What happened in the bus after the wedding made it four.
I ran out of that wrecker’s yard faster than I’d ever run, even faster than I’d run after biting Mrs Lecter at Mum’s funeral.
When I got home I threw myself onto my bed. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I couldn’t stop shaking. I could still see it, there on the floor of the bus.
Worm Boy probably thought I’d screamed because of the slobberers.
I hadn’t. I’d screamed because of the shoe.
It was under the driver’s seat. I’d never noticed it before, probably because I’d never had my face that close to the floor before.
It was covered in dust and mildew, but I’d have recognised it anywhere.
Mum’s shoe.
She was wearing it the day she died.
Even after five years you don’t forget your mum’s favourite bus-driving shoes. Specially when you used to spend so much time spitting on them and polishing them with the tea towel.
It didn’t look polished now. It looked twisted and scraped and sad, and it made me think of what Mum’s body must have looked like when the police divers pulled her out of the river.
That’s why I had to get out of the bus.
I yelled something and pushed past Rory, who was busy with his dopey worms, and jumped out and ran.
All the way home I told myself the shoe wasn’t real. It was the stress I’d been under lately. The stress of a wedding and a new step-family and trying to push Rory through the metal floor of a bus. Stress could make you see things, I’d read it in a comic about an alcoholic astronaut.
But when Rory got home, I was still shaking and still seeing that shoe.
‘Chicken,’ he said, still clutching my Milo tin. ‘Scared of a few grubs. Pathetic.’
I should have got him in a neck-lock and grabbed my tin. I almost did. But I knew Mum wouldn’t have approved. So instead I took a few deep breaths and told him how in my opinion Tasmanian souvenir manufacturers who use worm-infested apples should be reported to the health authorities.
Then Dad got home and yelled at me for a bit.
‘Children do not disrupt their parents’ weddings,’ he shouted. ‘And they go to the reception whether they like it or not.’
Stuff like that.
When he’d calmed down, we talked.
‘I know it’s not easy, this step-family lark,’ said Dad. ‘But I want you to give it a go, love, okay?’
I told him I would.
We hugged each other.
While Dad had his arms round me, I saw Rory watching from the doorway. As soon as our eyes met, he turned away. There was something about his expression that made me feel sorry for him. Just for a sec. Until I saw he was still clutching my Milo tin. And I remembered he’s got a mum who’s perfectly capable of hugging him if she doesn’t mind getting a bit of worm poo on her.
Dad launched into making a lamb stew for him and Eileen to take on their honeymoon camping trip, and I helped him.
I like cooking with Dad. Being a shearer, he’s best at peeling, so I get to use the cleaver.
Once the stew was bubbling away, we went out onto the back verandah for a lemonade. I almost told Dad about the shoe, but I decided not to. No point in upsetting him. Not on his wedding day.
Dad spotted Rory skulking about in the kitchen.
‘Hey, Roars,’ he called. ‘Want a lemonade?’
Rory jumped guiltily. He’d probably already had about three cans while we weren’t looking.
Then Eileen arrived with Gramps.
‘That was the best wedding I’ve ever been to,’ said Gramps. He reached into his pocket. ‘Anyone want a curried-egg sandwich?’
I was the only one who did.
Then I helped Dad get the camping things together while Eileen and Worm Boy unpacked their moving cartons and got Rory’s room straight. Assembled his bed and hung all the little worm clothes in the wardrobe, that sort of stuff.
Soon it was time for Dad and Eileen to go.
I hugged Dad again. Rory hugged his mum. Then there was the tricky bit. I took a deep breath and gave Eileen a quick squeeze. Luckily I’m taller than her so our faces didn’t have to touch.
Dad sort of half hugged, half patted Rory.
Gramps kissed everyone.
‘Have you got the shovel?’ Eileen asked Dad.
I sighed. It didn’t seem very romantic. Most people went to Bali or Sydney or some other exotic place for their honeymoon, not camping on Bald Mountain where there weren’t any dunnies. Oh well, I thought, it’s what they both like.
