Over The Top: Chalk Dust

"To remind me." he says.

"Remind you of what?"

"That's my secret." he always says.

I've asked him many times but he always says the same thing.

OK that's enough about the pendant. Mum was talking about something. I wasn't listening. All I could think about was that dead match. Why was Dad so touchy about it? Why didn't he want to come for a walk with us? What were the memories he kept inside him?

That night I couldn't get to sleep. It wasn't the stuffiness of the caravan. And it wasn't the mosquitoes hanging around, with their wings making a whining noise in the dark. We had on insect-repellant, so we never got bitten by them. And it wasn't Dad's snoring. I was used to that.

I was thinking, about the clearing at the end of the bush-walk. It would be lit up by moonlight now. I wanted to go and look at it again. Something was tugging at me, making me want to go and see it, only this time I wanted to really look. I quietly slipped out of my bed and tiptoed to the door. It creaked slightly but Mum and Dad didn't wake. I picked up my shoes and stepped outside.

When I reached the clearing, the moon was full and brilliant. Every shadow was black. It was strange, like being on the moon.

I stood there, not knowing why I had come. I was sure I was meant to be here, by why? The bush was quiet all round me, as if it was holding its breath.

Then I heard the rustling sound. I thought it was insects at first, or a wind coming through the forest. But it wasn't. It was the sound of slate dust rising up through the ground.

It rustled and whispered as it forced its way through the dampness of the leaves and grass, pushing its way upwards like smoke. It began to form a shape, like a building. The walls grew upwards, the windows formed, the roof, the stone chimney ... I was looking at the old school-house!

I went to the door and touched it. Soft, like dust. The door swung open without a sound. I went in. I wasn't scared. It was only dust. Maybe it was a dream? If I was dreaming it was a beautiful dream, like the ones where I was flying. I wasn't worried about what might happen. I would wake up any moment - and if I didn't . . .

Inside the building were rows of desks, all made of dust. I could see through them. At the front of the room was a large desk, and a set of shelves with a globe and a few books. I pushed my hand through the side of the big desk. It swirled like milk in water and formed the shape of the desk again when I took my hand away.