This exciting series is about a boy just like you! What makes Sam just a little bit different sometimes, is that he escapes his mum and baby sister on the sort of escapades you have only dreamt of! Don’t you wish you could escape too at times? Well, when you join Sam on his amazing adventures, you’ll be there right alongside him. What are you waiting for? Join Sam on the adventure of a lifetime! Just make sure that you’re as brave and daring as he is, before you turn the first page . . .
to Bethanga Primary School’s Principal Allyson
& grades 4/5/6 – 2008, for their time and input.
-
Di, Karen & Jane for untangling
my poor use of grammar.
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Peter for his invaluable counsel.
Splinterz
Published by Susan Berran
First published 2009 by JoJo Publishing
This edition published 2017
Text Copyright © Susan Berran 2012, 2017
Illustrations Copyright © Susan Berran 2012, 2017
No part of this printed or video publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electrical, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publisher and copyright owner.
National Library of Australia
Cataloguing-in-Publication data
Berran, Susan, 1962-
Splinterz / author and Illustrator Susan Berran.
2nd ed.
ISBN: 978-0-9872959-1-0 (ePub.)
Berran, Susan, 1962- Freaky series ; 1.
For primary school age.
A823.4
Designer: Madacin Creative
Editor: Susan Cutsforth
To my wonderful daughter Mel,
my perfect research assistant.
To my equally wonderful partner Andrena,
for putting up with my constant harassing
and always believing in me.
To my amazing parents Margaret and Don,
for always standing by me and
for all their enthusiasm and loving support to
. . . wait until midnight, go into the closet and close the door behind you . . . make sure all the lights are off of course. Then pretend you’re a giraffe and stick your head up your butt!!
Yep, it’s that dark; and obviously I’m an idiot! Otherwise why the HELL would I want to go poking around some dark tunnel that’s been made by . . . I don’t know who or what?
But one thing I do know for sure; there is something down there. I’ve heard them, I’ve seen the destruction and I’ve seen my mate Jared bleed.
My nightmare began with seven little words . . .
“You’re having a baby brother or sister,”; soon followed by . . .
“It’s a girl! ”
Oooh great . . . yippee . . . I’m sooo thrilled . . . not!!
And with that, my world fell apart; life was about to change forever. Overnight, the bedtime piggyback rides were replaced with . . .
“Get to bed Sam !! ” Story time was replaced with the constant screaming from my always whinging, new sister, little Miss Smelly Melly Prissy Pants.
I even had to bath with her.
Could she get any more attention?
She was like some weird, wrinkled, pink parent-magnet.
“Sorry Sam, she’s just a baby.”
“Sorry Sam, you used to have accidents in the bath too.”
And just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, Mum announced . . .
“We’re moving to the country!”
So, here we are, in our tiny little crap shack in the country. Actually I wouldn’t mind the country so much, but this was the ‘sticks’. We’re at least forty minute’s drive from any decent sized town. Even the dirt here seems crappier than in the city.
There’s a general store here. Well, at least that’s what the sign above it says. But I think it’s actually a community centre for retired possums, dying rats and a gazillion spiders.
It smells like sweaty armpits and cow pats in there. The lollies are in huge dust-covered glass jars and they’re all stuck together in great big sticky globs. The walls are lined with dust-covered shelves and all but two are empty.
Mum bought some baked beans the first night we got here. I don’t know what happened but we ended up having a jam sandwich that night. She said something about “1942” and “ARMY WAR SUPPLIES”.
There’s also a pub, or as I like to call it, ‘a bigger crap shack than ours’. All the big decisions in town are made there, you know like; is cow dung or sheep dung best for the garden, and is it better to barbecue cow’s tongue or grill it?
And the school, how can I put it into words? I was used to a thousand kids in the school, not thirty two. But it’s not just the empty spaces where the computers should be, it’s the empty looks on some kids’ faces. Dad reckons . . .
“Cavemen didn’t have computers and they did just fine.”
Yeah Dad sure, but even cavemen figured out that if you went out in the rain you’d get wet. It seemed like some kids around here might not be quite that clever.
The principal, Mr Penniless, is a weedy little man who looks like he’s on the verge of a nervous breakdown. The only other teacher, Miss Croonarc, is about eighteen and straight out of Teachers’ College. I heard her talking to Mum about ‘special kids’ and ‘the challenge of a lifetime’. ‘Special’; most of these kids are cousins.
Apparently a couple of hundred years ago, this place was a mining town, so there’s tunnels and deep shafts everywhere. They must have been mining for dirt and rocks because I can’t see anything else around here worth squat.
But I have found these strange piles of dark-red, sandy dirt in a few places. It looks like someone is trying to keep them hidden behind old car bodies and underneath fallen trees. I asked a few kids about them and they went all