~~~
So here I stand, my friends, completely devoid of Dignity. I’m convinced it’s nearby, waiting for me to beg it to come back. The thing is, as I mentioned before, I’m not at all sure it’s all it claims to be anyway. Even if it is, I don’t know that I want it back. I’ve decided that Dignity is a dreadfully high maintenance commodity and I’m not at all sure it’s worth wasting the remainder of my insignificant life on.
So, friend Dignity, let’s have ourselves a trial separation, shall we? Let’s just see who needs whom the most. Are you listening, Dignity? I plan on wearing – or not wearing – whatever I’m comfortable in. I plan on berating dumb animals as loudly as I please. I plan on arguing with the man in the radio and with every inanimate object that earns my displeasure. I plan on dancing with the broom, singing into my hairbrush and dyeing my hair hot pink. I plan on laughing uproariously whenever the opportunity presents itself. I plan to be totally without Dignity, because I do not plan to wither quietly away while waiting for oblivion.
I hope you can find someone you consider more worthy of you to latch onto, because to be honest, I really don’t think I’m going to miss you nearly as much as I thought I would; or for that matter, as you probably think I should.
This item formed part of our ‘it made a most unusual noise as it landed’ week.
Thursday 4 April 2013 2 pm
It Made A Most Unusual Noise When It Landed
Lynn Nickols
Griffith, ACT
Our friend the ‘Gadget Man’ always has the latest gizmo. He enjoys showing us how they work and how amazingly useful/clever/cute or funny they are.
One New Year’s Eve he could hardly wait for us to all to get a glass of champagne in our hands before dashing in to his office and returning with what Santa had brought him for Xmas – a remote controlled toy helicopter.
Of course, a demonstration was demanded. We stood back a little while he got it started. There was a general cheer at ‘lift-off’, then it flew above the lounge, narrowly cleared the candles on the dining table and circumnavigated the light fittings. Maybe he lost concentration on his remote control, or maybe a battery ran out, but it made a most unusual noise when it landed – a sort of ‘plop’ into the guacamole dip!
This item formed part of our ‘it made a most unusual noise as it landed’ week.
Thursday 4 April 2013 6 pm
An Infatuation With The Semblance Of A Man
Arielle Windsor
Nakara, NT
‘Ting-ting,’ chimed Flick’s phone cheerily from somewhere beneath the rubble of textbooks, notepaper, pens and chewing gum packets that flowed out the mouth of her upturned bag and spilled onto the floor. Flick, who was dancing around with her headphones in her ears and her arms waving over her head like a madwoman, paused in her wild antics for a moment to smile at the sound. Then she rushed about searching for the location of the source – had she left the phone in the pocket of yesterday’s jeans? Or amongst the junk on her bedside table? Was it in the dock where it belonged?
‘Aha,’ Flick murmured, as she spied the phone, buried beneath the books, turned upside down and wedged in a stapler. Excited, she pulled it free and slid the lock screen across to see who had texted her what.
The who was Jason, and what he had written was nearly as gorgeous as the man himself.
‘Hey Flickibabe, got something important to tell you. Meet up this afternoon?’ read Flick aloud. Oh she loved it when he called her that. That little set of text made her feel as though she had made a name for herself, if not in the eyes of the world at large, at least in the eyes of Jason Montague. And, oh, his eyes were worth measuring yourself in. Amber, golden, passion lit eyes, with flecks of green and brown. Jase had eyes that held the sun when they laughed, beaming rays of pure, radiant energy. Pools of light they were, like liquid bronze. They shone and glittered, dazzling her mind. Those eyes were beacons, calling. They drew her in, the green flecks swirling in a sea of gold, pulling her closer, closer, until she fell into the dark cavern of shadows at their core.
Aside from her daydreams, she couldn’t see those eyes right now. For now they were out of reach. If she couldn’t have those eyes, decided Flick to herself, she’d at least have his voice.
That voice. That voice had been the first part of Jason Montague she’d ever known, a stranger with no face who had called her phone by accident. Entrancing, nearly hypnotic, that voice was. She could feel the sound of it running through her bones. The resonant intonations of his voice as he spoke that very first time had captured and bound her, mesmerised in the spell of his words.
That voice had caught in her ears with its melodious tones, lodged itself there like a catchy tune and refused to leave her head. Every time she heard that voice, it drew her in to the lilting beauty of its sonorous depths and held her there, fully captive to the sound of what Jason Montague had to say.
