Dunger by Joy Cowley Page B

really have to go. I switch on Grandma’s torch and tiptoe into the living room. Will is sprawled over the couch, tangled in a sheet as though he’s been fighting with it. I shake his shoulder.
    His eyes fly open. “Who’s that?”
    â€œMe. Will, I need you to –”
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” He sits up quickly.
    â€œNothing’s wrong. I have to go to the loo, and I can’t go on my own. Will?”
    He groans and lies down again.
    â€œPlease, Will. I’m desperate. You need to stand guard in case something comes.”
    â€œLike what?”
    â€œWild pigs, rats, creepy things. Oh, please, Will! This is very urgent!”
    Grumbling, he gets off the couch and picks up his torch. He leads the way out the back door, across the grass and past the garage, to the outhouse. There is no moon, no stars. Everything outside the torch beam is black, and the air is cool, very still, as though it is waiting for something to happen.
    â€œWhy do they have the outhouse so far away?” I ask.
    â€œFlies,” says Will. “Bad smells.”
    â€œOh.” I wait while he opens the door. “Can you go in and check it?”
    â€œWhat for?” he says.
    â€œYou know, spiders, rats. There might be something down the hole.”
    He goes in, waves his torch around and comes out. “All clear.”
    â€œWait outside. Please, Will! Don’t go away.”
    â€œWell, hurry!” he says.
    I go in, shut the door and shine the torch down the hole, double check, before I sit. “Are you still there, Will?”
    â€œYeah, yeah!”
    This is so primitive! Jacquie is staying at a motel. Herewini’s aunt has an awesome townhouse overlooking the lake. No one, absolutely no one in my entire school, will be pooing over a hole in the earth in the middle of the night.
    A cold draught comes up, as though answering my thoughts, and I shudder. “Don’t go away, Will!” I call.
    â€œI’m still here.” Then he says, “Tough biscuit about your phone.”
    What? It’s so unexpected that at first I’m suspicious. But no sarcasm follows and I think he might be sincere. “Thanks, Will.”
    Through the gap at the top of the door, I see moving torchlight, which means he’s testing the darkness. He says, “Those two fight a lot, don’t they?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œThey don’t care who listens to them. When I was driving back tonight, I told Grandpa they were incompatible.”
    â€œYou said what?”
    â€œYou know – incompatible.”
    â€œOh Will, you didn’t! What did he say?”
    â€œHe just laughed like I was talking nonsense. Lissy, do you get the impression they think they’re normal and we’re not?”
    â€œWhat made you tell him that!” I am embarrassed for my little brother. “Do you know what incompatible means?”
    He makes a coughing noise.
    â€œWill?”
    The coughing, hissing sound gets louder and is followed by a squeak. “Lissy!”
    â€œStop that noise!” I yell at him. “Stop at once! Will?”
    â€œIt’s not me!” he yells back.
    I finish in a hurry, scared by the panic in his voice. “Wait for me!” I call. “Don’t go away!”
    The only answer is another round of coughing and hissing, like we’re being attacked or something!
    â€œWill, are you there?”
    There’s a great crash on the roof, close to my head.
    I’m out that door so fast! I run like mad towards the house.
    When I get to the back door, I shine the torch towards the outhouse and see something moving on the roof. It looks like a cat.
    â€œIt’s a possum,” says Will who is in the kitchen, shivering.
    â€œAll that noise from one little possum?” I start to laugh.
    Will laughs too. Actually, it isn’t all that funny but we laugh and laugh until our sides are aching and we’re gasping for breath, and