‘Be good kids for Gramps,’ yelled Dad. ‘See you in three days.’
It felt really strange, watching Dad drive off with another woman. I mean I’d seen him driving places with Eileen hundreds of times, but this was different because now we were stuck with each other and our lives would never be the same.
The weird stuff started almost straight away.
Gramps said, ‘Okay, kids, let’s have lunch,’ and we had to remind him it was dinner time.
While he and Rory had a look in the freezer, I grabbed the opportunity to get my tin back.
It was sitting on Rory’s bedside table. I took the lid off and emptied that ugly little apple-man onto the floor. Its evil-looking eyes peered up at me.
Then I heard a scratching sound. Another pair of eyes was watching me. From the top of the chest of drawers. Rory’s mouse in its cage.
I stuck my tongue out at both of them. Mum used to do her sewing and charity book-keeping in that room and nobody else had the right to invade it.
Back in my room I hid the tin in the bottom of my wardrobe under the abseiling ropes Dad gave me for my birthday.
‘Don’t say a word,’ I whispered to Finger, my goldfish. ‘There are invaders in the house and we’ve got to be on our guard.’
After dinner, while me and Gramps washed up, I took a chance.
‘Gramps,’ I said, ‘have you ever seen a shoe that you thought was there but it actually wasn’t?’
Gramps thought about this.
‘Once,’ he said, ‘I didn’t see a shoe that I thought wasn’t there but it actually was. Work boot, next to my vegie garden, in front of the wheelbarrow. I tripped over it and squashed my sprouts.’
I decided not to continue with the conversation, partly because Gramps was chuckling so loudly, and partly because Rory had stormed into the kitchen, red-faced.
‘You stupid idiot,’ he shouted. ‘You let them out of the tin. Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?’
‘It’s my tin,’ I said.
‘Tin,’ said Gramps. ‘That’s right. I squashed my tobacco tin too.’
Rory rushed out and I finished the drying up. Stupid idiot yourself, I thought. They’re only a bunch of worms. If you’re that worried about them, train them to come when you whistle.
Then I went to my room.
As soon as I walked in I could feel something was wrong. It took me two seconds to spot it.
Finger, floating at the top of her tank.
Heart pounding, I scooped her out and peered at her gills. She was dead. It must have just happened because she was still loose and floppy.
Even as my eyes filled with tears I felt rage eating into my guts. That vicious mongrel. Just ’cos I let a few of his crummy worms escape, he kills my pet.
Still holding Finger I headed for the door.
That mouse was dead meat.
Rory appeared in the doorway. I decided to pound him first, then do the mouse.
‘You killed my – ’ I yelled, then stopped because he was yelling too.
And he was holding something out. It looked like a small brown bag. I was confused. Why would a kid who’d just killed my fish think I’d care that he’d found a bag to keep his dopey worms in?
Then I realised it wasn’t a bag, it was a mouse.
Rory was sniffing and blinking. He was still angry but I could tell he was upset as well.
‘He’s … he’
s …’ Rory struggled to get the words out.
He didn’t need to.
I could see what he was trying to say.
The mouse was dead and it didn’t have any bones.
FOUR
I stormed out of the kitchen. My head started to swim with red-hot anger. Dreadful Dawn let my slobberers out. On purpose. And Mum and Jack had gone off on their honeymoon and left me in the camp of the enemy. I went back to my new bedroom (not nearly as good as my old one) and threw myself onto the bed. I silently hoped that their marriage would break up as quickly as possible. Step-families suck. That’s what I thought. I hated Dawn for letting my slobberers out. She was so stupid.
Gramps was the only decent one. Out of all of them he was my favourite. He was certainly a lot better than Big Bad Dawn.
Then I started thinking about Dad. And remembering.
My dad was handsome. Mum used to say all the girls were after him but she was the one who got him.
What I remembered was his kind face. He was one of those people who always looked happy. He didn’t have a mean bone in his body. Why did he go and leave me?
I tried to push down the tears. ‘Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Be a man.’
