by Susan Berran
We took off across the paddock, out the gate and up the driveway. They were hot on our heels and catching up fast. I could almost feel the panting on the back of my neck as we threw our bikes to the ground and dashed inside. We sprinted straight through the lounge room and out the back door, slamming it behind us, then around to the front door to shut them in. I felt pretty bad, thinking about all those goats eating everything from the carpet to the curtains. But this was life or DEATH … for me!
We watched through the window for a while as the goats happily munched away. In the middle of the disaster area, formerly known as the lounge room, on the upturned lounge soaked in chips and drinks, sat one of the goats chewing on a cushion. They were eating absolutely anything and everything. They were pooping on the carpet and leaving footprints on the wall as they tried to reach the delicious curtains.
We sat on the front step in silence. I was just staring at my feet, my bloated, moist but cracking, fluffy, mouldy feet. I’d seen something like them before. The cracking and the mould … I shot up off my butt and before another word could leave my mouth, I’d grabbed Jared and hauled him up as well.
“The photos . . . the dead animals . . . c’mon!” was all I managed to splutter out. Jared’s face went from surprise to confusion and finally the lightning bolt struck as he realised what I was babbling about. We made our way through the front door and began to stumble over furniture and shove past the goats. They were enjoying their feast far too much to be interested in us any more.
We squelched our way through the goat pooh and headed for Uncle Karl’s office once more. There on the desk sat the piles of old newspapers … for about two seconds. We swept them off, scattering them across the floor and got down on our hands and knees to search. We didn’t just find the couple of photos that we’d seen earlier, we found heaps more. There were at least twenty photographs of dead animals. They were mainly goats but there were also cats, some horses and birds as well. Completely different animals yet they all had something in common … THE WAY THEY'D DIED.
Taking a magnifying glass from my utility belt, I focused in on the pictures of the dead animals. They seemed to be covered in the same mouldy toe-jam that was growing on Jared and myself. When I studied the animals more closely, I noticed that the toe-jam covered everything except the head. I checked every picture we found. Yep, every single animal was entombed in the crusty toe-jam and the hairy mouldy stuff, from the feet to the throat, but not the head … WEird. In the background of a few, I could make out the pub way off in the distance. Yep, that was it alright. Even a hundred years ago it looked like a CRAP SHACK, it hadn’t changed a bit. So if that was the pub, then that meant that these photos had been taken near OLD MR INDITE'S place, and I think I know where. And that was where we had to start looking for answers.
We made our way back through the house that was now looking more like a garbage tip after a tornado than a home. Especially the lounge room that was now completely and utterly destroyed. The goats were having the party from HELL and thoroughly enjoying every mouthful of it, including our socks! Yep, we’d walked in just in time to see our socks disappearing down the hatch of one of the goats … EEWWW! That was one goat you wouldn’t want to kiss.
We jumped back onto our bikes and headed off down the dirt road. It was starting to get harder to pedal as the toe-jam crept up and set solidly around even more of both my feet. I could feel the toe-jam tightening and constricting the flow of blood as my feet started to tingle. Jared was having a hard time too. His fingers had formed these webbed duck feet, like paddles covered with the toe-jam.
And something even weirder was happening. We could both now feel the toe-jam rhythmically pulsating, almost as if it had its very own heartbeat. But I quickly figured out that it was just our own blood trying really hard to pump through the toe-jammed areas. But it felt really yucky.
Anyway, turning off the road we began heading along the edge of the creek. The track was narrow, windy and as rough as the language used by the town drunks after their footy team loses the grand final. We were making great time when suddenly, right in front of me, the front wheel of Jared’s bike hit some loose rocks. Instantly the handlebars flicked around sideways, ripping his hands off them. The bike came to an instant halt as he was thrown off the seat and over the handlebars. It was all over in a split second. Jared slammed to the ground and rolled down the embankment, landing right beside the creek … splash!
“Jared, get your hands out of the water … quick!”
