I awoke the next morning to the sound of a dog barking outside.
That silly old Rusty, I thought to myself. He was always barking in the morning.
Two galahs would fly down onto our back veranda to eat at our bird feeder and they would drive Rusty crazy. He would bark and twist and turn from the moment they arrived. His antics didn’t seem to worry the birds though. They would just eat their seed and pretend not to notice him.
“Rusty will stop barking when they fly away,” I mumbled, turning myself over.
I nestled into my pillow and pulled the covers up over my ears. I slowly started to drift back to sleep.
But wait a minute!
I was no longer in the country. As of yesterday, I now lived in the city. I was now living in Great Aunt Flora’s house in Sydney.
My heart sank.
I guess I was missing my old home already, but really, deep down, I knew that I was just missing Dad. He had been gone a few months now but I still remembered him. I remembered what his voice was like, what he smelled like and what clothes he wore. Sometimes I imagined that he was going to come back – that one day he would just drive up in his car and say that he had returned from wherever he had gone to and that things were going to go back to how they were. But in reality, I knew that I was just dreaming. That was never going to happen. Dad was gone and was definitely never, ever coming back.
I opened my eyes. I was in a purple room – oh yes, my room! And the barking – well that must be George the monster dog – I mean Flora’s dog, George.
I crawled out of bed and immediately noticed that I was still in the clothes I wore yesterday. I must have fallen asleep in them. Mum wouldn’t be happy. I walked over to the long, purple edged mirror to take a look at myself. My eyes scanned upwards from my toes, over my knobbly knees, my denim shorts and green surf shirt. All my clothes were crumpled. Even though I tried to straighten them out, they didn’t look any better. I looked such a sight!
To make matters worse, my long fringe was sticking straight up in the air exposing the much hated freckles that dotted my forehead. I licked my hand and tried to paste down my fringe with my palm to cover them up, but it wouldn’t work. My fringe just wouldn’t stay down and quickly flicked up again, pointing straight up in the air. I tried once more, but it was no use. Hair one point, Thomas nil. I decided it was way too much trouble to worry about and walked over to the bedroom window leaving my scruffy reflection behind. I made a mental note to change into my pyjamas for Mum’s benefit before going downstairs.
Looking out of the window, I could see it was going to be a bright sunny day. My room looked over an enormous back garden. There was a lawn with very green grass with a clothesline at one side. On the other side there was a clump of large fuzzy bushes with a path next to it leading down to a rather old looking shed that could have easily been from our town in the country. The red paint on its walls was peeling off in strips and the corrugated iron roof was rusty. There was a green door at one side. The shed looked kind of lonely in the back garden, almost as if no one had been it in for some time.
“So you are up,” said a voice behind me, “I hope George didn’t wake you.”
I turned around. It was Flora. She was standing at the door to my room in another very modern outfit. This time it was a bright blue tracksuit.
“I see that you didn’t have time to change into your pyjamas last night,” she said smirking a little.
I looked down at my crumpled clothes. I felt a bit embarrassed and it must have
showed on my face.
“It’s alright,” said Flora with a smile, “I often fall asleep on the chair downstairs at night and end up spending the whole night there. I get a bit of a shock in the morning though. So don’t worry, it must be a family trait that I passed onto you.”
Flora’s words made me feel a bit better. I hoped Flora was there to explain the family trait business when Mum questioned me later.
“So I saw you checking out the back yard,” said Flora pointing out the window. There were those words again – “checking out”.
“Yes, I just wanted to see what was out there. I was hoping to do some exploring later. You know, see my new surroundings.”
“I think that is a great idea,” replied Flora, “But how about some breakfast first?” Hmm, I was feeling a little hungry.
“That sounds great Flora,” I replied.
I followed Flora downstairs and on the way she stopped at an unusual looking calendar on the stairwell.
“Time to change the date,” she said cheerily.
The calendar was an old-fashioned one where you have to move the dates and months yourself. There was a hand painted picture on the top of it.
“Did you know that your father gave me this years ago?” asked Flora.
I had no idea that Dad had given Flora anything like this. I was quite surprised. “No, I didn’t know that at all.”
“He was about your age at the time. He made it in woodwork at school and sent it to me in the post after his last holiday here. He painted this picture himself. It is of a castle I think.”
I looked at the painted scene. In the middle was a castle that was very grey and very sad looking. The land around it looked dark and bleak, with no trees or gardens at all. The sky above it looked stormy.
“The picture is a little bit … um … gloomy,” I said.
“Yes, it is a tad on the gloomy side,” agreed Flora, “I don’t think it was like that in the beginning. I remember thinking how bright and happy it was when I received it. The colours were wonderful, but now they have become quite dark. They must have darkened over the years. I guess it might be the paint he used. It was such a long time ago.”
I looked closer at the dark, dreary painting. It just didn’t seem like anything my Dad would paint. He did do a little bit of painting from time to time, but usually he painted happy scenes using all kinds of different colours. From what I remembered, his paintings weren’t bleak and foreboding like this one.