I got up and went over to Nibbler’s cage to get him out and have a play. He wasn’t running around on his wheel like he usually does. He was inside his little wooden nest. I opened the lid and pulled him out.
He was dead.
And flat. And empty. He looked like a tiny possum that had been lying on the road for a couple of weeks. Run over by thousands of cars. Nibbler was stiff and dry. His bones were gone. His innards were gone. His eyes were gone. He was nothing but a flattened dried-up skin.
My little mouse. My friend. The only one in this house who would listen. Gone.
I blinked back my tears.
Dawn. The scumbag. The murderer. She had it coming this time.
I held the remains of Nibbler in my hand and ran out of the room. She was standing there looking at me with hatred in her eyes.
We both shouted the same thing at the same time.
‘You killed my – ’
Then we stopped. Our mouths hanging open. She was holding her goldfish and crying. It was shrivelled and horrible with no bones and no innards.
I knew straight away that she hadn’t killed Nibbler. She’s awful, but she wouldn’t kill her own goldfish. Someone else – something else – had killed Nibbler and Finger and sucked all of their bones and innards out.
Dawn’s eyes grew rounder and rounder. So did mine. What was going on?
Then she pushed past me into my bedroom. I turned and saw what she saw.
My little apple-man was still on the floor where she had thrown him. Slobberers were wriggling all over him. They were wriggling out of my apple-man at an incredible speed. Twenty or thirty of them. Flickering tongues, evil eyes, pulsing veins. Leeches with tongues. That’s what they reminded me of.
They looked at us, then reared up like snakes about to strike. My legs turned to jelly. I felt sick and scared. What were they looking at us like that for? Were they hungry?
If they were, they must have decided that we were a bit too big for them. They slithered out of the window before Dawn or I could even take a breath.
A large magpie sat on the lawn pecking at a piece of bread that Gramps had thrown there. It looked with interest at the approaching slobberers and hopped towards them.
Food.
Well, the magpie was right about that. There was food there all right.
Him.
Horrible, horrible, horrible. The slobberers swarmed all over the poor bird. He gave one squawk and flew into the air just above our heads. The slobberers began to suck. Waving tongues and slurping mouths began to empty him out in front of our eyes. Without a sound the bird and his slimy passengers plummeted onto the grass. Feathers fluttered down slowly.
By the time the last feather had landed the magpie was nothing but an empty, eyeless skin.
The slobberers seemed to have grown after their meal. They were definitely swollen. But that didn’t slow them down at all. Before either of us could say a word they had wriggled across the lawn and disappeared under the floor of the garage.
It was the most terrible sight I had ever seen. The slobberers had eaten the magpie alive. Gorging themselves like bloated maggots.
I had to tell Dawn what I had done. Mum and Jack were in terrible danger.
The words stuck in my throat but I managed to get them out. ‘Dawn,’ I said. ‘I put some slobberers in their stew.’
Dawn turned on me half in fury, half in horror. ‘You put them in the stew? My dad’s going to eat that.’
‘So’s my mum.’ I could hardly find my voice. ‘You tried to stop them getting married. I wanted to bust them up. You know – have a row over the worms. Then Mum and me could go back to our place. And never have to see you and Jack again.’
‘You stupid idiot,’ Dawn yelled. ‘Did you see what they did to that bird?’
Dawn spun round and looked viciously at the apple-man. She took a step towards him and grabbed my cricket bat. I knew what she was going to do. And I knew what I had already done. Putting them in Mum’s stew. They were dangerous and we had to get rid of them. But I wasn’t going to let Dawn smash up the apple-man. No way.
Dawn lifted the bat and then froze. So did I. There was one slobberer left. A long one. A very long one. It slithered out of the apple-man’s left eye. On and on and on. It seemed endless. Like a worm of rotten black toothpaste coming out of a tube.
Dawn screamed and closed her eyes in horror.
I couldn’t stop looking at the terrible sight. The slobberer finally left the apple and started to coil and uncoil on the floor. What was it doing?
