Mr Mahli's Shed Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  About the Author

  Dedication

  Mr Mahli

  The Shed

  TB

  Mr Mahli’s Holiday

  Breaking in

  Dylan

  A Very Strange Chat

  Waitress Service

  A School Trip

  A Tiger Onesie

  Toilet Monitors

  A Little Close For Comfort

  When You Gotta Go…

  Mr Mahli’s Return

  Whatever’s Happened to Mrs Best?

  The Best Plan

  Operation ‘Dylan’

  A Shed Load of Trouble

  A Disgruntled Guest

  A Welshman’s Home is His Shed

  Mr Mahli’s Shed

  Epilogue

  Advertisement

  Copyright

  Mr Mahli’s Shed

  and a ghost named Dylan

  by

  Laura Sheldon

  Laura Sheldon is a teacher at a primary school in the Vale of Glamorgan where there is a real writers’ shed overlooking the sea.

  ‘I was born and brought up in Hillside Crescent in Swansea, around the corner from where Dylan was born. I’ve always enjoyed writing and creating stories. When I became a primary school teacher in 2000 I found lots of opportunities for exploring this with my pupils; everything’s more fun taught through a story!’

  Huw Aaron is a freelance cartoonist and illustrator living in Cardiff, whose drawings have appeared in places such as Private Eye, Reader’s Digest and the Firefly book Steve's Dreams: Steve and the Sabretooth Tiger by Dan Anthony. He has a rugby comic strip, North Stand and a webcomic called Blart.

  for Tom, Alice and Charlie

  and all their adventures

  One

  Mr Mahli

  Everybody likes Mr Mahli. Some old men can be grumpy and disagreeable; they scowl at noisy children and bark back at yappy dogs. Some old men are nice enough but no one really notices them. They shuffle along in flat caps and beige jackets as slowly as milk floats. I bet you know a few of these. Perhaps one or two even live on your street. But I’d be very surprised if you know their names.

  Mr Mahli is different. If you have a Mr Mahli on your street then you are one lucky person, because (as you may have heard people say before) everybody likes Mr Mahli.

  Why? I hear you ask. Well, let me tell you. You know when you’re walking down the street with your mum and you meet another grown-up that you know. They stop and say ‘Hello’ and they chat to your mum. They might look at you and say ‘Hello there!’ and you notice that they change their voice ever so slightly (usually make it just a bit higher) and they smile with their mouths and then go right back to talking to your mum? Well, Mr Mahli is the total opposite of this. When he meets children he knows, he doesn’t just think ‘small person alert: must smile, nod and ignore’, he actually knows their names, what they love doing best, what they are totally mega-brilliant at and sometimes the things they may be a teensy bit rubbish at too. So he talks to the kids just like he talks to the adults, and some adults would be surprised at how this makes him stand out.

  He also knows tricks, magic tricks. You can be walking past his house, minding your own business, when you might spot something very strange like a tiny bright-red rabbit hopping out of the gate. You tip-toe up to it, put out a cautious hand to stroke it and POUFF! It turns into a silky red handkerchief and Mr Mahli is leaning over his fence, chortling merrily at you.

  Sometimes he makes you laugh when you least expect it. Take last March for instance. It was the St David’s Day Eisteddfod down at the town hall and it was all getting a bit boring. Dafydd Holmes had the microphone and had just discovered how soothing yet exciting he found the sound of his own voice. Nine-year-old Tomos Brown was sitting next to his Nan Taylor (whom Mr Mahli always describes as a bit of a hottie) and Mr Mahli was sitting opposite them on a chair next to the stage. He was waiting to present the cup to the winner in the over-90s’ category.

  Tomos looked over at Mr Mahli who winked, then widened his brown eyes and nodded towards Tomos’ Nan. Tomos gave her a nudge and pointed at Mr Mahli. As she turned her head to look at him, he stretched out one leg and flexed his foot at Nan Taylor. On the soul of his shoe he had written in black biro the words ‘I love you’. Nan chuckled quietly, blushed and shook her head. Satisfied, Mr Mahli lowered his leg. But before Nan could turn back to the stage he had lifted his other leg, baring the sole of the other shoe, on which was written ‘…but not very much’. Tomos heard his Nan breathe in quickly and when he looked at her face he saw she was trying desperately not to laugh.

