Devils in Danger, page 4
I’d crawled under the house a million times, two million probably, and found it easier to slither across the ground without anything in my hands. So, trying to forget the creepy feeling I’d had when getting the Easter eggs, I tucked the torch into my pocket. I squeezed between Mum’s petunias to lie flat on my tummy and squirmed through the musty under-the-house dirt. Using the shards of yellow light streaking in from the kitchen above to guide me, I stretched one hand forward, hoping my fingers might graze the cold hard metal of the car keys. I couldn’t feel anything but dirt. Taking another breath, I swept an arc with my left hand, searching the dips and lumps under the house.
‘Any luck?’ Mum called from above.
Something brushed against my pinkie finger. ‘Got them!’ I yelled. But when I closed my hand, the object was soft, like fleece. Was it someone’s hoodie? An old tracksuit? But clothes, even socks, were way too big to fit between the broken floorboards. How would a hoodie get down here?
I gathered up the fabric, ready to crawl out again, when something else fluttered under my elbow. Something light, made of thin cotton or silk. One of Grannie Annie’s lost scarves? As I grabbed the stray material, I heard the tinkle of keys. There! By my hip.
I tucked the keys into my pocket, which reminded me of my torch. What else was there, abandoned under our house? I quickly flicked the light on.
Two red spots shone back at me from the far corner. ‘Argh!’ I jumped, whacking my head on the wooden beam above me. I rubbed my head, squinting. Maybe they were bicycle reflectors or some sort of solar panel attachment?
I edged closer. A strange hissing filled the air, followed by a squeal. I jumped again and scrambled backwards. Reflectors didn’t make noise. Neither did solar panels.
I wriggled back outside, dragging my loot with me. ‘Mum! Dad!’ I shouted. ‘Come quickly!’
Mum dashed out onto the back steps. ‘Killarney, are you okay? Was that you I heard screaming?’ Her eyes widened at my stash. ‘Where did you find all that?’
I passed her the scarf before unfurling the second piece of fabric. Noah’s football jersey, signed by his favourite team. No wonder Noah hadn’t been wearing it. He’d never think to look under our house.
‘What’s all this?’ Dad asked when he joined us. ‘Is Bones hoarding stuff behind your mum’s petunias?’
I shook my head.
Dad eyeballed the space below the verandah. ‘She’s been coming over a lot lately, and the way she’s been barking …’
Mum shot Dad a look. ‘Well, if you fixed the fence, maybe she’d stay in her yard.’
‘Yeah, yeah, fair go,’ said Dad with a grin. ‘I’ll get to the fence, I promise.’
‘It definitely isn’t Bones,’ I said. ‘She doesn’t make screaming noises like that.’
Dad nodded. ‘So, what do you reckon? Is it time to bake those scones?’
I scrunched my nose. ‘What do scones have to do with anything?’
‘For your professor. I’m sure April would be very interested in hearing about this treasure.’
My heart leapt. ‘So, we can call her?’
Dad was studying the signatures on Noah’s jersey. ‘Absolutely!’ he said, turning the jersey over to check out the back. ‘I’ll tell you one thing, though: whatever’s hiding under there has got some crackerjack taste. Clearly a diehard Hawks fan.’
Chapter 7
Mum rang April immediately after I’d returned the jersey and scarf to Noah and Grannie Annie, then got in a tizz when the professor agreed to come the following day. She baked two batches of scones and vacuumed the whole house, making sure Dad mowed and whipper-snipped the lawn.
Then, when April pulled her ute into our driveway the next morning, Mum double-checked her hair before popping on her glasses and adjusting them carefully on her nose. ‘Seriously?’ I groaned. Mum only ever wore glasses to read. Why was she so embarrassing?
April wore the same khaki pants and black zip-up hoodie as when I’d met her in the reserve, with her curly hair in a ponytail, even messier than before.
Mum, however, looked immaculate. She’d spent ages choosing what to wear and had washed and blow-dried her hair, before splashing on her favourite lip gloss.
‘Why’re you all dolled up?’ I’d asked Mum, remembering the smear of dirt across April’s face at the reserve. ‘April’s looking for wildlife, not you.’
