MystyrMystyry
12-22-2010, 01:47 PM
‘We could take a shortcut through Old Man Warthog’s orchard?’ suggests Hayes.
Detention is always the worst, but never more than when the only crime you’ve committed is suspicion by association - but what if that is merely suspicion? In this case everyone in the entire school was a suspect. There were many who hated gym, but who knew anyone who would admit to setting fire to it? For now we were all tired and hungry, and more than a little annoyed.
‘Old Man Warthog’s!’ Sally sneers her rebuke.
‘That’s dumb. There’d be traps everywhere. You’ve had some dumb ideas before, but that has to be the dumbest!’
‘No need to get your knickers in a knot,’ he mocks her. ‘It’s just an idea...’
‘Well, I need to check my email at Sally’s,’ I say. ‘I’m prepared to risk it.’
‘Me too,’ Anna agrees. ‘It should take at least half an hour off the trip.’
And so, beneath the oppressive but setting Summer sun, with Sally reluctantly in tow, we trudge up the winding road to eventually arrive at the broken gate, and climb through.
‘I don’t know why he bothers to lock it,’ I say. ‘Anyone can get in.’
The hill slopes down for about a quarter of a mile before the seemingly endless lines of fruit trees begin. We stop to pick some peaches for the journey, and again for some apricots, and again for some pears, but upon stopping for some apples Hayes notices something.
‘These trees aren’t straight,’ he points out. ‘All the others are in neat rows - to make it easy for picking - but these are all over the place.’
‘If you look from here in that direction,’ says Anna, ‘they appear to have been planted to a strange design.’
We gather to where she stands, each observing the same thing.
‘Let’s go around and see if we can make sense of it,’ I suggest. ‘We’ve still got a bit of time to spare. Sal?’
Sally grits her teeth, unconvinced, however knowing there’s no point in arguing. ‘Alright,’ she groans.
‘It looks like a question mark,’ she notices first. ‘Yep - it is a question mark.’
But it is also Sally who finds the little pyramid jutting a yard out of the ground, and with a loud cry draws our attention to it.
‘At first it was invisible,’ she explains, ‘but it became visible when I walked into it.’
‘It’s not a pyramid,’ Hayes says, ‘it’s a tetrahedron. And as a tetrahedron it has no precedent - there are no Great Tetrahedrons in the way there are The Great Pyramids - so therefore it isn’t a little tetrahedron, it’s just a tetrahedron.’
‘Whatever,’ Anna rolls her eyes. ‘What’s it doing here?’
‘No idea,’ I shrug, touching the sharp tip. ‘Hey - wherever you put your hand it glows. Try it.’
Sally already had, followed by Anna and Hayes at the same time. It glows a different colour for each of us.
‘What’s it made of?’ Sally wonders. ‘Sort of glass...’
‘It’s eerie,’ says Anna, stepping back, but nearly tripping over a smaller one hidden by a tuft of grass. ‘Hey - there’s a smaller one over here.’
‘And one here,’ I discover.
‘And one there,’ says Hayes.
‘Perhaps they’re growing,’ says Anna. ‘And perhaps they aren’t,’ she adds in response to our frowns.
‘I think,’ I say, ‘we should come back tomorrow to investigate this further.’
‘Wot’re yer lot doin’!’ a sudden gruff voice growls from behind, scaring us almost witless.
Our hearts beat fast, so fast it seems they will jump out of our chests.
The voice belongs to a hunched hairy figure covered in warts, scraggly black beard, wrapped in hessian sacks - Old Man Warthog!
‘So yer found it, eh!’ he rasps.
‘Found what?’ Sally acts innocent owing to the guilt she feels. ‘Found what exactly?’
‘Never mind! Hey - who said yer c’d pick me fruit! Go an’ pick the walnuts! Pick ’em all! There’s multitudinous plethoras in abundance o’ the ghastly terrors!’
‘I hate walnuts,’ I say. ‘Er, can you tell us what this is?’
Old Man Warthog glares at each of us in turn, lowers his tone confidentially: ‘It’s a Borodun. An’ beyond that it’s none o’ yer business.’
‘But what’s it for?’ Sally asks him. ‘And why does it glow?’
