Blythe's Wheelbarrow

Chapter 2

It was now the 29th of October and Theodoric was still unaware of Evelyn Grosbeak. As this story took place 136 years ago and electronic video games belonged to the future, Theodoric was perfectly content with playing a simple game of tag or hide and seek. There was an old junkyard a block away from his house, just past the post office, Anglican church and the house of the Antidisestablishmentarianism Party – nothing more than a rubbish tip to the bland eye, but to the average 11 year old boy it was the equivalent of Disneyland. He needn’t call any friends over to play, as he knew they’d already be there. There was always somebody there. The old rubbish tip was the base, the HQ, the secret hideout to the group of middleclass Belgian children and Theodoric couldn’t think of anywhere better to go on that exceptionally ordinary morning.

Theodoric was a simple enough boy. He was what you’d call jejune; slightly shorter than average with a mop of rackled black hair, a face exploded with freckles and dark brown eyes the colour of tadpoles. His family wasn’t poor or rich. He wasn’t retarded or intelligent. He wasn’t skinny or fat. He was nice enough, but often felt like he lacked personality, although that didn’t really bother him too much anyway. Upon reaching his destination, he glanced upwards to the rusty steel sigh, hanging and creaking solemnly above the rubbish tip fence. Vuilnisbelt, it read. He scuffled his shoes in the debris. It was a Dutch word of some sort, he thought.

“Hey! Theo!”

Theodoric jumped around, startled. It was Boudewijn and Adelbrecht, more commonly known as “the twins” despite the fact Boudewijn was a whole year older; it was just shorter and easier to remember, not to mention the fact they were practically identical anyway. They were particularly good at pestering people and being an overall nuisance, but the type of people you hang around with anyway because they were still fun to play with. Their dog, a bloodhound-and-something-else-mongrel Woensdag, was there as well. She snuffled around Theodoric with her big wet nose, grunting.

“Are you here to...?”

Theodoric couldn’t finish his sentence.

“Pfft, ‘course we’re here to play! What else?” Adelbrecht waggled his tongue cheekily, leaning on his brother with his arms folded.

“Mm, I should’ve known you two would be here. You’re always here.”

“Just ‘cause there’s nothing better to do. Belgium is so small. One day, I’m going to stowaway on a ship to Canada or Belarus. I shall then become a hero and get knighted so I’ll be called Sir Adelbrecht.” He stuck his chin out proudly.

“Belarus is landlocked, stupid! And Canada’s not real,” Boudewijn scowled.

“Yes it is!”

“No it’s not!”

“I hope you get sent to Australia and live in a prison ‘cause you’re so idiotic!”

“I hope you get sent to Australia and live in a prison ‘cause you don’t even know your geology!”

“It’s geography! I said you were stupid!”

“What should we play? Tag? Sardines?” Theodoric suggested hopelessly.

Thankfully, that shut the both of them up.

“Hide and seek will do. And if we’re luckily, we’ll lose Boudewijn somewhere,” Adelbrecht hissed beneath his breath. Boudewijn gave him a light thump on the shoulder but didn’t say anything.

They called over a few other boys to join in, as three was hardly enough for a decent game. Soon Theodoric, Boudewijn, Kjell, Lieven, Lodewijk, Pepijn, Loki and the rest were all fleeing from Adelbrecht (who was uneducated and counted far too quickly but no one ever noticed) with Woensdag close at his heels.

“Fifty...forty eight...forty six... thirty...”

Theodoric sprung over discarded pieces of abandoned furniture, fretfully looking this way and that for a decent hiding place.

“...twenty eight... twenty seven... um, twenty two...”

He leapt over a broken piano which was missing an octave, scrambled beneath a stool which was missing a leg, tripped clumsily over a jammed sewing machine, fell into a pile of horribly spiky old springs, staggered to his feet and stubbed his toe on the bottom of a tattered beige settee. Biting his lip to keep from yelping out loud, he hopping around in circles wincing and clutching his sore foot.

“...fifteen...”

It’s sort of funny how fate works, if you believe in that sort of thing. If Theodoric hadn’t turned roughly 90 degrees to the right at that very exact moment at 11:10 am that day while in the vuilnisbelt, he might have not spotted the perfect hiding place, and would have therefore continued hopping around in circles and feeling helpless and then eventually being found by Adelbrecht. Said hiding place was a rusty iron wheelbarrow with rotting wooden handles, which had been flipped over so the single tyre was squeaking mournfully in the breeze. It was wedged beneath an ancient yellow mattress and a pile of soggy peeling armchairs which smelt awful, but Theodoric didn’t give a second thought as he sprinted towards his new haven and dived into the pile of junk.

“Six...five...four...three...”

Theodoric tugged at the rim of the wheelbarrow, attempting to heave it over so he could hide inside. It was stuck, but he was determined. No one would find him in here!

“...and one – ready or not, here I come!”

Gritting his teeth, he gave the wheelbarrow one last big, final tug with all the strength he could muster. Squeaaaak! It came loose! Theodoric could hear Adelbrecht’s footsteps marching closer and closer to his spot, getting louder and louder. Heart pounding as if Adelbrecht were some sort of rabid jaguar hunting its prey rather than a preadolescent boy playing hide and seek, Theodoric grasped the side of the wheelbarrow’s body with sweaty hands and flipped it over. It was heavier than it looked – it landed on its side with a massive thump, maroon rust flying. Theodoric fell to his knees, adjusted his brown tartan hat so it wasn’t falling over his eyes and made his move to hide in the wheelbarrow.

Or at least he would have if it hadn’t been occupied by a corpse.