Chapter Two

Lockie stood on the front path, staring at the house.

‘Where do you think the ghost lives?’ he whispered to Tim.

Tim looked at Lockie, waiting for him to laugh, but he didn’t. Did he really believe the place was haunted?

‘Ah, I don’t think there is a ghost, Lockie. I think—’

The front door swung open, and both boys jumped.

‘There you are,’ said Dad. ‘I was just about to send out a search—’

He noticed Tim wasn’t alone.

‘Ah, Dad. This is Lockie. I’ve … ahm, asked him home for lunch.’

‘Oh, well, that’s good.’ Dad turned and called down the hallway. ‘Honey, set an extra place for lunch. Tim’s brought a friend home.’

‘You set the table? For lunch?’ Lockie asked in a whisper. ‘This I gotta see.’ And he stepped up onto the verandah.

‘Hi,’ he said. ‘I’m Lockie McKenzie. Me and Tim’ll be in the same class at school. We’ve already been up there and ‘ad a look around. What’s for lunch?’

‘Sandwiches,’ said Dad, surprised at the question.

‘Beauty. My favourite,’ said Lockie, stepping past Dad and into the house. Dad turned back to Tim and raised his eyebrows.

‘I’ll just put the bike away,’ mumbled Tim, and he walked off down the side of the house. By the time he got to the kitchen, Lockie was buttering bread.

‘And m’dad reckons that the old lady who lived here was a bit, you know …’ And Lockie whizzed his finger round the side of his head.

‘Lockie says it’s haunted,’ said Tim, taking a seat.

‘Yeah, I d’know,’ said Lockie. ‘I reckon Dad was just sayin’ that t’scare me.’ Ignoring the tongs, he picked up some ham and squashed it between his two pieces of bread.

‘So, whatta y’guys gunna be doin’ ‘ere? Y’know, for work?’ Lockie asked.

‘Well, I’ve got a job down at the supermarket,’ said Mum. ‘I start there tomorrow after I’ve taken Tim to school.’

‘So y’gunna be a check-out chick?’ said Lockie.

Mum laughed. ‘Yes, I guess that’s what I’ll be, among other things – you know, packing shelves, mopping floors. Now Ben here …’

Please, Mum, don’t tell him what Dad does …

‘… well, he’s got a new job up at the hospital. That’s why we moved here.’

‘Y’gunna be a wardsman up there?’ Lockie asked, shoving the last of his sandwich into his mouth.

Ben and Mandy laughed while Tim cringed. ‘No,’ said Mandy, ‘he’s the new DON.’

‘Don? Don who?’ Lockie plucked an apple from the fruit bowl and bit into it.

‘Not “who”. What. DON stands for Director of Nursing.’

Lockie just stared at her, mouth open, a piece of apple teetering on the tip of his tongue.

‘Like the matron in the old days,’ said Mum. ‘The head nurse.’

Lockie spluttered, almost choking. ‘You mean you’re a nurse?’ He gawped at Ben. ‘But you’re a bloke.’

Ben laughed. ‘Lockie, lots of blokes are nurses these days.’

‘Are they? I never knew that. Kenny – that’s m’dad – he reckons m’sister should get up to the hospital and get a job as a nurse. He says it’s a real good job for a girl.’

‘Well, yes, it is a good job for a girl, Lockie, but it’s a good job for a … bloke … too. You could be a nurse when you grow up.’

Lockie threw back his head and laughed. ‘I can imagine what m’dad would say if I went home and told ‘im I wanted to be a nurse.’ And he took another bite of his apple.

‘Did I hear you say something about going up to the school before?’ said Mum.

‘Yeah. Tim wanted to see the classroom and stuff, so I took him up.’

What? It wasn’t my idea. Tim’s shoulder itched.

‘Well, I’m glad Tim’s got a friend for the start of school tomorrow.’

Tim glared at his mother. What am I? Back in grade one?

Lockie tipped back on his chair until it rested against the cupboard. Tim glanced at his father, waiting for him to say something. He was always hammering on about kids who hurt themselves because they leaned back on their chairs.

But his father didn’t say anything. He just stood up and stretched. ‘Well, I’d better get back to the unpacking,’ he said. ‘We’ve still got thirty-seven boxes to go.’

‘Can Tim and me go exploring?’ asked Lockie. ‘I could show ‘im where everything is.’

‘Well …’ said Dad. ‘I don’t want him tired for tomorrow. It is the first day of school, remember. And he still has some of his own boxes to unpack.’

‘Oh, let him go,’ said Mum. ‘It’ll do him good to get out and about. Just don’t be too long, Tim. Remember we’re having takeaway for tea, and I want you to get an early night with school starting tomorrow.’

