Zenna Dare Read online

  I stop a moment, then stretch out and pull. The whole bookcase is on hinges! It swings right out from the wall. And inside is another stone space deep enough to hide in. At least to stash stuff in. Incredible. And no one knows about it. No one at all. I close it quickly in case someone comes. Wouldn’t do to have Kate know. All of the primary school would follow her home to have a squiz. I sit down on the bed and think. What sort of house is this? Secret compartments. A whole floor underground. Well, two big rooms and a smaller one, which Dad will fill with wine and photographic equipment. He’s never taken to digital cameras and loves developing photos like in the dark ages. Dad said this used to be a manse. They didn’t need priest holes in Australia, surely? Not like in English history when it was dangerous to be Catholic, like Steffi with her crucifix above the bed. Though Steffi would have been safe. She never goes to mass; just chooses all the wrong moments to remember those rules she learnt. Dad’s family has almost always lived here, he said. That’s why he was so set on us coming. And I don’t remember any talk about them being Catholic.

  I can’t work it out so I put everything away instead. Already I’m starting to think of stories and scenarios that could have happened here. It’s just that sort of place.

  It’s at night when I wonder if I’ve chosen so well. Once the light goes out I settle down. It’s my bed, my pillow. Everything should be fine. The house becomes quiet, like an aviary after dark. Steffi’s stopped creaking around upstairs. The kids were in bed ages ago. Dad’s like the dead when he sleeps, so when I first hear this tiny noise I know it’s nothing human. Knock. Tap. Scratch. A hollow sound — not the noisy scuffling that mice make, but scraping, scratching. A sound miniature people would make in the skirting boards if they were trying to escape. Fairies? God help me. Scratch. Tap. It stops at times. Once it stopped for a whole half-hour, I’m sure of it.

  That’s when I think it’s finished and I drop off to sleep. But my dreams are troubled with images of all the horror stories I’ve ever read. Little people, green men with wings, laughing and drawing me to a cliff edge where I know I’ll have to jump to the rocks below to escape them. When I look down, the water’s so wild. The waves, white with anger, are smashing up on the rocks and cliff, snatching for me with long fingers of foam; the grass is a vibrant green even in the black of night.

  My sheets are wet with sweat when I wake. It’s early and I listen. No tapping, but the house is alive already. Dad’s made coffee; the smell even wafts its way down here. Kate’s voice is coming closer, telling Hamilton off about something.

  ‘Jenfa. Are you awake? Can I come down?’ She’s down anyway. I struggle up as she jumps on the bed.

  ‘Careful.’

  ‘What’s wrong with you? We’ve been up forever.’

  ‘Nothing’s wrong. Kate?’

  ‘Hmm?’ Her bright little eyes are surveying my room. No doubt deciding where her stuff would go if she were here. I don’t want her catching on to the movable bookcase. ‘Can you get me your storybook. The one Auntie Joy gave you about Celtic fairies and myths?’

  She turns this interested look on me.

  ‘I want to write something and I want to get the facts right. OK?’

  ‘Sure.’ While she’s gone I get dressed and head up into the kitchen. Steffi’s there at the stove.

  ‘Mum? Do you reckon there’s another dimension?’ She’s staring at me, egg slice in midair. ‘You know. Ghosts.’

  She’s flipping the eggs now, lips pursed. ‘Not me, Jenefer.’ Then she grins. ‘But your Aunt Dulcie swore there was someone here.’

  ‘Dulcie?’

  ‘Your dad’s aunt who died years ago. The one who used to live here with Dorie.’

  ‘And you came here? Knowing that?’

  Steffi chuckles. It’s such a nice normal sound. ‘She was old, Jenefer. And starting to lose her faculties. Who’d take notice?’

  I would, I think. After last night. ‘Are you all right, Jenefer? Sleep well?’

  ‘Sure.’ There must be some explanation. With any luck, I imagined it.