  Two

  The Shed

  Anyway, that is just what Mr Mahli was like. Fun. He lives on Hillside Crescent and always has done since his parents moved to Swansea from India way back in Prehistoric Times. He told his young neighbour, Alys, that if he had been born in India he would have been a prince, but that gypsies had tried to capture his mother and she and his father had decided to flee the country and live in anonymity in South Wales.

  His house is one of the neatest in the street. In the little front garden he has shaped the bushes into wild animals. He has a giant eagle, an African elephant and a cat (which was supposed to be a panther). But the back garden is the best. He grows rows of plump shiny vegetables and fruits that smell amazing and fill the pockets of the children who come to play. He has a massive climbing tree that you can climb up then swing down, off a huge bendy branch. Right next to the house is a really deep pond with super-friendly fish that come up to the surface when the children throw food at them, gaping and snapping their little fishy jaws.

  The only slightly spooky thing about the garden is the shed. Not the tool shed where Mr Mahli keeps his lawn mower and banana boat and things like that, but the old shed behind it. That was the only place where Mr Mahli had forbidden the children to play. A couple of times they had dared each other to stand on someone’s shoulders and peek in, but they always came down disappointed and confused. That was the weird thing you see. The shed had nothing in it. There weren’t even any tools or old flowerpots or spiders or anything else that people keep in their garden sheds.

  It was totally

  completely

  empty.

  So why did Mr Mahli have an empty wooden shed in his garden? Well, he actually had many explanations for this. That’s what was so confusing. Every time somebody asked Mr Mahli about the shed he gave them a different story to explain why it was there, why nobody was allowed in and why it was always empty.

  Here are two of my personal favourites:

  1. The Pirates’ Shed

  It actually belongs to the pirates who smuggled Mr Mahli’s family out of India and he is honour-bound to keep it in his garden forever. Now and again the pirates bring treasure to hide in the shed, which is why no one must go in. The pirates are a ruthless bunch and they would happily slit the throat of anyone they found in their secret shed.

  2. The Time Machine

  It is not actually a shed but a highly sophisticated time machine, painted to look like a shed. It looks like there’s nothing in it because Mr Mahli used magic paint on the window to paint an ‘inside-a-shed’ scene in case of nosey parkers. He painted it empty so thieves wouldn’t break in. If anyone steps inside the shed without the proper training and health and safety instructions they would instantly find themselves in India in 1923, which is where Mr Mahli’s parents came from. He flits between these two time zones because they are his favourite and the best and he should know because he has travelled throughout the Whole of Time.

  Believe it or not neither of these stories were true. Tomos Brown found out the real reason for the shed the day afte
r Mr Mahli went on holiday. And the truth was just as strange as the tales.

  Three

  TB

  Tomos Brown lives on Hillside Crescent, across the road from Mr Mahli. He is nine years old and lives with his mum and his dad. Everybody calls Tomos ‘TB’ for short. His mum had tried to stop them because she thought it sounded like a disease, but nobody took any notice and now even his mum can be heard calling him TB when she’s not concentrating.

  TB loves messing about outdoors and riding his bike (especially off-roading). He doesn’t have any brothers or sisters but that doesn’t matter because he lives next door to the best nine-year-old girl in the world. Her name is Alys James and TB thinks she is alright because she isn’t really like a girl at all. She loves to climb trees and play football and go surfing with TB and his dad. She eats just as much as TB and doesn’t worry about getting her clothes messy. She is actually better than him at Temple Run but TB wouldn’t admit that.