‘Eh? Glow? Glow? Wot glow?’
‘When you touch it,’ she demonstrates. ‘Look...’
The old man’s green eyes and grey cheeks flash a different hue as we each press against it, but now shadow-like handprints remain.
‘Then yer’d certainly seem ter be the Chosen Ones,’ he nods his head uneasily.
‘The chosen what ones?’ says Hayes. ‘Chosen for what?’
‘I didn’t expect it ter be so soon...’ he trails off dramatically without answering him.
‘What didn’t you expect to be so soon?’ asks Anna.
‘Yer shall see, yer shall see,’ he says mysteriously. ‘No more questions. I must go...’
His sacks rustle as he scampers away into the darkening evening.
‘Wait!’ Sally cries, but he doesn’t reply. ‘What was he on about?’
‘What was that Chosen Ones stuff?’ I smirk, believing he’d been playing a joke to frighten us - an effective joke to be sure, but just a joke.
Unexpectedly the Borodun and its little satellites begin to turn, churning the soil around them.
‘They’re,’ Anna starts, looking at our shocked expressions, but then realising that she was correct. ‘They are growing...’
She is right; or half-right; not necessarily growing, but certainly rising, rising from the leafy floor, the smaller at treble the rate until they equal the centre in height - stabilising at about seven feet.
‘This is getting really spooky!’ Hayes exclaims, losing his cool, and again backing away. ‘I say we get out of here!’
‘I’m with you,’ we say in unison, but stand transfixed for what may next occur.
We look at each other, and then back at the tetrahedrons, all of which are glowing our individual colour: blue for Hayes, red for Sally, green for Anna, gold for me.
Without warning a door opens in the side of the central one, in which stands a little figure wrapped in bandages.
‘What is it?’ I ask.
‘It might be a baby mummy maybe,’ Sally demurely looks at Hayes.
Suddenly the bandages are ripped away, and out bounces a small green man with frizzy purple hair, inconsiderately scraping some strangled notes from a battered violin.
‘Who are you?’ Hayes asks through chattering teeth. ‘What do you want?’
‘Ridiculous question!’ he rasps like fingernails down a blackboard. ‘I want you of course!’
Detention is always the worst, but never more than when the only crime you’ve committed is suspicion by association - but what if that is merely suspicion? In this case everyone in the entire school was a suspect. There were many who hated gym, but who knew anyone who would admit to setting fire to it? For now we were all tired and hungry, and more than a little annoyed.
‘Old Man Warthog’s!’ Sally sneers her rebuke.
‘That’s dumb. There’d be traps everywhere. You’ve had some dumb ideas before, but that has to be the dumbest!’
‘No need to get your knickers in a knot,’ he mocks her. ‘It’s just an idea...’
‘Well, I need to check my email at Sally’s,’ I say. ‘I’m prepared to risk it.’
‘Me too,’ Anna agrees. ‘It should take at least half an hour off the trip.’
And so, beneath the oppressive but setting Summer sun, with Sally reluctantly in tow, we trudge up the winding road to eventually arrive at the broken gate, and climb through.
‘I don’t know why he bothers to lock it,’ I say. ‘Anyone can get in.’
The hill slopes down for about a quarter of a mile before the seemingly endless lines of fruit trees begin. We stop to pick some peaches for the journey, and again for some apricots, and again for some pears, but upon stopping for some apples Hayes notices something.
‘These trees aren’t straight,’ he points out. ‘All the others are in neat rows - to make it easy for picking - but these are all over the place.’
‘If you look from here in that direction,’ says Anna, ‘they appear to have been planted to a strange design.’
We gather to where she stands, each observing the same thing.
‘Let’s go around and see if we can make sense of it,’ I suggest. ‘We’ve still got a bit of time to spare. Sal?’
Sally grits her teeth, unconvinced, however knowing there’s no point in arguing. ‘Alright,’ she groans.
‘It looks like a question mark,’ she notices first. ‘Yep - it is a question mark.’
But it is also Sally who finds the little pyramid jutting a yard out of the ground, and with a loud cry draws our attention to it.
‘At first it was invisible,’ she explains, ‘but it became visible when I walked into it.’
