Heni Hani and the Magic Pendant: Part 1 (Heni Hani and the fears of the unknown)

by Peter Ness

  ‘The 32-volt generator’s possibly just low on fuel,’ Mother suggested anxiously, standing next to me now coffee in hand, glancing out the window. Her face tightened, a deep furrow forming in her forehead as she placed her drink onto the sink. The sweet aroma of caffeine wafted up at us. She took Jo by the hand. ‘Let’s go wait in your bedroom Pudding.’

  We went and huddled in the bedroom together.

  ‘Be quiet. I’m just going to light a candle.’ Mother placed it on the small bedroom table. Jo and I wandered around in the half-dark searching blindly for torches. It just felt safer with one. Meanwhile, Mom was in the kitchen fiddling with the kerosene lamps. The house lit up with a faint glow as the kerosene lights showered the walls with light. The fumes flittered through the air, adding tension. She carried one over by the bedroom door and a warm glow soon lit up the small room.

  ‘Not a peep out of you two, do you hear?’ Mother seemed rather nervous. ‘Not a peep. Here, have some of Aunt Rosa’s chocolate Freckles.’ She tossed Jo a packet.

  Sometime later, we heard Father trampling around over by the hay shed. At least, we thought Dad made the ruckus. He later claimed that he never went near the place, just down to the creek near the chook house to close the gate.

  Sneaking a look out from behind the curtain I caught a sudden flash of light. A torch light hovered above the 32-volt generator. A faint putter putter cut the night air. The power flashed back on, then off and then remained on. We walked back into the kitchen where Jo flopped herself down onto the couch, I fought to sit down on a chair, and Mom went to collect her coffee from on the sink. Seconds later Father’s shoes crunched loudly on the gravel outside the lobby, and then were heard him scrape them on a brick. Taking his boots off now, Father banged them hard onto the cement patio, swung open the wire door and came inside. Dad wiped and stowed his shoes noisily, and hung up the torch with a clutter. The building shuddered as he banged the door shut behind. Propelled towards us, a draft of cool air slammed into us. It wasn’t cold but I shivered never-the-less. We turned towards him expectantly. His face a pale ghostly grey, his hand twitched nervously. He seemed visibly shaken. Staring sullenly across at us he grimaced, turned and took the unusual step of bolting the door shut with a grinding clunk!

  ‘What’s wrong Dear?’ It was Mom, sensing that something had scared the living hell out of Dad. ‘Thanks for switching the generator on again.’

  Dad looked across at her sharply, his face splashed full of surprise.

  ‘What the—? It wasn’t me,’ he replied, his body language echoing his thoughts. ‘Did the lights really go out? I heard the engine splutter, but don’t recall it stopping. Anyway, I couldn’t hear from down at the cow shed. Between the cows and the chooks — they were all making such a ruckus,’ Dad rubbed at a red, burning rash on his neck. Mother’s face turned a concerned pale. He moved across, took her by the hand, touched it soothingly and continued. ‘Nothing is wrong — it’s just someone spotlighting and making a commotion again — that’s all. I guess its Jack Henton and his boys playing silly beggars. That’s the sort of irresponsible thing they’d do. You know that.’

  ‘Then, why’re you locking the door?’ Mother queried. A worried look encompassed her entire face and body.

  ‘Jodi,’ he sighed. ‘Can we talk about it later on? Anyway, where’s my custard and dumplings? I’ve been hanging out for them all night.’ He walked over and switched each of the kerosene heaters off. ‘It’s not that cold.’

  ‘Sorry, honey but the kids gorged on the custard,’ Mother apologized, moving over to the combustion stove. Taking the poker, she lifted the metal capping, and then stirred the red hot coals. Smoke billowed out. The flickering flames looked and felt warm so Jo and I moved over holding our hands over them. We drew the warm smoke into our lungs.

  ‘Oh, well that is unfortunate.’ Dad winked at Jo who smirked, and then he added. ‘This is becoming a habit. I do so love apple pie. Well, its dumplings and apple pie then!’ I raised my eyebrows at Mom. We all knew that he hated apple pie. He sat down at the table and picked up a spoon watching as Jo eagerly bounced over to join him.

  ‘If you wait a minute, I was just making more custard,’ Mother replied, ‘Just before the power went off. It’ll be ready shortly.’

