Later, as Momma drives me home, I think about the boy again and wonder who he is. Or was he just in my imagination?
Water swirls around my body, dragging me down as if I’m a sack filled with rocks.
Weeds hold me, wrap their feathery arms around me. I kick to get free and my legs scrape against sandpaper boulders.
Bubbles fizz, rise, gurgle, bloody like raspberry lemonade.
‘You will soon be mine, Ziggy,’ the river sings lovingly.
A huge shadow swims alongside me. Fur like quicksilver. Yellow eyes glinting.
I fight for air, for life.
I wake to the sound of Momma calling me for breakfast. But the nightmare has chased away my appetite.
At school before class, Petal is walking around the classroom collecting money for Pizza Monday.
Harry Arnold, Macka and Chris are playing with a soccer ball, aiming at a bullseye tacked on the back wall with drawing pins. They miss and it bounces off Petal’s head.
‘Hey, watch it!’ she yells, giving her ear a rub.
A high-pitched squeal followed by uproarious laughter comes from the corner by the heater. It’s Stella, in a huddle with her Stellagtights. That’s what we call her followers – Maureen, Tani and Prudence. They laugh and throw back their heads, then draw together again, whispering as if they’re sharing the best secret.
Stella always sets the hair trend. At the moment, the Stellagtights are wearing their hair piled on top of their heads like Stella did the night of the dance, but with a few wispy bits hanging down. It’ll only take a week before all the girls, except me and Petal, will be wearing their hair in exactly the same way.
The door opens and Miss Cubby enters.
‘Morning, everyone,’ she says, smiling. She shines so brightly it’s as if a sunbeam has walked in. Without being told, we all stand at our desks.
‘Today we have a new student joining our class,’ she says.
The room goes silent. We have never had a new student before. The image of the creepy boy I saw at the dance flashes through my mind.
Miss Cubby puts her bag down beside her desk. ‘I want you all to show him a lovely Dell Hollow Elementary welcome. Not only is he new to Dell Hollow, but I’m not sure how much English he speaks.’
‘He’s a foreigner?’ Harry Arnold says.
‘He is, and I think it would be a lovely gesture if you showed him around the school at recess, Harry,’ Miss Cubby says.
‘But Miss Cubby, we’re playing soccer. Why don’t you pick some goody goody like . . .’ He looks around the room and then points at me. ‘Like Ziggy.’
‘Maybe he would like to play soccer too,’ Miss Cubby says.
‘He’s probably never even seen a soccer ball where he comes from,’ Harry says sulkily, and slides down in his seat, splaying out his legs.
‘Now, class, be good while I get him from Principal Poole’s office.’ Miss Cubby leaves the room and the noise level rises as everyone starts talking at once.
It seems like only moments later that the door swings open. Miss Cubby walks in first. We all stare at the figure behind her. I realise with a shock that it is the boy I saw at the dance. So it wasn’t my imagination! He is tall with black wavy hair and honey-coloured skin that seems to glow like burnt butter. In Dell Hollow everyone has fair skin and light-coloured hair, so it’s a shock seeing someone who looks so different. He’s wearing a white collarless shirt that hangs loosely over baggy cotton trousers. And sandals. This will get everyone talking. The boys and men of Dell Hollow wear their shirts tucked into belted pants. And sandals are only for weekends.
‘This is Raffi Tazi,’ Miss Cubby says.
‘What kind of weird name is that?’ Harry Arnold sniggers into his closed fist.
The new boy looks at all of us and everyone stares back. He doesn’t seem embarrassed. I’d be bright red if I was standing there. Even from here I can see that his eyes are the colour of acorns with dark brown flecks in them.
‘Sit down over there, Raffi, dear,’ Miss Cubby says, pointing to the empty desk behind me. In case the new boy doesn’t understand, she gestures when she speaks. ‘That boy over there with the glasses is Harry Arnold. He has kindly offered to show you around the school at recess.’
The new boy nods once and looks at Harry, who frowns and crosses his arms over his chest.
As Raffi makes his way between the rows of desks, twenty pairs of eyes follow him. I don’t want to stare like the others, but I can’t help it. He looks straight ahead, his eyes focused on his desk, no emotion on his face.
