Dog Gone (12 page)

‘
Shhh,' said Brody,
just as I was getting to a good bit in one of my jokes.

‘What?'

‘What was that? Did you hear that?' Brody punched me on the arm to get my attention.

‘Hear what?' I looked up. I wasn't sure whether my eyes were playing tricks on me, or whether I could make out a tinge of pink at the top of the well. Maybe the sun was coming up.

‘Shhh – there it is again,' said Brody.

‘I can't hear anything,' I said after a while. ‘You must be imagining things.'

‘Shut up,' growled Brody. ‘I heard something. I know I did.'

I strained my ears and listened again. Then I heard it. Brody was right. It was like a low moaning sound, way off in the distance. Every so often it would stop and then start up again.

‘What is it?' asked Brody.

There was something familiar about it. I'd heard that sound before.

‘It sounds like someone crying,' said Brody.

As soon as he said it, I knew. ‘That's Molly!' I screamed.

Together we yelled at the tops of our voices, till our ears rang and our throats hurt. Then we listened, keeping our eyes glued to the top of the well. Whether it was a hint of light from the sunrise, or a surge of fresh hope that someone might find us, I didn't know, but suddenly the darkness in the well didn't seem so black.

The crying stopped. We held our breath, listening for the smallest sound, watching for the tiniest movement. But there was nothing.

After several minutes we tried another round of yelling, then listened again. My neck felt uncomfortable from being tipped back at such an extreme angle, but I didn't dare look away from the small circle of light at the top, in case I missed something.

Just when I thought I'd have to look down for a minute to stretch it out, a shadow passed across the entrance to the well. ‘Ish, is that you?'

I never thought I'd be so happy to hear my sister's voice. ‘Molly – yes, it's me! And Brody's down here, too!

‘Are you all right?' Molly yelled back.

‘I'm okay, but Brody's hurt his leg.'

‘Stay there – I'm going to get help.' A second later, her silhouette had disappeared.

‘Der.
Stay here?
Where does she think we're going?' said Brody. ‘She's really smart, your sister.'

‘Shut it – she's getting help, isn't she?' I gave Brody a shove that must have jerked his leg. He yelled out in pain, then punched me hard on the arm, swearing. I thought for a moment he was going to punch me, but Molly was back, yelling down at us again.

‘They're calling the fire brigade and the ambulance now. Gran's getting you some food and –'

‘Ish! Are you okay, mate?'

Someone else had joined Molly and was looking down at us. And the voice –

‘Dad?' I looked up, straining to see him.

‘Yes, mate, it's me.'

‘Dad – is it really you?' Tears poured down my cheeks and I squinted through them to try and make out his shape. I couldn't believe it was really him – and I was glad Brody couldn't see me in the dark.

‘We'll have you out of there in no time, boys. Ish – you sure you're all right? You didn't hurt yourself falling?' Dad's voice sounded so concerned as it echoed down the sides of the well.

‘I'm not too bad, Dad – just cold.'

‘Brody, how bad's your leg – is it broken?' called Dad.

‘I think so – it hurts like hell,' Brody shouted back.

‘Which part of your leg?'‘

‘It mostly hurts near my ankle.'

‘Hang in there, boys. Help'll be here soon,' called Dad again. ‘You fellas must be hungry and thirsty as heck. Gran's making you some sandwiches to go on with. Close your eyes for a minute – I'm going to move this cover off to see if I can get some more light in. Watch out in case any dirt falls in.'

‘Dad, be careful,' I yelled. ‘The bricks are loose around the top!'

‘Yeah – two's company, three's a crowd,' muttered Brody. ‘Don't want your old man dropping in for a visit like you did.'

‘Ish!' It was Gran's voice now. ‘I've got a drink for you and some food and a torch. I've wrapped them in a table cloth – oh, and a coat each. We'll lower it down when your dad moves the cover. Are you all right, love?'

‘I'm okay, Gran.'

‘What about you, Brody – is your leg bleeding, love?'

‘No, Mrs Douglas,' called Brody, ‘it's just really swollen and hurts a lot.'

The ring of light at the top of the well suddenly grew larger, and I could see another face peering down at us.

‘Your food parcel's comin' down now, lads,' boomed a voice I recognised straight away. Mr Ironclad had joined the rescue party. ‘We're lowerin' it down with your Gran's clothes line. Watch out – here it comes!'

The bundle bumped and swung from side to side as it made its way down to us.

Finally, we could reach it. We opened the parcel as quickly as we could without spilling the stuff everywhere. I found a torch and shone it down Brody's leg as he struggled to put a coat on. One leg of his school pants was up high enough for me to see the damage.

‘Whoooa, no wonder it hurts so much,' I gasped, as we both saw for the first time how badly it was broken. Brody's leg was black and swollen, and instead of being straight and smooth, his shin bone had a huge lump in it.

‘It looks gross,' said Brody. ‘Do you think I'll have to go to hospital? I hate hospitals.' He stuffed a sandwich in his mouth.

There were some new noises from up above. I wasn't sure what was going on until another voice shouted down the well at us, making us jump. The fire brigade had arrived and they were going to send down a harness. Two firemen called down what we had to do. Brody was to put it on like a life jacket. I would have to help him do up the buckles, because there was no room for a fireman down here.