  I backed out of her way as she picked the saucepan of custard up off the side of wood combustion stove, took a spoon and stirred the base of the metal saucepan. A dark yellow crust was forming on the surface of the custard. Mother assumed Dad wanted some, dribbling hot custard out of the saucepan over the golden syrup dumplings already on his plate.

  Just as Father finished his dumplings and custard the dog began yelping again. The hair on the back of my neck rose and I shuddered. Dad ignored the ruckus, asking for a top up. Mom and I traded glances.

  ‘Are there any chocolate Freckles left, or did you eat them all?’ Dad asked Jo. Frowning, Jo passed him a handful of chocolate Freckles. He forced them into his already full mouth. ‘Delicious! Did you make these?’ Dad asked Mother, holding one up.

  ‘Don’t eat with your mouth half full. Of course not! Rosa did,’ she replied.

  ‘Yeah, fill it up,’ Jo added with a short laugh. ‘Can I have more too Mom?’

  I glanced towards the door in response to Blackie barking. Then he yapped louder. Mom traded looks with Jo and I, and then she nudged Dad, nodding at the door.

  ‘Is the dog alright?’ she asked.

  Over the next few minutes Blackie became increasingly agitated, snarling then yelping again and again in distress.

  ‘He was fine just five minutes ago,’ Dad replied, shoveling the last of his custard into his gob. Mom and Dad looked at each other now, their eyes dancing across at me as I edged over gingerly to double-check that the door really was bolted. It was. I breathed a sigh of a relief; so did they.

  ‘Perhaps it’s a dingo, or a stray dog, rather than a fox?’ Mom suggested.

  ‘No, the dingo fence would stop them — but you’re right. It could be one of Ashton’s dogs that got loose — either that, or a fox,’ Father thought out loud. Frowning, he scratched at the red blotch on his itchy, burning neck.

  A sound like the rustling of trees, or birds flying, whooshed overhead. It sounded more of a whirring mechanical noise, so I pricked my ears. Then, an ominous crunching of footsteps on gravel outside cut the night air, eerily. The 32-volt generator spluttered and died yet again.

  ‘I’m sure it’s just a fuel block,’ Dad yawned, faking tiredness. ‘You’re right. It is little chilly tonight. While you’re near the stove, can you turn on the heater?’ Mother bent down to light a kerosene heater, a perplexed look creeping across her face.

  ‘Aren’t you going to restart the generator Dear? I need to wash the dishes.’

  ‘No,’ he replied a little apprehensively. ‘We all had a shower before, so the generator can stay off. You can do the dishes in the morning. We can go to bed now.’ Dad pointed at the dishes piled up on the sink. ‘They can wait.’ He saw Mother’s grimace. ‘Okay. I’ll do them in the morning then.’ Taken aback Mother’s mouth dropped open.

  ‘Yeah, sure you will.’ Flabbergasted, her hands went to her hips and she stood staring back at him. Shrugging, Dad picked up the local rag newspaper. Reading her mind I could see that Mom thought it out of character, and sensed that he had something else on his mind. ‘Look, Jesse—,’ she began and then, shaking her head, thought the better of it.

  ‘No! We’re all going to bed,’ Dad spoke in a deadly serious voice. Then Dad did something rather unusual. He walked around to each of the windows in turn, checked that they were locked and drew each of the blinds, snapping the curtains shut. Mother stood in the same place by the stove, hands firmly folded in front. She glanced across at me, questioningly.

  ‘What? Don’t ask me?’ My hands went up in the air defensively. Mom looked at Jo now, her unspoken question still lingering in the air. Jo shrugged, looked back down and began to read a comic in the half-dark.

 
; ‘Okay kids. Off to bed with you,’ Mother ordered with a firm wave of the hand, ‘Now!’

  Jo and I remained motionless.

  ‘Why? Do we have to—? It’s still early,’ Jo complained, pointing at the clock on the wall. Mom stood firm, nodding at our bedroom door. ‘Okay then, can you at least tell me a story? I wanna hear a bedtime story.’

  ‘Yes. I’ll tell you a story tonight Pudding. The bed is in that room!’ Mother gestured in annoyance.

  ‘Okay, Jo Long Legs, it looks as though Mom is reading you a story tonight. Off to bed you go,’ Dad said and he tapped Jo on the head as she went past. Jo turned and gave him a quick good-night hug.

  ‘Where’s my hug, Pudding?’ Mother asked. Jo hugged her as well, then ran into the bedroom and jumped into her creaking bed.

