I'm Not Scared Read Online Free PDF Page A

landed. I had heard it, I could have sworn it.
    I moved my feet and discovered that under the leaves, the twigs and the earth there was a green corrugated sheet, a transparent fibre-glass roof. It had been covered up, as if to hide it. And that old mattress had been put on top of it.
    It was the corrugated sheet that had saved me. It had bent and absorbed the force of my fall.
    So underneath it must be hollow.
    It might be a secret hiding place or a tunnel leading to a cave full of gold and precious stones.
    I got down on my hands and knees and pushed the sheet forward.
    It was heavy, but gradually I managed to shift it a little. A terrible stink of shit was released.
    I swayed, put one hand over my mouth and pushed again.
    I had fallen on top of a hole.
    It was dark. But the further I shifted the fibre-glass sheet the lighter it became. The walls were made of earth, dug with a spade. The roots of the oak had been cut.
    I managed to move it a bit further. The hole was a couple of metres wide and two, two and a half metres deep.
    It was empty.
    No, there was something there.
    A heap of rolled-up rags?
    No …
    An animal? A dog? No …
    What was it?
    It was hairless …
    white …
    a leg …
    A leg!
    I jumped backwards and nearly tripped over.
    A leg?
    I took a deep breath and had a quick look down.
    It was a leg.
    I felt my ears boil, my head and arms hang heavy.
    I was going to pass out.
    I sat down, shut my eyes, rested my forehead on one hand, and breathed in. I was tempted to run away, run to the others. But I couldn’t. I had to have another look first.
    I went forward and peered over.
    It was a boy’s leg. And sticking out of the rags was an elbow.
    At the bottom of that hole there was a boy.
    He was lying on one side. His head was hidden between his legs.
    He wasn’t moving.
    He was dead.
    I stood looking at him for God knows how long. There was a bucket too. And a little saucepan.
    Maybe he was asleep.
    I picked up a small stone and threw it at the boy. I hit him on the thigh. He didn’t move. He was dead. Dead as a doornail. A shiver bit the back of my head. I picked up another stone andhit him on the neck. I thought he moved. A slight movement of the arm.
    â€˜Where are you? Where are you? Where’ve you got to, you pansy?’
    The others! Skull was calling me.
    I grabbed the corrugated sheet and pulled it till it covered the hole. Then I spread out the leaves and earth and put the mattress back on top.
    â€˜Where are you, Michele?’
    I went away, but first I turned round a couple of times to check that everything was in place.
    I was pedalling along on the Crock.
    The sun behind me was a huge red ball, and when it finally sank into the wheat it disappeared, leaving behind it something orange and purple.
    They had asked me how I had got on in the house, if it had been dangerous, if I had fallen down, if there were any strange things in there, if jumping onto the tree had been difficult. I had answered in monosyllables.
    Finally, bored, we had started back. A path led out of the valley, crossed the ochre fields and reached the road. We had collected our bikes and were pedalling along in silence. Swarms of midges hummed around us.
    I looked at Maria, who was following me on her Graziella with its tyres worn by the stones, Skull, out in front, with his squire Remo beside him, Salvatore zigzagging along, Barbara on her oversize Bianchi, and I thought about the boy in the hole.
    I wasn’t going to say anything to anyone.
    â€˜Finders keepers,’ Skull had decided.
    If that was so, the boy at the bottom of the hole was mine.
    If I told them, Skull, as always, would take all the creditfor the discovery. He would tell everyone he had found him because it had been his decision to climb the hill.
    Not this time. I had done the forfeit, I had fallen out of the tree and I had found him.
    He wasn’t Skull’s. He wasn’t Barbara’s either. He wasn’t