Unbearable! Page 6

  ‘Goodbye, Dad,’ he said.

  Lehman stood and stared out to sea. The sun glinted on the thousands of nails that covered almost every part of him. He looked like a tall lizard man. Standing. Waiting. Daring an invader to come.

  There was no boat on the water. He didn’t care. He didn’t want anyone to see him as he was, covered in nails. A great feeling of loneliness filled him. As far as he knew, there was no one else in the world like him.

  11

  He walked inside and looked in the mirror. His face was clear. But his chest, back, arms and legs were covered in the new nails. He suddenly opened a drawer. And pulled out some nail clippers. He wondered if he would have to spend his life clipping thousands of nails as they grew. He laughed wildly and threw the clippers out of the open window.

  It had taken him all afternoon to dig the grave.

  The sun was beginning to sink lower in the sky. In an hour or two it would be dark. And he was alone. He wondered if he should lock the windows. And bolt the door. He knew that tonight – when the dark came – he would be frightened.

  The face in the cave would come. Creeping. Stealing up the path. Wandering in the shadows. He knew that he would jump at every sound. He would try not to sleep. But in the end sleep would come. And so would the unknown man.

  He jumped to his feet. ‘You won’t get me,’ he shouted. ‘I’ll get you.’

  He ran outside and sharpened a long stick with the axe. Now he had a spear. He marched down the path towards the beach. His legs felt weak. His stomach was cold and heavy. He wanted to turn. And run. And hide.

  But he forced himself on until he reached the beach. The sea was still and blue. It lapped gently on the sandy beach. The wild waves had gone. Lehman strode along the sand towards the rocks. And the cave.

  He shuddered even though the air was warm. He gripped the spear tightly with his nailed fingers. The tide was out and the small cave now opened onto the sand. He reached the entrance and peered into the gloom.

  There were soft, dripping noises. And the sound of steady breathing. Someone was in there.

  ‘Come out,’ he shrieked. His voice cracked and ended in a squeak. He coughed and tried again. ‘Come out, whoever you are.’ The words echoed in the cave. Then something moved. He thought he heard a slippery, rustling noise.

  His courage fled. He started walking backwards, too frightened to turn around.

  12

  Three people came out of the cave. If people is the word. Two men. And a smaller one. They wore no clothes. But instead, were covered from neck to toe – in nails.

  Lehman felt faint. He couldn’t take it in. He wondered if this island gave people the terrible nail disease.

  They smiled at him. Warm, friendly smiles. The child giggled nervously. The nail people were wet. They had been in the sea. Water glistened and sparkled from their nails. They shone like neat rows of wet glass.

  One of the men pointed into the deep water further out. A swift shadow like a shark circling moved far down. It rushed towards the shore with the speed of a train. Then burst out of the water and back in again.

  Lehman caught a glimpse of a sparkling fish tail. And fair hair. It swirled several times. And then climbed onto a rock. A woman with long golden hair. And a fish tail covered in nails.

  The men laughed. Their chuckles sounded like bubbles bursting out of the water. Lehman stared at the nails which shivered as they moved. He spoke aloud. Half to himself. Half to them. ‘Not nails,’ he said, ‘but scales.’

  He turned back to the mermaid. In her hair, she wore a golden clip, set with pearls. The same pin that he had seen every day in his mother’s photograph.

  In that moment Lehman knew that while his father had been a man, his mother was a mermaid.

  She beckoned to him, calling him out into the water. Then she dived down under the rippling surface. The mermen nodded at him, pointing out to sea. Like Lehman, they had legs rather than a tail.

  Lehman walked. And walked. And walked. The waves closed over his head. He opened his mouth and took a deep breath of water. It passed through his new gills with a fizz of bubbles. His head was filled with lightness. And happiness. He began to swim, deep down, following his mother.

  Then, for a second, he remembered something. He burst upwards faster and faster and plunged out of the water like a dolphin. He snatched one last look at the island. And saw, high on a hill, a small mound. A shovel stood pointing to the bright sky above. He knew now why his father had brought him here. A fish-boy could only be happy in one place – the ocean.

  Lehman waved goodbye and then plunged down far below the surface. And followed his family out to sea.