She could get lost in that sound, so rich and full, so handsome. Power ran through that voice, an electrical current that sent shivers down her spine. Yet at the same time it was so soft, so tender, you could hear the care that stood behind the words.
Instead of sending off a quick reply, Flick’s fingers danced across the screen to type in the only number she had learnt by heart, despite the fact that it had been saved in her contacts list. She hit ‘Call’ and Jason’s face filled the screen.
Her heart swelled with each crisp ‘Brinnng-brinnng’ of the phone, as she waited for him to pick up with anticipation and joy. The phone stopped its cheerful song, and a pause filled the air.
‘Hey Jase!’ called Flick, ‘S’happening? How are you? And what’s this “important” mysterious thing we need to chat about?’
‘Well ...’ began Jason. Although that sentence could have led anywhere, Flick felt her stomach drop away. His voice was not the one she had expected. It was still the voice of Jason Montague, but it was not rich or deep or full. It sounded hollow, contorted, empty.
‘Well,’ repeated Jason, ‘I don’t want to see you anymore. I’m breaking up with you.’
‘What?’ cried Flick, ‘Why?’
‘I’ve had enough of you. I think it’s time to move on.’
‘Why though?’ Flick demanded, ‘I still don’t understand.’
‘That’s your problem then. Work it out.’
‘Jason, what’s wrong with you?’ she cried.
But the only response was silence, and the gentle sound as the other line clicked off. Flick threw her phone onto the tiled floor.
It made a most unusual noise as it landed, a hollow tinny clang that rang through the room. The sound seemed too empty and weak for the significance of the moment. Flick slammed her fist into the desk with a muffled thump, and kicked her paper basket as hard as she could. She put her head on the varnished wood and screamed as loud as she could without letting the sound escape from her room. For a long time, she sat there sobbing and shuddering with the terror of what it all meant. Finally, she lifted her head and took a few shaky gulps of air. It was no use. No matter how furious her yell or how terrible her cries, she could still hear the cold empty silence surround her. In everything she did, she felt the space of his body; in everything she saw, she could see his eyes and in every sound she made, she heard the echo of his voice.
Without Jason Montague her world was empty. It was a long time before she began to fill it again.
This item formed part of our ‘it made a most unusual noise as it landed’ week.
Friday 5 April 2013
The Back Room
Thomas Gibbs
Sydney, NSW
The back room in our house was a mess. There were all sorts of creatures living underneath the debris. Every now and then a cockroach would show itself, exploring the outskirts of its heaven. The stink of cat piss would get caught in your oesophagus upon opening the door. At least the door opened. If it didn’t, we couldn’t call this space a room. Do you get the idea?
She was outside in the
backyard, so I went out to help her hang out the washing. ‘Hey Pip, do you want to sort out the back room today?’
‘I’ll do it, stop stressing me out!’
The backyard was a great place to take respite. It was a typical suburban backyard with not much grass and a large slab of concrete called a driveway. I usually sat on one of several milk crates and enjoyed a hot cup of coffee, while her dog barked its head off at the neighbours through the fence.
‘C’mon, just tell me what’s rubbish and what isn’t and I’ll help.’
‘Seriously, go away.’
I was still sitting down on the milk crate with a coffee. Whenever I have a coffee conversation comes naturally. Pip was concentrating on positioning the pegs correctly. She has tried more than once to teach me how to do it the right way. I guess I’m just a slow learner when it comes to household chores.
Pip’s eyes were intense. At first I thought she was in a deep focus. She often looked stressed. Her fierce, red hair would tangle itself in knots. If it wasn’t for her large downturned eyes you would identify her as a crazy-woman. But now, she was starting to cry. I thought about what to say. I had to say something.
‘Are you okay?’ I asked. She widened her eyes and a teardrop slid over her cheek into the corner of her mouth.
‘Not really.’ It was at this point where she began to tell me a story that I would never forget. ‘Do you know why the house is such a mess?’ I didn’t answer and let her continue.
‘My ex, Giles, was an alcoholic. He wouldn’t go away. So, the only way I could get rid of him was to literally force him out. That’s why the house is the way it is. When his alcohol abuse started to transform into physical abuse, this is when I started to collect all this junk. I was already working overtime to distance myself from him. I had a good job so I could afford it. After my dad died I lost it and told him to get out.’
‘Oh.’ I wanted to ask why she still had everything, now that Giles had moved on, but I held my tongue.
‘He went in cycles. One month he would be charming and the next month he would slam the door in my face. Apparently, this behaviour is common in people with alcohol dependence.’