When Miss Cubby turns to write on the board, Harry picks up the soccer ball and rolls it swiftly along the ground towards the new boy’s feet.
He is going to trip for sure. But at the last second he makes a sideways movement and, with cat-like ease, kicks the ball off the ground. It hits the target on the wall, scoring a perfect bullseye.
But that’s not all. As the ball bounces back towards him, Raffi catches it and throws it to Harry. Harry’s not quick enough and it hits him square in the face. It all happens so fast that by the time Miss Cubby turns around to see what the laughter is about, Raffi is already slipping into his seat behind me and Harry Arnold is rubbing his red nose.
I feel Raffi’s eyes scorching the back of my head and my scalp tightens. Goosebumps break out all over my arms and waves of light dance in front of my eyes.
‘Everyone get out your exercise books,’ Miss Cubby says. ‘I’m going to give you a quick maths test. Raffi, you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.’
But Raffi has already opened his book and started scribbling.
I open my own book and stare at the sums for a couple of minutes. I feel strange. I shake my head and try and concentrate. But the noises of the classroom are fading away and the desk looks like it’s made of water. It moves and sways, and suddenly I’m falling . . .
I’m in the woods. It’s dark. I’m running – running and falling and I feel so scared.
Find a place to hide, Ziggy, hurry, hurry is the rhythm my feet make on the muddy path. I hear heavy footsteps behind me, thud, thud thud and then lighter ones, trot, trot, trot. I try to think of a place to hide but I don’t recognise these woods. Where am I? The trees open out in front of me and there’s a ravine. I run to the edge. Down below is the sound of running water and a gushing river . . .
Then an eerie cry rises out of the trees above me.
‘Ka . . . li . . . la! Ka . . . li . . . la!’
Someone pulls my arm and the cry changes to Ziggy! Ziggy! It is Petal’s voice. But it sounds so far away, as if I’m under water and she’s on the other side of the lake.
With a huge effort, I open my eyes.
The last thing I remember was Miss Cubby talking about a maths test, and her voice growing more and more distant, like I was being carried away.
‘Freak,’ I hear Harry Arnold say in my ear. He’s sitting at his desk two rows away on the other side of the room and doing his ventriloquist trick. It’s creepy when he does it. I brush my ear as if I feel his spittle spray.
‘Are you all right, Ziggy?’ Miss Cubby is squatting down beside me, her hand on my arm, her face full of concern.
‘I . . . I think so,’ I say, not really sure if I am.
Petal rushes over with a glass of water and a wet face cloth to put on my forehead while Big Bobby rubs my back.
‘All right, class. Everyone back to their desks,’ Miss Cubby says. ‘Let Ziggy get some air.’
‘Can I go outside, Miss Cubby?’ I say, feeling breathless, like the walls are pressing in on me.
‘Of course. Petal and Big Bobby can go with you while the others finish the test.’
We get our snacks from our bags and go outside. The cool wind in my face revives me.
‘You scared us,’ says Petal. ‘You’ve never fainted before!’
Big Bobby Little links his arm in mine and squeezes it. We walk across the grass, eating our snacks.
‘What d’yo
u think of the new boy?’ asks Petal.
Big Bobby smiles and nods approvingly.
‘But you like everyone,’ I say.
He nods again. Big Bobby is the kindest, sweetest kid I know. He never says a bad thing about anyone.
‘His soccer move was pretty amazing,’ Petal says.
‘Like a cat, the way he sprang at the ball,’ I murmur.
And he’s good at maths. I watched him. He’d already finished the test before you woke up. He’s even faster than you, Petal, Big Bobby writes on his notepad and smiles.
Petal jabs him in the ribs with her elbow, pretending to be upset. As they fool around, I try to remember the last couple of minutes before I fainted.
I remember getting a cold feathery feeling down my back when Raffi sat down behind me. It was the same weird feeling I got when I saw him the night of the dance.
The bell for recess rings.
