Chapter Five

Why Old Tip, Old Toot, Old Satan, Uncle Trev, and Old Gotta Henry All Bark at the Dark

“Scared of the dark?” said Uncle Trev. He’d laughed so much, his face was red. “We’re all scared of the dark.”

“Mum’s not.”

“Don’t go telling her I said so, but I think the dark’s probably scared of your mother.” Uncle Trev looked over his shoulder.

“It’s when I wake up,” I told him. “In the middle of the night.”

“Same with me,” said Uncle Trev. “But I’ve got Old Tip.”

“I know.”

Uncle Trev shook his head. “What I mean is that Old Tip’s more scared of the dark than me.”

“I thought he’s brave.”

“That old coward’s so scared of the dark, he barks half the night. It puts the wind up me, and the next thing I know I’ve started barking, too. That sets Old Toot and Old Satan barking, and before you know it they’ve woken up Old Gotta away over at his place, and he joins in. The night’s a bedlam out our way with everybody barking.”

“Is Mr Henry scared, too?”

“Old Gotta Henry, he’s the biggest coward of all. More often than not, it’s his barking that sets Old Tip going.”

“Why is Mr Henry so scared of the dark?”

“He had ten little brothers and sisters, and they were all so scared of the dark they wouldn’t go to bed till their big sister, Nellie, told them a story.”

“I like a story before I go to bed.”

“Not the sort Nellie told.”

“What sort?”

“Ghost stories.”

“Oh?”

“After one of Nellie’s ghost stories, Gotta and his ten little brothers and sisters were too scared to go to bed.”

“What about their mother and father?”

“They were too scared to go to bed as well. They cooked over an open fire in the kitchen, and the whole family sat there in front of it, and old Mr Henry, Old Gotta’s father, put on more wood to keep out the dark. ‘Tell us another story?’ he’d beg Nellie, and the whole family would say, ‘Yes, tell us another story, Nellie?’

“When it finished, they’d all be so terrified, old Mr Henry would put more wood on the fire, and Nellie would tell them another ghost story. Then they’d run out of firewood, and Mr Henry would be too scared to go outside for more.”

I looked at Uncle Trev.

“He wouldn’t go outside without everybody going with him. One of the kids held a candle while the rest of them filled the wheelbarrow. Then the wind would blow out the candle, and they’d all shriek and go for their lives. Mr Henry ran fastest, and he’d get inside and slam the door so the rest of them were left screaming outside in the dark. They’d get the door open and tear inside, then the whole family would have to go outside again because their father was so scared, he’d left the wheelbarrow behind.

“This time, he’d run the loaded wheelbarrow inside the house and get the fire going. Then he’d be too scared to put the wheelbarrow outside, so he’d ask Nellie for another story. By now, the little ones were so tired they climbed into the wheelbarrow in front of the fire and went to sleep, but Old Gotta’s father and mother, old Mr and Mrs Henry – they didn’t get a wink of sleep.”

“What about Nellie?”

“Like your mother, she wasn’t scared of the dark.” Uncle Trev nodded and looked over his shoulder again. “Of course, the rest of the family were rank superstitious. They believed all sorts of nonsense. Never bring wattle inside: it’s unlucky. If a fantail flies into a bedroom, somebody’s going to die. If a morepork looks in the window, you’re as good as dead. Never uncross knives somebody else has crossed. Never open an umbrella inside. If you see somebody cross-eyed, spit or they’ll spoil your luck. And you mustn’t get out of the wrong side of bed. They were full of superstitions.”

“Mum often says I got out of the wrong side of my bed.”

“I always stick my right foot out first,” said Uncle Trev. “And always put your sock on your right foot first.”

“Mum says thirteen’s unlucky.”

“That’s right. And never start a journey on a Friday.”

“And she says never leave a house by a different door from the one you entered by.”

“Unless,” said Uncle Trev, “you sit down. It’s all right then. And if you put on a cardigan inside out, it’s bad luck to take it off and put it on the right way. And if you break a mirror, you have to wait seven hours, then bury all the broken bits by moonlight.”

“And something about an old clock that hasn’t worked for years…” I said.

Uncle Trev nodded. “Sometimes you wake, and an old clock that hasn’t gone for years is striking midnight. If you hear it strike thirteen times, that means you’re dead.”

“Can’t you do anything?”

“Old Gotta’s father, old Mr Henry, had a grandfather clock that woke after twenty years’ silence and struck twelve times.”

“What did he do?”

“Stuck his fingers in his ears so he couldn’t hear it strike thirteen, built another house up the back of the farm, shifted the family, and burned down the old house.”

“Did they take the grandfather clock with them?”

“Old Gotta keeps it in his bedroom. It doesn’t go, but he reckons it always chimes when there’s going to be an earthquake. He reckons as long as it does that, his house won’t fall down.”

“Is your house safe from earthquakes?”

“Mostly. Although a mirror fell off the wall, the last shake we had.”

“Did it break?”

Uncle Trev nodded. “I waited seven hours, buried the bits by moonlight, and Old Tip put back his head and howled. Old Gotta heard Old Tip howling, and knew it meant somebody was going to die. He jumped out of the wrong side of bed, flattened his nose against the wall so it bled, barked his shin on a stool, and ran into the door end on and gave himself a black eye. He tore through the house, switching on all the lights. I saw them go on, and went over to make sure he was all right.

“How was I to know the old coot had left a kerosene tin in the shadows outside his back door? It made a terrific bang when I tripped over it. I slung the kerosene tin on the roof, just to liven up Old Gotta. Clang. Clang. Clang.

“Old Gotta shrieked, and ran into his old grandfather clock, which chimed thirteen times. I hooted like a morepork, gave a groan or two, sneaked home, and slept like a top.

“You should have heard Old Gotta next day, about how the earthquake shook his grandfather clock and set it chiming. ‘You won’t believe this, Trev,’ he said to me, ‘but the shock sent a kerosene tin flying up on my roof.’

“‘I thought I heard shrieking,’ I said.

“‘Not from me,’ Old Gotta lied. ‘I thought I heard screaming coming from your place.’

“‘Old Tip,’ I told him.

“‘That’s funny,’ said Old Gotta. ‘I noticed the lights come on over at your place.’

“‘Old Tip,’ I said. ‘He runs round turning on the light in every room when he gets scared of the dark.’

“‘Huh!’ said Old Gotta. ‘The dark never worries me.’ ”

“I’d like to hear some of Nellie’s ghost stories, Uncle Trev.”

“What’s this?” demanded my mother’s voice. “As if it’s not bad enough having to have the light on all night, without any talk of ghost stories.” But before she’d finished, Uncle Trev had ducked past her and gone for his life.

That night, I thought of him, and Old Tip, and Old Toot, and Old Satan, all of them barking because they were scared of the dark. And of Mr Henry waking up shrieking and getting out of the wrong side of his bed, and I snorted.

“What’s that?” Mum called from her room.

“I just barked,” I told her. “Uncle Trev said that shows you’re not scared of the dark.”

“You close your eyes and get off to sleep,” said Mum’s voice, and I knew she was standing at her door. “And let’s have no more of this nonsense. I’ll give that uncle of yours barking, next time he comes in. Of all the crazy ideas…”

“He and Mr Henry bark at the dark,” I told Mum.

“They should think themselves lucky, the pair of them, that they’re not put away for their own good.”

I nearly told her they’d have to put away Old Tip, and Old Toot, and Old Satan, too, but I must have gone to sleep. And when I woke in the morning, I thought it was probably best not to say anything more about barking at the dark.