by Janet Reid
‘It’s okay. I’ll ask Mum.’
Twenty minutes later, Tim had his backpack full of food. They’d helped Mum get it ready – ham and chicken sandwiches, some home-made muesli biscuits, watermelon, and fruit juice. Natural, of course. No added sugar.
‘Don’t be too late,’ Mum called from the verandah as they walked off down the road. ‘And be careful if you’re walking through long grass. There could be snakes.’
‘Don’t worry, Mrs T. They’ll get out the way,’ Lockie called back to her.
Tim saw his mother’s hand drop, a frown on her face.
‘Race you,’ he yelled, and he ran off down the road before his mother could call them back.
Minutes later, they turned down the road they’d been on the last two weekends.
‘Isn’t this the way to the creek?’ asked Tim.
‘Yeah, but we don’t go that far. You’ll see when we get there.’
‘Is it, like, anywhere near Granny Rags’ place?’
‘Yeah. Why? Do y’wanna go and see ‘er?’
‘I didn’t say that,’ Tim said defensively. ‘I just wondered. Anyway, how come this farm is deserted?’
‘Used to belong to the Russells—’
‘The Russells?’ said Tim.
‘Yeah, why?’ asked Lockie.
Tim shrugged and shook his head. Russells? Where had he heard that name before? ‘Sorry. What were you saying?’
‘Yeah. Well, some bloke bought the place and didn’t need the sheds. Or the house, but he sold that. They took it away on a big truck. That was pretty cool. Y’ever seen a house on the back of a truck?’
‘No.’
‘Well, they took it right through town then stopped up near the main road. Next mornin’ it was gone. Oliver reckons it was his uncle who bought it, and he sold it for a big profit in the city. Can’t believe someone would want to live in an old house like that, but.’
Tim could. People in the city loved old houses.
‘Here,’ said Lockie, turning off the track. He stomped his way through long grass to an old iron gate, rusted and hanging from one hinge, and squeezed his way between it and a rotting fence post.
‘Not much further now,’ he said. ‘You comin’?’
Tim looked at the long grass. ‘Isn’t there an easier way?’
‘Nah. Come on. The grass won’t bite ya.’
Yeah, but the snakes in it might.
Tim held his arms up above his head, avoiding as much contact with the grass as possible, and every so often he thought he felt something crawling up his leg.
‘Not far now,’ puffed Lockie as they climbed a hill. When they got to the top, they looked down onto some old buildings. Most looked ready to tumble down.
‘Will y’look at this place,’ said Lockie, his eyes wide. ‘Come on, we gotta explore.’ And he ran off through the grass and disappeared into the nearest shed.
‘Will y’look at this,’ he called back to Tim who was still goose-stepping through the grass. ‘It’s an old tractor.’
By the time Tim caught up, Lockie was up on the old rusted seat, yanking at the steering wheel and making brmmming noises.
Tim tossed his backpack down and started poking round the back of the shed. Cupboards and drawers and a wide bench took up one wall. Tim opened the drawers one by one, but they were empty. A long-handled shovel, its blade rusted, rested up against a wall, and in the corner was a bundle of old rotting bags. Tim shivered as he imagined snakes living under it.
‘Look at this,’ called Lockie. He’d jumped off the tractor and was holding up something that looked like a pipe with ears on the end.
‘I know what that is,’ said Tim excitedly. ‘My grandpa used to have one. They used it to pump up car tyres. Here, I’ll show you.’ Tim took the pump and put in on the ground. ‘See, you put your feet on these things at the side and pump the handle up and down. And then a tube fits into the tyre and the air pumps into it.’
‘Wouldn’t it be easier to take the car to the service station?’ asked Lockie, frowning. ‘C’mon, let’s eat.’
They ate leaning up against the big back wheel of the tractor, the sun shining through the roof where the iron had been ripped away. Swallows flew in and out of the gaps, darting about, looking for insects. Frogs chirped in nearby puddles, and somewhere off in the distance a crow cawed noisily to its mates. But Tim had never heard such silence. Bush silence, he reckoned. No cars. No talking. It was just so … peaceful.
And then he heard an engine. Something was coming.
