Old Saltie

By Sue Bagust

This collection of short stories from Australia will have you mesmerised as you move from crocodiles to churches, from kitchens to the kindertransport of World War II. This is a compelling read with a brilliant sense of comedic timing. You have met the people here in these stories at some other time, in some other place.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sue Bagust
• Release date: Oct 20, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301187454

Sue Bagust

Sue Bagust is an author, playwright, advertising copywriter and Reiki therapist/trainer who lives in SE Queensland, Australia, with her husband, cats, dog and a few noisy geckos.. Sue previously published two Reiki workbooks and also writes plays.

Book preview

Old Saltie

And other stories by Sue Bagust

© Sue Bagust 2013

Published by Sue Bagust at Smashwords

Thank you for downloading this ebook. It remains the copyright property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy at Smashwords.com, where they can also discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents have been produced by the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, or to any actual events or precise locations is entirely coincidental or within the public domain.

My sincere thanks go to members of the Ravenshoe, Gympie and Pomona Writers Groups for showing me how to write short stories and generously sharing their expertise. Even bigger thanks to Pat Ritter, my big-hearted mentor who encouraged me to publish my stories, and thanks especially to my husband Roy, who has the patience of a Saint. If you have enjoyed reading this book, I would love to receive your feedback. You can contact me on my e-mail: [e-mail]

Sue Bagust

www.ideasunlimited.com.au

Old Saltie

‘What did you say?’ I stared at mine host in horror.

‘I said,’ he repeated slowly, ‘that you have to be very, very careful of Old Saltie. She’s a right old bitch, cunning as all get out, and she’ll have you for dinner as quick as look at you. She’s quick, cunning, ruthless, a born killer and you have to be very, very careful in her territory.’

The smart little bastard was a telepath, no doubt of it. He’d been reading my mind – that was exactly what I’d been thinking about Old Saltie, my revered and respectable mother-in-law, the dishonourable Mrs. Saltash. He had picked my thoughts straight from my brain to say them, out loud, to this wide-eyed group of happy eco-tourists in the happy eco-tourist paradise of Crocodile River. How was he doing it?

The khaki kid went on with his talk: ‘Old Saltie hasn’t killed anyone yet, but we know she’s there and she’s just waiting for the opportunity. She’s a man-hater, all right.’

He’d described the old bat perfectly. Funny, when Gail and I first married, I’d thought her mother was a real character and laughed at her witticisms, and even admired her stubbornness. I called it determination then. Just goes to show how young I was, or how much in love I was with my Gail, not to recognize the danger in her mother’s glittering little reptilian eyes. She was so sweet on the surface, all cosmetics and gleaming spun sugar, but underneath there was always a quick slash of spiteful words disguised with a giggle, a stiletto to the heart delivered with a smile, and a grim determination to rule whatever roost she chose as hers.

Unfortunately, since her last stroke, her current roost was our spare room and she now ruled my house with indefatigable venom.

My thoughts returned to their cycle of quiet horrors. There was no way out: the only way to freedom, for myself and my wife and our children, was if Old Saltie died. Despite her latest stroke, the horrible old woman was getting healthier every day, and looked as though she was settling in to outlive the whole family.

‘Yeah,’ the khaki kid continued. ‘Old Saltie is just waiting for her moment to strike, which is why all the rivers and riverbanks are out of bounds for everyone. We know she’s there, we just don’t know where, so we ask everyone to please keep to the marked paths and to do your river watching either in a boat with one of us authorized guides or from your verandahs over the water. Never go wandering along the riverbank by yourself, and especially not at sundown, which is when most croc attacks happen."

‘Croc,’ I exclaimed. ‘Crocodile. Old Saltie is a crocodile.’

Not only the khaki kid looked at me in amazement, the whole group of happy eco-tourists was doing the same thing. Fair enough too, seeing the whole damned holiday camp was called Crocodile River. They must have thought I was a special kind of stupid. I smiled weakly and tried for an excuse.

‘Sorry. It’s been a long drive to get here.’

They relaxed slightly; some even offered faint smiles of commiseration. They were all young, healthy, fit, some obviously on their honeymoon and focused more on each other than on the khaki kid. Most weren’t Australian, except possibly for the lost-cause, dread-locked, hairy-legged couple, dressed in every colour of the rainbow. I had a private bet with myself that they would be vegetarian. Over the years I have noticed that becoming a vegetarian often made you lose your sense of style and colour, along with all your razors.

I reckon there wasn’t