Flora picked out the new date and slotted it into the hole, then started heading down the stairs.
“How about some special banana bread since it is your first breakfast in your new home?” she said.
My thoughts again shifted to the prospect of food. “Banana bread would be wonderful Flora.”
“Terrific, well you go and have a walk in the back garden and I’ll rustle up some for all of us.”
As soon as I stepped out of the back door, I was welcomed by the fresh, clean smell of wet grass. The backyard was still a bit damp from the morning dew and the rain yesterday. Now that I was down here, the yard looked even bigger than it did from my bedroom window. There seemed plenty of space to kick a ball or wield a bat. I imagined myself being the hero in many a backyard game of football or cricket. I would kick the winning goal or hit the six that would seal the game for my team and all my teammates would cheer and lift me up on their shoulders, whilst chanting my name.
Well that was my dream at any rate. The reality was very different. In spite of my fantasy of being an accomplished sportsman, I was actually wasn’t any good at
sports at all. I did try, in fact I tried really, really hard, but somehow I always ended up making a fool of myself. Dad used to say that I had too many negative thoughts and that I all I needed to do was to think positively. However, Mum said I was just clumsy and uncoordinated and that was nothing to be ashamed of.
At school I was always being teased about my lack of sporting ability. “That throw is pathetic Thomas! I said in the air not on the ground!” “Don’t pick Thomas on our team. He is useless!”
“My grandma is better at sport than you Thomas!”
The worse part about these statements was that they were all true.
Despite this, I liked to pretend occasionally that I was a talented sportsman and this was one of those moments. In the middle of the backyard, I lined myself up against the incoming ball from the lanky, fast-paced bowler. It was a quick one however it was going to be no trouble for me.
“Whack!”
As I swung the bat and watched the imaginary ball sail through the air, my eyes caught sight of the dilapidated old shed at the end of the garden. I had always liked sheds, particularly old ones. They always seemed to have such interesting things inside them. I immediately wondered what could be inside this one. I just needed to have a little peek. I just couldn’t help myself. It was there alone and unguarded, almost beckoning me to “check it out”.
“That shed definitely wants some investigating,” I said to myself.
After looking back towards the house to make sure that I was alone, I slowly walked towards the shed. Up close it looked decidedly shabby and grimy. Twisted remains of dirty, grey cobwebs clung to the gutters and the peeling red paint. In the morning light I could see new cobwebs being spun by the shed’s resident’s spiders. All the cobwebs hung heavy with the morning dew.
I rubbed the outside of one of the windows, but I couldn’t see too much inside.
The windows of the shed were caked in dirt despite the recent rain. I walked further around the shed and found the green door. The paint was all cracked and flaky but curiously, was fastened shut by a large tarnished silver padlock. The padlock had a strange pattern on its outer edges, almost like vines or roots of a tree twisted together. It seemed a little strange to me that such an elaborate padlock was on a rundown old shed like this. It seemed quite out of place.
Whilst admiring the padlock, I noticed that the bottom of the door was slightly ajar. Maybe I could get in after all?
I tried pushing on the door but it wouldn’t open. I decided that the door might move if I pushed a little harder so I gave it another try, but it wouldn’t budge.
“Maybe a little shove will unlock it?” I said to myself.
I had always wanted to bust into a doorway and this was my perfect opportunity.
I took a step back, readied my left shoulder just like the police busting into a robber’s house and then lunged hard.
Bang!
Nothing. The door didn’t move an inch. I did it again.
Bang!
Not one bit of movement!
“This hurts more than I thought,” I said, rubbing my shoulder, “It never seems to hurt the good guys in the movies.”
I tried one more time. Bang!
Nothing … but wait!
Looking down I could see that the gap at the bottom of the door had widened just slightly. It was now just large enough for me to put my arm inside, so I crouched
down and looked in through the hole. Unfortunately I couldn’t see much at all. There seemed to be a few boxes and some gardening equipment but I couldn’t be sure. It smelt clammy and cold.
Determined to find out what was in there I stuck my hand in and felt around. I prayed that I wouldn’t catch a nasty bug or spider or worse, a slug. My biggest fear in the whole world was slugs, although I had never admitted it (especially to Millicent who would tease me endlessly!). I didn’t know exactly what I disliked about them. Maybe it was the fact that they were gooey and left a trail of slippery slime? Or maybe it was their fat little bodies? Whatever it was, I just knew that I didn’t like them. The very thought of them sent a cold chill over my body. Luckily there were no slugs or spiders or bugs on this occasion. All I could feel was the cool dirt floor of the shed.
Somewhat bothered by my lack of discovery, I pushed my hand in just a little further and instantly found something metal.
“What could this be?”
It was cold and thin. I grabbed hold of it and started to drag it out of the shed. A drum roll of expectation started in my head.
“It is … ,” I said eagerly.
I then saw what my discovery was and immediately felt embarrassed. “Fantastic Thomas,” I berated myself, “It is a garden trowel!”
Disappointed with my find, I pushed the garden trowel to one side and bent down again to see what could be inside. There had to be more interesting things in there. There just had to be!
