by Tim Harris
Sammy, who had been drooling impatiently, delved deep into his conscience. ‘You can share with me, Carrot.’
‘That’s very kind of you, Sammy,’ said Mr Bambuckle, ‘but as Miss Frost won’t be joining us, her plate has Carrot’s name on it. Now, let’s eat!’
The teacher, surrounded by his beloved class, sat among the tea lights and feasted on what was a truly delicious dinner. They ate and laughed and sipped lime water until their bellies ached. They recalled humorous moments from the afternoon, until satisfied yawns filled the air.
‘We’ve a big day tomorrow,’ said the teacher. ‘Miss Frost has a rather wonderful challenge planned.’
‘Brilliant,’ said Miffy, groaning. ‘Just what we need – a challenge from Miss Frost. That can’t be good.’
‘It will be difficult,’ admitted Mr Bambuckle, ‘but of your success I am most certain.’
The students cleared away their plates and stacked them in the washing tub.
‘I’ll clean them,’ volunteered Vinnie, ‘and I’m not just doing it to suck up.’
‘A most thoughtful gesture,’ said Mr Bambuckle.
The rest of the class waved their thanks to Vinnie, before disappearing one by one into their tents. Ren, as best friends do, stayed back to help wash up.
Damon, the only tent-less student, pottered happily around his sleeping-bag. ‘I get to enjoy the open sky.’
‘Goodnight, Damon,’ said the teacher. ‘Sleep tight.’
Thousands of stars are winking at me. They look like silver pinpricks in the clear night sky. Maybe forgetting a tent was a good thing after all. It beats staring up at a boring canvas roof.
The sleeping-bag is nice and warm. Mr Bambuckle was very kind to lend it to me. My toes wriggle around, searching for fresh pockets of snugness.
Ah, this is the life. The open sky. Victoria in a tent nearby. Hey, that rhymes. I’ll have to remember to add it to my book of romantic song lyrics. I can hear the melody now … The open sky, Victoria in a tent nearby. She’ll love this song. When it’s ready I’ll use it to win her heart.
Not that I’ve actually finished writing a song before. Uncle Rick always teases me about my songwriting. ‘You’ll never finish a song, Damon,’ he says. ‘You get too distracted – you haven’t got what it takes. Songwriting is a lot harder than you realise.’
It’s all right for him. His tunes have won awards and been played on the radio. He could be a bit more encouraging though. He knows it’s a goal of mine to finally complete a song.
The open sky, Victoria in a tent nearby … She stares into my eyes …
Hmmm, how would she be staring into my eyes if she’s in her tent? Maybe her tent has a hole in it …
The open sky, Victoria in a tent nearby. She cuts a hole in her tent …
But I suppose it’s dark at night. She wouldn’t be able to see anything anyway. Even if her tent had a hole and she was looking in my general direction, the darkness would cover my good looks. She’d need a light …
The open sky, Victoria in a tent nearby. She cuts a hole in her tent, turns on the torch she rents.
Rental torches. What will they think of next? Yeah … I’ll add that to my lyric book tomorrow. Perfect. Maybe I’ll even finish the song. Maybe I won’t get distracted by other thoughts.
I suppose I’d better get some sleep. Mr Bambuckle said we have a big day tomorrow. I wonder what Miss Frost has planned? No doubt she’ll try to make life miserable. It’s a good thing we have Mr Bambuckle on our side.
Sleep.
I close my eyes but there’s a blob of light on my eyelids where the moon was. Hehe. It looks funny.
But seriously, I had better get some rest.
Ah …
The open sky, Victoria in a tent nearby …
Hang on. What’s that? I think I can hear snoring.
Yep. Definitely snoring.
I sit up. Who is it?
Hmmm … it seems to be coming from Slugger’s direction. I can just make out the silhouette of his tent in the moonlight.
Must sleep.
Okay. This is annoying now. His snoring is getting louder. It sounds like somebody is rubbing a giant, slobbery oyster over a bed of gravel. Gross, moist crunchiness. Now I’m picturing what that would look like. Disturbing. Do giant oysters even exist?
Stop snoring, Slugger. It’s not good for your androids. Or is it adenoids? Albert would know.
