‘It can’t be,’ replied Gemma. ‘It’s still dark.’
The shack was as silent as a tomb. Gemma lit a candle and went over to the window. ‘Can’t see a thing,’ she said.
Tracy pulled open the front door and shrieked as a wave of bird droppings gushed into the room. It oozed into the kitchen in a foul stream. ‘Quick,’ she yelled. ‘Help me shut the door or we’ll be drowned in the stuff.’
Staggering, grunting and groaning, they managed to shut the door and stop the stinking flow. ‘The whole house is buried,’ said Gemma. ‘And so are we. Buried alive in bird droppings.’
‘And no one knows we are here,’ added Tracy.
They sat and stared miserably at the flickering candle. All the windows were blacked out by the pile of dung that covered the house.
‘There is no way out,’ moaned Gemma.
‘Unless . . .’ murmured Tracy ‘they haven’t covered the chimney.’ She ran over to the fireplace and looked up. ‘I can see the sky,’ she exclaimed. ‘We can get up the chimney.’
It took a lot of scrambling and shoving but at last the two girls sat perched on the top of the stone chimney. They stared in disbelief at the house, which was covered in a mountain of white bird droppings. The chimney was the only evidence that underneath the oozing pile was a building.
‘Look,’ said Gemma with outstretched hand. ‘The transparent gull.’ It sat, alone on the bleak cliff, staring, staring at the shaking twins. ‘It wants something,’ she said quietly.
‘And I know what it is,’ said Tracy. ‘Wait here.’ She eased herself back down the chimney and much later emerged carrying the stuffed seagull.
‘Look closely at that ghost gull,’ panted Tracy. ‘It’s only got one leg. And it has black patches on its wings. And look how big it is. It’s this bird.’ She held up the stuffed seagull. ‘It’s the ghost of this stuffed seagull. It wants its body back. It doesn’t like it being stuffed and left in a house. It wants it returned to nature.’
‘Okay,’ Gemma yelled at the staring gull. ‘You can have it. We don’t want it. But first we have to get down from here.’ The two girls slid, swam, and skidded their way to the bottom of the sticky mess. Then, like smelly, white spirits, the sisters walked to the edge of the cliff with the stuffed bird. The ghost seagull sat watching and waiting.
Tracy pulled the stuffed seagull from the stand and threw it over the cliff into the air that it had once loved and lived in. Its wings opened in the breeze and it circled slowly, like a glider, and after many turns crashed on a rock in the surging swell beneath.
The ghost gull lifted slowly into the air and followed it down until it came to rest on top of the still, stuffed corpse.
‘Look,’ whispered Tracy in horror. ‘The ghost gull is pecking at the stuffed one. It’s pecking its head.’
A wave washed across the rock and the stuffed seagull vanished into the foam. The ghost gull flapped into the breeze and then flew above the girls’ heads. ‘It’s bombing us,’ shouted Gemma as she put her hands over her head.
Two small shapes plopped onto the ground beside them.
‘It’s the eyes of the stuffed seagull,’ said Tracy in a hoarse voice.
‘No it’s not,’ replied Gemma. ‘It’s Dad’s rubies.’
They sat there, stunned, saying nothing and staring at the red gems that lay at their feet.
Tracy looked up. ‘Thank you, ghost gull,’ she shouted.
But the bird had gone and her words fell into the empty sea below.
My dad is not a bad sort of bloke. There are plenty who are much worse. But he does rave on a bit, like if you get muddy when you are catching frogs, or rip your pants when you are building a tree hut. Stuff like that.
Mostly we understand each other and I can handle him. What he doesn’t know doesn’t hurt him. If he knew that I kept Snot, my pet rabbit, under the bed, he wouldn’t like it; so I don’t tell him. That way he is happy, I am happy and Snot is happy.
There are only problems when he finds out what has been going on. Like the time that I wanted to see Mad Max II. The old man said it was a bad movie – too much blood and guts.
‘It’s too violent,’ he said.
‘But, Dad, that’s not fair. All the other kids are going. I’ll be the only one in the school who hasn’t seen it.’ I went on and on like this. I kept nagging. In the end he gave in – he wasn’t a bad old boy. He usually let me have what I wanted after a while. It was easy to get around him.
