by Adam France
First published by Allen & Unwin in 2019
Copyright © Text, Adam France 2019
Copyright © Illustrations, Zahra Zainal 2019
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or ten per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to the Copyright Agency (Australia) under the Act.
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ISBN 978 1 76052 376 3
eISBN 978 1 76087 275 5
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Cover design by Sandra Nobes
Text design by Evi-O Designs & Sandra Nobes
Set by Midland Typesetters & Sandra Nobes
Contents
The Trampoline
Fishing on the 8th
The Letterbox
The Perfect Point
The Nudge
Mannequins
The Black-Toothed Bandit
For the France family –
thank you for being unpredictable
The Trampoline
Troy reached the window and smacked it hard.
‘Too easy,’ he announced as he came crashing back down to earth. ‘I can do that with my eyes closed.’
Troy and I had been given a trampoline for Christmas. Not a normal trampoline with protective netting and plastic piping as springs. No, Mum and Dad brought an ancient one home from a garage sale. Old biting springs. Giant rusty metal rails. A small hole in the corner of the mat. I guess it was cheaper than the iPad Troy and I had been begging for.
Just to prove how little Dad cared about safety, he let us set it up on the cement slab out the back. As long as we weren’t inside fighting over the PlayStation, he didn’t care.
Mum, on the other hand, tried to reassure herself by covering the rusty rails in bubble wrap. This lasted a whole hour before Troy and I popped all the bubbles.
Every jump came with a high-pitched squeak that had our ‘new’ neighbours slamming their windows shut.
Our ‘new’ neighbours weren’t all that new. But no one who moves into that house ever lasts more than six months.
So we just call everyone who lives there our ‘new’ neighbours.
For the past three weeks, Troy and I had been competing to see who could jump higher. We set the trampoline up against the side of the house and used Dad’s blue pool-cue chalk on our hands to mark our height.
Troy’s blue handprint sat clean on our older sister Nina’s upstairs window. She opened it up when she heard the commotion.
‘Just stop it!’ Nina yelled. ‘It’s so annoying!’
‘It’s so annoying!’ Troy mimicked. ‘At least we’re still using our present.’
‘Yeah, what happened to the mobile phone Mum and Dad bought you?’ I chimed in.
Troy and I smirked. We already knew the answer.
‘Didn’t you know it isn’t waterproof?’
We laughed. Nina gritted her teeth before slamming her window shut.
‘All right.’ I turned to my younger brother. ‘You want a challenge?’
‘Hit me,’ Troy accepted.
I pointed to the roof. Troy shook his head.
‘No, Paddy. We’ve tried this. It’s impossible to reach the roof. We can’t get enough spring.’
‘I didn’t say you have to reach the roof,’ I began, crossing my arms. ‘I challenge you to jump from it.’
Troy’s eyes traced the side of the house all the way to the top. He scratched his head.
‘You want me to jump from up there?’ he asked uncertainly.
I nodded.
‘That’s, like, two storeys high,’ he said. ‘And the trampoline is on the cement. How do you know I won’t fall through?’
I gave him a grin. He was right; it was a crazy idea. But I knew what it took to make him do it.
‘Well, I guess you’ll just have to find out. That’s if you’re not too chicken?’
Troy looked at me with furious eyes. He hated being called chicken.
‘Where’s Dad’s ladder?’
Troy stood on top of the roof looking down at the trampoline.
‘You ready?’ I called out.
‘Are you sure it will hold?’ he asked, hesitating.
‘Just do it!’ I yelled.
Troy swallowed and stepped forward.
‘Geronimo!’ he screamed as he jumped from the roof. He came down in a blur of speed.
He hit the trampoline.
Then disappeared.
Gone. Nothing. Not even a squeak of the springs.
‘Troy?’ I called out. ‘Where’d you go?’
Silence.
‘Troy?’ I repeated anxiously.
I started looking around, trying to find him. I even climbed the ladder and looked up on the roof, as if I had just imagined him jumping. Nothing.
I was so confused. I didn’t know what to do. I was about to call out to Mum, but I knew she would never believe Troy had disappeared into thin air. Disappeared into a trampoline.
I had to find Troy myself. I had to disappear into the trampoline and find my little brother.
I looked up at the roof again. It was my only hope.
Standing at the edge of the roof, I now understood why Troy was worried about jumping. The trampoline looked so small against the cement ground. But this was no time to be afraid.
I took a deep breath and jumped. With my eyes set on the trampoline, I watched the black rectangle grow. Larger and larger. I braced myself for impact.
But I never hit the mat.
Instead, I splashed into deep, dark water.
So dark that I couldn’t see a thing.
Then I felt something grab my wrist and pull me up out of the blackness. I was met by blinding light. I shielded my eyes, blinking until everything came into focus.
I looked around and noticed I was sitting on the trampoline. On the cement in my backyard. Pushed up against the side of the house. Everything looked normal. Except that, for some reason, Dad’s ladder no longer stood against the side of the house.