  Alys and TB spend a great deal of weekend time in Mr Mahli’s garden (especially since their mums agreed that iPads were strictly for Rainy Days). Last autumn he’d helped them to complete a truly epic joint project for school on ‘Weather’ by setting up some weather-recording instruments in his garden, all homemade from the most ordinary of household objects. Wire coat-hangers were fused with baked bean tins and TB’s Lego cogs in an ingenious way. The project had impressed Mr Davies beyond measure and he’d awarded them tons of house points as well as a ‘magical prize from the magical box of magical prizes’ each.

  Anyway, this story isn’t about projects and prizes. But it does begin in Mr Mahli’s garden, where a lot of interesting things begin.

  Four

  Mr Mahli’s Holiday

  One Saturday TB headed over to call for Alys but she’d already left to go shopping with her mum. As he turned to go back home TB noticed a taxi outside Mr Mahli’s house, sitting there with its engine running. Out of curiosity and boredom TB wandered over to see where Mr Mahli was off to at that time in the morning. He was bustling out of the door, his arms full of suitcases and a hat. A truly awful hat actually, but this isn’t a fashion commentary either.

  ‘Morning Mr Mahli!’ TB called over the noise of the diesel engine.

  ‘Ah! Shwmae young Tom,’ he replied. ‘Lovely day for it isn’t it?’

  ‘Lovely day for what? Where are you off?’

  ‘Cardiff airport bach. Trip of a Lifetime.’

  You could hear the capital letters as he spoke.

  ‘Where’s that to then?’ TB shouted back as he ran to hold the gate open for Mr Mahli.

  ‘India. The motherland. I’ve got a whole itinerary sorted, Taj Mahal, trip on The Ganges, the lot. I’ll be gone for three weeks in all. Actually,’ he continued as he lowered his suitcases into the open boot, ‘glad I ran into you. Got a big favour to ask.’

  TB nodded and stepped back from the car, his head still full of images of an exotic, glimmering India.

  ‘I need you to water the veggie patch for me if you would. Keep an eye on the toms, they’ll be ready soon and will need picking. Get that Alys to help you out, OK?’

  ‘Course Mr Mahli, my dad loves your tomatoes.’

  ‘Thanks boy.’ Mr Mahli smiled and ruffled TB’s hair, then he was off in the car and chuntering down the street. Off on his Holiday of a Lifetime.

  And the garden belonged to TB.

  He played in it for the rest of the morning, climbing and swinging down from the tree at least fifty times. He found a thick piece of rope wound around an old water butt and slung it over the jutting-out branch of the oak tree to make a swing which he dangled from for ages, until he decided it would be a lot more fun playing in the garden with Alys. TB checked his watch and was surprised to see that it was nearly lunchtime. He ran out of the garden towards his own house, noticing Alys’ mum’s car turning into the street as he reached his front door.

  After lunch TB’s dad announced that the conditions were perfect for nine-year-old learner surfers at Langland Bay. TB forgot all about Mr Mahli’s garden as he helped his dad load the boards onto the car roof and pulled damp wetsuits down from their hangers in the garage.

  It wasn’t until TB was drifting off to sleep in bed that night that he remembered he was in charge of the best garden in the street. As he closed his eyes and let images of the garden run through his mind he suddenly thought about the shed. This was his chance! He had three weeks to explore. Three weeks to investigate. He didn’t really believe any of the fairytales, but there was something not quite right, something fishier than the fishpond. And TB had every intention of finding out everything he could.

  Five

  Breaking in

  The next morning TB amazed his mum by being dressed even before breakfast. He ate only two Weetabix (compared to his usual four), declined ‘special treat toast’ (toast in bed – a terrible idea which generated loads of crumbs but which his family had enjoyed since he was a baby) and headed out of the door, calling over his shoulder that he was off to look after Mr Mahli’s garden.

  Alys was also surprised to see TB up so early and standing on her doorstep. He hopped from one foot to the other as he explained about Mr Mahli’s holiday and his plans to investigate the shed. Alys was slightly less interested it has to be said. You see, she had her own theory about the shed. She believed that it was simply an old shed that Mr Mahli hadn’t yet bothered to get rid of. Because everybody made such a fuss about how weird it was to have an old empty shed in an otherwise epic garden, he kept it as an excuse to invent mad stories. He loved nothing more than an audience Mr Mahli, and Alys knew that.