‘At least he’s gone now,’ I said, alluding to the idea of cleaning up as soon as possible.
‘He keeps bloody texting me when he’s drunk, trying to get my attention.’
‘Just ignore him.’
‘I do but, he knows how to push my buttons. I was with him for almost ten years.’
‘Why don’t you get a new number?’ I suggested.
‘All my friends have this number and I want to keep getting all his messages anyway so that I have evidence of abuse.’
I had many things to say myself. I wondered if she still had feelings for Giles. I walked inside and entered my bedroom. I was still being stalked by the smell of cat urine and wet dog. It was getting late so I had a quick, microwaveable dinner and headed off to bed.
The next day I slept in. Pip had already left for work. I made my way to the kitchen to make a coffee. As it was brewing, I walked through the hallway towards the back room. It looked as if Pip had ventured across and opened the window slightly. I always wondered how she did this. She must have moved a few cupboards in the process, like a game of Tetris. Out of curiosity, I opened one of the many cupboards. There was a wooden box inside. I thought about opening it, but I went back to check on my coffee. It was probably a good idea to have a break from the room. Its atmosphere was quite toxic and would make your eyes water. It would make you cry.
Later on that night, Pip arrived home from work.
‘Did you have a good day?’
‘It was okay.’
I could smell alcohol on her breath. I wondered if she had visited Giles. She parked herself on the lounge and let out a great sigh. As I sat down next to her, something must have fallen. It made a most unusual noise as it landed. I looked around the room.
‘What was that?’ Pip said, slurring her speech slightly.
‘I don’t know.’
I got up and searched for anything unusual. There was just too much stuff. It could’ve been anything that made the noise. Pip got up and walked to the back room. I could now see it through the hallway. The wooden box had fallen and all of its contents were on the floor. Pip was in the back room. She looked back at me. I could see a tear rolling down her cheek.
This item formed part of our ‘it made a most unusual noise as it landed’ week.
Friday 5 April 2013 4 pm
Selma’s Birthday Present
Winsome Smith
Lithgow, NSW
Mark Barrow hurried along busy Porter Street. It was nearly closing time and he just had to get to the bookshop before five o’clock. In this town shops always closed exactly on time.
He had forgotten to buy his wife, Selma, her birthday present. He had been in the bookshop at lunch time and had seen the book, but in his hurry to get back to the office had forgotten it. This was the busy time of the year and he hardly had time for lunch. As head accountant he had to keep everything running smoothly and he could not take extra time away.
The bookshop was a new idea; a bookshop and coffee shop combined. There were signs advising customers to browse and read and perhaps buy if they found a book they liked. It had become one of Selma’s favourite haunts and it was there that she had seen the book she wanted. It was a large hardcover book entitled A Romance Omnibus and was a collection of books written by Selma’s favourite romance authors.
At the thought of his wife, Selma, Mark felt a slight panic. Selma was a person whose birthday you never forgot. Selma got everything she wanted and she wanted everything now. He could not face the tantrums and tears if he forgot her birthday present. There had been the time when he booked theatre seats and they happened to be behind two very tall people. Of course it was Mark’s fault and Selma had sulked for days. There had been the time when she had got hayfever from the flowers he bought her – but he’d rather not think about that.
Fortunately the shop was still open. It had two entrances, one on Porter Street and another on Castle Street. Between the two doors the shelves ran along the side walls, something like an arcade. You could order your coffee at either entrance, drink it and read at tables in the middle, then take your book if you found one and pay for book and coffee together. The shop had a cosy, foodie, bookish smell and was doing a good business.
Mark rushed through the Porter Street entrance, and almost ran to the shelves labelled Romance. There was the book with a cover design of an ecstatic couple swooning in each other’s arms surrounded by pink roses. At first he was not aware of another man who hurried through the Castle Street entrance and rushed to the same shelf. When Mark did notice him he saw that the man was reaching for the very same book – and there was only one copy.
In his determination to get the book, Mark pushed in front of the man and took the book from the shelf. The other man gave Mark a push and tried to pull the book from his hand.
What followed was a brief tussle. The other man was bigger and stronger than Mark and it looked for a moment that he would be the winner.
Mark was not a fighter; he was a Clark Kent kind of person, with his dark-rimmed glasses and his mild manner. He was known as a gentle soul and the staff at the office respected this. He was always the peace maker. On this occasion there was no peace making; he would have that book, no matter what.