Lockie frowned and was about to say something, but before he could, Tim jumped up. ‘Come on, Lockie. Let’s go.’

‘Don’t forget your hat,’ called Dad as they pushed their way out of the kitchen.

‘Early night?’ said Lockie as soon as they were outside. ‘Do they always worry about y’like that?’

Without thinking, Tim’s hand crept up and touched his shoulder.

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘You’d think I was still a baby, hey.’

‘Nah, it’s kinda nice. Y’wanna go down to the creek? I’ll show y’where I go fishin’ sometimes. You like fishin’?’

‘Never tried it,’ admitted Tim.

‘What?’ said Lockie. ‘Y’never been fishin’? Cripes, you’ve been livin’ in the city too long, I reckon. Come on. I’ll race ya.’ Lockie took off and disappeared around the bend at the end of the street. Tim chased after him, and found himself on a dirt road, leading out of town.

A few minutes later, he found Lockie waiting in the shade of a spindly tree next to an old rusted mailbox.

‘What took y’so long?’ said Lockie, grinning. He wasn’t even puffing. Tim sank down beside him and while his breathing slowed, he looked about at the paddocks with their tumbled-down fences. He couldn’t believe how small Rowington was. They’d hardly gone anywhere and they were out of town.

‘Come on,’ said Lockie. ‘The creek’s not much further.’

Ten minutes later, they were both staring down the bank of the creek at the waterhole below.

‘It’s usually bigger than this,’ said Lockie. ‘We ain’t had rain in ages, so it’s startin’ to dry up. I reckon it’ll be too dry to fish soon.’

‘Is it always this dry out here?’ Tim asked.

‘Nah. It’s just cos we got some el nemo thing happening. Mrs Banks, she was our teacher last year, she was tellin’ us all about it. It means that we ain’t gunna get much rain for a while. M’dad says she’s right, too. He says lots of people reckon we ain’t gettin’ rain cos of this global warmin’ stuff, but it ain’t that at all. It’s cos of this el nemo thing.’

‘Ah … I think it’s called El Nino,’ said Tim.

‘Yeah, yeah. That’s it. El nemo. So you’ve heard of it too?’

‘Yes,’ said Tim, smiling to himself. ‘We did it last year as well, but our teacher said it might change soon. She said that—’

‘Y’see that?’ shouted Lockie, pointing at the far bank of the waterhole. ‘Did y’see it?’

‘See what?’ All he could see were some ripples on the water.

‘I reckon it mighta been a platypus or somethin’. Dad reckons there’s some of them about.’

Tim had seen a platypus once, in a waterhole when he and his mum and dad had gone camping up in the mountains. This waterhole didn’t look anything like that one.

‘Do you ever catch any fish?’ he asked Lockie, to change the subject.

‘Course I do. Caught one this long …’ Lockie held his hands wide apart, ‘… just before Christmas. So, do y’reckon y’wanna try it sometime?’

‘Yeah. I guess so. Don’t have a rod though.’

‘S’okay. I’ve got plenty. Come on, let’s walk along the creek. I’ll show y’where m’grandad reckons he saw a crocodile once. He reckons it was at least four metres long and that it used to come up out of the creek at night and find a cow to eat, and that would last ‘im about a week before he had to come back out for another one.’

‘Really?’ said Tim. ‘A crocodile? Out here?’

‘Yeah, though no one else has ever said anything about it, so I reckon Grandad mighta been just pullin’ m’leg.’

They wandered down an old cattle track, past fallen trees and shrunken waterholes. Grasshoppers clicked out of the grass ahead of them. One landed on Tim’s arm and he yelped and tried to brush it off.

‘It’s alright,’ laughed Lockie. ‘They won’t hurt ya. Y’gotta get used to ‘em now that you’re out in the country. Come on. It’s not much further.’

‘Don’t you worry about snakes?’ asked Tim as they walked through long grass, the cattle track having petered out.

‘Nah. M’dad reckons they get outta y’way if y’make enough noise. Look, there it is.’

Ahead of them was a large waterhole, at least twice the size of the first one. ‘Why don’t you fish here?’ asked Tim.

‘What? And get eaten by a crocodile? No way,’ said Lockie.

‘I thought you said your grandad was pulling your leg,’ said Tim.

‘Yeah, I reckon he was, but I ain’t takin’ no chances.’

Just then, a mob of cows with calves wandered down from the far bank to have a drink.

‘Shhh,’ whispered Lockie, ducking down, then pointing up. Above them was an outcrop of boulders. ‘Let’s get up there. We’ll see more.’

From their vantage point the boys watched as the cows pushed each other out of the way to get a drink while the calves frisked around, butting each other.

Next thing there was a loud plop in the water. The cows reared back, turned, and ran up the bank with their tails in the air, the calves galloping along behind them.