  This is the third day I’ve woken up in what should be a state of wellbeing. Even plain boredom would be preferable. I don’t even have the energy to miss my friends properly. I’m definitely starting to look haggard. It must be bad; Dad’s noticed. He reckons I’ll settle soon. Normally I’d have a go at him about that. ‘Settle soon’ as if I was a little kid. It’d take all year for sure and then it’d be time for me to go back to uni in Adelaide. But right now I’m not even thinking about what I left behind. If only that’s all it was. That infernal scratching when the house goes quiet. So faint — just loud enough so you know something is there. Kate’s book doesn’t help much; full of mermaids and giants. So I go down to the library. I thought it would be scary enough walking to the shops where everyone’s going to know I’m from the ‘new family’ just moved in. But ghostly scraping in the middle of the night beats even that.

  I find this old book by a Robert Hunt written centuries ago about fairies and demons. It’s really hard to read, with words not used anymore. I can’t believe there are so many kinds of fairies and piskies, and this is just a book on Cornwall. I see this bit about fairies and changelings — how human babies can be changed for a fairy one if they’re sickly or not looked after. So creepy.

  Then suddenly I see it. The fairy miners — the knockers. Knockers! This is it. I just know it. These are the sprites of the mines. They are not allowed to rest because of their wicked practices as tinners. Souls who are too good for hell, too bad for heaven. Small withered creatures, large ugly heads with old men’s faces. Spiteful if crossed. I shiver. Our house is almost next to the old mine. Could some have tunnelled across? Jenefer, get a grip! What am I thinking of? No one believes this stuff anymore. It’s just stories for kids. Superstitions that ignorant people used in the old days to make sense of their world. Right, Jenefer. But what about the tapping you can hear at night?

  I can’t bear to read any more. Nor do I take the book out. For some reason, I don’t want it in my room, as though its presence will make the knockers real. And in the daylight I don’t believe they are. Honest. The librarian smiles at me, but I make a quick getaway. Bet she’s wondering why I haven’t joined but I don’t feel like talking. I can’t wait to escape to the house. If only I could go back home and to my school at Cedar Rise with all my old friends. No knockers there.

  It’s when I’m coming out of the heavy old wooden doors that I first notice the guy. He’s across the road, coming out of the Post Office. There’s this huge mural all over the outside wall with horses, colours, a beautiful old house. It’s like he’s painted there too. He sees me looking and waves. I freeze. No one waves at you where I used to live. In Italy they clap at you, apparently — saw it on a movie — and I’ve had a wolf whistle from a car full of hoons once. But no one’s waved. He’s got to be weird, and I walk off towards the house, but on the way I remember how he looked. Dark, and not just his hair. His smile was friendly and white, and he wore torn jeans. Cool. But he waved. He may as well have bowed.

  By the end of the week, I can’t stand it anymore. I tell Steffi there are knockers in my bedroom. ‘Do you hear tapping in the night, Mum?’

  She gives me this sharp look. ‘No, Jenefer.’ She’s not asking if I do, but I can tell it’s an effort for her not to. So I say it.

  ‘I can hear this dull scratchy sort of knocking behind the wall. Hollow tapping.’ I almost say like miniature picks, but stop in time. ‘It’s so spooky. Not loud. I can only hear it when everything goes quiet. I’ve tried going to sleep earlier but it doesn’t work — I’m waiting for it to start.’ Steffi still hasn’t said anything. ‘You don’t suppose Aunt Dulcie was right, do you?’

  Steffi smiles then. ‘No, Jenefer. I’ll ask your father.’

  ‘He’ll think I’m stupid,’ I wail.

  ‘I won’t tell him what you think it is
. Only what you heard.’

  ‘There’s a difference?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  Dad knows straight away. He’s horrified. ‘Hell, Jenefer. You heard scratching?’

  I nod, determined not to be frightened by his tone. I hate it when he gets too loud. He doesn’t sound scared, but he isn’t pleased either. His voice is rising like it always does when he’s annoyed or frustrated. I don’t want it to affect me; at least I hope it’s not directed at me. Not like when he got stuck into me at the end of last year for sneaking into a night club with Amy after the exams. I got so frightened and angry I shouted back at him. And burst into tears. It was so humiliating. The scariest thing this time is that he’s not questioning what I heard. He believes me!

  ‘This is going to cost so much money.’

  ‘What will, Mark?’ Steffi’s sewing up green velvet curtain hems with pins in her mouth. And talking in nice soft tones, like he’s got all the reason in the world to be aggro. Good one, Steffi.