The tussle lasted for a couple of minutes. The other man held up a fist but Mark ducked, regained his footing and pushed his assailant. The other man staggered back and reached again for the book but after a quick glance over Mark’s shoulder he let go of the book. The action was so sudden that Mark staggered backwards. As he regained his footing he saw his assailant running headlong towards the Castle Street entrance – or exit, depending on which way you were going.
Still slightly shaken, Mark clumsily dropped the book. It made a most unusual noise at it landed on the floor. You would expect such a large hard cov
er book to land with a heavy bang, but it fell softly with a gentle thud onto the polished floor.
Retrieving the book, Mark approached the cash register and made his payment. The cashier smiled at him as she dropped the book into a bag and gave it to Mark. Somewhat shaken but relieved, Mark strolled out to the street. Oh happy day! He had Selma’s birthday present.
He walked straight into a policeman who was standing at the shop entrance. Another policeman grabbed Mark’s arm and said, ‘Bought the book, didya mate?’ Before Mark realised what was happening both policemen were waving their identity badges and advising him they were taking him to the police station. As one held his arm the other took the book in its bag.
On the way to the police station Mark demanded to know what was happening. The policeman who was not driving said, ‘We’ll ask the questions, matey. You can give us answers at the station.’
At the station they typed all his details into the computer then took Mark into a room, which he supposed from watching television was an interview room. The atmosphere at the station was surprisingly relaxed and almost cheerful. Mark looked around the room. There was no recording equipment and there wasn’t one of those mirror things which are actually a one way window so people can look in. It was just a plain room, painted a greenish-yellow puke colour and with a couple of filing cabinets and uncomfortable chairs.
Of course it would be plain; it was not as though they were charging him with murder. In fact, they had nothing to charge him with.
The book was placed on the table and a policeman said, ‘Do you recognise this?’
‘Of course I do,’ replied Mark. ‘It’s a book I bought from the shop where you found me. You have no reason to keep me here. I don’t know much about the law, but I must have some rights.’
The bald headed policeman whose name was Sergeant O’Mara said, ‘You’re admitting it’s yours, so you won’t be surprised when we open this book.’
With a smart-arse grin Sergeant O’Mara opened the book. It opened wide like a box to reveal that a neat oblong hole had been cut in the pages. The box-like middle of the book held two small packages containing what looked like a white powder.
No wonder the book landed on the floor with a soft thud, Mark thought. He guessed that the white powder would weigh less than the weight of four hundred pages.
For Mark it was proving to be an afternoon of shocks. All he could do was gasp and stare. The shorter policeman, Sergeant Berry declared, ‘You were very anxious to have this book with the drugs in it. You almost knocked another customer off his feet.’
‘I wanted it for a birthday present for my wife,’ Mark protested.
‘Hm, she’s into drugs too is she?’ asked Sergeant Berry.
The mild-mannered side of Mark’s character began to fade in his reaction to the sarcasm. ‘She wanted the book.’ His voice rose by about a decibel. Trying hard to control his anger, he said, ‘We are not into drugs, or anything else.’
Sergeant O’Mara said, ‘They all say that. How can you explain why you wanted this very book; the one with a prohibited drug concealed in it?’
‘It’s the book she asked for.’ Mark reminded himself he had to remain calm. Shouting would only make him look guilty. The questions and the sarcasm continued, the policemen finding it hilarious that the drug should have been hidden inside a book with an obviously drugged couple on the cover. Sergeant Berry joked about the book having roses on the cover. He remarked with a chuckle that poppies would be more appropriate. Mark refused to acknowledge the joke.
They allowed him to ring his wife. Hardly knowing what he was going to say, Mark dialled the number. When he told Selma he had been delayed she spoke sweetly and reasonably. She understood perfectly. Mark knew from her voice that she was expecting a surprise. That was the cause of his lateness. He always provided a surprise and a present on her birthday.
The police interview was interrupted by a knock on the door. A young policewoman put her head in. ‘Can I see you for a sec, Sarge?’ she asked.
Sergeant O’Mara rose and left the room with her. When he returned his stern look made Mark feel even more nervous – and angry.
‘Mr Barrow, they got the other bloke. The one you had the tussle with. Of course you’re the one with the evidence – he’s empty handed – but another copper watching the place recognised him. No, don’t look relieved yet, Barrow. There’s a lot more investigating to do. Here’s the story: we saw the dealer who planted the book with drugs in it. We’d had a tip-off but the bloke slipped away. We knew that the person who got the book off the shelf would be a user but also a dealer who would be selling at a huge profit.’
