Dog Gone (2 page)

‘Writing poetry's wussy for a boy.' Molly turned Mum's classic hits on the car radio up as if to show she'd had the last word.

‘Are you saying Grandpa was a wuss?' I objected, over the top of Michael Jackson's
Billy Jean
.

‘Grandpa was an old man. That's different.'

‘Nearly there, not long now,' said Mum, turning the radio back down and giving me another little smile in the mirror. ‘Hope your Gran's made some of her veggie soup for lunch. I –'

‘Yuk!' Molly screwed up her face. ‘I certainly don't. Gran's soup tastes like metho mixed with bat wee.'

Mum glanced over at Molly, changing down gears as we approached a roundabout. ‘When have you ever tasted methylated spirits?'

‘Or bat wee?' I added.

‘Gran puts vegetables in
everything
,' continued Molly. ‘She even puts vegetables in cake!'

‘Yeah, carrot cake. You're supposed to have carrot in carrot cake.'

Molly turned around and glared at me.

I poked my tongue out at her.

‘Well, I wish she wouldn't. Gale's mum makes carrot cake without carrot and it tastes much nicer.'

‘How can you have carrot cake without carrot? That's stupid.'

‘You're stupid!'

‘Come on, you two, quit that.' Mum sighed. ‘We're nearly at Gran's and she doesn't want to greet us with a war going on.'

Gran lived up on the Murray River. Mum was going to drop us off and stay overnight, then go back down to Melbourne to catch a plane. She'd won a competition at the Mind and Soul Exhibition – a holiday for two in Mongolia, flying into the capital, Ulan Bator, then staying in tents and riding camels in some mountains I can't pronounce. She was going with her best friend, Sylvia.

‘Look, there's Mr Ironclad,' said Molly. ‘He looks fatter than ever! Bet he's been eating more than vegetables.'

Mr Ironclad, Gran's neighbour, was out in the garden and gave us a wave as we pulled into the driveway.

‘Molly! Shoosh,' said Mum, ‘he might hear you!'

‘As if, Mum. Do you think he's got our car bugged?'

Lucky was going crazy. He'd spotted Mr Ironclad, and was frantically trying to climb out the window. Everybody in the neighbourhood would now know we'd arrived. I reckon they could hear him barking over in New South Wales.

‘Lucky, calm down, will you!' He dug furiously at the door, his white-tipped tail swishing backwards and forwards so fast it was cooling me down behind him.

‘Ish, open the door and let him out before he digs a hole in it,' Mum shouted.

I leaned over and had hardly lifted the handle before Lucky was out, heading straight over to Mr Ironclad. I bet he had his usual pocketful of dog treats.

I followed Lucky and threw my skateboard out onto the path, where it bounced and rolled to the bottom of the front steps.

‘Hey, Lucky! How's me old mate, then?' Mr Ironclad's deep voice always reminded me of a tape recorder played at slow speed. He slipped Lucky a treat and sent him into a frenzy. He continued down his front path, patting Lucky as he walked, and came across to Gran's. ‘What's all the fuss about?'

‘He's just crazy about you, Mr Ironclad,' I said.

The front door opened and Gran came out, still in her apron. ‘Well, you lot certainly like to announce your arrival. Hello, Ish, love.'

Lucky darted up the steps to greet her.

A split second later, he darted down again to Mr Ironclad. ‘Whoa, settle down there, boy!' Lucky was trying to jump up and lick Mr Ironclad's face.

Gran came down the steps. She was so busy waving at Molly and Mum that in all the excitement she didn't see my skateboard on the path.

‘Careful, Gran,' yelled Molly, from behind the car. But it was too late. She stepped right onto it and went shooting towards Mr Ironclad.

What a sight. Gran looked as if she was flying. She had both arms out, flapping up and down, and one leg up in the air as she hurtled along the path. I was hoping Mr Ironclad wasn't getting the view of Gran's enormous frilly white knickers that I was. We all watched in horror, even Lucky. This wasn't going to end well.

Gran collided with Mr Ironclad and they both ended up in a crumpled heap in the middle of Gran's daisies.

Mum and Molly dropped what they were carrying from the car and ran over to help. Lucky, not a dog to miss an opportunity, dived into the middle and started to lick their faces. Gran and Mr Ironclad both yelled at him to stop.

In the end we all burst out laughing. Mum laughed so much, she had to wipe the tears off her glasses, and Mr Ironclad hardly had the strength to get back up.

In all the commotion, I suddenly realised Lucky had wandered out onto the road and was sniffing at something out in the middle.

‘Lucky! Here, boy.' I patted my leg for him to come.

Just as he looked up, a truck came hurtling around the corner and roared up Gran's street. Lucky seemed frozen to the spot. The truck was going so fast I knew there was no way it could stop in time.

‘Lucky!' I screamed so loudly my voice echoed inside my head.

Miraculously, the truck screeched to a halt about a metre in front of him.

I gasped.

The driver – you couldn't see his face because it was hidden under the rim of a big black hat – jumped from the cabin. Lucky began to bark at him. I thought the man was going to come and tell us off for letting our dog go on the road, but he seemed to suddenly change his mind. He hopped back in his truck and drove off.

I sat on the grass outside Gran's house and put my arms around Lucky's neck. If anything ever happened to him, I don't know what I'd do.

‘Come over here,
love,' said Gran, after I swallowed the last spoonful of my third helping of pavlova.