Chapter Nine
‘Do you hear that?’ Lockie said, pushing himself up.
Tim grabbed his arm. ‘Wait,’ he hissed. ‘We don’t know who it is. Are we even allowed to be here?’
Lockie shrugged. They listened as a vehicle pulled alongside the shed and stopped.
‘Let’s get a better look,’ hissed Lockie, and he tip-toed over to the wall. Tim followed and they peered through a gap in the rusted iron at an old battered landcruiser, just metres from where they crouched.
Tim couldn’t see much, but he did see one of the doors open, then close again. A big belly with a white shirt stretched across it came into view.
‘Let the dog out, will you, Ray?’ said the man with the big belly.
‘You sure? Might take off on you again,’ said another voice.
‘That’s okay. She’ll come back eventually. Anyway, she needs the exercise.’
Another door opened and closed and a thin man wearing old khaki shorts walked around the vehicle. The dog followed, and snuffled around the men’s feet. Tim knew that dog. It was the one that had been swimming down at the creek the day he and Lockie had seen the cows and calves.
He shivered. This was Oliver’s Uncle Barry.
‘So, what do you think?’ said Ray.
‘Depends,’ said Barry. ‘Let’s see what you’ve got.’
Ray laid a huge map across the bonnet of the car. ‘All this,’ he said. ‘It goes from that tree line over there down to the creek.’
While the two men leaned over the piece of paper, the dog pushed itself through the long grass, sniffing this way and that. Then it disappeared around the corner of the shed. Tim was glad; he didn’t like dogs much. For a moment he thought of Oliver’s comment about dogs the other day. What was it he’d said?
Just then, he felt something wet on his arm. He turned—
—and there was the dog, sniffing him like he was a bone.
‘Holy dooley,’ hissed Lockie.
Tim pulled away from the dog, and his shoulder bumped against a rusty sheet of iron that had come loose from the wall. It squeaked. The two men looked up, turning towards the shed.
‘Shouldn’t be anyone here, should there?’ said Barry.
‘No,’ said Ray. ‘Not supposed to be.’ He looked about suspiciously.
‘Probably just that stupid dog of mine,’ called Barry, and he gave a whistle.
But the dog didn’t leave. Instead it stepped forward and licked Tim’s face.
Uck. Tim tried to push it away, but it wouldn’t move.
‘Here girl,’ whispered Lockie, holding out the last of his chicken sandwich. When the dog nosed forward to sniff it, Lockie hurled it out of the shed. The dog bounded after it.
‘There she is,’ said Barry. ‘Looks like she’s found something to eat.’
‘Don’t know how you can afford a dog like that,’ mumbled Ray, moving back to the landcruiser. ‘Must eat you out of house and home.’
‘Yeah, but she’s worth it. Here girl,’ he called. ‘Tell you what, Ray. I’ll let you have the pick of her first litter if you like.’
‘No thanks,’ said Ray. ‘Now, where were we?’
The men turned back to the map. Fingers pointed and there was a lot of discussion, but it was difficult to hear what was being said. Every so often, Tim caught some of the words.
‘… ends at the creek … another block … Marjorie … won’t sell …’ Ray was saying.
Marjor
ie? Where had Tim heard that name? Marjorie? Of course! Mrs Ragdale. Granny Rags. That was her name. What had she got to do with this?
Then Barry laughed. He leaned on the bonnet of the landcruiser and said, ‘I told you the other day I’m sure we can convince her.’ He turned and Tim only caught a few of his next words. ‘… know a way … will make her see sense …’
The men straightened and the sheet of paper was rolled up. ‘We might take a drive down there later,’ said Ray. ‘Now let’s have a good look round this place. I think it will impress—’ And the doors of the landcruiser slammed shut.
The boys didn’t move until the vehicle was well out of earshot. Then Lockie collapsed against the wall of the shed.
‘Did y’see that dog?’ he said. ‘Cor, I reckon m’head would fit inside its mouth.’
‘Alright for you,’ grumbled Tim. ‘You didn’t get licked in the face.’
As he wiped his face on the sleeve of his t-shirt, he thought about what Barry Baxter had said. About making her see sense. Tim was sure Barry had been talking about Granny Rags, and he felt something uneasy settle in the pit of his stomach.