With a bit of a struggle we managed to get Brody's arms through the right places. I watched as he spun around while the thick rope hauled him upwards. Gran's torch cast spooky shadows on the sides of the well as I aimed the beam on the bottom of his shoes. He cried out in pain and everyone at the top shouted out encouragement.

When he disappeared from view, I shone the torch down in front of me in a last-ditch effort to find the fishing rod and to have a closer look at where I'd spent a whole afternoon and night.

The bottom of the well was full of old junk – empty paint tins, broken tiles, rotten fence palings. I wondered what else I was sitting on, hidden underneath the mattress. It was better not to think about it.

The walls were cold and brown and I suddenly felt like they were closing in on me again, now that I could see how narrow the well was. It'd been easier to be here in the dark with Brody.

I closed my eyes and started to take deep breaths to keep myself calm. After about four breaths I noticed something weird. The air temperature had changed – it was warmer. I had on one of Gran's coats, but it wasn't that.

I looked up to see if the fire brigade were sending down a heater or something, but all I could see was the ring of light at the top of the well. No one was in sight, all their attention probably on Brody.

Then, weirder still, I heard a noise. It was like a creepy sort of raspy whispering. I didn't know if it was in my imagination or for real. I strained to hear what it was saying. I couldn't make out words, but suddenly I had the feeling something was trying to turn – even pull – my head around to look …

Sweat trickled down
the back of my neck. My hands felt clammy and shaky. The whispering seemed to be getting louder, and echoed up and down the sides of the well, filling my head with a kind of white noise – like you hear when the radio's not quite on the station. I wanted to put my hands over my ears to stop it. But I wanted to turn and look.

It must be the ghost.
Just like in the cemetery. It had to be. Everything was the same – the whispering, the heat, something making me want to turn around and
see
it. My heart was pounding so loudly, it seemed to add to the white noise and make it worse. There was nowhere to escape. And still no sign of anyone ready to rescue me at the top of the well.

Take deep breaths, Ish. Stay calm. All will be well – all will be well …
It was Mum's voice again, in my head, over the sound of the white noise.

It was no good, I had to turn around and see. Was it Grandpa? And if not, I figured the ghost hadn't hurt me before. If it was going to hurt me, it could have easily done that in the cemetery. Or anywhere for that matter. It never seemed to have a problem finding me. Besides, it did stop me breaking my neck when I fell down the well.

I looked up again. Still no sign of anyone. I took a deep breath and slowly twisted my neck around. The wall of the well seemed to swirl past. It made me feel dizzy.

Propped up on an old piece of cardboard was Grandpa's fishing rod. On the handle, with its black hairy legs rearing up, was the spider. It seemed bigger than ever in the narrow beam of Gran's torch.

I gasped and sprang back, hitting my head on a paint tin, and dropped the torch. The light went out and I felt around frantically, hoping it hadn't fallen down beside the mattress. I willed myself to stop thinking that, in the dark, I might pick up the spider instead of the torch.

I could hear myself wheezing in terror. I felt all around me, patting the wet mattress under my legs and Gran's table cloth in my lap. I told myself to take deep breaths –
all will be well – all will be well –
then breathed a sigh of relief, as I felt the rubber of the torch handle under my fingers.

The switch had turned off as it fell. When I clicked it on again, I was even more relieved to see a beam of light. I swung the beam around and aimed it at the rod.

The spider had gone.

Suddenly, the whispering got louder. Still the awful white noise; I wished someone would tune into the station properly. I wanted to make out the words, but I couldn't.

Louder and louder. It wouldn't stop. I couldn't make it. I wanted to scream, so the sound of my own voice would block it out. Not that the white noise was going to hurt me. It was strange. It was as if I was about to hear the most important message once the station was tuned in, but I was trying to stop myself from hearing it.

At the same time, all I could think of was my Grandpa. As if he was yelling at me from back in the past – sort of shouting words into my thoughts:
You can do this, Ish!

Then it happened – I saw the ghost. It seemed to seep out of the walls like a mist, then concentrate in one spot, just above the fishing rod.

It was shaped just like Grandpa.

‘Ish, do you think you can buckle yourself in? The harness is coming down now, mate.' Dad's voice made me jump again.

I looked up to see a circle of heads at the top of the well. It was my turn to be rescued. About time. ‘Okay, Dad,' I yelled, noticing that the whispering had stopped. I watched the harness start to swing down to me, then turned back to look at the ghost. But it had disappeared.

The ghost
was
Grandpa!

‘Tug on the rope when you're ready,' called the fireman. ‘You're doing well, mate – won't be long now and we'll have you out.'

I held the torch between my teeth so I could slip my arms into the harness and buckle it up. As soon as I clicked the last buckle into place, I swung the beam around and shone it onto the fishing rod. The spider wasn't anywhere in sight. I sat frozen, trying to get my courage up.

‘How're you going, mate? Have you got it on yet?' called Dad.

Grandpa's voice whispered in my head:
You can do it, you can do it
.

‘Ish?' called Dad again.

I grabbed at the handle of the fishing rod and yanked on the rope. ‘Now! Pull me up now!'

‘
You look like
you've seen a ghost,' said Dad, undoing the buckles on the harness and giving me a hug.