It took another hour for the police to establish that the other man was a known offender and had been on drugs charges. Mark had no police record; he’d never even had a parking fine. The general atmosphere at the station was one of relaxed toughness, as though they were all thinking, We’re so clever and smart that we can be relaxed. Mark felt extremely out of place and almost wished he’d been drunk and disorderly at some stage of his life. He did not mention that he had stolen two packets of Lifesavers from Coles when he was twelve.
There was a lot of typing into the computer and lot of checking his details and a great deal of laughing at the cover of the book.
Towards eleven o’clock Mark finally staggered out onto the street. In a daze he walked towards the car park. He badly needed a stiff drink, or a strong cup of coffee, or something.
In the deserted car park, he got into his car and settled into the driver’s seat. He leaned back and closed his eyes. He would be glad to get to his comfortable home and fall into an easy chair. He sat up and opened his eyes. Selma! The police had kept the book of course. He almost wished he could go back to the police station; better to face sarcastic police than Selma. At the end of this terrible night he was going home – without Selma’s birthday present.
He turned the key in the ignition. Well Selma would just have to get over it. He had had a great adventure and Selma with her tantrums could go to hell.
This item formed part of our ‘it made a most unusual noise as it landed’ week.
Saturday 6 April 2013
Alien Exodus
Tamara Pratt
Mount Gravatt, QLD
Jacobson Henry squinted through the telescopic lens. Did people really believe that there was no other intelligent life except for that on Earth?
The signs were there, after all. There wouldn’t be any need for a million stars if it were just the human race admiring them. And what about the Siding Spring Observatory? Secretly, it was probably monitoring for life on other planets at this very moment. And the most obvious question of all: would Jacobson be out here, night after night, interpreting the static noises on his replica Intergalactic 320 Telecommunications Radio if he wasn’t convinced now that something or someone else did exist in outer space?
He peered through the telescope even harder and held his ear tight to the radio receiver. The planet X20986, also known as Malecrador, was definitely out there, even if astrologists weren’t aware of its existence yet. The undiscovered planet’s inhabitants had convinced Jacobson only days ago that they were alive and well. These were the noises he heard, the static buzz of intention; occupants of an alien nation were speaking to him.
Yes, speaking to the insignificant, introverted Jacobson Henry, who was constantly mocked by his twelve-year-old classmates because of his stargazing tendencies. Now those kids would have to eat their words like they were super-sized cosmos worms. He’d be more popular than anyone could imagine. Then they’d want him at their birthday parties, their camping trips, even their sleepovers. Maybe he would become the world’s most renowned astrologist, or even better, the world’s first intergalactic peacekeeper. Not that the Malecradors had threatened any harm towards Earth in the past few nights they had exchanged small talk, but if Jacobson could speak to another race, if he could translate what they said for government leaders, officials, presidents e
ven, he’d be more sought after than a teenage heart throb centre stage at a world concert. Heck, he could be the next world leader. He would have something no one else around him had; something everyone else wanted. He’d be in demand.
‘Wa do mak a linkin.’
Jacobson’s heart hammered with adrenalin as he snatched at the translation guide in his backpack. Flipping through the pages, his palms sleek with sweat, he spelled out the words.
What are you doing?
He grinned. The Malecradors had proven to be a curious bunch – but not necessarily on expected topics. They didn’t care to learn anything about Earth – they had visited it thousands of times over the past fifty years since they’d finally matured their space travel technologies. They were more interested in Jacobson. What he ate, what he wore, what he did at school, what school was, why he should even go, and what he really thought about his life at this very moment. He liked their line of questioning – he had plenty to say on all those subjects that no one else was particularly interested in hearing.
Jacobson flipped the translation guide over and around and flicked through the pages at the back – English to UAL (Unidentified Alien Languages). The guide was generic, but they had understood every word he’d said.
He cleared this throat and spoke clearly. ‘Nion la rekin houting hars.’ Tonight, I have been reading up on shooting stars.
Jacobson heard what sounded like a little giggle on the other end.
‘Cain sek tema?’
He flicked through the guide. Can you see any tonight?
No, negative, he relayed back.
‘Yot heuk nos?’ What about now?
The transmission sounded the clearest it had ever been, up here on his garage rooftop. He glanced through the telescope in order to answer the alien’s question. Malecrador appeared the same size; it hadn’t moved any closer, but he could see shooting stars through the lens – flying this way and that, streaking the sky. He stepped back from the telescope. To the naked eye he couldn’t see anything, not immediately anyway.