Slugger is getting louder. Maybe I should go and roll him over …
Dang. A cloud just covered the moon. Thankfully there’s enough starlight.
I tiptoe over to his tent.
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzziiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiipppppppppppp.
Why are tent zips so loud when you undo them slowly?
I wedge my hands under Slugger’s right shoulder. He’s very heavy. It takes all my strength but I manage to roll him onto his side. He mumbles something about too much pepper. And he’s stopped snoring.
ZIP!
Oops. Maybe slower zipping is the quietest method after all.
Slugger is awake. ‘Who’s there? What are you doing?’
‘Sorry, Slugger. You were snoring so I rolled you over. I couldn’t sleep.’
‘Go back to bed, Damon.’
‘I will … Sorry.’
I steal back to my sleeping-bag and wriggle into a comfortable position. I feel a tad guilty for waking Slugger. I suppose it’s better than total eardrum torture.
Ah …
The open sky, Victoria in a tent nearby. She cuts a hole in her tent …
This is the life. I have just penned the beginning of what could be my first complete song and now it’s time for some quality rest.
Oh no. Not again. Slugger has drifted off faster than Myra Kumar can make a dollar, and now he’s snoring even louder.
Maybe I should try counting sheep …
One, two, three, four … Hehe, that sheep has green wool. Isn’t there a book about a green sheep?
Focus, Damon.
One, two, three, four, five, six …
I wonder what Victoria is dreaming about right now? I hope it’s me.
Come on, focus!
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine … There are an awful lot of sheep in this pen. Have I imagined enough room to keep them hemmed in?
Dang! There’s a hole in the fence and the sheep are escaping! Nine, eight, seven, six, five, four – there goes the green sheep – three, two, one.
No sheep left.
The farmer is going to kill me. His sheep have broken out plus there’s a hole in his fence.
He’s coming over and he’s not happy. He’s yelling at me for losing the sheep. He says I have to round them up and fix his fence. I run away because I’m scared. I run straight into the arms of Victoria.
Ah … that’s a nicer thought. I feel much better when I’m around Victoria. She puts spiders in my tummy. Not the insect spiders – they’d be all bitey and scratchy. More the ice-cream soda spiders – she makes my tummy fizzy and bubbly.
Victoria is smiling and she asks me to try counting sheep again. Okay, Victoria, I’ll do it for you.
I imagine a much kinder farmer. He’s offered to pay me to count sheep. Anything for you, sir.
One, two, three, four – hello, green sheep – five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen … Huh? There aren’t any sheep left. I have literally run out of sheep to count.
I tell the nice farmer. He can only smile in reply. He’s not even angry. I inform him that friendliness doesn’t compensate for lack of investment sensibility. With more sheep, his profit margins will increase. There would also be enough sheep to help people like me get to sleep.
The kind farmer doesn’t know what to do. He shrugs his shoulders and walks away.
Wait, come back!
My stomach gives a little rumble. All this thinking about sheep has made me hungry.
I could down a juicy lamb cutlet. Maybe I’ll count those instead. One lamb cutl
et, two lamb cutlets, three lamb cutlets, four lamb cutlets … Gross! That cutlet is green! Is it mouldy? I don’t want to get food poisoning – then I’d never fall asleep!
This is ridiculous. Counting sheep was the worst idea ever. I have to think of something else.
I once heard someone say that cooling off can help you sleep. I think I’ll try that.
I take off my shirt and shove it in my bag. I feel cooler already.
Ah …
The open sky, Victoria in a tent nearby. She cuts a hole in her tent …
I’ll have to try to finish the song tomorrow. Uncle Rick says the best tunes are written in moments of inspiration. He may poke fun at me about never finishing my songs, but I have a good feeling about this one. I think I’ll find that magical moment of inspiration.
This is so much better. Why didn’t I think of cooling down earlier?
The open sky, Victoria in a tent nearby. She cuts a hole in her tent …
The melody is strong in my head. Victoria is going to love it once I’m done.
I wonder what time it is. The stars have been inching across the sky.
Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz … bzzzzzzz … bzzz … bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz …
What’s that?
Bzzzzz … bzzzzzzzzzz … bzzz …
It’s a mozzie!
Slap!
Missed.
Bzzzzzzzz …
It’s landed on my face.
