Monstrosity

by Janice Marriott

  Skim Milk said he ran a toughening-up camp for kids who needed to turn around. This must have been what Dad was talking about. Mum opened a window. We all breathed in. ‘AND,’ he puffed, ‘my camp would help him find his feet.’

  ‘I haven’t lost my feet,’ I whispered.

  ‘Quiet.’

  The whole thing was mad. I’d never, ever in my whole life lost my feet. My socks, maybe. Sometimes my shoes. Often my jandals. But my feet!

  ‘I know what’s good for you,’ said the jerk. Rubbish! He didn’t know me at all! All he’d seen of me was tiny glimpses when I looked out the window at him. In future I’d cut holes in the curtains and spy on him without his noticing.

  If they wanted to know stuff about me why didn’t they ask the world expert: me? They talked as though I wasn’t there. Maybe I had turned into a slug after all.

  Sylvie winked at me, so I decided to put my case.

  ‘I think—’

  ‘Quiet!’ said Skim Milk. He was clearly running this conference. No one else could get near him. His foul breath made it impossible. I wasn’t allowed to say a thing. It wasn’t a conference—it was a sentencing.

  Everyone looked at everyone else. No one looked at me. Gradually, everyone’s eyes stopped at Mum. I knew the time had come.

  ‘Monster, we have decided to send you away to Mr Jenkins’s toughening-up camp.’

  I was paralysed. Camp! Camp is the most regimented, do-this-do-that, bossy-boots, bully-boy sort of place I know. Camp is hell. Camp doesn’t even allow you to sit wrapped in a duvet and drink cocoa in the middle of the night watching DVDs. Camp stinks.

  Camp is for yes-people with no brains. Camp is awful. Heinous. Puke.

  Camp is for people who like being told what to do, people who like being given instructions when they’re knee-deep in freezing mud.

  Camp is for people who like climbing mountains for no reason at all, just so they can get so tired they go to sleep without any TV or books.

  Camp is for losers. Camp is not for me. I am never going to camp. Never, never, never!

  This great speech, the best in my life, jumped across from the positive terminal in my brain to the negative one. I heard it. I understood it. Hey, I created it. But it never got out of my mouth. Somehow the way down the back of my nose and into my mouth was blocked. I opened my mouth. I know I did. But nothing, absolutely nothing, zero, came out, except a tiny puff of air. I had lost the power of speech.

  ‘Right then,’ said my father, who looked scared and relieved at the same time by my silence. ‘When will you be able to take him, Mr Jenkins?’

  ‘In one week,’ Skim Milk dribbled. ‘Must go now. Heaps of training to do at the gym.’

  ‘I’ll see you to the door,’ flapped goosey Sis, fluffing around him. He poured himself out the door.

  A tiny squeal of pain escaped from my tonsils. Nothing else moved.

  I did not intend to go to camp. And certainly not with Skim Milk. He’s a con man. That guy couldn’t train in a gym to save himself. You can’t fool me.

  ‘And for this week, you can stay in your room. The whole week. I don’t want any tricks played while I’m here,’ said Mildew.

  I looked at Mum. Mum nodded at Mildew. ‘He will definitely not play any tricks on you, Mildred.’

  I was alone in the universe.

  6

  I had one week to find a way out of going to camp. On Saturday and Sunday I sat on my bed and spied on Skim Milk. Sylvie lent me her binoculars. He lazed on his couch reading ‘bush-craft’ books. He smoked, drank, scratched his stomach, picked his nose, and made calls on his cell phone.

  Sylvie brought me treats like fudge, giant cookies, ice cream and chocolate sauce. I planned lots of escapes, but the trouble was I had nowhere to escape to. Outside it was cold and wet. I didn’t fancy hiding in my mate Muggeridge’s chook house. It didn’t have electricity for heaters and PlayStation games.

  Monday, I was taken to school by Mum in our car and brought back by Mildew in Sylvie’s. I could hardly get into the car because it was full of bits of shiny dress material.

  ‘For Sis to choose her bridesmaid dress,’ said Mildew.

  Nothing to do with me, I thought.

  I got her to stop at the library, where I borrowed a book about knots. I was looking for a knot that would tighten up if I was on the sheet rope. It was just an idea. Something to keep my head busy in my room.