  Yuk! Don’t look at me. I’m too old for hugs.

  #

  The shadowy figures of two men stood by our chook house. Rich Dunbar turned back towards Guy Porter.

  ‘It looks like we scared the crappers out of that Jesse Hani crowd this time,’ he said, laughing maliciously. ‘It is time to head over to the Thomas’s for more of the same.’ Rich pointed towards the barn, the direction in which they needed to head.

  Turning, Rich strode towards the Morten Bay Fig tree now, with Guy Porter in tow. Rich laughed, enjoying himself. Walking behind him, silhouetted by the faint moonlight, Guy Porter laughed with him as his body vibrated and then morphed in faint flashes into a metallic luminous stick-like insect avatar. The same size, Guy now looked like a bi-pedal version of a humanoid insect: let us call it a Cydroid avatar for now. Yet, the face was slightly elongated, oval-like, with black insect-like vibrating compound eyes, and looked hideous.

  Unaware, Rich threw a rock at the barn. The rock bounced three times on the roof with a bang! — bang! — bang! And then it rolled down, landing on top of a galvanized iron tank, with a clang. The Cydroid avatar grunted as it followed Rich down the road.

  ‘You should take a shower Guy. You smell something rotten. Next time, use soap. Come on slow poke. Stop dawdling. We need to get a move on,’ Rich said, unaware that he spoke to an avatar. Not to worry, he soon would. The avatar gurgled quietly to itself. This could be fun.

  #

  ‘So, what’s the story tonight?’ I asked, climbing onto the top bunk bed. Jo slept in the lower bunk because she wet the bed. Can you imagine if she had the top one and her smelly urine dribbled down splot! — splot! — splot! — onto your face? Oo yuk! I can.

  ‘Well, I think you remember the Grimm Brother’s story of the crying man who went into the Ghost House by himself?’ Mother asked, ‘Well?’

  ‘Yes. Well, go on—,’ Jo said, climbing onto her bed. ‘I wanna hear more.’

  Mother picked up the Grimm’s Brothers book and began the story as Jo cuddled up below the blankets. This was her favorite story. Maybe she should crank it up a level?

  From as early as five or six years old I distinctly remember Mother telling us, as she wrapped us up into bed at night, that in the event that the reds invaded — I guess she meant Chicago Red Socks or the Sioux Red Indians — in the event that the Red Indians swooped in to attack us all, we should hide under the bed. After all, it was safer there. It sounds stupid, I know.

  ‘Okay. Get into bed now Pudding and I’ll read you the story,’ Mother said. Bending now she tucked Jo in. I slid the small brass pendant off and hung it on the side of the bed. And then kicking off the blanket I yawned.

  Mom took the Grimm Brother’s story of the crying man and adjusted it slightly. The crying man hid under the bed, clowns wandering about the house looking for him with flashing torch lights. One abruptly shone a torch light under the bed. Jo jerked back.

  Soon Jo fell fast asleep. Mom bent down and kissed Jo on the forehead and switched off the torchlight. She stood up, patted me on the cheek and said goodnight. We were getting a bit old for stories but they seemed to help Jo get to sleep so I never complained. For some reason I had difficulty sleeping that night and lay wide awake tossing and turning for what seemed ages. Then, I fondled the pendant and wondered whether it read people’s minds and made them have mass hallucinations.

  Perhaps it was a bad pendant? The previous owner had thrown it away. Maybe that’s why I had found it? Maybe I should toss it as well?

  ‘Nah! No Way!’ I grunted, half asleep now.

  The faint voices of Dad and Mom echoed from in the other room. They were playing chess again. The hushed voices and the long continuous squeaking of their bed kept me awake. They really needed to oil that, or something. Mother giggled and groaned excitedly. It went on for ages.

  ‘I’m taking your rook and your king is next,’ I’m sure I heard Mom say.

  The wall suddenly shook vigorously, and then Mother cried out something in ecstasy several times as if she had just won a million dollars and then groaned quietly again. The bed shuddered. Dad groaned. It sounded as if he’d lost chess again. The squeaking slowly subsided. He flicked the chess set onto the floor in annoyance.

