Grandad had found the trousers when he was trying to sort out his stuff. They’d been in an old wooden chest that hadn’t been opened for years. They were strange and wonderful trousers, a patchwork of furry pieces. Liam had never seen anything like them. But they certainly looked suspicious. Was that stripy patch a tabby cat? Was that a ginger tom? They were just the kind of trousers to send APUP into fits.
Liam sighed. ‘Sometimes, Grandad, you’re your own worst enemy – ’
He could see the headline now: CAT-HATERS CRUEL TROUSERS OUTRAGE.
‘Why shouldn’t I get up their noses a bit?’ grumbled Grandad. ‘They’re trying to ruin me. I can’t understand it. I’ve never hurt an animal in my life! I love animals!’
Liam sighed, more deeply this time. Not this old argument again. ‘Look, Grandad’ he said changing the subject, ‘I’ve brought my digital camera.’ It was hanging in a neat little black case from his shoulder. ‘I’ll take some photos, shall I? So you can remember Nursery Rhyme Land like it was?’But Grandad wasn’t listening. He still couldn’t admit that APUP had won and he’d lost.
‘And what about all me other bits and bobs,’ Grandad was saying, ‘that I’ve collected over the years? What about General Custer’s false teeth?’
Grandad’s other passion, apart from Nursery Rhyme Land, was the Wild West. When he was a young man he’d wanted to emigrate to America. Only Grandma (God rest her soul) had put her foot down. So he’d given up the idea and stayed in Nursery Rhyme Land instead.Grandad walked past the Sing a Song of Sixpence display case, where twenty four tatty blackbirds burst out of a plaster pie. He picked General Custer’s false teeth up from their little stand. They were odd-looking gnashers, yellowy and joined together with big springs. If you clenched them too hard they sprang apart and hopped like a frog out of your hand.
‘I didn’t know General Custer had false teeth,’ said Liam.
‘Everybody says that,’ said Grandad, ‘but that’s because he kept it a secret. He was a really vain man. But after Custer’s Last Stand, when he was killed along with all his soldiers, a Sioux warrior picked them up off the battlefield. Don’t ask me how they found their way over to England. It’s one of life’s little mysteries.’
‘Was General Custer one of your Wild West hereos, Grandad? asked Liam kindly, trying to take Grandad’s mind off the mess he was in.
‘That rabid Indian, killer?’ shouted Grandad say ‘Hot ding! You must be joking!’
Liam had been listening to Grandad say ‘Hot ding! For years. Once he had asked him, ‘Grandad, what does hot ding actually mean?’ Grandad looked flustered for a second. Then he’d said ‘It’s cowboy talk, son. Like saying, “Goodness gracious me,” or “Well I never!”’
‘No, I’m on the side of the Native Americans,’ continued Grandad, giving General Custer’s false teeth a quick polish. ‘They weren’t all warlike, no, not by any means. Some tribes were peace-loving peach growers. Even the warlike ones only raided cowboy camps to steal their frying pans –’
‘Frying pans?’ said Liam , completely baffled.
‘Yep,’ said Grandad. ‘Those frying pans were made of extra-thin metal. Perfect for making arrows. ‘In fact,’ he said, marching off towards the back room with General Custers’s false teeth in his hand, ‘I think I’ve got some frying pan arrows in one of the crates back here.’
But Grandad never got to find those frying pan arrows. Afterwards, Liam was never quite sure what happened. Nursery Rhyme Land seemed to grow even darker. But, in that darkness, he felt a kind of electric tingling, saw flashes of glassy eyes from weasels, birds and kittens. Heard a strange dry rustling and scrabbling …
What’s going on? He thought, looking wildly around.
But then Grandad took all his attention. ‘What are you doing, Grandad?’ cried Liam, appalled.
Grandad was trying to cram General Custer’s false teeth into his own mouth. With a suck and a snap they disappeared. Grandad clacked them experimentally together. They seemed like quite a good fit.
No, Grandad, no,’ said Liam. ‘They’re not your teeth. Take them out. You don’t know where they’ve been!’
Too late. Grandad’s face seemed to change, the muscles sliding around under the skin. It was still Grandad. But he had a different expression. A sort of cringing, beaten look. He scuttled suddenly into a corner and crouched there, shivering like a whipped dog.
What’s the matter? begged Liam frantically. ‘Speak to me, Grandad.’
Grandad opened his mouth. Big yellow rabbitty teeth stuck out. A whining voice came through them. ‘I’m sick bad, Master,’ it sniffed. ‘It’s so awful cold. Don’t send me out there again!’It wasn’t Grandad’s voice. And it certainly wasn’t General Custer’s.
Read more of this fast and funny story in Night of the Haunted Trousers by Susan Gates.