Mum’s brows arched. ‘I’ve never met a professor before,’ she retorted. ‘I want to look my best.’
Dad had whistled before leaving for footy. ‘What a stunner!’ he’d said. ‘Sorry I can’t stay and give you a hand. But couldn’t leave the team in the lurch. Good luck!’
Now, with April crouched near the petunias, Mum fluffed around, brushing small stones and fallen leaves away from near April’s feet. I bet she wished she’d vacuumed the whole yard, not just the inside of the house. And, even worse, she kept trying to sound fancy, saying things like, ‘Please let me know if I may be of assistance,’ and, ‘I suppose professors must keep awfully busy.’ Which made me roll my eyes. Since when did Mum say ‘awfully’?
‘Here. I’ll show you what I saw,’ I offered, lowering myself to my tummy. Mum had French braided my hair and demanded I wear my best jeans, but there’d really been no point. The minute I wriggled past the potted flowers, I was coated in damp dirt from top to bottom.
Not that April minded. She crawled in right beside me, then shone her torch left and right, sweeping light through the underbelly of our house.
But there were no red spots.
No movement.
No nothing.
My stomach swirled. There had been red spots before. Hadn’t there?
April soon beckoned me out. ‘So tell me again,’ she said after we emerged, ‘what exactly did you see?’
I quickly explained everything while April brushed the dirt from her pants. She nodded. ‘Okay, so we’ve got stolen clothes, wiry poo, red eyeshine and some fairly distinct vocalisations?’ She took a thoughtful breath. ‘Which all points to a female devil getting ready to den.’
‘A Tassie devil?’ blurted Mum, forgetting to sound intelligent. ‘Here in the middle of Dodges? But no-one sees wild devils anymore.’
April glanced back towards the verandah. ‘It’s not that unusual. When they lose their natural habitat, wildlife are often forced to live closer to us than they’d like. If it was a devil, there’s only one way to find out.’
Once Mum agreed to the plan, April headed over to her ute and pulled out a long white tube trap, like she’d had in the reserve. It wasn’t heavy, just awkward. I helped her drag it under the house. Then, once we’d pushed it into place, April jammed a chunk of stinky possum meat inside and carefully levered up the lid.
The trap was ready.
‘Just a quick check every morning,’ April instructed. ‘And call me if you see anything. Otherwise, leave the trap alone.’
Mum nodded. ‘Yes, yes, of course. Whatever you say, Professor.’
I sighed. When was Mum going to chill out?
‘How’d you go with the scientist lady?’ asked Noah when I ran over to tell him about the trap. ‘Was it a wombat, like I said?’ He’d been sharing a packet of chips with Bones, and they both had crumbs on their chins.
I folded my arms firmly across my chest. ‘It’s not a wombat!’
‘What’s not a wombat?’ The smell of basil wafted towards us as Grannie Annie wandered down the hall, pausing at the mirror to tug at the corner of her purple scarf.
I explained about April’s visit. ‘She thinks it’s a Tassie devil!’ I announced.
Grannie tutted. ‘Surely not. Here in Dodges? No, it’s only a possum, I’m sure.’
I shook my head. ‘It’s not a possum.’
‘Because it’s a wombat,’ argued Noah, scrunching up the chip packet and tossing it at me like a baseball. ‘Like I told you.’
‘It’s not a wombat.’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ laughed Noah. ‘Let me know when you catch it, and then we’ll see who’s right.’
Grannie Annie gave my arm a squeeze. ‘Don’t mind him. He’s stubborn. Just like his gran. Thanks for the scarf, by the way. Noah said it was under your house?’
I nodded.
‘Well, well,’ she remarked. ‘What do you know? I’d swear we had a thief in Dodges, if I didn’t know better.’
Now it was my turn to smile. We did have a thief. A Tasmanian devil thief.
I couldn’t wait to prove Noah and Grannie wrong.
Chapter 8
I’d already gone to bed by the time Dad arrived home from footy that night, and I lay awake, straining to listen as Mum explained about April and the trap. ‘Imagine that? A professor! A real live professor in our house.’ Mum was talking in her posh intelligent voice again, which made Dad laugh.
