s nothing for you to worry about,’ Mum reassures me, walking over to the wardrobe. ‘Here, I’ll show you.’
‘Be careful!’
She flings open the door. A pile of my dirty laundry launches itself into the air and collapses on her head. She glares at me from beneath a pair of red underpants. I can’t help it, I giggle.
‘It’s the middle of the night,’ Mum growls, ‘and you wake me up to play a trick? I have to work tomorrow, Curly,’ she reminds me, pulling the underpants off her head and dropping them on the floor. ‘That food on the table doesn’t just magically appear.’
I feel guilty. I know Mum works hard. Dad does his best, too, but he doesn’t live with us any more.
‘There was something in there, Mum, really.’
She doesn’t believe me. She closes my wardrobe door with a thud.
‘It’s just your imagination working overtime again, Curly. Go to sleep.’
Mum goes back down the hall to her own room. I lie quietly in the dark. Maybe she is right. Maybe I did imagine it. Or maybe it was just a dream, and I woke up and thought it was real.
‘Creeeeeeaaaak!’
The wardrobe door has opened again, wider this time. Now there are two small eyes gleaming at me in the night.
‘I like tricks,’ a voice whispers. ‘I like them a lot. Curly.’
I don’t know what to do. If I shout out now, Mum won’t come.
‘Hehehe,’ the voice says.
In a burst of bravery, I leap out of bed and dive through the dark for my baseball bat.
‘Are you a slayer of evil monsters?’ the voice asks nervously.
‘Yes, I am!’ I snap. I crouch down with the bat, ready to swing.
‘Oh good!’ The voice sounds relieved. ‘Because I’m not an evil monster. I’m a Fent.’
I feel surprise. ‘What’s a Fent?’ I ask without thinking.
‘Do you want to see?’
Did I? What if it was some kind of trick? What if I saw something scary?
‘Point your bat at the wardrobe,’ the Fent encourages.
Should I? I just got it for Christmas. What if the Fent makes it explode or something?
Without me doing anything at all, the bat points itself towards the wardrobe and starts to glow like a lightsabre from the Star Wars movies. In a flash something jumps out and lands on the floor. Standing in the light is a short, round, feathery creature with two large, pointy, hairy ears and big feet.
I feel betrayed. ‘You are a monster!’
‘Not a monster, a Fent.’ It stares at me, its black eyes wide. ‘You’re huge!’
I try to imagine what it is seeing – a boy with brown skin, brown eyes, curly b
lack hair and striped pyjamas. I suppose I do look huge to him.
‘A Fent. Where do you come from then?’
‘Fent Land.’
Well, I guess that makes sense. ‘How did you get here?’
‘I don’t know.’ He hangs his head. ‘I think I’m lost.’
I feel a bit sorry for him. I got lost once when I was younger. It was in the chocolate aisle at the supermarket. By the time Mum found me I’d eaten six boxes of Roses chocolates. I was sick for a week afterwards.
‘Is that why you hid in my wardrobe?’
He nods. ‘Can I sleep in there?’
I put my bat down slowly. The Fent looks so pathetic that I don’t want to kick him out. He’s so small – what if a dog got him? Killer next door would eat him for dinner.
‘Okay,’ I agree. ‘Just for tonight.’
‘Thank you, Curly!’
He dives back inside the wardrobe. The bat stops glowing and everything goes dark again. I’m really tired now. I climb back into bed and pull my doona over my head. Maybe when I wake up in the morning it will have been a dream. Maybe the Fent will be gone and everything will be back to normal. I sure hope so. I don’t know what I’m going to do otherwise.
‘Curly!’ Mum’s voice calls from the kitchen. ‘Breakfast is ready.’
I roll over and see sunlight streaming through my bedroom window. I feel as though I’ve only just gone to sleep. Was the Fent a dream, I wonder. I climb out of bed and stand in front of my wardrobe. Should I open the door?
‘You’d better get dressed, Curly,’ Mum calls again.
My school uniform is inside the wardrobe. I don’t have any choice. Taking a deep breath, I jerk the door outwards and jump back. But all I see are clothes and shoes and other junk.
I move closer. ‘Fent?’ I whisper.
‘Are you there?’
There’s no reply.
‘Hurry up, Curly!’ Mum yells. ‘I have to call in at your Uncle Jeffrey’s on the way to school. We’ve got to get going!’
I race out to the kitchen – I can deal with the Fent and my uniform in a minute. A bowl of cereal is waiting for me on the table. Mum is standing at the bench, cutting herself up some fruit.
‘Morning, Curly!’
‘Morning, Mum.’
‘Still in your pyjamas? Is that monster still living in your wardrobe?’
I open my mouth, then close it again. ‘No, Mum,’ I reassure her.
‘Glad to hear it.’
For some reason I find myself asking, ‘Say if there was a monster – a small monster with pointy ears, who was lost and had nowhere else to go – could he stay with us?’
Mum smiles smugly. ‘If it means you won’t be waking me up in the middle of the night, then yes, it can stay.’
Boy, talk about rubbing it in.
I’m halfway through my cereal when I hear a chirping noise. The Fent is standing on the bench near Mum.
I choke. Mum turns around.
‘Are you okay?’
I nod. Why can’t she see him?
‘Only kids can see me,’ the Fent explains. ‘She can’t hear me either. And she can’t hear you talking to me.’
‘Oh.’
He jumps from the bench to the table. ‘Your Mum is bigger than you, but she isn’t brown.’
I look at Mum, trying to see her how the Fent does. Tall, with long red hair, a grey suit, pale skin. Not brown. ‘I take after Dad,’ I whisper to him. ‘He’s Aboriginal. Mum’s family is from Ireland.’
