Kyamah's Scary Stories

Dadididi the bunyip of  Djerriwarrh Creek, is the first part, of the first draft of Kyamah's story.

Click on the follower icon and complete your details. You will then be able read her next instalments. Until then, take a look at today's first few paragraphs. Pretty good effort for a nine year old.

Dadididi the bunyip of  Djerriwarrh Creek.

            The Melton valley golf course now surrounds the deep waterhole where he has lived from a time before man walked upright until this very day. He has seen many changes, but the greed he’s witnessed dismays and angers him. His beautiful, quiet tree lined creek now ruined by the town. The creek, which once had once sparkled and glimmered in the sunlight, was now gooey and slimy from all the rubbish thrown in there. These settlers had trashed his home.

Electric eels formed the hair on his head, sparking every time he shook the water from his body as he rose from the creek. His bloodshot eyes glowed in the darkness of the moonlight. Once the child is close to the ledge of the waterhole Dadididi would slither out his tongue that fast it would go blurry. He slurps on the children’s bones licking them clean with his rough tongue, swallowing them whole keeping them in a sack in his stomach for exactly one hundred years until he regurgitates them as solid gold skeletons complete with opals for teeth and emeralds for eyes.

He stores the bones under a rocky ledge forming a large watery tomb, but he keeps the skulls to look out for any trespassers. He rises only at midnight on a full kapi (moon) every December

***

It was midnight, there was a full moon, being December, and this was a religious time for many
people. The tribe had camped near the billabong. Children slept in a separate camp away the adults, but closer to the creek. A young girl Kiama, thirsty from the day’s trek, and not wanting to wake her
mother, went to drink at the water’s edge. She didn’t know this was the home of Dadididi, the fearsome bunyip. Cupping her hands she scooped up cool amba (water), not noticing the circle of bubbles rising from the blackened pool. Before she could taste the sweet water, the stinging roughness of the unknown creature’s sticky tongue plucked her into his foul and cavernous mouth, leaving her with no means of escape.

The tribe woke to the frightful screams of Kiama being swallowed whole, her flesh dissolving in the creature’s mouth. The water still again, Dadididi had slipped beneath the surface without a trace. The only thing they could find were Kiama’s tracks and her dillybag on the sandy bank. For weeks, the men searched and the women sobbed, Kiama’s mother had lost her only daughter and it was a time of great sadness. The men made markings and formed stones into circles to warn any passersby of the dangers that lurked in the Djerriwarrh creek.