I wondered what all the fuss was about. April was just an ordinary person, like me or Mum or Dad. She didn’t act fancy or dress fancy at all. It was far more exciting that we could have a rare, endangered devil under our house than the fact that April was a professor.
I couldn’t sleep, imagining every sound was the trap.
Tap. Mum closing the bathroom door.
Crunch. Dad taking a trip out to our wheelie bin.
Snap. Our roof creaking as it cooled.
I must have fallen asleep eventually because I woke again with a jolt. I’d definitely heard it this time. A quick sharp sound as if the lid of the trap had slammed shut.
It was cold and still dark, so I pulled on my dressing gown and padded out to the kitchen.
‘You’re up early.’ Dad sat at the kitchen table, nursing a cup of steaming coffee.
He was already dressed in his fluoro orange work shirt. My eyes darted to the clock. 6.15 am. Morning already? I’d thought it was the middle of the night.
‘Was that the trap?’ I asked.
Joining us in her dressing gown, Mum gave me a sleepy smile. ‘Was what the trap?’
‘That sound.’
Dad poured Mum a fresh coffee. ‘I just loaded some samples into my ute,’ he said. ‘Could have been me shutting the door?’
I slumped down on a chair, suddenly sleepy again. ‘Oh.’
‘Didn’t April say it could take a while?’ soothed Dad.
‘Yes, hon,’ added Mum. ‘You’ll have to give it a few more days. Nice coffee, Daz. Thanks.’
‘What if we catch the devil when I’m at school?’ I asked. ‘You might not hear the trap.’
Mum gave a tiny shake of her head. ‘Good try.’
I frowned.
‘You. Trying to skip school,’ she said firmly. ‘You’ll be in Grade Six next year, Killarney. You promised to put in more effort this year.’
I sighed. Mum sounded like a broken record sometimes. Try harder. More effort. What was the point? I didn’t need school to be a hairdresser.
‘Your mum’s right, poss. Grade Six, then high school, just around the corner.’
‘Exactly!’ Mum said. ‘Besides, April said we don’t need to go tiptoeing around. We just carry on like normal, which includes you going to school. The devil might take a while to come back, if it comes back at all. So, it’s school for you, no excuses.’
I groaned. Going to school was nowhere near as fun as watching out for mysterious wildlife.
‘By the way, how did you go with your book report?’ Mum asked. ‘Get it back from your teacher yet?’
I hung my head.
‘Killarney?’
‘Fair go, love,’ said Dad. ‘It’s only one assignment.’
Mum’s eyebrows rose. ‘Darren, it’s not just one assignment. Killarney hasn’t finished a single piece of assessment all year. Am I right, Killarney?’
‘Sorry, Mum.’
‘Sorry’s not good enough,’ Mum declared. ‘If you don’t keep up with the work now, imagine how hard it’ll be when you’re at high school or uni!’
Dad stood to put his cup in the sink. ‘Listen, poss. If your schoolwork ever gets too hard,’ he said, giving my shoulder a squeeze, ‘you only need to talk to us. Mum and I will understand. We’ll get you a tutor or—’
‘It’s not too hard,’ I blurted. ‘It’s just so … just so … so …’ I looked from one sleepy face to the other. ‘Boring!’
Mum frowned.
‘Maths Mentals, Mathletics, Spelling City, rewrites, mind mapping – boring, boring, boring! Anyway, I don’t need good marks to be a hairdresser. Mum didn’t even finish Grade Twelve.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with being a hairdresser, love,’ said Dad. ‘Mum’s just saying you should—’
‘Yeah, yeah, I know. Keep my options open.’ I gave an exaggerated eye roll. ‘But why can’t we learn interesting things like … like …’ I swallowed away a tear. ‘I don’t know. The secret life of frogs or something. Everything we do sucks.’
Dad glanced at Mum, who glanced at me. ‘Honey, look, of course I don’t mind if you want to be a hairdresser,’ said Mum, softening her tone. ‘It’s a great job, don’t get me wrong. I absolutely love it. But you still need to know how to write, how to add up, that sort of stuff. The skills you learn at school will be useful, whatever you decide to do.’