I felt a tap on my shoulder.
‘Paddy?’
I turned around. Sitting behind me on the trampoline was a man with a giant beard. As I looked closer, I realised this wasn’t just some random person sitting beside me. It was Troy. An older, hairier version of my brother.
He chuckled, his beard bouncing on his face.
‘You look ridiculous.’ He laughed nervously, his voice deep. His eyes slightly anxious.
I jumped off the trampoline and ran for the downstairs window. I couldn’t believe what I saw in the reflection there. I had a moustache. I had long hair. I had forehead wrinkles!
‘What is going on?’ I called out to my not-so-young younger brother.
‘The trampoline,’ Troy answered. ‘It must be a portal into our futures.’
‘This can’t be,’ I said, stroking Troy’s long beard. ‘This is just a dream.’
Troy tugged on my moustache.
‘Ouch!’ I ye
lled out. ‘What did you do that for?’
‘I wanted to see if it was real.’
Just then, the window above opened. Out popped my sister’s head. An older head. An adult head.
‘Don’t you two have jobs to go to or something?’ she asked.
‘Nina?’ I asked.
‘No, Paddy, it’s Lady Gaga.’
A cry came from inside her room. A baby’s cry. A cry different to my baby sister Bella’s.
‘Now look what you’ve done. You’ve woken Madison.’
Troy and I looked at each other in shock.
‘Okay,’ Troy finally said.
‘Sorry,’ I added.
Nina shook her head before returning inside and shutting the window.
Frozen in fear, Troy and I continued to stare at each other.
‘This is too weird,’ I said. ‘We need to get back home.’
‘But we are home,’ Troy replied, his thick beard almost hiding his trembling lips.
I looked at him with horrified eyes. I could feel the wrinkles on my forehead move.
‘No, Troy. I want to go back to being a kid again.’
Troy could hear the fear in my voice.
‘All right,’ he said as he turned and looked at the roof. ‘Let’s go find Dad’s ladder.’
This was all too familiar, I thought as I stood on the edge of the roof looking down at the trampoline.
‘You ready?’ Troy asked.
All I could do was nod before we jumped together. We fell down towards the black mat. Faster and faster. I could feel my hair flying in the breeze. My moustache flicking my lips.
Then I hit the trampoline and entered dark water. This time, I swam to the surface myself. I let my eyes adjust to the light. The trampoline came into view. The cement. The house. Everything as it was before. All except the ladder.
‘Oh no.’
A voice came from behind. I turned around. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Sitting on the trampoline was a man. No hair. Grey beard. Wrinkly, spotty skin.
‘Troy?’ I asked in shock.
Troy leaned forward and plucked a hair from my ear.
‘Ouch!’ I yelled. ‘That hurt!’
He held it up. It was as white as snow.
‘Paddy,’ he said, his eyes wide. ‘We’re old!’
The window above opened. Out poked a head. But it wasn’t Nina’s.
‘Uncle Troy? Uncle Paddy, is everything okay?’ the woman asked. ‘Do you guys need me to bring down your walking sticks?’
Troy and I looked at each other.
‘The ladder!’ we both cried.
Our legs were too frail to stand on the roof. We sat on the edge looking down at the trampoline.
‘This is it,’ Troy said, rubbing his back. ‘If things don’t work out, it was nice to know you, brother.’
We leaned in to give each other a hug but lost our balance and fell off the roof. We tumbled out of control.
I closed my eyes as I hit the black water. I swam to the surface and felt the bright light behind my eyelids.
I slowly opened my eyes. The surroundings gradually came into view. The trampoline. The cement. The house. Dad’s ladder.
I jumped off the trampoline and ran to the downstairs window. I looked at my reflection. The moustache was gone. No ear hairs. No wrinkles. I was staring back at me. Twelve-year-old Paddy Thompson.
‘Yes!’ I yelled out in relief.
I spun around to see if Troy was back to normal too.
But he wasn’t there.
The window above opened. Nina poked her head out. The real Nina.
‘How many times do I have to tell you to stop being so annoying?’ she called out.
‘At least a hundred!’ a familiar voice shouted.
Nina and I both looked up to see nine-year-old Troy standing on the edge of the roof.
‘Geronimo!’
Fishing on the 8th
‘Found one!’ I called as I reached down into the murky water and retrieved the golf ball from between my toes.
‘How many’s that?’ Marty asked as he concentrated on what was beneath his feet on the other side of the pond.
I looked into my bucket and made a rough estimate.
‘About twenty, I think.’
Marty returned a thumbs-up. Twenty golf balls was pretty good for half an hour. But we had to rush. The sun had reached the trees at the end of the fairway and soon we wouldn’t be able to see a thing. Then we would go home and wash the balls in the laundry sink before selling them back to the golf club for fifty cents per ball. Easy money. But the only money we ever got.