Slap!
Ouch!
Missed.
Bzzzzzzzz …
I flap my arms around like one of those wacky inflatable car yard men. I’ve never understood that … Come and buy our cars. We’ll lure you in with the old tall-blowup-person-having-a-heart-attack technique. Strange. Though I suppose it keeps the mosquitoes away. There’s nothing worse than making an important financial decision while you’re itchy.
Bzzzzzzzz … bzzzzzzzzzzz … bzz …
Okay, I’ve got you now, mozzie.
Slap!
Gotcha!
Yuk.
I can feel a tiny patch of gooiness on my palm. It has the sloppy consistency of insect guts mixed with human blood. Disgusting. I rub it onto my shorts. That’s better.
Finally, peace and quiet. No snoring. No insects. Just me and the midnight sky, the cool air on my bare chest.
Bzzzzz … bzzz … bzzzzz … bzzzz … bzzzzzz …
Bzzzzzzzz … bzzzz … bzz …
Bzzzz … bzzzzzzzz … bzzzzz …
Bzzzzzzzzzzzz … bzzz … bzzzzzzzz …
Bzzz … bzzzz … bzzzzzzzzzz … bzzz.
Argh! Hundreds of mosquitoes descend upon my exposed skin. They’re out for revenge. I murdered their friend and now they’re taking their pound in flesh. And blood. Why couldn’t they have gone to the squashed mosquito’s funeral and left me alone?
Bzzzzzzz … bzz … bzzzzzzzz …
Bzzzzzzzzzzz … bzzzz … bzzzzz …
Bzzzz … bzzzzzzzzz … bzzzz … bzz … bzzzzz …
Bzzzzzzz … bzzzz … bzzzzzzzzzzzz …
Bzz … bzz … bzzz … bzzzzzzzz … bzzzzzz …
I stand up and flail my arms wildly. I have become the inflatable car yard man. I wave so hard my feet almost lift off the ground. I swat and swipe and slap and strike. My shoulders almost come out of their sockets.
Bzzzzz … bzzzzz …
I rummage through my bag.
Bzzzzzzzz … bzzz …
I throw on my shirt.
Bzzzz … bzzzzzzz …
I find a can of insect repellent.
Sssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!
Enough spray to last a lifetime.
Silence.
The mozzies have retreated to their hiding places.
I climb back into the sleeping-bag and try not to scratch my itchy chest. I should have stayed in the sleeping-bag all along. Rookie error.
Must sleep. Getting tired.
My mum once told me that imagining your favourite place helps you fall asleep. I think I’ll try that.
I imagine knocking on the front door of Victoria’s house. This is definitely my favourite place.
Mr Goldenhorn opens the door. ‘Damon, we’ve been expecting you. Victoria hasn’t stopped telling us how much she’s been looking forward to your visit.’
I like this method of falling asleep.
Mr Goldenhorn points me in the direction of the living room. ‘She’ll be so excited to see you.’
Victoria is sitting on the lounge. She is wearing a frilly blue dress and her long blonde hair shimmers against it. Her lips are glowing with strawberry lip gloss. She is a picture of heaven.
She leaps up when she sees me and rushes over, throwing her arms around my neck. ‘I’ve missed you, Damon darling!’ She takes my hand and we sit down together.
The lights dim and romantic music plays from the speakers near the television. Victoria squeezes my hand and whispers in my ear. ‘You’re my charming teddy bear.’
Goosebumps.
I’m about to tell her I love her when I notice something strange. ‘Your hair smells like farmyard.’
Victoria raises an eyebrow as if to tell me I’m imagining things – which I suppose technically I am – then she leans close to kiss me. She slowly pouts her lips and I shut my eyes in readiness.
Baa-aa.
I open my eyes to find I’m staring straight into the face of a sheep. It’s wearing a frilly blue dress and its glossy lips are pressed together.
It’s leaning in for a kiss.
‘Argh!’ I leap off the lounge. ‘Victoria, what happened to you?!’
Baa-aa. The frilly-blue-dress sheep bounds after me, gunning for the kiss. It charges at me but I sidestep at the last moment, catching a whiff of its grassy breath. That was close.
