Jimmy Green Teeth

A short story originally published by Rabbit Hole Stories, October 2021

I don’t like canals. The water’s too dark and they go on for miles and miles. My best friend Vicky always loved the canal though, said it was the best place to ride our bikes because the paths were flat and straight. The canal didn’t bother her like it does me. But maybe that was because she didn’t believe in Jimmy Green Teeth like I did.

Vicky was more scared of the pond in the woods behind the estate where we lived. We used to fish there for newts, sitting on the small jetty and holding our nets at arm’s length. We didn’t want to get too close to the water’s edge. Vicky’s mum told her there was a woman in the pond, and if you leaned over too far, she’d grab you by the hair and pull you in. She said the woman used to be a witch and she was drowned in the pond a long time ago for practicing witchcraft. I knew her mum was just telling stories. Grown-ups do that. They make up stories to scare kids from doing something dangerous. And even though we knew it was only a story, we used to tie up our hair in buns anyway, just to be sure.

The first time I told Vicky about Jimmy Green Teeth, she laughed and said I was just making it up because I didn’t like going near the canal. I told her that wasn’t it at all, and that the story was true, because my mum told me and my mum didn’t lie, not like hers. Vicky punched me in the arm for that, said I should take it back. So I did because Vicky was bigger than me and I liked having her as a friend.

One day I was having tea at Vicky’s house. Vicky’s mum always made the same thing: beans on toast with a sausage on the side of the plate. I’d just finished eating when all of a sudden, Vicky told her mum that I believed in Jimmy Green Teeth. She did it to try and embarrass me. She was always doing things like that. Like the time she told everyone at school I fancied Ben Shawcross, even after I made her promise to keep it a secret.

“You mean Jinny Greenteeth,” Vicky’s mum said. “Oh, she’s just an old folk tale. She’s known around the world by different names. They call her Peg Powler, the Kappa, all sorts of different names. Up this way, we always called her Jinny Greenteeth, not Jimmy.”

Vicky’s mum was dead clever. She knew loads of stuff about different things, and Vicky always got gold stars for her homework. I always get different coloured stars, like purple or red. Once I got a silver star, but only once. This time though, I could say I was celeverer than Vicky and her mum.

“No,” I said, “not Jinny. Jimmy. He’s a man, not a woman.”

“I think you must have heard wrong,” Vicky’s mum said. “It’s definitely Jinny. Here, I’ll show you.”

She got her laptop from out of the living room and put it on the table. She turned the screen around so I could see and said, “There you go, love. Jinny Greenteeth. She’s a river hag, a made-up story to keep kids away from the water.”

I knew I hadn’t heard my mum wrong, so maybe my mum was making it up. Vicky’s mum was always right about everything, but I didn’t want to admit that my mum might have been lying. I felt my face getting red. I hate it when it does that. Vicky used to say I looked like a strawberry. I wish I could stop it from happening.

“But it’s not a woman,” I said. “I already told you that. Jimmy’s a man who drags you into the canal and the reeds tie around you so you can’t move. He pins your eyes open with thorns and you stay there forever at the bottom of the canal watching people pass you by. And he is real, not like your stupid witch who lives in the pond.”

Vicky’s mum said, “Alright, dear, that’s enough of that. I was only saying you might have misheard. And for your information, witches were real. At least, people thought they were in the old days.”

Then, just to prove she was right again, she brought up a page on her laptop about something called the Lancashire Witches. She talked about them while Vicky listened, but I wasn’t interested anymore. I didn’t want to listen to somebody who didn’t believe anything I said. I remember thinking at the time, ‘I hope Jimmy Green Teeth gets your daughter. Then you’ll be sorry you didn’t believe me.’