The trouble started the next morning. He was cleaning his teeth in the bathroom, making noises, humming and gurgling – you know the sort of thing. Suddenly he stopped. Everything went quiet. Then he came into the kitchen. There was toothpaste all around his mouth; he looked like a mad tiger. He was frothing at the mouth.
‘What’s this?’ he said. He was waving his toothbrush about. ‘What’s this on my toothbrush?’ Little grey hairs were sticking out of it. ‘How did these hairs get on my toothbrush? Did you have my toothbrush, David?’
He was starting to get mad. I didn’t know whether to own up or not. Parents always tell you that if you own up they will let you off. They say that they won’t do anything if you are honest – no punishment.
I decided to give it a try. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I used it yesterday.’
He still had toothpaste on his mouth. He couldn’t talk properly. ‘What are these little grey hairs?’ he asked.
‘I used it to brush my pet mouse,’ I answered.
‘Your what?’ he screamed.
‘My mouse.’
He started jumping up and down and screaming. He ran around in circles holding his throat, then he ran into the bathroom and started washing his mouth out. There was a lot of splashing and gurgling. He was acting like a madman.
I didn’t know what all the fuss was about. All that yelling just over a few mouse hairs.
After a while he came back into the kitchen. He kept opening and shutting his mouth as if he could taste something bad. He had a mean look in his eye – real mean.
‘What are you thinking of ?’ he yelled at the top of his voice. ‘Are you crazy or something? Are you trying to kill me? Don’t you know that mice carry germs? They are filthy things. I’ll probably die of some terrible disease.’
He went on and on like this for ages. Then he said, ‘And don’t think that you are going to see Mad Max II. You can sit at home and think how stupid it is to brush a mouse with someone else’s toothbrush.’
2
I went back to my room to get dressed. Dad just didn’t understand about that mouse. It was a special mouse, a very special mouse indeed. It was going to make me a lot of money: fifty dollars, in fact. Every year there was a mouse race in Smith’s barn. The prize was fifty dollars. And my mouse, Swift Sam, had a good chance of winning. But I had to look after him. That’s why I brushed him with a toothbrush.
I knew that Swift Sam could beat every other mouse except one. There was one mouse I wasn’t sure about. It was called Mugger and it was owned by Scrag Murphy, the toughest kid in the town. I had never seen his mouse, but I knew it was fast. Scrag Murphy fed it on a special diet.
That is what I was thinking about as I dressed. I went over to the cupboard to get a pair of underpants. There were none there. ‘Hey, Mum,’ I yelled out. ‘I am out of underpants.’
Mum came into the room holding something terrible. Horrible. It was a pair of home-made underpants. ‘I made these for you, David,’ she laughed. ‘I bought the material at the Op Shop. There was just the right amount of material for one pair of underpants.’
‘I’m not wearing those,’ I told her. ‘No way. Never.’
‘What’s wrong with them?’ said Mum. She sounded hurt.
‘They’re pink,’ I said. ‘And they’ve got little pictures of fairies on them. I couldn’t wear them. Everyone would laugh. I would be the laughing stock of the school.’
Underpants with fairies on them and pink. I nearly freaked out. I thought about what Scrag Murphy wou
ld say if he ever heard about them. I went red just thinking about it.
Just then Dad poked his head into the room. He still had that mean look in his eye. He was remembering the toothbrush. ‘What’s going on now?’ he asked in a black voice.
‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘I was just thanking Mum for making me these nice underpants.’ I pulled on the fairy pants and quickly covered them up with my jeans. At least no one else would know I had them on. That was one thing to be thankful for.
The underpants felt strange. They made me tingle all over. And my head felt light. There was something not quite right about those underpants – and I am not talking about the fairies.
3
I had breakfast and went out to the front gate. Pete was waiting for me. He is my best mate; we always walk to school together. ‘Have you got your running shoes?’ he asked.