‘Come on,’ he said, walking back to where the backpack lay open. ‘We’d better go. I don’t want those guys finding us here.’
‘Y’don’t think we could just stay hidden till they’re gone, do ya?’ said Lockie.
But Tim was already striding through the grass towards the old rusted gate.
Chapter Ten
Back on the dirt track, Tim dropped his backpack and waited for Lockie to catch up with him.
‘What’s y’hurry?’ said Lockie as he squeezed between the gate and the post.
Tim shrugged. ‘Don’t know,’ he said. ‘The place just gave me the creeps after, you know, the dog and everything.’
‘Don’t y’like dogs?’ asked Lockie.
‘It’s not that,’ said Tim. ‘It’s just that, I don’t know, those guys … There’s something weird about them. You know, dodgy.’
‘Y’think so?’ said Lockie. ‘Can’t imagine that. Y’know that was Oliver’s uncle, don’t ya?’
‘Yeah, and I think Oliver’s dodgy too,’ said Tim.
‘Cripes, don’t let ‘im hear y’say that,’ said Lockie. ‘Y’know what he’s like. I thought he was gunna deck ya the other day when y’said that about his dad bein’ an office girl. Reckon it was lucky I was there to turn it into a joke.’
‘Yeah, thanks for that,’ mumbled Tim. ‘What’ll we do now?’
‘We could go exploring down by the creek if y’want to,’ said Lockie.
‘We’ve already done that,’ said Tim.
‘Yeah, but I’ll show y’somethin’ y’didn’t see last time. Come on.’
Tim shouldered his backpack and followed Lockie. They walked in silence past the waterhole where only last Sunday they’d caught fish, and continued along the narrow track until they reached the next big waterhole. Last time they’d been here, a mob of cows and calves had come down for a drink. Today, everything was quiet and still.
‘You ever think about going for a swim down there?’ asked Tim, looking down at the water, which was shaded by weeping willows and surrounded by a tinge of green grass.
‘What, swim in a waterhole that’s got a croc in it? No way,’ said Lockie. ‘Come on. I gotta show ya somethin’.’ And he set off again, walking further along the creek bank before Tim could say any more about swimming.
Tim glanced longingly down at the water one last time before following. Up ahead he could see a curve in the creek and he wondered where they were going to end up. But then the long grass thinned and he found they’d come to a track that led down to a gravel creek crossing and up the bank on the other side.
‘Where does it go?’ Tim asked. ‘The track, I mean.’
‘I’ll show ya,’ said Lockie over his shoulder. ‘Come on.’
Tim expected Lockie to take them down to the crossing and over to the other side of the creek, but instead they went the other way, and Tim found himself following the overgrown track through a paddock of long dry grass.
‘Where are we going?’ he asked Lockie.
‘Y’ll see. Not much further. Just round a corner and up a bit. Come on.’
Tim rolled his eyes. Where was Lockie taking him this time?
When they turned the corner, Tim realised that they must be heading back towards town, but he was sure he’d never been on this track before.
‘Are we back in the old Russell farm?’ he asked, feeling totally disoriented.
‘Not quite,’ said Lockie. ‘Y’should be able t’see it soon, I reckon.’
‘See what?’ asked Tim. All he could see were tumbled-down fences, a few straggly bushes and some gum trees dotted about.
‘There,’ said Lockie suddenly, pointing along the track.
Tim frowned. What was that ahead of them? A … chimney?
‘Whose house is that?’ asked Tim.
‘Don’t y’know?’ said Lockie. ‘It’s Granny Rags’ place. We’re just comin’ from the other side. This is the track that goes past the front of her house.’
Only then did Tim realise they had done a complete circle and instead of going down the track to Granny Rags’ house, they were now walking back up the track from the other direction.
‘Y’know where we are now?’ said Lockie.
‘Yes,’ said Tim. ‘Let’s go visit her.’
But before Lockie could answer, they heard the sound of a vehicle behind them.
‘It’s them,’ said Tim, glancing back. ‘Barry and that other bloke. Quick, hide.’
‘Up here,’ said Lockie, already scrambling up the small ridge at the side of the track. He ducked behind a clump of spindly bushes and pressed himself to the ground.