I picked angrily at the skin under my elbow.
‘Killarney? You promised us you’d try.’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ I relented, even though I didn’t really mean it. ‘I will.’
‘Okay, so here’s an idea,’ chirped Dad while I pulled out the bread to make some toast. ‘This creature of yours, whatever it is. Why don’t you keep a diary and write down everything you find? Young people like you love diaries, from what I’ve heard, and that would be interesting, wouldn’t it? Keeping a record of what you see? And you’d be practising your writing skills at the same time.’
‘Dear Diary,’ I quipped, making my voice sound extra high and girlish. ‘Today I made some toast. Woot woot. Go, me.’
Dad gave me a playful flick with the tea towel he’d been using to dry his hands. ‘Not a personal diary, silly,’ he corrected. ‘More like a scientific journal. To record everything about this devil thingo, such as when you check the trap and any other clues you find. You could even research and add in any facts you learn. Forget the secret life of frogs. We’ve got a secret life right under our feet! What do you reckon? I’m sure Miss Bredlow would approve.’
I pretended not to hear as I fished in the pantry for the Vegemite. But … maybe Dad had a point. If I kept a diary, or journal, or whatever I wanted to call it, I’d learn more about the Tassie devil. That way, when April dropped around, I’d understand everything she told me.
‘I’ll think about it,’ I conceded. ‘But don’t make me promise, okay? I still don’t know for sure.’
‘Okay, okay, no promises,’ said Dad, collecting his keys and wallet from the table. ‘But it’d be a great little project that isn’t …’ He held his fingers up in speech marks. ‘Boring.’
I groaned.
‘Righto, I’d better hit the frog and toad. See you guys tonight?’
‘Bye, Daz. See you tonight.’
‘Bye, Dad.’ I snatched my toast from the toaster but then my shoulders slumped. Suddenly, I didn’t feel like breakfast anymore.
I ran out after Dad, hoping to sneak in a hug before he left. I hadn’t meant to be so grumpy. I wasn’t really cross with him.
‘Love you!’ I called after squeezing him super tight.
A cold blast of air made me pull my gown closed as I watched Dad ease into his ute. I grinned as he waved and then, once he’d reversed down the driveway and turned the corner, I crouched beside the petunias to check under the house.
I inhaled sharply. The trapdoor was down!
But then I realised I was looking at the wrong end of the tube. It was the other end I needed to check.
Where the trapdoor was still propped open.
Exactly as April had left it.
Chapter 9
It was like the countdown to Christmas, waiting for the trapdoor to snap shut. Every day seemed to take forever. Just like Christmas, when ripping open the wrapping would reveal the presents I’d been wishing for, the trap would soon uncover the identity of our secret visitor. I only hoped it wouldn’t be like that time I’d desperately wanted the soft bilby toy I’d seen in Hobart, only to unwrap a new pair of hiking socks. Sure, I needed socks – they just weren’t what I’d expected.
What if, after all, Noah was right, and our visitor was a boring old wombat? Or a stray cat, a run-of-the-mill black moggy? I decided not to update my school friends on the latest proceedings. Just in case. Missy was only now warming up again after Mario’s jibes about the poo, and I didn’t want to look like I’d fussed over nothing.
Anyway, it wouldn’t be long till we’d know.
But as the week passed, I began to grow impatient. The trap lid remained open. Day after day. Maybe our mysterious creature had run off? Perhaps it was sick? Or dead? Except I knew it wasn’t. Because what else would be screeching all night?
I wanted to check the lid constantly, thinking of a million excuses to duck below the house, until Mum grew angry and told me she’d ring April to take the trap away.
‘Why don’t you distract yourself by doing your homework?’ she’d suggested.
As if. Instead, every afternoon, after one quick check under the house, I’d head straight to my room, grab a special toy from my shelf, set it up on my desk and pace my room, trying to think of other ways to keep busy. I could sort out my braiding ribbons or tidy my room, but I’d done both of those enough times already. The weather was so rainy and miserable that walking with Bones was out. And folding the salon towels, or even our own ones, just didn’t take long enough.