You see, neither Marty nor I got pocket money. Our families didn’t have a lot of money, so we were always finding creative ways to make our own. And this was one of the best ideas we’d ever had.
Marty and I had been coming to the golf course for about three months. We quickly learned that the swampy water at the bottom of the 8th hole – in which we now stood – was the ‘Jackpot Pond’. We had collected hundreds of golf balls from this spot. And with all the money we’d made from reselling the balls back to the club, Marty and I almost had enough to buy the new drum kit for sale at Top Hill Music. And with the old guitar I got for my last birthday, we’d start a band. Then all we’d need was a name.
‘How about The Lemon Squeezes?’ Marty suggested.
I turned and gave him a sour expression. He got the picture.
‘Yeah, too cheesy,’ Marty admitted.
‘The Muddy Middletoes?’ I said.
We both burst out laughing. We knew it was a daggy name. But then again, most band names are.
Darkness hit the water as the sun continued to drop behind the hills, signalling it was time for us to leave.
‘Righto,’ I announced, looking to the skies. ‘Let’s get these to the laundry.’
We both started to leave the water when I stumbled, and my foot became wedged between two rocks. I tried to wrench it free but the more I tried, the further it sank.
‘I’m stuck!’ I called as I reached down and attempted to pull my leg out. Nothing.
‘Stop playing around,’ Marty yelled from the other side of the pond. ‘It’s almost dark; let’s go.’
I yanked at my foot again but the swampy mud only sucked it down further.
‘I’m serious!’ I screamed. ‘And I think I’m sinking!’
Marty could see the horror on my face. He dropped his bucket of golf balls and ran back to the water.
‘Quickly!’ I screamed in desperation as my knee met the rocks.
Marty began to swim in my direction. His arms thrashed. His legs kicked frantically. He lifted his head to see how far he had left to swim.
And then he stopped. His wide eyes stared at me before slowly moving upwards towards the sky.
‘Don’t stop!’ I called out. ‘I’m still sinking!’
But Marty didn’t move. His gaze was still fixed on the sky. His face twisted in shock.
Then a shadow covered his face. And then his body.
I slowly turned my head around. My jaw dropped. My heart stopped. Standing above me was a giant serpent, rearing at least five metres above the water. Its bright yellow eyes were locked on mine. Its silvery blue body a tessellation of dinner-plate-sized scales. I was frozen in fear. I couldn’t blink. I couldn’t breathe.
And then it slowly lowered itself back into the water and disappeared.
I turned back towards Marty.
‘Wh-where did it go?’ he stammered, surveying the water.
‘I – I don’t know,’ I choked out, searching the pond around me.
Everything was completely silent.
And then I felt the rocks around my knee fall away. A moment later, I was launched out of the water.
I thrashed for something to grab onto as I was lifted into the air, and realised when my fingers touched scales that I was on the back of the serpent’s head.
I was too petrified to make a sound. Before I could believe what was happ
ening, I was being slowly lowered towards the side of the pond. Then I slid from the giant snake’s head and landed on my feet.
I stood there looking at the serpent’s eyes. Something about the way it looked back made me feel calm and relaxed.
With the flick of its lime-green tongue, the creature returned to the water, sliding under the murky surface without making a ripple.
Stunned, Marty stood in the middle of the pond.
‘What just happened?’ he asked, his voice so high-pitched it was almost unrecognisable.
I looked down at my knee. Besides a few small scratches, it was all right.
‘I think it just rescued me.’
Marty started to hurry out of the water but stopped near the edge.
‘Found one.’ He reached down between his toes. Then I saw his expression change. He lifted something from the water. It wasn’t a golf ball.
In Marty’s hand sat something bright green. Covered in black and blue spots. The size of a football. And almost the same shape.
Marty’s eyes met mine. It was like looking into a mirror, our expressions full of shock as we realised what the object must be: a serpent egg.
The silence was broken by a small splash on the other side of the pond. Marty and I took off at lightning speed down the fairway. We couldn’t get away fast enough.
At last we stopped and collapsed to the ground at the golf club entrance. As I caught my breath, I looked over at Marty.
I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. The serpent’s egg was still clutched in his hands. Its colours glowed against his terrified face.
‘What are you doing?’ I asked in disbelief. ‘Why are you still holding that thing?’
‘I – I… ’ he stammered, unable to take his eyes off it. ‘I don’t know. I panicked. The noise. I just ran.’
‘Put it away before someone sees it,’ I demanded.
Marty quickly placed the egg inside the bucket.
I looked up at the clubhouse in the distance.
‘We’ll sort this out tomorrow.’
We both decided overnight that we were retired from fishing for golf balls. And as we waited outside the office of the Top Hill Golf Club manager, Mr Ridgeman, to sell him our last bucket of balls, we decided it was probably a good thing to let him know about the serpent in the pond and the egg inside the backpack Marty was currently wearing. Then he would be able to relocate them both somewhere far from the pond. And once we knew the pond was serpent-free, maybe, just maybe, we would come out of retirement.