In the distance, Harry Arnold is walking beside the new boy. Chris and Macka are four paces behind them. Harry keeps turning his head and grinning, making stupid faces behind Raffi’s back.
The new boy is taller than the others and his eyes are like those of a wild animal. It’s as if he’s on alert, waiting for danger.
‘They are so pathetic,’ Petal says. ‘I don’t know why Miss Cubby picked Harry Arnold, of all people, to show a new kid around. And a foreigner too.’
‘She’s trying to teach him to be generous,’ I say.
‘Doesn’t Miss Cubby know Harry Arnold is a lost cause? She should have chosen us,’ says Petal.
Big Bobby nods.
I stay silent. I’m thinking how glad I am that she didn’t. There’s something about Raffi that scares me.
Harry takes the soccer ball from Chris and drops it on the ground, inviting Raffi to play. The three of them –Harry, Chris and Macka – are the best soccer players in the school and they keep the ball away by kicking it to each other, nimbly moving around the ball, using their bodies to block Raffi.
‘You’re not like us, kiddo. We don’t want you around here, understand?’ Harry says loudly so everyone can hear.
It happens so fast and I don’t even know how he did it, but suddenly Raffi has the ball and he’s dribbling it in and out of the other boys’ legs, playing with it like a leopard with its prey.
Big Bobby Little shakes with silent laughter.
‘He’s giving them a taste of their own medicine,’ says Petal with glee.
Raffi steps on the ball to stop it. Then he kicks it long and high, so high that it sails through the air and hits the fence on the other side of the playing field.
Harry’s mouth falls open and Raffi walks off.
Then Harry shouts, ‘You don’t belong in Dell Hollow! You hear me? You understand English, foreigner? Go home!’ By the red flush in his cheeks, I can see that Harry’s embarrassed.
Macka and Chris don’t say anything.
The rest of the morning we’re allowed free reading time. I’m doing the maths test I missed when I fainted. I can’t concentrate though. I feel Raffi’s eyes on the back of my neck constantly. I stand up to use the electric pencil sharpener, just so I can spy on him. He glances out the window towards the woods as if he’s waiting for something. A shiver passes through me.
At lunchtime the school canteen delivers our pizzas to the classroom wrapped in brown paper bags. Petal, Big Bobby Little and I go to our usual spot under a clump of sugar maples to eat. It’s quiet and shaded and we can see the whole school oval from here.
Raffi is standing at the edge of the woods. He looks at me, then turns, shielding his eyes from the sun. At that moment, as if he’s summoned it, a huge shadow swoops out of the trees and flies straight for us.
Petal screams and Big Bobby pushes us to the ground. I cover my head with my hands. The bird’s wings are almost bigger than me, and their beat is like the whirr of helicopter blades. I feel a wing brushing my hair and then a sudden sharp pain on my cheek. I lie very still, hardly daring to breathe.
Finally, I sit up. The bird is gone. So is Raffi.
We sit there, stunned. Then Big Bobby points at my face.
‘What?’ I say, touching my cheek. When I pull my fingers away, there’s blood on the tips.
‘That thing scratched you! You’re bleeding!’ Petal says in a panic. ‘Birds carry diseases. I’m taking you to sick bay.’
I dab the scratch with my sleeve. ‘It’s fine,’ I say.
Big Bobby scribbles frantically on his pad. That was a golden eagle. I’ve never seen one around here before!
‘And they don’t normally attack humans,’ Petal adds.
‘That’s another thing for my list of strange happenings,’ I say.
She looks at me questioningly. But I know there’s no point trying to explain.
Up there in the dry, the day is all sunshine and brightness.
Down here in the wet, it’s a dirty sponge grey.
From the riverbank I hear a cry, ‘Kaaa li laaa . . . Kaaa li laaa . . .’
My clothes are like lead, dragging me down, my arms are made of tissue paper, dissolving in the water. Like pale grey ghosts they float away.
Then a silver yellow-eyed beast pulls me down.
I wake up with a start. It is still dark outside. The first thing I do is sit up and reach for the tiny painted bottle on my bedside table. I hold it in both hands.