  Yuggles

  See, no one had ever seen a yuggle before. And no one’s ever seen one since. Where they came from and how they exploded has never been explained. Anyway, I’m getting a bit ahead of myself. I’d better start at the beginning.

  This boy called Pockets was visiting his little sister Midge in hospital. Pockets called in every day to try and cheer her up. The poor little kid – she was really sick. Mostly she just lay with her head on the pillow looking at you sadly with those big brown eyes. It was pretty hard getting a smile out of her.

  ‘The prize is an Easter egg,’ said Pockets. ‘The biggest bloomin’ Easter egg in the world.’ He stretched out his hands like a fisherman telling lies about his catch. ‘It’s covered in little chocolate angels,’ he went on. ‘Hundreds of ’em.’

  Something unusual happened when Pockets said this. Midge smiled. Only a little smile, filled with pain. But a smile all the same. ‘I’d sure like to see that egg,’ whispered Midge. ‘I’d love to see those angels.’

  Well, this was enough for Pockets. ‘If you want that egg, Midge,’ he said, ‘me and Cactus will get it for you.’

  Pockets’ mate Cactus stood at the end of the bed. He smiled back at Midge. But inside he wasn’t smiling. He was wondering how they were going to keep Pockets’ promise.

  2

  ‘How are we going to win that egg?’ said Cactus as they walked home from the hospital. ‘Now you’ve gone and got her hopes up. What if we don’t come first? There’s only one prize.’

  ‘We’ll win,’ said Pockets. ‘All we have to do is collect more mushrooms than anyone else.’

  ‘Everyone else wants to win too,’ said Cactus. ‘The whole school is after that Easter egg. Everyone’ll be searching.’

  ‘No one wants to win more than us,’ said Pockets. ‘We’ll search all day. And we’ll search all night. That way we’re sure to find the most.’

  ‘All night,’ yelled Cactus. ‘My dad won’t let me out at night. Nor will yours.’

  ‘What they don’t know won’t hurt ’em,’ said Pockets. He was like that, was Pockets. Didn’t care what happened if it was something for poor little Midge.

  Well, Pockets and Cactus searched all day for mushrooms. And they found plenty. They trudged through the paddocks in the pouring rain. They walked and walked until their feet grew blisters as big as eggs. Their bag of mushrooms was so heavy they could hardly carry it.

  But they kept going. On and on. Bending. Picking. Searching. Running over to each new clump of mushrooms as if it might vanish before they got there.

  Just before tea, they saw something bad. In the next paddock. It was Smatter, the school bully. He and his mate Johnson were looking for mushrooms too. And they carried a large sack of mushrooms.

  ‘Oh no,’ said Pockets. ‘Look at that sack. They’ve nearly got as many as us.’

  3

  That’s how it was that Pockets and Cactus came to be out in the paddocks at night. In the dripping rain. It was their only chance to make sure they found more mushrooms than Smatter and Johnson. In the feeble light of their torches they stumbled through the grass. Every now and then finding a sodden but precious mushroom.

  The sack grew heavier and heavier. ‘Let’s leave it here for a while,’ said Pockets. ‘We can come back and get it later.’ He dumped the precious
sack down under a dark tree. The two boys set off carrying only a small bucket. They didn’t notice another torch flashing between the bushes. Nor did they know that more than mushrooms were growing in the cold, wet night.

  Luck was against them. Cactus and Pockets searched and stumbled through the wet grass. But they found nothing. Not a single mushroom. Not so much as the smell of one.

  ‘It’s okay,’ said Pockets wearily. ‘We’ve got enough already. Smatter can never get as many as us now. I can’t wait to see the look in Midge’s eyes when she sees that Easter egg. Let’s get the sack and go home.’ With squelching feet they made their way back to the tree. ‘Where’s the sack?’ grumbled Cactus. His dying torch beam searched the wet grass. The sack wasn’t there.

  ‘Is this the right tree?’ said Pockets. His voice shook as he spoke.

  Cactus shone the torch up into the branches. ‘There it is,’ he yelled. ‘Someone’s thrown it up into the tree. Give me a bunk up.’ Cactus scrambled up the wet gum tree. Dripping leaves mopped his face. Water trickled down his back. Suddenly Cactus slipped. He slithered down, scraping the skin off his knee. He swung for a moment from a bucking branch. Then, slowly, painfully, he hooked one leg over the branch and dragged himself up. He climbed carefully to where the sack dangled from a fork in the branches.