‘Oh, no,’ I groaned. ‘I forgot. It’s the cross-country race today.’ I went back and got my running shoes. I came back out walking very slowly. I was thinking about the race. I would have to go to the changing rooms and get changed in front of Scrag Murphy and all the other boys. They would all laugh their heads off when they saw my fairy underpants.
We walked through the park on the way to school. There was a big lake in the middle. ‘Let’s chuck some stones,’ said Pete. ‘See who can throw the furthest.’ I didn’t even answer. I was feeling sick in the stomach. ‘What’s the matter with you?’ he asked. ‘You look like death warmed up.’
I looked around. There was no one else in the park. ‘Look at this,’ I said. I undid my fly and showed Pete the underpants. His eyes bugged out like organ stops; then he started to laugh. He fell over on the grass and laughed his silly head off. Tears rolled down his cheeks. He really thought it was funny. Some friend.
After a while Pete stopped laughing. ‘You poor thing,’ he said. ‘What are you going to do? Scrag Murphy and the others will never let you forget it.’
We started throwing stones into the lake. I didn’t try very hard. My heart wasn’t in it. ‘Hey,’ said Pete. ‘That was a good shot. It went right over to the other side.’ He was right. The stone had reached the other side of the lake. No one had ever done that before; it was too far.
I picked up another stone. This time I threw as hard as I could. The stone went right over the lake and disappeared over some trees. ‘Wow,’ yelled Pete. ‘That’s the best shot I’ve ever seen. No one can throw that far.’ He looked at me in a funny way.
My skin was all tingling. ‘I feel strong,’ I said. ‘I feel as if I can do anything.’ I went over to a park bench. It was a large concrete one. I lifted it up with one hand. I held it high over my head. I couldn’t believe it.
Pete just stood there with his mouth hanging open. He couldn’t believe it either. I felt great. I jumped for joy. I sailed high into the air. I went up three metres. ‘What a jump,’ yelled Pete.
My skin was still tingling. Especially under the underpants. ‘It’s the underpants,’ I said. ‘The underpants are giving me strength.’ I grinned. ‘They are not underpants. They are wunderpants.’
‘Super Jocks,’ said Pete. We both started cackling like a couple of hens. We laughed until our sides ached.
4
I told Pete not to tell anyone about the wunderpants. We decided to keep it a secret. Nothing much happened until the cross-country race that afternoon. All the boys went to the changing room to put on their running gear. Scrag Murphy was there. I tried to get into my shorts without him seeing my wunderpants, but it was no good. He noticed them as soon as I dropped my jeans.
‘Ah ha,’ he shouted. ‘Look at baby britches. Look at his fairy pants.’ Everyone looked. They all started to laugh. How embarrassing. They were all looking at the fairies on my wunderpants.
Scrag Murphy was a big, fat bloke. He was really tough. He came over and pulled the elastic on my wunderpants. Then he let it go. ‘Ouch,’ I said. ‘Cut that out. That hurts.’
‘What’s the matter, little Diddums?’ he said. ‘Can’t you take it?’ He shoved me roughly against the wall. I wasn’t going to let him get away with that, so I pushed him back – just a little push. He went flying across the room and crashed into the wall on the other side. I just didn’t know my own strength. That little push had sent him all that way. It was the wunderpants.
Scrag Murphy looked at me with shock and surprise that soon turned to a look of hate. But he didn’t say anything. No one said anything. They were all thinking I was going to get my block knocked off next time I saw Scrag Murphy.
About forty kids were running in the race. We had to run through the countryside, following markers that had been put out by the teachers. It was a hot day, so I decided to wear a pair of shorts but no top.
As soon as the starting gun went I was off like a flash. I had kept my wunderpants on and they were working really well. I went straight out to the front. I had never run so fast before. As I ran along the road I passed a man on a bike. He tried to keep up with me, but he couldn’t. Then I passed a car. This was really something. This was great.
I looked behind. None of the others was in sight – I was miles ahead. The trail turned off the road and into the bush. I was running along a narrow track in the forest. After a while I came to a small creek. I was hot so I decided to have a dip. After all, the others were a long way behind; I had plenty of time. I took off my shorts and running shoes, but I left the wunderpants on. I wasn’t going to part with them.