It was too late. No matter how fast he moved, his hands were soaking wet. He wrapped them into his T-shirt and started to rub like crazy. Then he began to climb his way back up the steep embankment. I picked up his bike and wrenched the handlebars roughly back into position. As I handed over the bike, Jared reached out with both hands. Just as I thought. We watched in horror as the crinkly, mouldy toe-jam closed over the rest of Jared’s fingers, leaving only his thumbs visible. It was moving as slowly as a slug on holidays, but it was definitely moving. We looked into each other’s eyes and saw FEAR.
Wrapping his thumbs around the handlebars, Jared climbed back onto his bike and we rode … FAST! FASTER than a speeding bullet … FASTER than spending pocket money in a lolly shop … and FASTER than a starving leech latching onto raw meat.
We headed away from the creek track and across the lush green paddocks, towards OLD MR INDITE'S. It was weird though, the further we went, the barer the fields became. Until we were riding in the middle of fields that looked more like a desert on the moon. Scattered rocks and boulders of all sizes sat in the barren wasteland like a giant’s marbles. The dirt was a thick, fine powder that the bike tyres sank into. Then there it was. Off in the distance we could see the barbed wire fencing that surrounded OLD MR INDITE'S property.
Why would anyone want to live out here? It was dead. No bushes, dead trees, there was nothing but dirt and piles of rocks. As we got even closer, we saw that this was no ordinary barbed wire fence. It was a couple of metres high with some seriously huge electrical cables running through it. A lot of the farmers around town use a real little sissy electric fence. To give a tiny mos-quito bite zap to the animals to keep them from pushing the fences down.
But this was ridiculous. It was sort of like using a flame-thrower to light a candle. We found a shallow trench behind a decent sized pile of rocks that we could lie in and hide the bikes. I took out my home-made, mini flip-out binoculars and surveyed the area. The barbed wire fence went on forever, disappearing over the hill and off into the distance. And just like on our side, there was nothing growing inside the fence either, not a blade of grass, not even a weed.
We reckoned it was about fifty metres to the house, or was it a stable? No, it was definitely a house. The verandah was half-collapsed, some roof sheets were peeling back and there were timber planks missing from a few of the walls. It looked like some of the walls were only being held up by cobwebs and the piles of rubbish on the verandah. It was pretty bad. Right beside the house was a huge, rusty steel gate that lead into another area that was fenced off with high iron roof sheets a couple of metres high. On top of that was even more deadly looking barbed wire. It must have taken someone years to build that fence. It surrounded an area the size of a couple of footy fields, but why?
We couldn’t figure out if he was trying to keep something in, or keep something out! And the SMELL … it was disgusting! I’d never smelt anything like it. And I’d smelt some pretty deadly nappies from Smelly Melly’s butt.
Just then we heard this weak, sickly MOO. The sound was coming from just over a dirt mound. We crept along behind rocks and any dead tree or log that we could find, but they were few and far between. We snuck up as close as we could to the fence. As we crossed the rise, there they were, the skinniest cows in the world. It looked like someone had shoved a vacuum in their mouth and sucked all the air out of them. Their ribs were like xylo-phones, their skin loose and wrinkled like when you’ve been swimming way, way too long. They ap
peared so weak and barely able to stand that they were hardly moving. There was plenty of water in the dam. But there definitely wasn’t a scrap of food for them anywhere.
They were doing something though, they were CRAPPING … yep … everywhere we looked, CRAP. There was CRAP on the dirt and CRAP on the rocks, there was even CRAP piled on top of more CRAP. It was EVERYWHERE!! Braaap! . . . putt putt putt … phew! The smell brought tears to our eyes. What a stench! We watched as the cows continually farted and pooped … farted and pooped. Each cow was a never-ending fountain of poop. It was so gross, they just kept going and going, it was absolutely AMAZING! There they were, these incredibly skinny cows barely able to move, but they were constantly pooping and farting like it was curry night at the old folks’ home.