  ‘Getting rid of them.’ Dad sounds slightly mollified; he’s being understood at last. I don’t have Steffi’s talent for Dad-soothing. Maybe I get a stubborn look on my face or something; I can never quieten him down.

  And now I’m heaps spooked. How do you get rid of knockers in the twenty-first century? I wonder if Robert Hunt really believed all the stories he wrote about and whether there will have to be exorcisms or something to clear knockers out of someone’s basement.

  ‘So how will we do it, Dad?’ I’m watching Steffi calmly put all the pins back in the black film container. She’s tired of hemming.

  ‘Get the pest control man, I suppose.’ He sighs like it’s going to physically hurt.

  ‘The pest control man?’ And Steffi laughs.

  ‘It’s no laughing matter, Steffi. Could cost a couple of thousand in an old place like this.’

  I still haven’t caught on, though the scary part has passed. Steffi’s looking at me with her eyes brimming, the curtain totally forgotten. ‘So what will the pest control man do?’ I ask as Steffi starts to splutter again.

  ‘Get rid of the white ants.’ Then Dad’s eyes narrow as he looks at me. ‘That was the knocking, Jenefer. When they gnaw the wood you can hear it.’ He’s being sarcastic; Kate would have just said ‘duh’. I can tell it’s on the tip of his tongue to ask what on earth I thought the scratching was, but how was I supposed to know? Our house in Adelaide was relatively new. Nothing like white ants ever happened.

  Steffi steers him to the phone. ‘Better do it then, eh, Mark?’

  Dad sighs. ‘Only trouble with old houses — all the maintenance.’

  ‘But you wanted it,’ she reminded him.

  ‘Yeah, yeah. You can’t let a piece of history like this fall to wrack and ruin. This was built in 1858, you know.’

  With a heap of relief, I escape to my newly exorcised room.

  Apparently, it’s best to be out when there’s a white ant man fumigating your house. My job is to take Kate and Hamilton to the duck pond. It’s not so far. Kate packed a picnic but she wouldn’t let Hamilton help. Just hope she put enough food in for all three of us. We’re crossing the main street, near the antique shop, when this run-down rusty ute suddenly parks right in our path. My eyes are reading ‘Camel Farm, Kapunda’ on the door as the Waving Guy gets out and says ‘Hi’. I’m still walking round the front of the ute, onto the footpath, but Kate stops and says ‘Hi’ back. I could kill her. It’s not that he looks dangerous or anything — up close he looks fine, more than fine — but it’s embarrassing. He talks to Kate instead.

  ‘You’re new to town, then?’ Wish it wasn’t so obvious, and it rankles that he says it conversationally, like he already knows.

  ‘Yes.’ Kate answers in her best I’m-ten-going-on-sixteen voice.

  ‘Looking forward to school on Monday?’

  Kate nods, though I can tell she doesn’t want to be reminded of only being in Year 5 at the moment.

  ‘So am I,’ the Waving Guy adds.

  I pull my head up at this. He seems older. He’s looking at me now, waiting for me to say something. Well, he can wait. Damn Kate though.

  ‘Are you in Year 12? Jenefer’s in Year 12.’ Thanks a million, Kate. Now he knows everything. I grab her arm and Hamilton’s and walk them round the corner to where Dad said this pond was.

  ‘Ow, Jenfa. You’re hurting. And you’re rude. Why didn’t you say something? He was nice.’

  ‘You can’t tell when you just meet someone if they’re nice. You should be more careful.’

  ‘But Dad said everyone was nice in Kapunda. It’s the country.’ This from Hamilton who usually is careful. I sigh in frustration. No wonder kids get abducted.

  ‘Everybody waves. See?’ And just as Hamilton says this, the guy drives past, waving again and grinning.

  ‘What do you mean, “everybody waves”?’ I ask, even though I’ve caught on. I’ve seen outback shows on TV; I just didn’t realise it would happen here.

  Hamilton’s determined to be patient with me, I can tell. ‘Dad said people wave in the country to be friendly.’ And suddenly I feel as if I’ve crossed a border to an unknown land. On the other side of this border I have no idea what to do or when to do it, whether to shake hands, spit at people or wave. In Adelaide you can’t wave to a guy. He’d think you were weird or on the make. Now this guy must think I’m a snob.