Until he saw a host of small dots, green and luminous, zipping in and around the stars. Were these also shooting stars, brighter and more visible to the naked eye? He watched on with awe. Perhaps this was more a meteorite shower.
‘Cain sek me?’
Had the alien just asked what he thought he’d asked: Can you see me?
The green objects were coming closer now, and one in particular was more clearer than the others. Jacobson locked his eyes onto that one. The green object was a circular disc shape, with a towering cylinder that appeared to be ascending out of the centre of the disc. It lifted high into the air, and with mind-warping speed, throttled through the sky, hurtling towards Jacobson and his front yard; once a dot, then suddenly the size of a car.
And it made a most unusual noise as it landed.
A squirt, squat, squish, really, or so it sounded to Jacobson. Not unlike a sound where items of clothing are dropped sopping wet onto bare tiles.
It bounced across the driveway, over the front lawn, kicking up mud and grass as it hopped his way. The green cylinder had come away from the circular disc, and now stood erect on the lawn. With a buzz and a zap, a panel in the cylinder lifted up, and out hobbled a slimy green creature with webbed feet, leap frogging down the platform. Two bulbous eyes stared up at Jacobson, who had dropped to his knees in shock. He reached aimlessly for his translation guide, now lost in the commotion. It had dropped to the ground below.
‘Hello.’ The green alien lifted a hand – only two fingers – and waved.
‘Hello,’ stammered Jacobson. He leapt to his feet as the alien moved forward.
‘Pleased to meet you after all this time, Jacobson.’
He knew his name? So, was this the alien he’d been speaking to these past few nights? Jacobson clambered to his feet, his knees shaking. This wasn’t helpful, all these jittery nerves. He needed stay calm, focused.
‘I don’t understand,’ Jacobson said, pushing through the astonishment in his voice. ‘I mean, what are you doing here? You’re billions of light years away, aren’t you? I mean, weren’t you. We were just speaking ...’ He slapped a hand to his mouth. ‘You’re speaking English?’
‘Part of the time zone,’ the alien said, grinning. His mouth opened wide to reveal sparsely placed but sharp catfish-like teeth. ‘Or what we call planet zone, actually. We adapt. Or I will. I’ve decided to leave Malecrador after our conversations these past few nights.’
Jacobson’s mind flipped in disbelief – at the strangeness of the situation, at the fact he had a real life alien in his yard. ‘But why ever would you do that?’
The glowing green creature considered the question. ‘Many reasons,’ he finally said. ‘The traffic, I suppose, and the smog. And then there’s the matter of accommodation.’
‘Really? So where will you go? I mean, you can’t stay here ...’ Just the sight of the alien seemed alien. He, she, it, couldn’t possibly live here.
‘Oh, no.’ It shook its head, all green and bobble-like. ‘There’s plenty more places to inhabit besides Malecrador.’
Jacobson felt dizzy with the last few minutes. Up on the garage roof, the sky felt darker, heavier than it had before, as if the entire black mass might open up and swallow him whole. This could not be happening, this could not be happening …
‘So, what do you think?’ the alien said.
Jacobson shook his head until it felt less muddled. ‘What do I think? About you leaving your planet to move to another?’
‘Yeah, sure. You seem like a bright kid. I trust you. How’s it sound? Crazy?’
Jacobson glanced to the sky. Moments ago, thousands of tiny green dots lit the sky. Where were they now?
‘You’re not going by yourself are you? Why, you’ll be the only one like you if you turn up. What if the inhabitants there think of you as a …’ He paused. He couldn’t say freak. The little alien seemed so harmless, so friendly. What would conquering a new planet be like? What would be more alien than feeling alien on a new planet? The emotions didn’t seem so foreign to Jacobson; it’s how he’d felt nearly every day of his own life, here on Earth.
‘I could give it a go,’ the alien said with enthusiasm. ‘I mean, my buddies that took off with me, they’re off to Juilabera. I heard it’s not bad there, a bit icy though. I don’t want icy again. We had icy for two thousand years. That’s why we look like this now.’ He pointed to his webbed feet. ‘Had to adapt to all that water once it melted. Who would have thought that building spaceships wasn’t so good for the atmosphere? Say, your planet’s pretty grubby too you know. We see it from Malecrador most nights. Won’t be long before you’re all swimming too. Adapting, like we did.’
Jacobson shuddered. There was no maliciousness in the alien’s words, just a matter-of-fact, been-around-for-two-thousand-years’ kind of wisdom.
