Marc was bored. Only two days before the school holidays his parents announced they were all heading north to a small mining town where they intended to indulge in a little gold prospecting. He protested of course. Those protestations were completely ignored. In his mind he had been dragged from the company of school friends … his mates … whose plans to spend time swimming and fishing, going to the movies, and playing cricket in the park adjacent to the river were exactly what Marc considered ideal holiday occupations. Their trip north was uneventful … Marc sat reading the latest Harry Potter book, unwilling to become interested in the journey, or the scenery.
It was, as he feared … boring. The lack of interesting shops … those selling sporting gear or electronic games … and the absence of friends with whom to explore the area, left him feeling lonely and missing out on the action. Mum and Dad grew increasingly grumpy with him as he moped around the caravan-park complaining about absolutely everything. This morning was the last straw! Mum suggested he stay behind as his endless whining and moaning about the flies, the heat, the boredom, no video shop, and nothing to do, had culminated in her ultimatum … come with us and be happy, or stay behind and save their ears from having to listen to juvenile complaints that would ruin their day. He made his decision … he stayed in the caravan.
Later he wondered if it was a wise decision. The only people in the park were elderly and even they had departed for the day. He supposed he should do something to fill in the long hours … go for a walk perhaps? But where?
Over the highway and up on the top of the hill stood water tanks. Marc assumed they were for the town’s water supply, even though that water tasted terrible; nothing like the filtered water that flowed from the taps at home. At least the tanks were a destination. Grabbing his Ipod he sauntered listlessly toward the tanks, his thoughts immersed in his favourite music.
“Gosh,” thought Marc as he reached the summit, “it didn’t take all that long”. He gazed around. Not only were there several water tanks but there was also a shelter of sorts, and surprisingly, a rubbish bin containing the remains of a half-eaten picnic lunch that swarmed with ants. The view was stupendous! Dirt tracks lead in many directions, isolated buildings and equally isolated mullocks showed where mining had been, and very likely was still being carried out. He wondered how miners in the olden days found their way to the gold discoveries and how many didn’t survive to tell the tale.
Marc shuddered in embarrassment at the memory of his earlier childish behaviour. In the distance a shadow of cloud merged into the horizon as a blanket covers a bed, hiding unwashed clothing and chocolate-bar wrappers tossed out of sight in a semblance of tidiness, and spread towards the ocean obliterating all objects beyond. Near the top of the slope, close to the pipe that wound snake-like to the town below he glimpsed what appeared to be a broken tank. Wandering over he kicked aimlessly at the ruins. Blocks of concrete lay haphazardly on the pale reddish ground. Scrubby trees formed a barrier in a style similar to the Ha-ha he had read about in story books … a defined, often stone wall built as to be invisible from above, but giving a clear view of the countryside beyond.
He wished he had brought the camera, but Mum had taken it with her, just in case she found gold and needed to record the event!
A cairn attracted his attention and he hurried over. “This must be the highest peak for hundreds of miles,” Marc muttered to no one in particular. Glancing down he noticed what appeared to be a metal plate with a faint inscription. He peered closer. ‘Lands and Survey WA’ he read. In the centre a shape captured his attention. It didn’t take much imagination to see that it was a keyhole, but to where did it lead and who held the key?
A cloud slipping across the sun’s path cast a gloomy shadow. Marc shivered, suddenly cold. A rumbling noise shook the ground. A tendril of smoke curled upwards. The carved plate slid slowly open. The cloud cover intensified and an eerie silence descended. Red, gold, blue, and green lights pulsated from the depths of what appeared to be a tunnel leading deep into the earth. Marc stepped back, perspiration dampening his forehead … suddenly he was afraid. A buzzing noise, which began like a lawn mower trudging around and around a distant patch of lawn, increased to a high-pitched whine infiltrating Marc’s ears until he felt the urgent need to put his hands over his head to protect his eardrums. Flashing lights accompanied the increasingly unnerving din.
The metal plate acted as a gateway to another world. Marc stared, astounded. A shiny silver round contrivance rose slowly from the opening, its strobe-like lights intensely blinding. Spindly beetle legs descended from the main body of the vehicle, and behind a transparent dome Marc’s unbelieving eyes were drawn to several small creatures, with heads huge in comparison to their frail bodies. These strange beings appeared to man the craft. With a reverberating screech the spacecraft rose above Marc, hovered; and as he watched, a trapdoor beneath the dome opened, and a ladder, just like the ladder to Marc’s bunk bed, flipped downwards.
Fear grasped Marc’s heart. He was about to be kidnapped. Not only kidnapped, but worse than ever … he was about to be kidnapped by strange creatures in an out-of-this-world craft. How he wished he had gone prospecting with Mum and Dad! They may have found some gold, or some artifacts from the olden days. At this moment old opaque glass bottles, or buttons, or even some modern day treasures would have been exciting … and safer.
Adrenalin pumped through Marc’s being as he started running. The spacecraft hovered, a revving noise emitting from it; a roar followed and the pulsating lights blinded Marc. He tripped on a rock and fell. The lights disappeared. The revving motors sounded exactly like a road-train speeding through town. Marc opened his eyes, afraid of what he might see.
He was on the floor of the caravan, his blanket twisted around his body. In the distance a truck changed gears as it chugged up the incline, and the sun shone brilliantly onto his bunk. Mum was making toast and Dad was outside organising their prospecting equipment.
