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Children's Stories
by Margo Fallis
It Was A Tiger That Ate the Ginger Biscuits!


"Jake? What happened to the ginger biscuits? I just took them out of the oven an hour ago and now they’re all gone?" Mum asked, looking at her son.

"Mum, it was horrible. I tried to help but I was afraid the tiger would eat me too?" he replied.

Tiger

His mum tapped her foot. "A tiger? What tiger, Jake?"

"Well, Mum, I was sitting at the table doing my homework," he looked at his mum for approval, "and I heard this growling noise. I looked in the kitchen and there was this huge tiger, with sharp teeth that were six inches long. He was looking at the ginger biscuits on the counter. I tried to stop him, Mum. I shouted ‘Go away!’ to him, but he ignored me. The next thing I knew, he jumped onto the counter and ate all your biscuits. When he finished, he licked his lips and ran out the back door. It was scary, Mum. I thought he might eat me too," Jake answered.

"Oh, I see. A huge tiger with long, sharp teeth ate all the biscuits, did he? Are you sure about that? Are you sure it wasn’t you who ate them, Jake?" his mum asked.

"No, Mum, it wasn’t me. It was the tiger," he sighed.

"Jake, you shouldn’t tell stories like that," his mum replied and walked into the living room.

Jake rubbed his tummy. He’d eaten too many biscuits and wasn’t feeling very well. He went outside and played on the swings in his back garden. He didn’t feel like swinging for long though and soon got fed up. He picked the swing up in his hands and threw it as hard as it could. It swung up and over the top bar and soon wound itself tightly. Just then his mum came out to see what he was doing. "Jake, what happened to the swing? How did it get wrapped around the top pole like that?" she asked.

Jake looked at her and said, "Mum, you won’t believe this."

"Was it the tiger again, Jake?" she mocked.

"No, Mum. It was a tornado," he answered.

"A tornado? In Scotland?" his mum scoffed.

"Yes, Mum, a tornado. I came out the back door and there was a big black cloud above our house. Suddenly the wind blew and this tornado came down from the sky. It landed on the swing set and twirled the swing onto the pole," Jake lied.

"Oh, it did? I see! Jake, there can’t be tornadoes in Scotland. You shouldn’t tell stories like that, Jake," she warned and then went back inside to make lunch.

Jake climbed on the swing and tried to unwind it but it was too tangled and all snagged. His dad would have to fix it later that night. His friend, John came running into the back garden. "Jake, can you play?" he asked.

"Hello, John. Sure, I can play. Do you want to go to your house or stay here?" Jake asked.

"Let’s stay here for a while and then go to my house. Can we play with your toy trucks?" John begged.

Jake went inside and gathered up his trucks. He carried them outside and the boys sat on the grass and played. John was driving a cement truck around, having fun. Jake played with the tractor. After a few minutes, he was bored and threw the tractor as hard as he could. It went flying across the grass and right into the kitchen window. John looked up as the window broke into a million pieces. Glass flew everywhere. "What happened, Jake?" he asked.

Jake’s mum came running out of the house. "Who threw the tractor at the window? I was peeling potatoes and glass came flying all over me. I could have been badly cut and so could have you two boys? Jake, who threw the truck?" she asked again.

John stood up, holding the cement truck. Jake looked at him and then at his mum. "Mum, I was playing trucks with John and this huge gorilla came running into the back garden. It was big and hairy and had long arms and sharp teeth. John didn’t see him as he was turned the wrong way. I was too scared to scream. The gorilla pulled the tractor out of my hand and threw it at the window," Jake explained.

John said, "Wow! I wish I’d seen it. I didn’t even hear it breathe!"

"Jake, are you trying to tell me that a gorilla broke the kitchen window? Where is it now?" his mum asked.

"It ran into Mrs. McCurdie’s back garden," he lied.

"Jake, you shouldn’t tell stories like that," his mum said and went into the house. She swept up the glass and called someone to come and replace it. John went back home.

When Jake’s dad came home, he was very angry. He didn’t believe the story about the gorilla or any of Jake’s other stories he’d told that day. He went into his son’s bedroom and said, "Jake, you are telling a lot of stories today. Why don’t you just tell the truth and tell your mum that you ate the cookies and twisted the swing and threw the tractor. It’s not good to tell lies. People won’t believe anything you say!"

Jake looked at his dad and frowned. "It was a tiger that ate the ginger biscuits. It was a tornado and it was a gorilla." He knew he was telling stories and felt bad inside for doing it.

"Jake, one day you’re going to have something happen to you and when you tell people, they’re not going to believe you. You’ll not like that when it happens," his dad said. He hugged him and put him to bed.

The next morning, Jake ate his breakfast. His mum fixed him bacon, fried eggs, fried tomatoes and toast. When he finished, he went outside to play. He rode his bicycle up and down the street. He was in front of Mrs. McCurdie’s house when a small car drove by. Jake couldn’t believe what he was seeing. There were two clowns in the back seat and the driver was a man dressed up in a pink ballerina outfit. Suddenly the car crashed into Mrs. McCurdie’s car that was parked in front of her house. They didn’t stop or get out of the car. They drove away quickly. Jake rode his bicycle over to her car and stood there looking at the bashed in car.

Mrs. McCurdie had heard the smashing sound. She came running outside. "Jake, what did you do to my car? You crashed your bicycle into it and bashed it all in. I’m going to tell your mum and dad about this!" she said and ran over to Jake’s house.

His mum and dad came over to see what had happened. "Jake! What did you do to Mrs. McCurdie’s car?" his dad asked.

"I didn’t do it, Dad. It was a small white car with 3 people in it. They drove into her car and smashed it up and then drove away," Jake said.

"It looks like he did it with his bicycle," Mrs. McCurdie went on.

"Tell me what the men looked like," his dad requested.

"There were two men dressed up like clowns in the back seat. At least, I thought they were men. They could have been women. The driver was a man wearing a pink ballerina outfit. I could tell it was a man as he needed a shave," Jake explained.

"Jake, that’s enough. No more stories! No more lies! You go to your room right now! You are not allowed to ride your bicycle for two months!" his dad ordered.

Jake whined, "But Dad, I’m telling the truth. It was a ballerina man."

"Go to your room, right now!" he shouted.

Jake’s mum and dad paid for Mrs. McCurdie’s car to be fixed. That night, his dad came into Jake’s bedroom. "Son, you have to stop lying. You caused a lot of damage to her car!"

"But Dad, I am telling the truth this time. You’ve got to believe me," Jake cried.

Jake’s dad had a feeling that the lad was telling the truth this time. "Jake, I believe you, but it’s hard to. You’ve told so many stories that I have a hard time believing anything you say. Do you promise to stop telling stories and lies and tell the truth from now on?"

"Yes, Dad. I’m sorry. I did eat the ginger biscuits and I did throw my tractor through the window and I did twist the swing, but I promise that I didn’t smash Mrs. McCurdie’s car!" he apologized.

From then on, Jake never told another story or lie. When he did something wrong, he told the truth. Soon his mum and dad believed him when he said things. It’s much better to tell the truth than to tell big lies!


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