  At least the pond is like any other pond, with wild ducks, reeds and decking that stretches out into the water. Hamilton and Kate spend most of the time feeding crumbs to the baby ones. ‘I don’t think they should have too much of that,’ I say after I remember all the signs in the Botanical Gardens about not feeding bread to black swans.

  ‘Don’t give them so much!’ I hear Kate’s voice floating back, bossy as though she thought of it herself. I lean back and watch through half-closed eyes. One of these days I’ll rip into Kate for the way she treats Hamilton, but I’m always hoping he’ll do it himself. Surely it can’t be good for him to have someone like me stick up for him all the time? Then I hear giggling.

  Three girls my age are strolling by. They look relaxed, sharing quiet, intimate stuff. I hear a few snatches — they’re still at school, that much I can tell. They look like they’d never need a new friend. This is going to be so hard. How do you make friends at a school where they’ve all grown up together? Dad reckons they’ll be friendly. Like the waving thing, I guess. But he doesn’t know teenage girls. Being brought up on a farm or in a little town can’t change human nature that much, can it?

  When we get back to the house, everything’s upside down, in more ways than one.

  ‘Guess what?’ Steffi looks even more excited than Dad was when we came. Usually he’s the only crazy one with his roller-coaster moods, and Steffi helps to smooth his fur down. ‘We have a secret room!’

  Kate shrieks. ‘Where? Can I see?’ Hamilton just blinks and waits for more information. Honestly, he’s starting to look like Sher Khan.

  ‘Next to Jenefer’s room.’

  Kate throws me a dart of pure jealousy. I’m just glad we didn’t know about it before I found out what the knocking was. ‘Under the stairs.’ So we all troop down to have a look. Dad’s already there, standing by this round hole less than a metre across. He’s got his cordless drill, screwing a board across the top with a square of curtain material stapled to it.

  ‘The pest control man found it. He noticed this part of the wall looked tampered with so he dug in with a hammer and chisel, and it went straight through.’

  ‘Must have been a door here sometime,’ Steffi adds, ‘and over the years it got plastered up.’

  ‘Wow.’ You can always tell how impressed Kate is by the decrease in the number of words she can manage.

  ‘But you can’t go in, Kate.’

  I see the rebel look that flashes over her features before she pres
ents them to Dad. ‘It’s so dark you can’t see anything. It’ll be full of spiders.’

  ‘Or snakes,’ I add for Kate’s benefit. Dad looks at me with his eyelids half down. He’s warning me to be careful, too. But this is one thing I would have to do. Alone. And before Kate does. A secret room and not go in? Impossible. This house is getting more interesting by the day. If I’m not careful, I’ll even be getting into the family stuff, like Great-aunt Dorie.

  I’ve waited until the kids are in bed. Kate’s been watching me like a hungry eagle ever since tea. I was so busy trying not to look excited that I couldn’t even eat my chops, while Dad was going on about how lucky it was ‘only the skirting boards’. After tea he went outside to put some order in his new shed before he got too busy at the uni admin office to even think about it. I stayed up in the lounge with Steffi and she wanted me to play the piano. Hamilton loves it when I do. Whenever I finish a piece I can hear his thin, sleepy voice all the way down the hall like a prisoner in a dungeon: ‘Play some more.’ The ‘more’ gets all drawn out like he’s on the rack. It’s touching really, when he’s the one that has the talent and he doesn’t realise. He can pick out a song the next day that he’s heard me play the night before. Without even reading the music.

  Finally, they’re all quiet. I’ve got the rechargeable torch. Down at the bottom of the stairs, I stare at the piece of material Dad’s hung there. Dare I? There’s no such things as knockers, or little people,

  or ghosts. Go on, Jenefer Tremayne. What are you waiting for? I’ve tied my hair back, just in case there’s sticky stuff hanging in there. So disgusting. Dad says it possibly hasn’t seen the light of day since the 1860s. I try not to think about spiders and all sorts of other life forms that like the dark. I lift the material up first and shine the torch in. Dad may be right and there’s nothing there. I see the stone walls; old wooden beams. Nothing much, really. Looks like I don’t need to venture in after all. Then the light catches on something. I bring the arc of light back. There’s a shadow. I still don’t move. It’s an odd shape, sort of lumpy. Obviously nothing to do with the stone wall.