Whilst I was contemplating what else could be inside the shed, my attention slowly shifted to what was on the outside of it. In fact, I began to sense that someone or something was right behind me. Even worse, something cold and moist was touching the back of my neck. What could it be? It was a strange sensation.
A most horrible thought then popped into my head. Could this be a slug?
Maybe, somehow, a slug had dropped off the roof onto my neck? Yuck! How awful!
Goosebumps appeared on my arms at just the thought of being touched by one of those loathsome, slimy, revolting, disgusting creatures. As I wondered whether this “thing” could be a slug or not, the sensation seemed to shift. It pressed deeper onto my neck, except this time it was followed by warm breath that lingered around my collar.
This couldn’t be a slug – could it? What was it?
I slowly grabbed the gardening trowel at the side of me. I might have to use this, I thought to myself. Did I wake something in the shed? Or was there something creepy hanging around Flora’s garden that she neglected to tell us about? I began to turn my head around with the garden trowel in my hand. My heart started to pound.
As I turned around I was confronted by a mass of woolly, black hair and a rather large, black wet nose. It was George the monster dog! I mean, George the dog!
“Arrgh! Go away George!”
George had scared me half to death. I collapsed against the side of the shed. I was kind of relieved though. Even George was better than a slug! My heartbeats started to slow down. I dropped the gardening trowel from my hand.
George obviously wanted to see what I was doing. Maybe he even wanted to make friends, but I didn’t want to.
“Go away George!,” I shouted summoning some courage from somewhere, “Go away! Go away now!”
But George didn’t move. I thought I might be able to run away from him, but he sort of had me pinned to where I was. His giant, eyeless face looked straight back at mine. I wasn’t usually scared of dogs. It was just the sheer size of George that worried me.
How was I going to get away from this dog? Different options ran through my mind. I could call for Mum, but would she hear me all the way from the back garden? I didn’t think so. Could I call out to Flora? No, not really I reasoned. After all, I had just
met her and I didn’t want her thinking that I was a big scaredy-cat. As far as I could work out, there were very few options left. I figured my best and only chance really was to try and make a run for it back to the house. There was really no other way. Since George was quite big and quite old he may not be able to keep up, but just to make sure I had a head start, I would probably need to distract him.
I spotted a stick near the edge of the shed. I grabbed it.
“With a bit of luck, maybe I could throw this stick?” I said to myself, “If I throw the stick far enough, George might run after it and then I could make a run for the house.”
Although I knew that I had no talent whatsoever in this area, I decided this was my plan.
I held the stick firmly in my hand and then picking out a landing spot in the middle of the yard, I threw the stick as far and as hard as I possibly could.
Unfortunately on this occasion the stick didn’t travel very far at all and plonked right down in front of us, landing just in front of the shed. Unashamedly, I still tried to urge George to chase it.
“Go and get it George,” I said pointing to the stick, “Go on! That’s a good dog!
Go and get the stick!”
George remained where he was. He didn’t even flinch. He head was still pointing at me and he was panting. I had better try again.
I stretched out my foot and prodded the stick back towards me.
“This time it is going to go far. You’ll see George. It will go really, really far!”
I lined up my shot again, this time taking aim at a small bush closer to me but still far enough away to give me a head start on running back to the house.
“Surely I can make the small bush,” I said (although inside I kind of had my doubts).
I threw the stick again but this time it went high in the air. Both George and I looked up as we watched it. Was it going to make the distance? The stick reached its’ peak and then started to plummet to the ground.
“There you go George! Go get it! Go get it!”
The stick fell to the ground and sadly only made a little more distance than my last throw. George watched the stick land and then turned to face me again. He was still panting. It was obvious that he wasn’t interested in the stick all. In fact, he was probably laughing inside at how pitiful my throws were.
Hmm, what else could I do? I still had George in front of me and I wasn’t going to make it back the house without him unless I could think of some other way of distracting him. Sadly, I was now out of ideas.
At that very same moment I heard a rustle at the side of the shed. I looked up.
George’s tail began to wag. It was a “happy to see you” kind of wag. Flora’s head popped around the corner of the shed.
“Making friends with George, Thomas?”
She began to stroke George’s head. He didn’t look so scary now. In fact, he looked more like a little puppy except for his size. For a second, I almost started to think he looked cute.
“Your breakfast is ready,” said Flora, “Maybe you had better come inside?”
I followed Flora up to the house again keeping as far away from George as I could. I stood on the side of Flora that George wasn’t. I still didn’t like him that much. He was still big and still a little bit scary.
I entered the kitchen to find Millicent and Mum eating freshly made banana bread at the kitchen table.
“Did you sleep in those clothes Thomas?” Mum asked as soon as I set foot on the kitchen tiles.
I was caught out!
“Yes Mum,” I mumbled.
A pile of sweet smelling warm banana bread slices were waiting for me on the table. I tucked into them. They tasted terrific. As I chewed I thought about going back to the shed and finding a way in. It might take a little while before I was able to fully investigate it. This new home may not be so bad after all, I thought.