  ‘Got what you wanted?’

  ‘Thanks, Aunt.’

  That night I wandered around the house and no one shouted at me. No one seemed to notice me at all. Everyone was too busy to worry about whether I was in my room or not. Sylvie was sewing a frothy white dress with so much material it looked like surf at the beach.

  Mildew was on the phone to Purple Nose, the guy she thinks is hot stuff. Sis was reading a magazine about wedding clothes. Yuck. I went back to my room and decided that, even though the weather was grotty, I had to escape. I opened my knot book.

  On Tuesday I went into the empty kitchen after school and discovered Sylvie had made batches of cakes. I’d never seen so many. It was heaven. No one would notice if I took a couple up to my room. Maybe three. And one for Pus, my cat. I pigged out majorly and slept all evening.

  On Wednesday Skim Milk was building a fire in his back garden—from instructions in a book! I watched him layer the paper, twigs and sticks. Just when he was going to light it I threw a water bomb down from my window. It landed splat beside him. I drew my curtains and studied knots for the rest of the evening.

  On Thursday Stone Face, my teacher, loaded me with homework because I was going away for a while. Mildew met me after school. The back seat of Sylvie’s car was full of parcels, mostly cake-making ingredients. In one of the bags were little bottles of blue food-colouring. Hmm. That sort of stuff always comes in handy. I put the bottles in my pockets.

  At home I got out the binoculars and watched Skim Milk trying to use his exercycle and smoke and drink at the same time. I poured some blue food colouring in my water pistol and sprayed him. Because I’d cut three tiny holes in the curtains, two for my eyes and one for the water pistol, he couldn’t see me.

  You can’t allow yourself to get too bored. You slow right down, like a cold alligator. I decided it was time for a bit of knot practice. I pulled the sheets off my bed.

  Just then Sis walked in with my dinner.

  Sis had picked the meat out of the pie on the way up the stairs and eaten it. The gravy had spilled into the tray because she was reading one of her fantasy books as well as carrying the tray. All she ever did now was read books about princesses with power over galaxies and no younger brothers.

  She put the tray down and showed me the cover of her latest book, with a prince on it she reckoned looked a bit like Mr Jenkins, Skim Milk. I didn’t comment.

  She looked at my bed.

  ‘Mum! Monster’s up to something!’ she yelled.

  Mum came up and I explained I was making my bed when Sis walked in and started bellowing.

  Mum was annoyed with Sis. ‘Leave him alone,’ she told her. ‘Come and see Mildred’s dress before it’s put away. It’s all finished.’

  Phew! That had been a close one.

  They went downstairs. Later I heard Sis on the phone giggling about alien abductions. I knotted the sheets together using a knot called a reef knot. It wasn’t exactly right because of the thickness of the sheet rope, but the knot seemed to hold together. I dangled the sheets out the window. I aimed them at a very muddy puddle.

  When I hauled them up they were clean, so they hadn’t reached the ground.

  My duvet cover has always been very old. I ripped it into three and studied my rope book. After a while I got the hang of plaiting. All you have to do is move the outside strand into the middle. Easy! The book said plaits were strong. I added my duvet-cover plait to the sheet rope.

  Then I dangled that out of the window. It still came up clean. It was still too short. I needed something else. Hmm. Th
en I remembered the white, frothy dress Sylvie was sewing for Mildew. I knew Mildew would come to her senses soon and realize it wasn’t her style. Where would Mildew wear something like that? It was a crazy idea.

  I crept along the hall to Mildew’s room and got the dress out of the big suitcase it was kept it. I put the suitcase carefully back under the bed with two blankets folded inside it instead. After I’d cut the dress in half across and unravelled all the material for the skirt, I had enough for a rope. I cut the skirt stuff into three, plaited it, knotted it to the duvet plait and dropped it out the window. When I hauled it up it was dripping mud. Lovely! I hid this escape rope under my bed and waited until I’d eaten my dinner.

  When I heard everyone being all giggly in the sitting room, looking at old wedding photos, I dangled my rope over the windowsill and prepared to climb down. Then I realized I’d need to tie the sheet rope very securely to something immovable in the room with a special knot. Hmmmm. I studied the knot book. Ah-ha! A prusik knot. Used by mountaineers. That’d do me. Only trouble was it took half the sheet rope to wind it around the bed leg. I pulled on it and the bed tipped over. I gave up, crept down the stairs and out the back door.

