The thump on our roof sounded heavy.

"Just possums," said dad. "I'll show you."

He got his camcorder out, then sat beneath the ghost gum and started videoing.

"Go to bed," he ordered.

I rubbed Sarah's back until she dozed off, then listened to her snoring until sleep took me too.

The next morning, dad was flat as a pancake next to the busted camera. Lucky for us the tape was still intact. Watching the nighttime scene of that Drop Bear attack was an eerie kind of funny.

"Guess it wasn't a possum after all," Sarah said with a smile.

"Poor dad got it really wrong this time," I replied. "Do you fancy pancakes for breakfast?"

"Sure," said Sarah. "But, please don't make them dad flavored."