  In the other room, Dad busily picked up the chess pieces off the floor. He stood with one sock on and wearing a pair of female frilly underpants on his head, complaining to Mom that she always won because she cheated. All women are cheats! A large lipstick kiss mark imprinted his cheek. Mother lay on the bed in her nightgown kicking her feet up and down, laughing hysterically. The bed bounced up and down. Dad must have looked a sight with a scowl from ear to ear. At least that is what I thought transpired, in my dreams. I rolled over now, wide awake again, and tapped at the side of the bed with my hand.

  ‘You awake Jo?’ Stone silence. ‘I think they were just playing chess? Anyway, it sounds like Mom won again,’ I convinced myself and rolled over listlessly. ‘Maybe Dad loses deliberately. Perhaps is just a ploy to keep her happy?’

  ‘Yeah, I think you’re right Heni,’ Jo rolled over and groaned, answering me in her sleep, agreeing with me. ‘Everyone’s happy.’ That made me smile so I rolled over to go back to sleep. Then Jo added, ‘that pendant thing-a-me-jig is a magic doofer-lacky, don’t you think? Jump off the haystack, again Heni. Come on, jump!’

  #

  London: Mid-August, 2012

  ‘Hey. This next section is written by that other person again?’ Andrea said flipping the page. ‘I wonder why?’

  ‘Yeah, and look there. Uncle Heni drew a picture of a little girl inside a bubble.’ Peter pointed. ‘Is she trapped in it? Maybe she is trying to escape?’

  ‘Why, yes, so he did,’ Andrea said in surprise. ‘No. I don’t think she’s trapped.’

  ‘It’s Tinkerbell,’ Peter replied. ‘Told you so!’ Kick!

  ‘Hey! Stop kicking,’ Andrea raised her hand above his small leg. ‘And it’s not Tinkerbell.’

  ‘Well, get on with it anyway Slow Poke. I wanna hear more and we haven’t got all day,’ Peter said, slapping the book sitting on Andrea’s lap.

  #

  Meanwhile, back in my bedroom:

  The small bubble-entity floated through the open bedroom doorway into the room, hovering next to the small figure of Jo snoring in the bottom bunk bed. Then it floated up towards the ceiling and hung suspended, the small girl inside peering over the side of the top bunk bed.

  Suddenly, the boy jerked upright, staring back at the bubble-entity. His eyes opened wide and he backed up against the wall in shock at seeing the small girl. Unnerved, the bubble-entity spun around trying to escape, bouncing from one side of the room to the other like a ping pong ball on a spring. Eventually, it stopped, spinning around again, moving back up towards the ceiling so Sam could steal a closer look. The boy had fallen back to sleep again. A scraping noise just outside the window alerted Sam. The pungent smell of sulfur wafted inside. Moving back to the safety behind the open door the bubble-entity hovered. Sam waited, watching as a bright blue light draped down from above, engulfing the entire building.

  #

  London: Mid-August, 2012

  ‘Now Heni is telling
the story again,’ Andrea said.

  ‘Why’re you stopping?’ Peter replied. ‘I wanna hear more.’

  #

  Heni’s Bedroom:

  A pulsating light disrupted my sleep. The small pendant hanging off the side of my bunk glowed, a flashing pale green splash of light dancing off the wall, which was rather annoying. I took it, rather sleepily, and placed it around my neck below my T-shirt. I wore brown baggy shorts and a white T-shirt not pajamas. The pendant merged with my skin with a snap! Before long, I was surfing the waves in the clouds, in a small dingy with my cousin Brian. We were pirates, having a great time.

  ‘Hey! I see a flashing light. It must be a clown. Okay. I’ll shoot it with my laser gun. Whoosh! Whoosh!’ I exclaimed in my sleep. The pendant on my chest began to flash a brighter green, like a lighthouse strobe, biting hard down into the skin.

  The floating clowns were all over the place now. Brian and I were both shooting them but still they came in droves. I narrated in my sleep.

  ‘Cripes. There they are. Shoot the clowns. Zap! Zap!’ I brandished my laser gun, chasing them screaming into the other room.

  ‘Crikey,’ I heard Brian say, ‘They’re all around us. Kill them all. Kill them all.’

  ‘Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!’ A hail of wet bullets smashed into the clowns.

  I sprayed them all with water from the water pistol and they melted in front of my face. More clowns came at us now. The flashing blue light streamed through the bedroom window. We pushed the window open and the boat — even though it was much bigger than the window frame — seemed to float on the clouds through both it and the wall. More and more clowns surrounded us. I pulled out my machine gun.

  ‘Rat, tat, tat, tat, tat, tat, tat, tat —.’