*

That week our teacher Mrs. Rose asked us all to write about something real. “Something historical,” she said. I wrote about The Blitz, and how the Germans bombed the United Kingdom. My mum told me a story about my grandma, about how she had to live with an aunty in the countryside after her house was bombed. Mrs. Rose said it was good, but that I needed to be more objective because when you write about something historical you need to stick to the facts. I didn’t understand that, because my grandma did move out to the country, so it was a fact.

Vicky wrote about the Lancashire Witches, and Mrs. Rose gave her a gold star. She said she liked the way Vicky stuck to the facts, so I guess Vicky didn’t mention anything about silly river hags living in ponds.

*

One day after school, Vicky called for me to see if I wanted to ride our bikes along the canal. I didn’t want to, not because I was scared, but because I was watching Thundercats on the telly. Vicky said I was just being a baby and that only boys watched Thundercats. When she rode off, she shouted back that she was going to tell everyone I’d rather watch boys’ cartoons instead of playing with her best friend. The next day I pretended I was poorly, so I didn’t have to go into school, and my mum made me chicken soup and we watched E.T. together.

I found out the day after that Vicky hadn’t turned up for school either. Mrs. Rose told our class she had gone missing and that we weren’t to walk home by ourselves. If our parents couldn’t pick us up, then a teacher would arrange for somebody else’s mum or dad to take us home instead. My mum was working, and her boss wouldn’t let her finish early. My mum arranged with the school for Ben Shawcross’s dad to drive me home. Me and Ben sat in the back of the car and talked about who our favourite Thundercat was. Ben said Panthro was better than Lion-O, and that he should have been the leader. I didn’t think so, but I agreed with him anyway.

*

Two days later, the police found Vicky’s bike in the canal. When they pulled it out, it had green reeds hanging off the handlebars and its back tire was flat. I know this because there was a picture of it in the local newspaper. The policeman who found it must have been strong because once the reeds got hold of something, they didn’t let go. The newspaper said the police were continuing to search the canal because so far there wasn’t any sign of the girl. I thought about how the canal stretched on for miles and miles and that it would take them forever to search all of it.

When I was in bed, I overheard my mum talking to our next-door neighbour about a man who had been taken in by the police. They wanted to ask him questions about Vicky. They didn’t say who the man was, but I knew it was Jimmy Green Teeth because they said the man was known around these parts as a bit of a weirdo and was always loitering around the canal.

I felt really bad about hoping Jimmy Green Teeth would take Vicky, but I couldn’t tell my mum or anyone else because then they’d think it was my fault.

That night I had a dream about a man with green reeds for hair. His skin was white and wrinkled like when you stay in the bath for too long. His eyes were milky with black dots in the centre, and I could see my reflection in the black dots. My mouth was open, and bubbles drifted up out of my throat.

I woke up before he could tangle me in the reeds.

*

Mrs. Rose said it might be a nice idea if our class wrote a story. The story could be about anything as long as it had a happy ending.

“Happy endings can make you feel positive,” she said, “and it’s important that we stay positive.”

I wrote a story about Jimmy Green Teeth and Vicky, but in the story, Vicky was happy because Jimmy Green Teeth gave her a crown and made her an underwater princess. Vicky ruled the canal and looked after the ducks and the fishes. She made sure that the water was kept clean of any plastic bottles and tin cans, and everybody worshipped her.

I showed my story to Mrs. Rose, and she told me to stay after class and wouldn’t let me play outside at break time. She said I shouldn’t be writing things like that because the story might upset the other children in the class. She didn’t even bother to give it a star.

My mum came to pick me up and as we walked home, she talked and talked about anything she could think of, other than Vicky. While she talked, I thought about asking mum if we could walk along the canal. It would be nice for Vicky to know I was there as she looked up from beneath the water. But then the thought scared me, so instead I kept my mouth shut and held on tighter to my mum’s hand.

When we got home, I cried and cried, and mum sat me on her knee and cuddled me.

“It’s alright,” she said. “Everything’s going to be alright.”

But I knew it wouldn’t be, and that maybe my mum didn’t always tell the truth after all.

THE END