I dived into the cold water. It was refreshing. I lay on my back looking at the sky. Life was good. These wunderpants were terrific. I would never be scared of Scrag Murphy while I had them on.
Then something started to happen – something terrible. The wunderpants started to get tight. They hurt. They were shrinking. They were shrinking smaller and smaller. The pain was awful. I had to get them off. I struggled and wriggled; they were so tight they cut into my skin. In the end I got them off, and only just in time. They shrank so small that they would only just fit over my thumb. I had a narrow escape. I could have been killed by the shrinking wunderpants.
Just then I heard voices coming. It was the others in the race. I was trapped – I couldn’t get out to put on my shorts. There were girls in the race. I had to stay in the middle of the creek in the nude.
5
It took quite a while for all the others to run by. They were all spread out along the track. Every time I went to get out of the pool, someone else would come. After a while Pete stopped at the pool. ‘What are you doing?’ he said. ‘Even super jocks won’t help you win from this far back.’
‘Keep going,’ I said. ‘I’ll tell you about it later.’ I didn’t want to tell him that I was in the nude. Some girls were with him.
Pete and the girls took off along the track. A bit later the last runner arrived. It was Scrag Murphy. He couldn’t run fast – he was carrying too much weight. ‘Well, look at this,’ he said. ‘It’s little Fairy Pants. And what’s this we have here?’ He picked up my shorts and running shoes from the bank of the creek. Then he ran off with them.
‘Come back,’ I screamed. ‘Bring those back here.’ He didn’t take any notice. He just laughed and kept running.
I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t have a stitch of clothing. I didn’t even have any shoes. I was starting to feel cold; the water was freezing. I was covered in goose pimples and my teeth were chattering. In the end I had to get out. I would have frozen to death if I stayed in the water any longer.
I went and sat on a rock in the sun and tried to think of a way to get home without being seen. It was all right in the bush. I could always hide behind a tree if someone came. But once I reached the road I would be in trouble; I couldn’t just walk along the road in the nude.
Then I had an idea. I looked at the tiny underpants. I couldn’t put them on, but they still might work. I put them over my thumb and jumped. It was no good. It was just an ordinary small jump. I picked up a stone and threw it. It only went a short way, not much o
f a throw at all. The pants were too small, and I was my weak old self again.
I lay down on the rock in the sun. Ants started to crawl over me. Then the sun went behind a cloud. I started to get cold, but I couldn’t walk home – not in the raw. I felt miserable. I looked around for something to wear, but there was nothing. Just trees, bushes and grass.
I knew I would have to wait until dark. The others would all have gone home by now. Pete would think I had gone home, and my parents would think I was at his place. No one was going to come and help me.
I started to think about Scrag Murphy. He was going to pay for this. I would get him back somehow.
Time went slowly, but at last it started to grow dark. I made my way back along the track. I was in bare feet and I kept standing on stones. Branches reached out and scratched me in all sorts of painful places. Then I started to think about snakes. What if I stood on one?
There were all sorts of noises in the dark. The moon had gone in, and it was hard to see where I was going. I have to admit it: I was scared. Scared stiff. To cheer myself up I started to think about what I was going to do to Scrag Murphy. Boy, was he going to get it.
At last I came to the road. I was glad to be out of the bush. My feet were cut and bleeding and I hobbled along. Every time a car went by I had to dive into the bushes. I couldn’t let myself get caught in the headlights of the cars.
I wondered what I was going to do when I reached the town. There might be people around. I broke off a branch from a bush and held it in front of my ‘you know what’. It was prickly, but it was better than nothing.
By the time I reached the town it was late. There was no one around. But I had to be careful – someone might come out of a house at any minute. I ran from tree to tree and wall to wall, hiding in the shadows as I went. Lucky for me the moon was in and it was very dark.
Then I saw something that gave me an idea – a phone box. I opened the door and stepped inside. A dim light shone on my naked body. I hoped that no one was looking. I had no money, but Pete had told me that if you yell into the ear-piece they can hear you on the other end. It was worth a try. I dialled our home number. Dad answered. ‘Yes,’ he said.
Unreal Collection! Page 10