I’d never really thought about a cow’s feelings until now. To be honest, I just thought of them as ‘meat on feet’. Jared had always thought cows were pretty cool though, because he’d seen one picking its nose with its own tongue.
I definitely want a photo of that! But we did feel sort of sorry for them. There had to be something around for them to eat and it had to be inside the metal fenced area that we couldn’t see into.
We needed a way in. But first we needed to know if OLD MR INDITE was home and if the grizzly bear tale was true.
I picked up a pebble from the dust. Then taking a deep breath, I stood up for just a second and threw that rock as far as I could. Yeah, got it first shot. Right onto the roof, tink tink tink!
THUD!! GRRR … snarl … snort!
The second my pebble hit, something leapt at the window from inside the house with a tremendous THUD. We felt the vibration through the ground as the entire house shook and two more planks fell from the wall.
A BEAR!!
The stories were true after all. Through the dirt-covered window we could see the fuzzy black shape standing on its hind legs with paws the size of buckets and claws scratching at the glass.OLD MR INDITE had probably stolen it from a circus or zoo. It looked as if it belonged in some horror movie.
It was really scary … for Jared … I wasn’t scared at all. Really, I wasn’t, not for a second, uh ah, no way, not me, oh no, not for one teeny-tiny sec … well, maybe just a teensy second … but that’s all!
“MOLLY, Shut up!!” We heard OLD MR INDITE bellow from somewhere inside the house. Yep no doubt about it, he was home alright. Suddenly the front door flung open, out came OLD MR INDITE and right behind him, the ‘BEAR’. It pushed past him, almost knocking him over. There on the verandah stood this really gigantic, humongous, enormous, long haired, pure black … dog?! WOW!! The bear was actually a dog. But she was definitely way huger than any dog I’ve ever seen. And every time she moved, I thought her paws would go straight through the wooden floor of the verandah. Her hair was completely black, long and filthy like hippie dreadlocks after about five years without washing or cutting. You couldn’t even see her face. Maybe she didn’t have one. Maybe she was some faceless alien that was on earth to buy OLD MR INDITE'S manure. Maybe it’s not just world-class manure … but the best in the universe. Or maybe her face is so ugly that it has to be hidden from people. Because if they see it they’ll chunder until they die.
But we did know something for sure, she definitely had teeth. Each fang looked like it was the size of a ruler. The sunlight was glinting off the slobber and drool as it hung between her mouth and the floor. Hmmmm … we were definitely going to have to go to PLAN B.
Now … if only we could just think of a PLAN B.
Finally …
We thought they’d never go back inside.
We slithered on our bellies into a shallow ditch that ran under the fence and all the way to the dam. Obviously over the years the dam overflow had slowly eroded it away. It was dead dry now so the ground was pretty hard. If we could just make it deep enough to slide under the electric fence, without toasting ourselves of course, we’d be in. Jared took out his trusty miniature silver-coated, fancy handle, curved spade and started to dig. It was actually just his brecky spoon. He keeps it in his utility belt because he reckons … “You never know when you might find something to eat.” It was tough going. Jared was scraping away a spoonful at a time while I kept watch for OLD MR INDITE and MOLLY. Ever so slowly the trench was starting to look deep enough. “Hey Jared,” I said, “there’s no one else around way out here in the desert. What’s the bet the electric fence isn’t even on?!”
Jared stopped digging.
“Well, go on, touch it,” he said happily.
“You touch it!”
“I’m not touching it, you do it!”
“I thought of it, you do it!”
“ Well, since it was your idea you should do it. ”
“No way, you …
… zzzapp!! boofff !!!
It gently rained little feathers. Little black smouldering feathers … and a few burnt bones fell to the ground right beside us. “It’s on!” we said together as we went back to work.