Slowly my heartbeat eases. The nightmares are changing, becoming more menacing. I wish they would go away, but I know that won’t happen until my birthday. How long do I have? I don’t want to know what the date is. I don’t want to be reminded. My thoughts are like a nest of snakes, coiling and writhing around each other in a black mass.
Mystic climbs up on the bed and licks my hand, whimpering. He worries for me.
I stroke his head. ‘You are my beautiful boy . . .’ I say. Then I stop.
Kalila. The same name from my fainting dream in the classroom. I know I’ve heard it before, from a long time ago. But where?
I lie back, rubbing my thumb over the tiny bottle to help me think.
Then an echo of a memory comes to me.
I’m sitting on Grandpa Truegood’s lap. I’ve been crying. I’m only little and I’ve grazed my knee. Grandpa Truegood is blowing on it to make the stinging go away. His white beard tickles my leg. Then he starts telling me a story. I can’t remember any of it except the word Kalila.
I push back the quilt and stand at the window, Mystic’s tail brushing my thigh. I can hear Momma in the kitchen. She can’t sleep either. The light from the kitchen spreads out in an arc across the garden, falling on the sycamore tree so that its trunk is a pale gold. I haven’t seen another sycamore in all the woods around Dell Hollow. When the wind blows I imagine I can hear it whispering, ‘I dare to grow in a strange place just like you, Ziggy Truegood. I dare to be different too.’
The branches of the sycamore hug my tree house. Papa built it for me when I was six. It’s a quiet place to watch for deer and bear, wolf and fox and other shy creatures that venture to the edge of the woods. Earlier this spring I saw a momma brown bear with her two cubs. They were tiny balls of fluff, no bigger than miniature poodles. She sent them scampering up a tree where they sat looking at me with their little brown curious eyes.
There’s movement at the edge of the dark – furtive and flickery. Then a flash of silver.
Mystic jumps at the window, his paws on the glass, barking furiously. I’m scared he’s going to break it so I pull him back. For a split second I see two yellow eyes blink on and then off.
My heart is frozen. Has the beast walked out of my nightmare and into my world?
I pull down the blind and get into bed, shrugging the blankets up around my neck. But I can’t get warm.
Mystic jumps on the bed and rests his head on my chest, whining softly. He smells of earthy trails, of foggy dew mornings and rain-soaked leaves, of running wild and free. The spirit of the woods is . . . was . . . inside us both.
But now
Hushing Wood is a nightmarish beast with yellow flame eyes.
And it is stalking me.
I wake from a deep dreamless sleep to something tapping on the glass.
Mystic growls. I don’t move. I can see strips of light on either side of the blind, so I know it’s morning.
The tapping comes again. This time in Morse code. With relief I realise it’s Big Bobby Little tapping out his name. I pull up the blind and open the window.
‘What’s the matter?’ I ask.
He shakes his head and pulls out his notepad. You need to see something at school.
I get dressed and climb out the window. Big Bobby Little is not the kind of boy who exaggerates a situation, or plays games. It must be something really serious.
It’s too early for school to be open and I wonder how we’re going to get in. Big Bobby leads me around the side of the building to the low cellar window. He takes out a penknife and slips the blade along the bottom of the window and levers it open.
‘Have you done this before?’ I ask.
He writes on his notepad. When I can’t sleep, I come here to work on my paper town.
I imagine him here, all alone, and shake my head. We climb into the cellar, and he motions towards the stairs. They lead to the back of the building, close to the kitchen. I follow Big Bobby through several rooms and along the corridor to the front of the school. He turns on the light in the library. His replica town takes up the whole length of one wall and stands about six inches high. He indicates for me to take a closer look.
I bend down and draw in my breath.
The paper town seems to be darkening and curling at the edges. Like it’s rotting or being eaten by the surrounding woods!
Yesterday, it was perfectly okay. I re-glued some spots where Mr Canon’s blacksmith shop was pulling away from Mr Arnold’s butchery. But I came back this morning . . . and look.
He points to the school library. It’s an exact replica of the room we are standing in, with bookshelves lining three walls and the long table with a tiny Dell Hollow sitting on it.
The Beast of Hushing Wood Page 3