Free Slither by John Halkin Page B

come across the tiny green worms they’d dubbed ‘biters’ one day back in the Easter holidays when they’d had to look after Annie’s younger sister, Joan. That was a bore as usual, specially when she’d insisted on ‘exploring’. They’d decided on the woods beyond the rubbish dump.
    The village where they lived was already part suburb, swallowed up by Middlehampton where their fathers worked. In one direction were farms, with miles of cabbages and row upon row of greenhouses; in the other a petrol station with broken, rusting cars in an oil-stained field behind it, and the municipal rubbish dump which they skirted in Indian file.
    Then Joan discovered it was more interesting to play in the stream – in reality, little more than a trickle of water at the bottom of a ditch by the side of the dump. She paddled happily for two or three minutes before they’d had to pull her out screaming. Two green biters had attached themselves to her leg, one on the calf and the other lower down on the ankle.
    Fortunately her reaction had been immediate, and they were able to pull them off before much damage was done. They’d had no choice but to take her home, wash the wounds and stick Elastoplast over them; they’d also drilled her not to mention the biters in case they got into trouble for letting her go in the ditch. They’d made up some story about her being cut by barbed wire hidden in the long grass.
    ‘This is where we saw ’em last time,’ Annie announced, staring down into the water. ‘But I can’t see any now.’
    It was a fairly clear spot where the water was almost transparent. Farther along the ditch were a couple of rusting tin cans and a twisted bicycle wheel. A slight breeze came from the direction of the rubbish dump, carrying with it an acid smell of ash and decay.
    ‘There!’ He began to climb down the sloping side of the ditch to get nearer. ‘Hey, they’ve grown bigger. Whoppers!’
    ‘Be careful!’
    ‘They can’t bite through my wellies.’
    They found one, about six or seven inches long. Before it spotted them, they’d swooped it up in the fishing net and dropped it into the glass jar.
    Another, also by itself.
    But no more until they moved farther along the ditch when unexpectedly they came across three of them together. Annie netted one, but Tim’s wriggled out again before he could transfer it to the jar. This was even more fun than they’d imagined; and the knowledge that these green worms could bite back added extra spice.
    ‘
Ouch!
’ Annie had some trouble getting one of them into the jar; she tried to help it along with her free hand but it bit her through the net, which she dropped. She sucked her finger, grimacing, but her eyes laughing. Some, she seemed to imply, deserved to go free.
    The jar looked quite full when they stopped, and it was as much as Tim could do to prevent the worms escaping. He screwed down the metal lid in which he’d punched several air holes, then held it up to examine them.
    ‘Don’t like their eyes,’ Annie commented with a deep shudder. ‘Like they was cutting into you, an’ they’re only the size o’ pins!’
    The risk that the jar might be discovered if they took it home was too great, so they hid it in a rain gully at the foot of the long wall surrounding the estate. After tea, when it was getting dark, they came out again to look for it. Annie found it. Tim climbed on to the wall first and she handed it up to him, then followed.
    One by one they dropped noiselessly down on to the soft earth. Everything was quiet. No sign of a dog either; in fact they were convinced he’d been bluffing and didn’t own one. Annie went forward first, then beckoned Tim to follow.
    The house showed some signs of activity. There were lights in several of the rooms, and occasionally a shadow against a curtain. But no one was looking out and it seemed the way was clear across the lawn to the swimming pool. They ran across together, lightly but not quickly. At the