Suddenly, a voice called out. ‘Jacobson Henry, are you still out there? How much longer are you going to be?’ And then the quiet words that followed: ‘That kid; there’s something not right with his head.’ His foster mother.
He called back. ‘Um, sure. Be right there.’
The alien looked at him with those big eyes. ‘Does that mean you might be missed if you came too?’
‘Hardly,’ he said, shrugging. ‘Say, how long did you say it would take you to find another planet?’
‘Well, I didn’t, but at best, probably two nights.’
Could Jacobson steal away for two nights? He’d need an excuse. It couldn’t be a birthday party; they didn’t go on for two days. A sleep over perhaps, on a weekend, with one of the boys from school? That might work, although he’d have to make up the host of activities they were going to do so his foster mother thought it genuine. Would she believe him? Would she care? He could always tell her he had a new friend. That wouldn’t be an entire lie. ‘So, do you think this new planet might need, you know, some sort of leader?’
The alien considered this quest
ion too, his eyes rolling back and around in his head. ‘It’s possible,’ he said. ‘I’m hoping to find a planet that has no inhabitants, so yes. Let’s make that our first order. Let’s find an uninhabited planet. It’s better for one’s health that way. No pollution, that sort of thing. Be our own masters of our fate, and all that.’
Jacobson felt a thrill tickle his spine. This could work. Discovering new planets, speaking to other life – he didn’t need to tell presidents – he could be his own president, on his own planet. Life had suddenly become a little more achievable. ‘How about you stay with me for a few days?’ Jacobson said. ‘We’ll hide your ship in the shed, and on the weekend, we’ll sneak out for a long sleepover.’
‘A what?’ the alien asked.
Jacobson was already clambering down from the garage roof. ‘Never mind,’ he said. ‘A sleepover is what these inhabitants call it here. Let’s make up a new word for it when we find a new planet.’
This item formed part of our ‘it made a most unusual noise as it landed’ week.
Saturday 6 April 2013 4 pm
An Unusual Noise
David Anderson
Woodford, NSW
It made a most unusual noise as it landed
On the ground at Gloria Park
It came far from the Andromeda Galaxy
An alien Noah’s Ark
The Hazelbrook people gathered around
Some eager – some filled with fear
The Fire Brigade instigated a sizzle
With sausages, onions and beer
‘Why have they come – and will they attack?’
The townsfolk stood there in awe
When all of a sudden a ‘swish’ was heard
From the silvery opening door
A hush passed around – while people gasped
As a creature came tumbling down
The ramp from the ship – and then with a squeal
It finally fell to the ground
‘We’ve made it!’ it shouted. ‘We’ve finally arrived
Our new home we’ve certainly found.’
‘Illegal aliens!’ an old chap roared
‘Get the guv’ment to turn them around!’
‘We’ll surely not harm you,’ the creature replied
As he waved his four arms to the crowd
‘Our numbers are few – our animals too
We’d love to stay if allowed.’
His family emerged with their pets by their side
He was right – there were only a few
‘Let them stay – there’s no harm,’ some said
While others objected: ‘Ship ’em out on a boat to Nauru!’
Then the aliens sneezed and started to cough
While their eyes started streaming with water
Their animals rushed – back into the craft
While the creature took hold of his daughter
‘Another nice planet that’s so full of allergies
We’ll have to give this one a miss!’
As he ran to the spaceship – then turned around
And blew all the people a kiss.
‘Goodbye!’ he said, and rolled up the ramp
Then he shut the silvery door
Commotion and smoke flew out of the saucer
As it lifted – took off with a roar
The townsfolk shrugged – the brigade packed up
While the children played with their toys
‘They were really nice,’ some said, while others were frightened
‘I’ve never heard such an unusual noise!’
This item formed part of our ‘it made a most unusual noise as it landed’ week.
Sunday 7 April 2013
Flitting In The Moonlight
Robyn Chaffey
Hazelbrook, NSW
It seemed they were always on the move. They moved from town to town, across state lines … school to school. No explanation was ever offered to the children. Theirs was just ‘to do or die’. Such things were ‘for us to know and you to find out’!
They were an exceptionally large family. Indeed, there were at the time ten children living at home. Living poor was for them the only thing they knew as the household head was more often than not ‘between jobs’. The truth is he changed jobs perhaps more often than residences. That, however, was ‘secret men’s business ’ and most certainly not to be discussed with children!
It had not been too great a shock to them then, that he had come home from work just past a year ago in an agitated state of mind and angrily announced ‘That’s it! We’re moving … NOW!’