  Under Skim Milk’s window I crouched and listened. He was on the phone. I heard him say, ‘How do you know where North is?’ Then he asked about tents and which way up a map goes. This guy could get me lost forever. No way was I going to camp with him.

  Then I heard footsteps coming towards me. I flattened myself against the wall and tried to be a bush. The feet walked straight past me, and then went inside his back door. I knew those feet. I knew that person. It was Sis!

  I waited for a while, then knocked on the door. When he opened it I stepped straight into his kitchen. Sis was sitting on a big box. She jumped when I said, ‘Hi, Sis.’

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  I said Mum had run out of sugar. He handed me a bag of sugar and I left. I knew that he and Sis knew that I could tell Mum about them any time. That’d keep those two in line for a while.

  Good one, Monster.

  7

  That Thursday evening I saw one of the strangest sights I’d ever seen. When Sis came back from Skim Milk’s she was in one of her moods. I was back in my room by then, but I heard her carrying on downstairs. She was raving to Sylvie about how she couldn’t possibly be a bridesmaid unless she learnt to be a model. This was strange to me because I didn’t think anyone would ever want her to be a bridesmaid.

  I made ghost noises at the top of the stairs so I wouldn’t have to listen to her. Sis shouted at me to quit. I started doing my sound effects of a drag racer slamming into a wall at 300 ks. Dad yelled at both of us. Mum said I must be bored. Then Sylvie said she could take Sis to a modelling show that evening if that would help. Sis got all excited. Sylvie said, ‘You’d better come, too, Monster.’ And so I went. Because I usually do what Sylvie says.

  This show was in the community hall. Sis said she’d have to count the steps so she’d know how far she had to walk. When? Where? This was just another example of the nonsense she talks, so I took no notice and sat down. I wasn’t sure what sort of modelling the show was about. If it was remote-control fighter planes it’d be all right.

  It turned out to be the sort of show with no story at all. And there were no fighter-plane remote controls to be seen. Girls appeared at the back of the hall, some music started, and one by one they did funny walks down the aisle. That was strange enough. But weirder, they twirled around as they walked. They started off imitating geese, waggling their bums and holding their heads high. They kept stopping and doing silly poses. And—I couldn’t believe this bit—they took their clothes off as they twirled!

  If they started with a suit on, they’d have taken the jacket off by the time they got down to the other end of the hall. If they had a shawl thing wrapped all around them, you knew they’d unravel like toilet paper from a roll and fling the shawl on the floor. Underneath the shawl would be a ball dress. And if they started with a dressing-gown thing on, they’d end up with a bikini or a short dress on.

  I’d never seen people going for walks and flinging their clothes off at the same time.

  And no one said, ‘Pick your clothes up! Put them away!’

  There was very loud music, with someone rapping over the top of it, but the actors didn’t say anything at all. They just came in and went out, each time in a different outfit.

  I was bored, but Sylvie and Sis liked it. Afterwards there was a huge supper. While I stuffed myself with chips, all these girls rushed around saying ‘What was I like?’ to all these other girls. It was definitely the strangest event I’ve ever been to.

  Friday evening came. Mum said she’d bought me new clothes for camp. I was terrified she might have bought clothes like the ones in that show. It was almost a relief to see the ordinary T-shirts and shorts. Not that I was going to wear them, of course.

  ‘I only wear my black T-shirt,’ I said.

  ‘That is too old. It’s got holes in it and the neck’s stretched, and it’s got oil stains.’

  ‘I like it. I never wear anything else!’

  Mum knew when she was beaten. But she did hand over some packets.

  ‘These are socks for wearing inside your boots.’

  Boots! I shuddered as I pulled on the new thick, grey socks. They were meant to keep you warm when you were knee-deep in mud halfway up a mountain, ha ha. I wasn’t fooled by this example of adult trickery. I knew I’d have hypothermia within seconds of stepping into an ice-melt stream, socks or no socks.

  Mum and Aunt Mildew were standing over me, watching. That’s the only reason I was trying the socks on.