  Cactus just managed to hook the sack with one finger and pull it towards him. It came away easily. Lightly. He peered into the sack and gasped. There was only one little mushroom in the sack. Otherwise, it was empty. ‘They’re gone,’ he shouted down through the branches.

  ‘Someone’s nicked ’em,’ yelled Pockets. Rage choked his words. They had worked all day. And all night. For nothing. Now Midge would never get the giant chocolate Easter egg. The thought of his little sister lying in hospital was too much for Pockets. He punched the tree with his fist and skinned his knuckles. Blood ran down his fingers. He wiped his eyes with a knuckle. It made the tears on his cheek turn red.

  Far off, along a ridge of darkness, two torches twinkled between the trees. ‘After ’em,’ yelled Cactus. ‘We can catch ’em at the road.’

  4

  The two friends charged into the night. They plunged across a small creek and headed up the hill to the road. Just in time. Two large figures loomed out of the shadows. They carried an enormous sack. Pockets and Cactus could smell freshly picked mushrooms.

  ‘Drop those mushrooms,’ yelled Pockets. ‘You pinched ’em out of our sack.’

  Smatter and his off-sider stopped and peered at their enemies. They were the biggest kids in the school. They were tough. Real tough. ‘Prove it,’ said Smatter. ‘These are ours. We picked every one ourselves.’ He bunched up his fist.

  Pockets wanted to fight them. He felt anger growling in his throat. But he knew it was useless. They were just too big. There was no way he and Cactus could beat the bullies.

  Smatter knew that he’d won. He laughed cruelly. ‘Wimps,’ he chortled as he headed off into the night.

  By now the rain had stopped and the sun was rising over the bush. A kookaburra laughed. But Pockets and Cactus didn’t join in.

  ‘It’s hopeless,’ said Cactus. ‘Even if we could find more mushrooms it’s too late. The competition ends at ten o’clock. There’s not enough time left.’

  Pockets didn’t answer. He was thinking about little Midge. Poor kid. She’d been in hospital most of her life. If you could call it a life. She hardly ever asked for anything. And now he couldn’t even get the one thing she did want. It wasn’t as if he could go off and buy another one. This was the best chocolate Easter egg ever made. And anyway he didn’t have any money.

  Pockets stared at the ground. Cactus made a despairing search for mushrooms. ‘Give up,’ said Pockets. ‘It’s too late.’

  Cactus didn’t reply. He was peering at something on the ground ‘Look at this,’ he yelled ‘Whopping big mushrooms.’

  ‘They’re brown,’ said Pockets. ‘They’re no good. They’re toadstools. Probably poisonous. Don’t touch ’em.’

  ‘I’m taking ’em anyway,’ said Cactus. ‘They might be valuable.’ He dropped the three toadstools into the sack. ‘Wonder what they’re called?’ he said.

  ‘Yuggles,’ said Pockets.

  Pockets was always making up names for things. It was just a strange habit he had.

  ‘Okay,’ said Cactus. ‘Yuggles it is.’

  ‘It’s getting light,’ said Pockets. ‘We’d better get home before our parents wake up. I’ll meet you at eight-thirty at my place.’ They ran off in different directions. Pockets took the sack with him. Inside, the yuggles jiggled, quietly. They didn’t make a sound.

  5

  Pockets sneaked home to bed. After a bit he got up and had breakfast. Then he met Cactus at the gate and they walked to school together. ‘What did you bring them for?’ said Cactus pointing to the sack.

  Pockets took out one of the brown toadstools. He gave it a sniff. ‘It smells awful,’ he said. ‘Yuck.’

  They stopped outside a shop. It was Took’s Real Estate agency. On the window someone had sprayed brown graffiti. It said TOOK IS A ROOKER.

  Suddenly the door of the shop burst open. Mr Took rushed out and grabbed Pockets by the scruff of the neck. ‘Got you,’ he screamed. ‘You little devil. I’ll teach you to write on my window.’

  ‘I didn’t,’ babbled Pockets.

  ‘Don’t give me that,’ yelled Took. His eyes bugged out in his head like jelly marbles. ‘Look at your fingers, they’re covered in brown paint.’

