Cunning Means Peril
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Megan Li, Grade 5, Oatley West Public School
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Short Story
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2015
Excellence Award in the 'The Write Track 2015' competition
The shadows flitted furiously across the stark, basement walls. Revenge was in the air. The dimming light bulb swung back and forth, back and forth, to the rhythm of the snorting and creaking. Tina tasted fear. Something was behind the wardrobe door – but what?
Dirty clothes, toys and laziness had piled up on the bedroom floor. Suddenly, the floor flew open. Like a cyclone, rising and raising, her mother stormed in. With tempestuous temper, she thundered, “Get this mess picked up!”
Tina looked down at her feet.
“Now get your room tidied by the time I come home or there is no play time for you!”
But her irate eyes failed to notice the coy craftiness in Tina’s. Cunningly, she made up her mind: No play, no tidying – basement here I come! Cunning means peril.
“Places like these are always stuffy; old furniture like this is always web-covered; an un-tuned piano like this is just waiting to be played … hauntingly – but not now – later, when Mum comes home …
… if only I could get that photograph out of my mind.”
Tina was drawn back once more. The fading, sepia photograph captured the exuberance of a young girl astride her rocking horse. Both girl and horse had heads thrown back in gay abandon. Both girl and horse displayed the most charming of smiles. With a great effort, Tina pulled herself free of the photo’s enigmatic, charismatic attraction.
“Now to read some old comics until Mum comes home!”
Smash! Tina’s mischief was punctured. The light flickered, then died. Tina’s temperature dropped drastically to a chill. It was a weird sensation – something was happening to her: the hair on the back of her neck stood to attention; her mouth hung slack; her palms sweated; sighing shivers touched her very soul. Her tension exacerbated into terror. Overwhelmed, Tina failed to hear the creaking as the wardrobe door opened.
It was the flared nostrils, with steam billowing that Tina noticed first, followed by the blazing eyes of fury. The horse kicked, and bucked, and galloped, and tore, and threw itself around the basement. Tina had hid behind the piano, eyes agog at the disconcerting scene before her. It was a magnificent creature, its flowing mane flying wildly, its powerful body glistening with sweat as it continued on its rampage of destruction. Erasing peace! Venting anger! Intent on revenge! Round and round, it whinnied over comics, photographs and memories – until, at last, it tired and slowed down enough for Tina to reach out and touch it. And stroke it gently. Tenderly. Realising that the horse was utterly distraught after being locked up and forgotten for so many years, Tina whispered reassuring words of comfort before climbing on its back to play. It was a smiling horse that she led back into the wardrobe a short time before the key turned in the lock.
Later that day, Tina’s mother was delighted to find that Tina’s room was neat and tidy. And that’s the way it remained from that day on. Because from that day on Tina wanted to play with her new friend. She now knew that cunning truly did mean peril.