Gran should open a restaurant. She'd have customers lining up for a table and they'd be drooling while they waited. Her cooking is so awesome.

‘I've got something to show you. It's something your Grandpa wanted you to have.' Gran took off her apron and hung it on the door handle, before stepping out onto the back veranda.

I nearly fell over as I got up to follow her.
Grandpa wanted me to have something of his?
‘Gran wait! What is it?'

When I flew out the door, Gran was holding something I recognised straight away. It was Grandpa's fishing rod. His very expensive telescopic one that pushed together so you could pack it away. It'd been Grandpa's favourite. He'd been hooked on fishing; just about drove Gran crazy with it. He'd told me once how much he'd paid for this rod. He'd also said it was best I didn't mention the price to Gran.

‘Oh, Gran. Grandpa's fishing rod!'

‘It was in his will, love. You were to have this one, and the others were to go to Henry Ironclad. He knew how much you loved fishing, Ish. It's a beauty, isn't it?'

I took the rod from Gran and extended it to its full length. I didn't know if it was excitement or a great wave of sadness, but my hand started to shake so much the whole rod began to vibrate up and down.

‘Looks like you're raring to go, already,' said Gran.

If it wasn't such a silly idea, I could have sworn the rod was making my hand move, not the other way around. ‘Gran, can I go down to the river tomorrow morning, before Mum leaves, to try it out?'

‘Course you can, Ish. Make sure you wear the gumboots. It gets pretty muddy down there in winter.

Lucky and I left Gran's place at about five. It was freezing. Gran's old gumboots kept out the damp from the early morning frost, but not the cold. My foggy breath seemed to lead the way as my ice-block feet trudged along behind.

I always went alone, without Molly, and I always took the same route: out the back gate, past the peppercorn tree, down the lane, over old Nelly Arnott's back fence, through the cemetery and down to the river. I loved the smell of the peppercorn. The tree stood next to the Bottom Lane signpost, where someone had scratched out the word ‘
Bottom
' and written ‘
Bum
'.

Some mornings, if I left after sunrise, yummy smells would waft my way from the frying pans and toasters of Gran's neighbours. It reminded me of the breakfasts Dad used to make, before he decided he'd prefer cooking for one.

This morning I woke up early and couldn't get back to sleep. Besides, I couldn't wait to try out Grandpa's rod.

So I left in the dark.

Climbing over grouchy old Nelly Arnott's back fence was always the tricky bit. She'd told Gran that if she caught either one of her ratbag grandchildren or their dog on her property she'd – well, Gran never actually told us what she'd threatened to do and I didn't like to think about it. There was a rumour going around about Nelly Arnott, that she once locked two kids in her garden shed when she caught them cutting through her place to get down to the river. The kids were said to have seen a human skull in there. I don't know how much truth was in the rumour.

Since it was still so dark, Lucky and I snuck down the side of her house and were over the fence to the cemetery in no time.

The sky looked like my sister's doona cover – black, dotted with stars and a misty moon in the middle. The tops of the gum trees cast scary shadows on the tombstones. It was like watching giant grey ghosts creep out of their graves, one by one.

Selview Cemetery is surrounded by ghost gums. I bet whoever thought of a name like that for a tree was standing in a graveyard when they got the idea. And I reckon anyone who plants ghost gums in a cemetery must have a seriously sick sense of humour.

I'd forgotten to go to the toilet before leaving Gran's. I was busting, and the sound of the river just down past the pine trees didn't help. I was in the middle of the cemetery and thinking about filling up one of the vases of flowers that looked a little low on water when it happened.

I suddenly had the feeling that Lucky and I weren't alone. My feet felt as if they were stuck in toffee. I wanted them to move but they wouldn't. I didn't know if I was shivering from cold or from being so scared.

The moonlight made a tumble-down tombstone near the path ahead look like a giant hand rising out of the mist.

Lucky's teeth were actually chattering and his tail was so far between his legs that you couldn't see it. If I hadn't been so scared it would have been funny.

Then he started growling at something.

Or
someone
.

I could hear whispering. Lots of whispering.

Then Grandpa's fishing rod started to shake in my hand. It shook so violently I could have sworn the rod had come to life. It jumped about all over the place and I could hardly hold it. Freaky as.

That's when Lucky went into a sort of trance. He was mesmerised by whatever was behind me. His neck-fur went vertical and his eyes turned glassy.

It was the middle of winter, but I suddenly felt hot. Like a dragon was breathing down my neck. My skin went all clammy. I could hardly breathe. I had this massive urge to turn around – and to pee, actually – but then I'd see whatever it was.

I wanted to run through the cemetery and out the back gate, down to the safety of the river. Lucky was whimpering.

I tried to run but I couldn't. That's when I turned around and saw it.

Standing on the path
, next to a tombstone that had a big crack down the middle, was the shape of a man, white and swirling. The mist that was hanging over the graves nearby seemed to have been sucked into its mouth.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing. There was no mistaking it.

It was a ghost.

Lucky squeezed between my legs for protection and I could feel him trembling. The fishing rod, by now, was swishing backwards and forwards all over the place.

The whispering sound suddenly became louder and the ghost reached his hand out to me.

That's all I remember. After that I felt like I was in a time warp. I don't remember much about the rest of the morning at all. I have no idea how I unglued my feet. I must've gone fishing, although I don't even remember the river. If it wasn't for the fish in my bucket when I got back, I wouldn't have believed I'd been fishing at all.