‘It’s not a pyramid,’ Hayes says, ‘it’s a tetrahedron. And as a tetrahedron it has no precedent - there are no Great Tetrahedrons in the way there are The Great Pyramids - so therefore it isn’t a little tetrahedron, it’s just a tetrahedron.’
‘Whatever,’ Anna rolls her eyes. ‘What’s it doing here?’
‘No idea,’ I shrug, touching the sharp tip. ‘Hey - wherever you put your hand it glows. Try it.’
Sally already had, followed by Anna and Hayes at the same time. It glows a different colour for each of us.
‘What’s it made of?’ Sally wonders. ‘Sort of glass...’
‘It’s eerie,’ says Anna, stepping back, but nearly tripping over a smaller one hidden by a tuft of grass. ‘Hey - there’s a smaller one over here.’
‘And one here,’ I discover.
‘And one there,’ says Hayes.
‘Perhaps they’re growing,’ says Anna. ‘And perhaps they aren’t,’ she adds in response to our frowns.
‘I think,’ I say, ‘we should come back tomorrow to investigate this further.’
‘Wot’re yer lot doin’!’ a sudden gruff voice growls from behind, scaring us almost witless.
Our hearts beat fast, so fast it seems they will jump out of our chests.
The voice belongs to a hunched hairy figure covered in warts, scraggly black beard, wrapped in hessian sacks - Old Man Warthog!
‘So yer found it, eh!’ he rasps.
‘Found what?’ Sally acts innocent owing to the guilt she feels. ‘Found what exactly?’
‘Never mind! Hey - who said yer c’d pick me fruit! Go an’ pick the walnuts! Pick ’em all! There’s multitudinous plethoras in abundance o’ the ghastly terrors!’
‘I hate walnuts,’ I say. ‘Er, can you tell us what this is?’
Old Man Warthog glares at each of us in turn, lowers his tone confidentially: ‘It’s a Borodun. An’ beyond that it’s none o’ yer business.’
‘But what’s it for?’ Sally asks him. ‘And why does it glow?’
‘Eh? Glow? Glow? Wot glow?’
‘When you touch it,’ she demonstrates. ‘Look...’
The old man’s green eyes and grey cheeks flash a different hue as we each press against it, but now shadow-like handprints remain.
‘Then yer’d certainly seem ter be the Chosen Ones,’ he nods his head uneasily.
‘The chosen what ones?’ says Hayes. ‘Chosen for what?’
‘I didn’t expect it ter be so soon...’ he trails off dramatically without answering him.
‘What didn’t you expect to be so soon?’ asks Anna.
‘Yer shall see, yer shall see,’ he says mysteriously. ‘No more questions. I must go...’
His sacks rustle as he scampers away into the darkening evening.
‘Wait!’ Sally cries, but he doesn’t reply. ‘What was he on about?’
‘What was that Chosen Ones stuff?’ I smirk, believing he’d been playing a joke to frighten us - an effective joke to be sure, but just a joke.
Unexpectedly the Borodun and its little satellites begin to turn, churning the soil around them.
‘They’re,’ Anna starts, looking at our shocked expressions, but then realising that she was correct. ‘They are growing...’
She is right; or half-right; not necessarily growing, but certainly rising, rising from the leafy floor, the smaller at treble the rate until they equal the centre in height - stabilising at about seven feet.
‘This is getting really spooky!’ Hayes exclaims, losing his cool, and again backing away. ‘I say we get out of here!’
‘I’m with you,’ we say in unison, but stand transfixed for what may next occur.
We look at each other, and then back at the tetrahedrons, all of which are glowing our individual colour: blue for Hayes, red for Sally, green for Anna, gold for me.
Without warning a door opens in the side of the central one, in which stands a little figure wrapped in bandages.
‘What is it?’ I ask.
‘It might be a baby mummy maybe,’ Sally demurely looks at Hayes.
Suddenly the bandages are ripped away, and out bounces a small green man with frizzy purple hair, inconsiderately scraping some strangled notes from a battered violin.
‘Who are you?’ Hayes asks through chattering teeth. ‘What do you want?’
‘Ridiculous question!’ he rasps like fingernails down a blackboard. ‘I want you of course!’