“Morning Marc,” Mum smiled. “Are you coming prospecting with us today?”
Marc replied quickly as he untangled his body from the suffocating blanket, “Yes please, I would love to come!”
It was, as he feared … boring. The lack of interesting shops … those selling sporting gear or electronic games … and the absence of friends with whom to explore the area, left him feeling lonely and missing out on the action. Mum and Dad grew increasingly grumpy with him as he moped around the caravan-park complaining about absolutely everything. This morning was the last straw! Mum suggested he stay behind as his endless whining and moaning about the flies, the heat, the boredom, no video shop, and nothing to do, had culminated in her ultimatum … come with us and be happy, or stay behind and save their ears from having to listen to juvenile complaints that would ruin their day. He made his decision … he stayed in the caravan.
Later he wondered if it was a wise decision. The only people in the park were elderly and even they had departed for the day. He supposed he should do something to fill in the long hours … go for a walk perhaps? But where?
Over the highway and up on the top of the hill stood water tanks. Marc assumed they were for the town’s water supply, even though that water tasted terrible; nothing like the filtered water that flowed from the taps at home. At least the tanks were a destination. Grabbing his Ipod he sauntered listlessly toward the tanks, his thoughts immersed in his favourite music.
“Gosh,” thought Marc as he reached the summit, “it didn’t take all that long”. He gazed around. Not only were there several water tanks but there was also a shelter of sorts, and surprisingly, a rubbish bin containing the remains of a half-eaten picnic lunch that swarmed with ants. The view was stupendous! Dirt tracks lead in many directions, isolated buildings and equally isolated mullocks showed where mining had been, and very likely was still being carried out. He wondered how miners in the olden days found their way to the gold discoveries and how many didn’t survive to tell the tale.
Marc shuddered in embarrassment at the memory of his earlier childish behaviour. In the distance a shadow of cloud merged into the horizon as a blanket covers a bed, hiding unwashed clothing and chocolate-bar wrappers tossed out of sight in a semblance of tidiness, and spread towards the ocean obliterating all objects beyond. Near the top of the slope, close to the pipe that wound snake-like to the town below he glimpsed what appeared to be a broken tank. Wandering over he kicked aimlessly at the ruins. Blocks of concrete lay haphazardly on the pale reddish ground. Scrubby trees formed a barrier in a style similar to the Ha-ha he had read about in story books … a defined, often stone wall built as to be invisible from above, but giving a clear view of the countryside beyond.
He wished he had brought the camera, but Mum had taken it with her, just in case she found gold and needed to record the event!
A cairn attracted his attention and he hurried over. “This must be the highest peak for hundreds of miles,” Marc muttered to no one in particular. Glancing down he noticed what appeared to be a metal plate with a faint inscription. He peered closer. ‘Lands and Survey WA’ he read. In the centre a shape captured his attention. It didn’t take much imagination to see that it was a keyhole, but to where did it lead and who held the key?
A cloud slipping across the sun’s path cast a gloomy shadow. Marc shivered, suddenly cold. A rumbling noise shook the ground. A tendril of smoke curled upwards. The carved plate slid slowly open. The cloud cover intensified and an eerie silence descended. Red, gold, blue, and green lights pulsated from the depths of what appeared to be a tunnel leading deep into the earth. Marc stepped back, perspiration dampening his forehead … suddenly he was afraid. A buzzing noise, which began like a lawn mower trudging around and around a distant patch of lawn, increased to a high-pitched whine infiltrating Marc’s ears until he felt the urgent need to put his hands over his head to protect his eardrums. Flashing lights accompanied the increasingly unnerving din.
The metal plate acted as a gateway to another world. Marc stared, astounded. A shiny silver round contrivance rose slowly from the opening, its strobe-like lights intensely blinding. Spindly beetle legs descended from the main body of the vehicle, and behind a transparent dome Marc’s unbelieving eyes were drawn to several small creatures, with heads huge in comparison to their frail bodies. These strange beings appeared to man the craft. With a reverberating screech the spacecraft rose above Marc, hovered; and as he watched, a trapdoor beneath the dome opened, and a ladder, just like the ladder to Marc’s bunk bed, flipped downwards.
Fear grasped Marc’s heart. He was about to be kidnapped. Not only kidnapped, but worse than ever … he was about to be kidnapped by strange creatures in an out-of-this-world craft. How he wished he had gone prospecting with Mum and Dad! They may have found some gold, or some artifacts from the olden days. At this moment old opaque glass bottles, or buttons, or even some modern day treasures would have been exciting … and safer.
Adrenalin pumped through Marc’s being as he started running. The spacecraft hovered, a revving noise emitting from it; a roar followed and the pulsating lights blinded Marc. He tripped on a rock and fell. The lights disappeared. The revving motors sounded exactly like a road-train speeding through town. Marc opened his eyes, afraid of what he might see.
He was on the floor of the caravan, his blanket twisted around his body. In the distance a truck changed gears as it chugged up the incline, and the sun shone brilliantly onto his bunk. Mum was making toast and Dad was outside organising their prospecting equipment.
“Morning Marc,” Mum smiled. “Are you coming prospecting with us today?”
Marc replied quickly as he untangled his body from the suffocating blanket, “Yes please, I would love to come!”
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