Getting in hadn’t been so hard. Now we just had to find a way to get across the open ground and into the hidden area. We stayed behind the dam edge, camouflaged by the cows. But they were so skinny, they weren’t going to hide us for long. While we’d been digging our way under the fence, we had plenty of time to observe the cows. So we knew how dangerous it was to stay behind them for too long. Every time we heard bowels rumbling, we knew she was about to blow. That was the signal to move to another cow, and fast. It was either move really quickly or be smothered with CRAP splatter. And they were definitely doing that a lot! There was a decent size … gurgle … MOVE! … pile of rocks a couple of metres away. We needed to make a dash … gurgle … MOVE! From there we’d be able to … gurgle … MOVE! … see a lot more and make our plans. The worst part though … gurgle … MOVE! … The problem was that every single bit of ground was covered in cow dung. There wasn’t a centimetre of clear ground to be seen. And these weren’t nice, neat, firm little cow pats. These were the cow diarrhoea and dung slops from hell. It looked like the dung had exploded on impact with the ground. Like someone had taken a paper bag full of sloppy porridge and slime and dropped it from the sixteenth floor of a building.
My feet were already a disgusting mass of throbbing, furry toe-jam up to my heels, so I didn’t care. I had my very own little furry slippers on I guess. But Jared didn’t want to step in it. He was worried that we’d be seeing what he’d eaten over the last few days because his stomach couldn’t take much more … gurgle … MOVE!
So he was going to try and ballerina leap over as much poop as possible.
He was planning out his path to the rock pile while I was wondering if the mine field of manure would be nice and warm like the ones at home, or cold like … well, cold like manure I guess.
Jared was just about to jump up and run when I grabbed his arm and pulled him back down. “Is it MOLLY?" he said shakily.
“No it’s manure!”
“Well derrrr!” he replied sarcastically.
“No, I mean it’s something to do with OLD MR INDITE'S manure. It all makes sense now, my toe-jam, your hands, even Flipper,” I said. And it had all happened before, a hundred years before. Most of my toe-jam had built up from sweat and dirt and … cow dung. Cow dung from really skinny cows that Mum had found wandering along a road. She felt sorry for them so she put them into our paddock to fatten them up. They must have escaped from OLD MR INDITE'S.
Jared had got some of my toe-jam under his fingernails when he was helping me and that had been enough to start his toe-jam. We also knew that getting it wet made the toe-jam grow faster. Flipper!! The bits of toe-jam that had landed in his fish bowl … a fish bowl full of water. The toe-jam had encased him overnight, right up to his gills, and killed him. Just like the animals in the pictures from a hundred years ago, toe-jammed like mummies right up to their neck. Once that moist, crusty, mouldy toe-jam set hard around their throat they wouldn’t be able to breathe … any more.
Yeah I had it all figured
out, man I’m smart!
When we got infected, how we got infected, where the infection had come from and how those animals had died a hundred years ago. The poor things, they were slowly starved of breath with no way out.
Toe-jammed to DEATH!
I was on a roll when Jared grabbed my shoulders and looked straight into my eyes, as if trying to say something without speaking. Our eyes locked, he looked down at my feet, then back to me …
… then back to my feet …
… then back to me …
… then back to my feet …
… then …
Aaaaaahhhhhhh!!!
My feet!! We were being encased by the toe-jam just like Flipper and all the other animals a hundred years ago.
We were going to die!!
This was not good, not good at all. How long did we have before the toe-jam crept all the way up to the neck?
How long would it take for the toe-jam to set rock hard when it did get up to the neck?
And the most important thing of all, we definitely had to make sure that we didn’t get wet …
BOOM!! RUMBLE RUMBLE…
We both just about pooped ourselves as we looked up to where the sound had come from.
RAIN!!
“Stay calm, never panic, stay calm,” Jared was repeating over and over.
“Are you kidding? We’re being swallowed by toe-jam, there’s a storm coming so there’s a good chance we’ll get WET, which will make us get swallowed even FASTER … and you want to stay calm … I’d POOP myself right now except that I’ve already got ENOUGH all over me to paint a house!!” We had to get under cover before it rained and … into the hidden area to find out what was going on and … Jared had to get from here to there without stepping in any dung and … find out how to stop the toe-jam from killing us and … ok, that’s it.