It was writing. Yes, writing. It slowly formed its body into joined-up letters. Letters that spelt out a single word:
‘Aagh,’ I shrieked.
Dawn opened her eyes. But she had missed seeing the word. The slobberer was wriggling towards the window as fast as it could go. ‘Take that,’ yelled Dawn. She hurled the bat at the slobberer and it skidded across the floor, narrowly missing the horrible creature’s tail. In a flash the slobberer vanished out of the window.
‘Come on,’ yelled Dawn. ‘We have to get to Dad and Eileen before they eat that stew.’
She scrambled out of the door. Out of the house. I grabbed my apple-man and shoved him into my pocket. Then I ran out after her.
‘Gramps can help us,’ I panted.
Dawn looked at me with contempt. ‘Gramps can’t even help himself,’ she said.
She was right about that. Only an hour before, I had seen Gramps put his electric drill in the freezer. He was definitely past it.
We both looked around. In the garage was Mum’s trail bike. As we ran towards it, I knew that Dawn was filled with terrible thoughts about the slobberers and Jack and my mum and what might be happening up on Bald Mountain.
I was just as worried. But I also had another horror to cope with.
The word that the slobberer had spelt out. Karl. That terrible, wonderful word was the name of my father.
FIVE
Stay calm, I said to myself as we sprinted to the garage. Don’t panic. When you panic your brain turns into a thickshake.
It wasn’t easy.
Dad’s overalls and Eileen’s bike gear were hanging on the garage wall, saggy and empty like sucked-out skins.
I forced myself to stop imagining things.
Rory pushed me out of the way and leapt onto the trail bike.
‘Wait,’ I said. ‘It’s too risky. Sergeant Wallace said if he sees you on the street on that bike again he’ll use you as lawn fertiliser.’
Rory ignored me and kick-started the engine.
‘Okay,’ I yelled. ‘Seeing as we’re going to end up at the police station anyway, let’s just go there now and get them to save Dad and Eileen.’
‘No,’ he shouted. ‘No cops.’ He turned the engine off and slumped forward
onto the handlebars.
Rory glared at me.
I felt sorry for him. When your mum’s a courier and she’s got as many unpaid speeding tickets as his mum, it doesn’t leave you a heap of places to go in an emergency.
I had an idea. I grabbed Eileen’s bike jacket off the wall, put it on, grabbed the helmets and threw Rory’s to him.
‘Shift back,’ I said. ‘With this stuff on, people’ll think I’m your mum. She’s almost as big as me.’
I swung my leg over the bike and started it.
‘Have you ridden a two-fifty before?’ yelled Rory.
‘Course,’ I replied.
My neck went into a cramp and I had a sudden urge for a curried-egg sandwich. I couldn’t understand it. Dad had let me have a go on a sheep bike once and that was almost a two-fifty.
I jerked the bike into gear and we jolted out of the garage.
Standing in the driveway, watching us, was Gramps.
My guts sagged. I hit the brakes and heard Rory give a groan of despair through his helmet.
Gramps stared at me. ‘Eileen,’ he said. ‘I thought you were on your honeymoon.’
I wanted to tear my helmet off and show Gramps it was me. Then I remembered Dad and Eileen with their stew full of slobbering parasites. The trouble with Gramps is that if you start a conversation he gets off the track and ends up talking about woodwork.
I revved the bike and we hurtled out of the driveway in a cloud of dust and magpie feathers. Halfway down the street I felt Rory’s helmet bang against mine.
‘How long till we get to Bald Mountain?’ he shouted.
‘About an hour,’ I yelled. ‘A bit longer if you keep grabbing my shoulders and we crash and we have to go via the hospital.’
Rory put his arms round my waist. It wasn’t a great feeling. At the time I’d probably have preferred a slobberer. I told myself to grow up and stop being squeamish.
The trip went pretty well all the way down our street and round the corner past the library.
Then we had to stop at a red light. I felt Rory stiffen behind me.
‘Relax,’ I said. ‘We’ll get there.’
Wicked Bindup Page 2