‘Did ya see that? Do y’reckon Grandad might’ve been right about the croc after all?’

‘No. Look,’ said Tim.

The boys watched as a huge dog paddled across the waterhole then pulled itself up onto the bank and shook itself. The spray of water caught the sun as it arced out, like a sprinkler on a lawn.

‘Look at the size—’ started Lockie.

But at that moment they heard voices, and two men walked to the edge of the bank on the far side of the waterhole. They were so close Tim could see their faces clearly, and their voices carried across the short distance between them.

‘Bloomin’ cows,’ said one of the men. He was skinny and wore a khaki shirt and shorts, and he had an old felt hat pushed back on his head. ‘They’re always wandering along the creek. Crawling through fences and getting into my pasture. I should round them up and send them to the meatworks.’

‘You won’t have to do that if we play our cards right,’ said the other man, grinning. He was dressed in long trousers, shirt and tie and looked out of place – hot and uncomfortable. ‘I think you and I can make a small fortune on this development project, especially now we’ve got the Russell farm tied up.’

‘What about the other block?’ asked the skinny man, pointing across the creek.

‘No worries there. I’ve worked out a way to … convince a certain person that it would be in her best interest to sell her land …’ The man gave a wheezy laugh and his stomach bounced up and down. Then he leaned in close to his companion. Tim couldn’t hear what he was saying.

The skinny man laughed and said, ‘Do you think she’ll fall for it?’

‘She won’t have a choice. Now where’s that dog?’ He gave a shrill whistle as they turned away and the boys heard no more.

‘Who were they?’ whispered Tim.

‘I know that bloke with the tie,’ Lockie whispered back. ‘He’s Oliver Baxter’s uncle. Oliver’s in our class at school. And the other bloke’s a farmer, I think. Seen ‘im round. Don’t know ‘is name, but. Y’don’t s’pose he was a croc hunter, do ya?’

‘No,’ said Tim, wanting to get out of there. For some reason, those two men gave him the creeps. Especially the fat one – Oliver’s uncle.

‘I’ll show y’somethin’ else,’ said Lockie and they headed back the way they’d come.

‘We’ll have to be quick,’ said Tim. ‘It’ll be getting dark soon.’

‘No, it won’t,’ said Lockie, looking up at the sky. ‘We’ve got ages yet. Anyway, this won’t take long.’

They walked back along the road until they reached the old mailbox again.

‘Why is there a mailbox here?’ asked Tim, suddenly curious.

‘Aha,’ said Lockie. ‘That’s what I wanted t’show ya.’ And he pointed to a narrow track that branched off the road and ran into the bush. Lockie moved closer and dropped his voice, as if he were telling a secret. ‘Someone lives down there.’

After the stories Lockie had already told him today, Tim wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d said the three bears lived down the track.

‘Can y’see it?’ asked Lockie, nodding his head towards the track.

‘What?’ asked Tim.

‘That …’ said Lockie, ‘… is where Granny Rags lives.’

‘Granny Rags?’

A wide grin spread across Lockie’s face.

Tim looked again. There, amongst the trees and bushes and long thick grass, he could just make out part of a rusted roof and a brick chimney.

‘Who’s Granny Rags?’ he whispered, though he wasn’t quite sure why.

‘Granny Rags,’ Lockie whispered back, ‘is a witch. Well, that’s what the kids at school reckon. She’s really old and she wears raggy clothes, and she’s got a long black stick that she hits people with, ‘specially kids. She hates kids. And she snarls, like this.’ Lockie pulled a face, lips drawn and teeth bared. ‘And her teeth are all black—’

Tim frowned.

‘It’s true,’ said Lockie. ‘Oliver at school, he went down there last year with his cousin. He told us she came out snarlin’ and rantin’ and ravin’, and she ‘ad a big stick and she was wavin’ it about, tryin’ to hit ‘em. She nearly did, too, Oliver said. They were lucky to get away.’

‘They’re just saying that,’ said Tim. ‘There’s no such thing as witches.’

‘Well, why don’t y’go down there and see for y’self?’ said Lockie indignantly. ‘Then y’ll believe me.’

Tim glanced at the lengthening shadows again, and thought about the fish and chips they were having for tea. ‘Ah, maybe some other time. I’d better get home. We’re having takeaway tonight.’

Lockie opened his mouth to say something, but just then the sun slipped down behind a tall gum tree and the world seemed to lose its light. He shivered. ‘I guess I’d better get goin’ too,’ he said. ‘M’dad’ll be wonderin’ where I am. It’s my turn to cook tea tonight. Think we’ll have baked beans on toast, if there’s any bread left. Come on, I’ll race ya.’

And Lockie was gone.