It was familiar territory.
The woman … the wife and mother would, each time this happened, fly into a flurry of panic. She would rush to finish feeding her young ones and race around the house trying to decide the best, most pressing items to take. It was rather like the panic which takes hold in extreme bush-fire emergency when one is totally unprepared.
As they grew, the children realised that there was a name for what they were doing. It was called ‘doing a moonlight’ or ‘a moonlight flit’!
Cars were ‘upgraded’ as often as addresses, and at that time the father … the head … was driving a big old Dodge. I think perhaps it was a 1936 model. It was a dull black colour as the duco had long since worn away, but it was apparently in very good shape mechanically. It had long bench seats too high for many of the children to reach the floor when they sat back in it; also a cover on the boot lid for the spare tyre and long running boards which made it easier for the children to climb aboard.
It was indeed a big car but still the children had to be piled in on top of one another. With no seat belts they were squashed and squeezed to sit four bigger children across the back seat with four smaller sitting on their laps. Both parents and a middle-sized child sat across the front and the mother nursed the baby on her knee.
Before they could get to that stage though, the children were commanded to take up their positions and wait. This was a necessity in order that the parents could stuff belongings under their feet and on their laps as well as stuffing the boot and piling bundles high upon the roof racks.
Finally the car could hold not one thing more!
They drove away! They seemed to drive forever along rough and narrow country roads with no particular destination in mind.
Tired and cramped, the children dare not ask where or why. They tried so hard not to complain. It would only make things worse.
Finally the father pulled off onto the verge of a dark and pot-holed road. He had a few quiet words with their mother and then got out of the car and walked off into the darkness.
Inside the car no-one spoke! There was nothing much to see out there but, deep in the shadows, a rather sinister looking building which created the most amazing, haunting shadows.
In their weary state, those still wakeful young souls ached to move outside the car. However they were packed so tightly with their belongings that it would all have tumbled to the road-side. They did not dare!
After what seemed like long hours, though it may well have been a much shorter time, the father returned. Again he spoke only to the mother, but this time audibly enough for the children to hear, ‘It took some persuasion, but he says we can have it for a few weeks for only five quid a week!’
He climbed back into the old Dodge and swung it around, down a long over-grown driveway to the dingy old building which turned out to be the house they were to move into.
The first morning light was just beginning to show and one can only imagine what must have gone through the minds of the mother and the children as the first dawning realisation hit them ... the ghostly building they had been looking at was to be their new home!
A more sad and derelict house would be hard to imagine. There was no skerrick of paint left on the aged weather boards of its shell and there were quite a few boards missing. Spiders and other creepy-crawlies had long since taken over the decorating. Bowed and seemingly spind
ly stilts had, in another life-time held it proudly aloft … but they had long since wearied. The house had not seen any water or electric power in many a year. By far the most notable feature however was the fact that there were no stairs by which to enter it … front or back!
This last fact the father did not see as a problem! He set about to cut some infant trees and strip them of all twigs and leaves in order that he might fashion a ladder by which his rather rotund wife and brood might enter the house.
Having taken care of this small problem he bravely sent his wife up first. There is nothing quite like leading from the rear.
One can only surmise as to the feelings of this poor woman as she climbed that rickety, almost vertical ladder into the unknown. We might suppose that the feelings of the children would have ranged from anxiety to excitement in the more adventurous ones, to utter rage in those old enough to be fed up with the lifestyle which was foisted upon them.
The first thing to strike home once inside was the awful, thick, choking, powdery dust! Then there were the cobwebs and the small droppings of mice and birds.
The mother surveyed her new situation whilst the remaining family made their way up the make-shift ladder. Everything inside was ancient, yet surprisingly intact. It would have to do!! She had no choice!
As the family arrived ‘upstairs’, one issue hit home quickly ... the whole house swayed with every human movement. It swayed as well with every breeze!
Belongings dragged and winched up from the car, the mother did her best to feed her weary family out of cans. She laid some blankets on the dusty floor and coaxed the smaller children to try to have a sleep. The smell of the dust was irritating her nostrils and so she could not imagine how they must be coping with it.
With the littlies bedded momentarily and the father having left them there to do his own thing, she and her older offspring sat about on the floor and tried to ease the tension with a game of ‘imagine’. They told each other stories of the possible history of this house. They wondered how long it had stood empty and concocted dramatic reasons for its abandonment. ‘If the walls could talk,’ one of them suggested ‘what stories would they tell?’