I dash up the hallway towards the backyard. The sheep trots after me. It’s clip-clopping after my heart.
I stumble into the bright sunlight of the back garden. A horrible sight greets me.
Baa-aa-aa-aa … baa-aa … baa-aa-aa … baa-aa … baa-aa …
Baa … baa-aa-aa … baa-aa … baa …
Baa-aa … baa-aa … baa-aa-aa-aa … baaaa-aa …
Baa-aa-aa … baa … baa-aa-aa … baa-aaaa-aa … baa …
Baa … baa-aa-aa … baa-aa … baa …
Hundreds of sheep have formed a semi-circle around me. One of them is green – the fourth in the line if I count correctly. They press in on me. The frilly-blue-dress sheep is smacking its strawberry lips in my direction.
Bzzzzzzzzzz …
The sheep suddenly morph into maddened mozzies. Their suckers pulsate in bloodthirsty hunger. Or is it bloodhungry thirst? They buzz their wings angrily in anti-repellent protest. The biggest mozzie – dressed in a frilly blue dress – has lip gloss smeared over its razor-sharp sucker. It aims for my neck and darts forward.
A sleepwalking-snoring Slugger appears from nowhere and bashes the frilly-blue-dress mozzie with a closed fist. The mosquito reels backwards and explodes into fine blue powder. This scares the rest of the swarm and they buzz off faster than I can say ‘Buzz off’.
Slugger and I stand alone in the backyard. ‘Thanks,’ I say.
But Slugger can’t hear me. He’s still asleep and his snoring has reached insanity levels. It sounds like whoever was rubbing the giant oyster over a bed of gravel has amplified the hideous noise through the world’s loudest loudspeaker.
I will never fall asleep like this. Never.
I need a new strategy or the night will be gone. The subtle art of catching Z’s is proving harder than I thought.
I stare at the moon and stars. The sky around them has changed from black to grey. My eyelids are heavy, but my thoughts are like helium-filled balloons. I can’t keep them down. There has to be something I can do to fall asleep before the sun comes up.
Music. Of course. Mum and Dad used to play music to help me sleep when I was a baby. I have hundreds of songs on my phone but Mum made me leave it at home.
I wonder
if Slugger brought his phone?
I creep across to his tent.
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzziiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiippppppp.
The fading moonlight reveals his bag is near his head. I’ll have to be stealthy. I inch closer and lift the bag away. Slugger stirs and mumbles something about finishing a job. He enjoys a good mutter in his sleep, does Slugger.
The bag is closed.
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzziiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiipppppppppppp.
My fingers wriggle in exploration. I grasp something small and solid. It feels rectangular. I pull it out and squint through the dull light. It’s a phone!
It’s not password protected and I’m able to swipe open the home screen. Soft blue light reflects on my face.
I touch the music icon but can’t believe my eyes. There’s not a single song on Slugger’s phone.
There’s a podcast icon and I press it in hope. There are plenty of downloads here, so I scroll through them.
There is no music. Dejected, I put the phone back into Slugger’s bag and close it.
Zzzzzzzzzzzziiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiippppppppppppppp.
I step out of his tent.
Zzzzzzzzzzzziiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiippppppppppppppp.
Sleep shouldn’t be this difficult. I sneak back to my camping area and sit down. The grey sky is becoming lighter by the minute. I know music will help me catch some Z’s, but where to find it?
I suppose I could make my own music. I could try singing to myself. Maybe I could try to finish the song for Victoria without getting distracted. I could prove to Uncle Rick that I have it in me to complete a full composition after all.
I remember the melody, but before I belt out the first note, I stop. Something is missing. The song needs an accompaniment – a musical instrument of some sort.
Drums!
That’s what the song needs.
There are some enormous pots and pans on the trestle table. They’d make awesome drums. I can see their dark outlines against the twisted tree.
I’ll need something to hit them with. Maybe some of the leftover marshmallow sticks …
The sun breaks the horizon with a gentle golden glow. I grip my drumsticks and ready myself for the song. If everything goes to plan, I’ll be sound asleep in a few minutes. I take a deep breath and pause. It’s the first sunrise I have ever seen and it’s more beautiful than I could imagine. A wave of inspiration gushes over me. Distraction free, my thoughts crystallise.