  ‘You’ll love it, dear.’ That was Mum using an adult trick. Say it often enough, gushy enough and the kid’ll believe it. Not me. I’m a realist. Camp would be heinous.

  Sylvie came in from the kitchen with a pile of cake tins. ‘I’m putting these in your car for you at camp,’ she said. ‘I’m driving your aunt back home now that her dress is finished. Be good.’ She kissed me on the cheek.

  I was so surprised. Someone was being nice to me. Before I could enjoy the glowy feeling, Aunt Mildew said she had one last thing to do before she went. She had to measure me for my special costume.

  ‘What sort of costume? I don’t do costumes.’

  ‘Ohh, something white, silky, and—’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s shorts and a shirt,’ said Mum.

  What! White! Silk! Shorts! Never!

  ‘I will not wear white silk shorts,’ I said.

  ‘You’ll wear what I say,’ she snapped, and stretched a cold, metal tape-measure between my legs.

  While I was being measured, Sylvie lugged the dress suitcase down the stairs and placed it in the boot. It was only then that I realized I could be in deep trouble soon.

  When they’d gone, I helped Mum pack my bag. ‘How long am I going away for?’

  ‘Mr Jenkins says two weeks. He knows best.’

  ‘He doesn’t know nothing.’

  ‘He’s an expert on toughening up difficult children,’ Mum said.

  ‘Like he’s an expert on bush craft,’ I muttered.

  ‘I wish I understood you, Monster,’ she said. Then she hugged me. ‘I know that underneath you’re a good boy.’

  I thought that was weird. What’s it matter what you’re like underneath? I’m sure I’m a maze of squelchy tubes and spraying blood and squeezing, wheezing pulpy bits underneath. But if it made Mum feel better, well, that was OK.

  I tried to explain to Mum what I hadn’t had a chance to say at the family conference. I told her what tricks were all about. ‘You have to have things to think about. Puzzles, mysteries, stuff like, “Hey, how did that get there?” or “Wow, I’ve never seen that before”—that type of thing. It stops life being boring. I like making things, planning things.’

  ‘Yes, dear.’

  ‘Seems a kid can’t do much of that without a grown-up yelling.’
>
  Through her tears she said the whole family were driving me to the camp. We’d have a night camping somewhere on the way. It would be a treat!

  Treat! No! That would really be Massive Punishment. A long drive in a car, four people with nothing in common trapped in a metal-and-glass bubble for hour after hour. Heinous!

  ‘Why are you so different, Monster? It’s as though you came from another family altogether.’

  ‘Another planet, you mean,’ said Sis, who was hanging around, gloating.

  Alien, eh? It was an idea. I started planning a trick to brighten up the camping holiday, and to get Sis one final time before I went to prison camp. Now, where were those old wrap-around sunglasses?

  I started looking for them after dinner. While I was tipping out a cupboard, the phone rang. I heard Mum wail, ‘No, Mildred! Surely not! Where could it be?’

  I decided to go to bed.

  8

  Off we went on the dreaded long car journey to camp. I was meant to look for my feet which weren’t lost, and turn myself around, even though I was forced to wear a seat-belt. I was meant to pull myself together, straighten myself out and shake myself up. And turn over a new leaf.

  At least this made me realize it wasn’t me who was going mad. It was my family.

  After hours of boredom we stopped down a dirt road, in a field where there was a sign that said Camping. No one else was there. No kids at all.

  ‘Lovely,’ said Mum. ‘Peace and quiet.’ What a weird thing to want on holiday. I’d want peace and quiet in a cemetery perhaps, but nowhere else. Adults are boiled eggs.

  We had to put up tents and blow up lilos. A total waste of energy when you’ve got a perfectly good house and bed at home. We cooked sausages over a camp fire. Mine burst and looked disgusting, and I had to eat it because my other one had fallen through the grill and exploded like a supernova. Sis said I was a reject from an alien planet. I wished Sylvie was there.

  I was exhausted by the time we’d done the dishes in a freezing cold stream. I had to set the alarm on my phone and hide it in my sleeping bag so I wouldn’t fall asleep. I had a lot of planning to do for my next little trick. And I had to be awake in the middle of the night when everyone else was asleep.