  Eventually TB persuaded Alys that it actually was a great idea to get dressed and venture out into the chilly morning instead of snuggling up in her pjs and watching TV. The two friends were through the gate and standing in front of the shed in minutes.

  ‘Well then. Are you going to try the door or what?’ Alys prodded TB in the arm.

  ‘Yeah! Course. But it’s bound to be locked.’

  ‘Don’t know if you don’t try it, do you?’ Slowly she reached out an arm, but TB pushed her back.

  ‘Hang on Al, let me go first.’

  ‘Oy! Why should you? I reckon you’re a bit scared actually, TB. I think you’ve been listening too hard to Mr M. What if there’s pirates waiting to slit your throat eh? What if…’

  ‘Shut it Al, I’m going in,’ TB announced, and he pushed down hard on the shed handle. It was locked.

  Alys chuckled quietly. She wandered away from the shed and spotted TB’s swing from the day before.

  ‘Hey! This is new! Check me out!’ she called as she backed up a little slope and wound the rope around her wrists. TB wasn’t looking though. He was turning over stones around the base of the shed and lifting up plant pots, looking for the key. He didn’t see Alys swing through the air screaming like Tarzan, but he heard her land as the rope slipped from her grip and she ploughed into the carefully piled crates that Mr Mahli kept his seedlings in.

  ‘Gahhh! Ouch! Ooof!’ cried Alys as she struggled to her feet, picking leaves out of her hair and a worm out of her ear. ‘Good grief that hurt my bum!’ she moaned, rubbing the mud into the seat of her jeans.

  TB came running over, ‘Oh Alys, look at the crates! You muppet, now we’re going to have to stack all these again, AND re-pot those things.’ He gestured to the seedlings, looking rather pathetic on the grass. ‘Yes, I’m fine, don’t worry TB, I’m sure there’s nothing broken.’ Alys looked down at her hands and the red welts that were appearing from the ropes. TB groaned. ‘Come on, let’s get started, then we can look for the key. I’ve had an idea. There’s a bunch of keys by the back door. They look pretty ancient but one of them might be for the shed.’

  ‘What, inside by the back door?’ Alys asked.

  ‘Yes. Oh yeah, good point, we’ll need a house key…’

  ‘How about,’ Alys suggested, ‘we break into just the shed, instead of the house and the shed. That’d be enough cr
ime-ing for one day.’

  TB smirked at his friend and laid the pot he was holding back down on the grass. ‘OK. Let’s look for a weak spot.’

  They circled the shed like sharks around a sinking rowing boat. Alys noticed a loose screw on one of the planks of wood next to the door. She bent down to pull it and with a bit of easing and wobbling and some grunts, the screw was out. TB pulled at the wood. ‘I don’t think we can pull this any further without snapping it,’ he said. But just as Alys bent to check, her foot pushed a stone an inch to the left and TB spotted a silver glint on the ground. The children reached for it at the same time and as they lifted it out of the soil they saw they’d struck gold. Well, not literally gold but as good as. You see, they’d found the key.

  TB pushed it into the lock and felt it turn easily. The door swung open to reveal the empty shed and the two friends stepped inside.

  Six

  Dylan

  The air was cold inside the shed. Alys and TB moved closer together as they felt shivers creep over their skin. There was nothing in there. Just as they’d seen from the outside, the shed was empty. Yet they felt as though there was something. In a strange way, something that could be felt but not seen was in the shed with them. The door creaked in the wind and Alys jumped. ‘I don’t like it in here TB, it’s spooky.’

  ‘I know,’ TB replied, ‘there’s something well odd … why is it so cold?’

  ‘Ooo yes, it is! And it smells weird … like … cigarettes.’

  ‘Cigars,’ said a deep voice and the children screamed, leapt out of the shed as fast as they could and ran, leaving the shed door swinging in the breeze. They didn’t stop until they were safely in Alys’ bedroom, two sets of doors securely closed behind them.