The Fent looks confused.
I sigh. ‘Dad has brown skin, Mum doesn’t, and I look like him. Okay?’
‘I like brown. I’m brown. I’m going to live with you, Curly. Your mum said so.’
Is that why I asked Mum that question? Did the Fent make me? I glare at him.
‘I like your Mum. I’m going to wear her hat.’
My red underpants suddenly appear on his head. Two feathery ears are poking out through the leg holes.
‘Take them off!’
The Fent looks unhappy. He pulls a face, then whips my underpants off his head and flings them into the air. They land on top of Mum’s freshly cut bowl of fruit.
‘Curly!’ she says angrily. ‘That’s not funny!’
She grabs the undies and storms off to the laundry to throw them in the washing machine.
‘Hehehe,’ the Fent chuckles.
‘Stop getting me in trouble,’ I growl.
He sticks his tongue out at me and vanishes.
Mum comes back into the room. She looks at the bench. ‘Where’s my fruit?’
I look too. The bowl is empty.
‘It wasn’t me, Mum …’ I say, ready to dob in the Fent. ‘It was the one-eyed beast. The Fent. Only really he’s got two eyes.’
‘Don’t, Curly!’ She shakes her head. ‘If you want fruit, you can have fruit. Fruit is good for you. Just stop blaming everything on your imaginary friend, okay?’
I’m angry now. Really angry. That fat, greedy, lying Fent is nothing but trouble!
As I climb into the car to go to school, the Fent appears next to me in the back seat. I look out the window to see Billy Green, an older kid who lives next door to us, walk by the fence. He’s dressed to go to school too. The same school as me, unfortunately. He sees me looking at him and pulls a face, and then his mouth hangs open in astonishment. Uh oh. He’s seen the Fent. The Fent gives Billy a little wave.
‘Don’t!’ I whisper, as the Fent grins at me. Fortunately, Mum starts reversing the car and we pull out into the street, away from Billy. The Fent is annoying, but I wouldn’t want someone like Billy getting a hold of him.
‘Where are we going, Curly?’ asks the Fent.
‘School. You can’t come.’
‘I am,’ he replies with a sneaky look. ‘I am coming.’
‘No you’re not.’
‘If I make you laugh, can I come?’
‘You can’t make me laugh.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I’m angry with you.’
He pulls a feather off his leg. Then he darts over, sticks the feather under my arm and tickles me. I try to push him away.
‘Sit still, Curly,’ Mum complains. ‘Don’t bump the back of the seat while I’m driving.’
I want to sit still, but I can’t. He’s found my most ticklish spot. I keep my teeth clenched to stop myself from laughing and try to grab him, but he slips out of my hands. I lunge towards him, only to be jerked back by my seatbelt.
‘Curly!’ Mum yells.
‘I’m sorry, Mum! It was an accident.’
The Fent clings to the top of the front passenger seat and teases me by wiggling the feather.
When we arrive at Uncle Jeffrey’s house the Fent loses interest in me. He stands on the seat and presses his face against the glass of the window, watching as Mum goes into the house.
‘Ooh. Red,’ he says, staring at Uncle Jeffrey’s brand new Toyota. ‘I like red.’
‘That’s Uncle Jeffrey’s,’ I tell him. ‘No one’s allowed to touch it. Not even me.’
Actually, especially not me – Uncle Jeffrey still hasn’t forgiven me for spilling a milkshake in his last car. I eye the Fent nervously. If he does something to the car, I know I’ll get the blame. Luckily, Mum soon comes out carrying some papers, and I sigh with relief. Only a few blocks to school now.
As we get back on the road, the Fent jumps on top of my head and brushes his feather over my face.
Time to get my revenge!
‘Argh!’ I shout, flinging my hands up. ‘My eye! I can’t see!’
Mum glances in her rear-vision mirror and sees me pretend to cry. ‘Are you okay, Curly? What did you do?’
The Fent is looking upset.
I take my hands off my face and grin. ‘Tricked you!’
Mum catches me smiling. ‘CURLY! Don’t play silly games like that! It’s not funny!’
‘Sorry, Mum!’
I smirk at the Fent and whisper, ‘Gotcha!’
The Fent sniffs. ‘Your mum is right. That’s not funny!’
‘Sore loser.’
He presses himself back into the corner and looks out the window. He is still sulking when we pull up outside the school. I jump out, but the Fent stays put.
Mum calls after me. ‘Your dad is picking you up today.’
Oh great. Now everyone will see his crazy car again.
‘Have a good day, Curly – and be good!’
As the car pulls away, I see the Fent’s face pressed against the rear window. It feels good to get away from him. I’d rather the Fent spend the day with Mum than cause me problems at school.
‘Curly …’ someone calls softly. My friend Chris is signalling me from behind the library wall. I go over to him. His hair is ruffled and his clothes are all messed up.
‘Was it Billy?’ I ask.
He nods. ‘He took my lunch money. He says if I want it back, you have to ask for it.’
‘Me?’ I squeak in surprise.
‘What have you done, Curly?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Can you get my lunch money back?’
‘I don’t know. Look, you can share my lunch today. Okay?’
He nods in agreement.
The bell goes and we walk towards our class. There is a sinking feeling in my stomach. I know what Billy really wants. He wants the Fent.
I find it hard to concentrate. Mr Andrews keeps yelling at me for not paying attention. He’s not the most popular teacher in the school. He gets upset over little things. Over everything, really. He writes long letters to students’ parents telling them how bad they are at schoolwork, and he never forgets anything. At the end of the year he can still tell you what you did wrong during the first week of school.
Towards lunchtime, Mr Andrews announces that he has a surprise for us. No one looks happy. None of his surprises are ever any fun.