Tim clambered after him, scratching his arm on a thorn as he dived down beside him.
The vehicle drew closer and slowed. Tim, pressing a hand down on his bleeding arm, peered out through the bushes and watched as it came to a stop right beside their hiding place, the engine idling.
‘Who is it?’ whispered Lockie.
‘Shhh. It’s them again,’ Tim hissed back.
‘What do you think?’ Tim heard from the landcruiser.
‘Just what I’m after,’ came the reply.
Tim moved his head a little and looked straight at Barry, who was sitting in the passenger seat, his arm dangling down the side of the landcruiser. He couldn’t have been more than a metre or two away. And behind him, the dog had its head out the half-opened window, panting.
‘She could be a problem,’ said Ray.
‘Who? Mrs Ragdale?’ Barry chuckled. ‘No, you just leave that to me. I’ll sort her out,’ he said. ‘Won’t I, girl?’ And he turned around and patted the dog. The dog panted harder.
‘What’s happening?’ whispered Lockie as he shifted to try and get a better look.
A twig snapped.
The dog’s ears twitched. It stopped panting, and looked about before giving a deep-throated growl.
‘What is it, girl? Seen a rabbit?’ said Barry, scanning the paddock beside them. Tim ducked as Barry’s eyes swept towards them.
‘Don’t let her out,’ snapped Ray. ‘We’ll never get her back. Jeez, Barry, I don’t know why you can’t train her properly.’
‘She’s only a pup, aren’t you, girl?’ protested Barry. ‘These things take time.’
‘Yeah, well, if you don’t do it soon, she might run out in front of a car and get skittled.’
Barry’s reaction took Tim by surprise. He spun around and grabbed hold of Ray’s shirt. ‘Anyone runs over my dog’s gunna pay,’ he hissed. ‘You understand?’
‘Okay, okay. Keep your shirt on. I’m just saying—’
‘Well don’t,’ said Barry, letting go of Ray’s shirt, pushing him away. ‘Come on, I’ve seen enough. Let’s get going.’
Ray put the landcruiser into gear and it crawled off down the track. The last Tim heard was ‘Take it slow past her place. I want her
to know we’ve been here’, then Barry laughing.
‘Did y’hear that?’ said Lockie, backing out of the bushes once the landcruiser was gone. ‘And who’s Mrs Ragdale?’
Tim frowned. ‘That’s Granny Rags,’ he said. ‘That’s her real name.’
Lockie’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Really? Gee, I didn’t even know she had a real name—’ He was about to say more, but Tim cut him off before he could say something stupid about witches.
‘I don’t like it. Lockie, I think Granny Rags is in danger.’
‘Yeah, it did sound like Barry was plannin’ somethin’, and I don’t think it’s gunna be very nice. Whatta y’reckon we should do?’
Tim looked at Lockie. This was the first time since he’d met him that he seemed to be taking something seriously. ‘I think we should go and warn Granny Rags,’ he said. ‘Now, seeing we’re here.’
‘Hey, hang on,’ said Lockie. ‘None of this “we” stuff. You can go warn her if you like, but I ain’t goin’ into her house. No way.’
‘You have to walk past it anyway,’ said Tim. ‘Unless you’re going to walk all the way back around the creek.’
‘Nah,’ said Lockie, thinking. ‘Tell y’what. You go and see ‘er and I’ll wait till y’get inside. Then I’ll duck past and go and wait for ya at the mailbox.’
By the way Lockie clamped his lips together then, Tim knew there was no point arguing.
‘Mrs Ragdale? Are you there?’ Tim stood at the side of the old house, listening.
‘Hello? Mrs Ragdale?’ he called again. But all he could hear was the breeze rustling the leaves in the tall gum trees. His heart thumped as he made his way around to the back of the house.
A movement out of the corner of his eye startled him. He ducked and fell backwards just as a broom whizzed past his ear.
‘Oh, it’s you.’ Granny Rags lowered her weapon, and reached down to help Tim to his feet. ‘Sorry about that. Thought you were someone else.’
‘It’s … okay.’ His hands were shaking so he tucked them into his pockets. ‘I just …’