  Pockets stared at his hands. They were brown. ‘It’s the toadstool,’ he said, holding it up in front of Took’s face. ‘It’s not paint. It’s toadstool.’

  Took was furious. He smacked the toadstool out of Pockets’ hand. It bounced across the footpath and stopped near a dustbin.

  ‘It’s true,’ said Cactus. He walked towards the yuggle. Then he stopped. Something was happening. The toadstool moved. It wobbled. Then it began to change shape. It grew and lost its toadstool shape. It turned into a large brown blob like a lump of clay.

  And then, just as if it was being formed by invisible hands, it changed into a rubbish bin. It turned into a bin. Exactly the same as the one on the footpath. It even had the same broken handle and large dent on the top. Twin bins, standing silently together.

  Mr Took screamed. He rubbed his eyes. He blubbered and blabbered. ‘What? How? Quick, help, run. No, no, no.’ He seemed to want to run. But like Pockets and Cactus he couldn’t tear himself away.

  The next bit is hard to believe. But it really happened. The new bin seemed to have a problem. It is hard to explain. It was sort of like it was holding its breath. As if it was going to explode with the effort of staying together. Nothing happened for about two or three minutes. The bin just kind of stood there. Perhaps it gave a wobble. But mostly it just put all its effort into staying a bin.

  6

  Mr Took took a step forward. Carefully, mind you. Not in a brave way. But like someone who sees a hundred dollar note in a snake’s mouth. He just had to get a bit closer.

  Then it happened. The new bin gave three little squeaks. And erupted. Like a volcano. It bubbled and burst into a horrible brown sludge. A mountain of muck. It was putrid. Mr Took screamed and fell back onto the footpath.

  Cactus and Pockets stared in horror.

  ‘Aaaagh,’ bellowed Pockets.

  ‘Uugh …’ yelled Cactus.

  The revolting brown goo blistered and plopped like a hot mud pool. ‘Disgusting,’ gasped Cactus. ‘It looks like brown vomit.’

  ‘Foul,’ said Pockets.

  Mr Took crawled back into his shop and locked the door. The two boys were alone with the pile of rotting brown gunk.

  ‘What is it?’ groaned Cactus. He stared at the horrible lumps that festered and swam in the remains of the melted bin.

  Pocket scratched his head. ‘It’s brommit,’ he said. ‘We’ll call it brommit.’

  Mr Took burst out of his door carrying a broom and a shove
l. He stared nervously at the brommit. He didn’t want to get too close. He shouted angrily. ‘You two can clean that stuff …’

  He never finished the sentence. Pockets and Cactus were already running down the street as fast as they could go. The sack with the mushroom and the last two yuggles in the bottom bumped against Pockets’ knee.

  Finally they stopped on a corner. They puffed and panted. Cactus had a pain in his side. Pockets stared nervously behind him. ‘There’s no one there,’ he gasped. ‘We’re safe.’

  7

  ‘I can’t believe what happened,’ said Cactus. ‘That yuggle turned into a bin.’

  ‘Then it squeaked three times,’ said Pockets.

  ‘And melted into brown vomit,’ added Cactus.

  ‘You mean brommit,’ said Pockets.

  They grinned at each other. But not for long.

  ‘Get them,’ screeched a voice. ‘Get ’em, boy.’

  A fierce growl made them turn. An enormous dog snarled and salivated. It snapped at their ankles with teeth like steel. Its red eyes bulged with hate. It darted in and out, looking for a chance to tear and rip at their unprotected legs.

  ‘Go, boy. Get ’em, get ’em,’ shouted a woman from behind a hedge. Pockets looked at the woman. Her eyes were as fierce and angry as the dog’s. ‘I’ve told you not to stand on my grass,’ she shrieked. ‘Go, Bandit, go.’

  Pockets and Cactus wanted to turn and run. But they were too scared. ‘Keep your eyes on him,’ whispered Cactus. ‘Don’t move.’

  The dog’s growl grew even more terrible. It pulled back its lips like a curtain to reveal green and jagged teeth. It circled, waiting for its chance.

  Pockets looked for a weapon. A stick. A stone. Anything. But the grass was bare. Without really knowing why, he put his hand in the sack and pulled out a yuggle.