horror

Bunyip of the Blackwood – C.S Capewell

Preface.

On a granite rock at the edge of the Southern Ocean is a footprint. Here is where it rose from the depths and came onto the land, when that land was soft, new and still warm to the touch, and when the sun had just begun to rise for the first time. This is where she began.

She wandered further north, but not too far, for the land was new and forming and this was simply a part of a much larger destination, but as it grew warmer in the sun, and colder on the ground, she realised she had to go down below the surface, and wait.

She has been waiting for a very long time.

One morning, when the sun was rising and sending the first colour into the darkness of the morning sky, just as it was beginning to head into a cooler season, the mud on the edge of the swamp shifted. It did not shift too much, just enough to cause a shiver up someone’s spine if anyone were watching.

No one was.

Off in the distance, the whine of what might have once been mistaken for a very large mosquito came closer, and the mud on the edge of the dried-up swamp shivered again. The old paperbarks leaned over it protectively, and the sticks and branches of older dead trees further into the vast, desolate landscape created small ripple-like waves. Bird song stilled. The land became silent. All the creatures of the dried-up lake seemed to hold a breath, all … Except the sound of that distant buzzing, coming ever closer.

Ever so gradually, what seemed like a hole formed in the wetness of the earth under the tree. Wider, and wider again, but it did not completely open. It was not quite a fissure, not quite a shaft. In actual fact, it seemed to have no depth at all.

It blinked.

... If you are interested in what happens next, please be forewarned this story is only available through accessing the paid part of this website. It is not based on historical fact, or dreamtime stories. It is a complete work of fiction in which no character represents any person or thing. Any resemblance to any movie, book or previous publication is sheer chance, and not at all related. Please do not continue this story if you have any existing beliefs which may cause you distress, or unintentionally frighten your children. Please do not continue this story if you find any resemblance to factual events or people, as they are not, and you might need to take a pill. Please do not continue this story if you are under the age of fifteen, are prone to behaving inappropriately at the drop of a hat, are criminally inclined, and do not have the ability to translate English to another language without messing it up entirely. This story is not for you if you believe in monsters under the bed, strange creatures in your living room, or dreamlike ghosties wandering about in the dark.

C.S. Capewell

Little Bo Peep

‘Has lost her sheep and doesn’t know where to find them

Leave them alone and they will come home,

wagging their tails behind them.’

The two farmers sat on the fence, surveying the mob.

‘D’ya remember the great kangaroo skin debate, Ted,’ asked the first farmer.

‘Oh yes, indeed I do,’ replied the second farmer. ‘Quite a debacle, if I remember correctly.’

‘It was. It was. No idea, then, and no… Effie, is that you?’

They looked across at the lambs. Not a one of them had a tail. ‘I am apologising to Effie,’ said the first farmer. ‘It’s just that, you know, kids around and all that, so we’ve gotta watch our pees and queues.’

‘Right, right,’ said Ted. ‘So, mate. You ever seen a fly blown sheep? I reckon we could get those kids out in a paddock, maybe. It would make my day.’

‘Oh, you mean showing them the sheep who’ve had their backsides eaten away by maggots? Not a pretty sight, that.’ The first farmer, who still remained nameless, pulled his akubra down low over his nose.

‘Yeah. I guess, ya know, we could ask someone whose had a lot of experience in that area as a young bloke could explain what it looks like, too, but, ya know I’ve seen a fly-blown ram, meself, and he ‘ad to be put down. Bad news, that.’

‘You’ve seen a fly blown ram? That sounds like an expensive loss.’

‘Well, it would have been if he was a breeder, but he was some bloke’s pet. He didn’t look after him, you see, so he got fly blown, and they had to… well, he was better off I think.’

‘Hmm.’ The first farmer got down from his post and wandered across the yard. ‘Seems like ya got a bit of trouble round the joint. Wheat, sheep… Might be time to get some sensible people back in the business, I reckon.’

‘Oh, ya mean someone with half a brain who knows a bit of history?’

‘Yeah, them. Few and far between, but I reckon maybe they should stop listening to the clueless and start listening to the nameless, cos I reckon we could get this show back on the road, unless they wanna eat bloody durians. I know I don’t. All that lack of red meat doesn’t do much for brain power, ya know what I mean?’

‘I certainly do. Like a bit of lamb, meself. Tasty. If it was gonna be me last meal, for example, I’d have Roast Lamb. Bit of mint sauce wouldn’t go astray either. Back in the day, they reckoned if ya cooked up a good meal, some bloke called Tom might be ‘aving dinner with ya. Nah, just kidding, we’re more urban nowdays, but not in a bad way. Not all citified’n’shit.’

Ted got down from the gatepost and walked across the yard to where the first farmer was studying the poo.

‘Is that sheep shit, or roo shit?’ He asked, scratching his head.

‘Hard to tell nowdays. Not many people can figure it out. Probably about the same amount of both, I reckon. Prob’ly more roos to be honest. They’re funny like that. You get a good season and they have two, three babies one after the other, just like that. That’s why you’ve gotta keep ’em in check, see. Don’t feed ’em. They’ll turn the country-side into a dust bowl.’

‘Don’t sheep do that?’

‘Not too much, if you spread ’em out. Pop ’em out on a station, maybe. Not too far though. That’s where the beef comes in.’

‘Beef?’

‘Yeah mate, but that’s another story entirely.’

‘Are we playing for stations now?’

‘Might ‘ave to, I reckon.’

Very Large Snakes.

Early 1990’s – Albany, Western Australia.

The walk back from the pub that night was never going to be fun. I had a long way to go. Having the little vermin off the wheat ship following me was even less fun.

The yank had stepped down from the side of the shopping centre, down from the light, and onto the semi darkened street.

‘Are you okay?’ He asked. He could see this little bastard just wouldn’t go away, and didn’t like taking no for an answer. He may also have noticed I was beginning to size the little creep up, because, although I didn’t want to, I was going to have to kick the cunt in the nuts if he didn’t back off.

‘I’ll be okay,’ I said. 

‘You said we could have one beer together,’ the little prick of a man said.

‘Changed my mind,’ I said. Now, the state of mind I was in wasn’t angry, and it wasn’t sad, it was just more of a “I don’t want to have to hurt this guy just because he’s an idiot.” Regretful, I suppose. Yeah, regretful.

He kept following me though, trying to keep up, pleading with me. I kept saying no, but he wasn’t listening. Seems to be a thing over where he came from. They don’t take no for an answer over there.

Now, I could run, I was taller, and I don’t mind walking in the dark either. I knew where I was going, which helped. This little fuck had no idea.

It was about halfway along the avenue beside the oval where this little wheat ship sailor noticed there wasn’t gonna be any more lights.

‘How far your place is?’ He may have been thinking it was closer. I hadn’t lied to him. He was wrong in thinking it wasn’t as far as I said it was, and I was most definitely right.

‘We’re only half way, so I suggest you turn back.’

‘I just wanted to drink beer with you.’

‘Yeah I don’t think so mate.’ I am pretty sure he had begun to read my face now. It would be easy to lose this fucker in the dark. I think he had only just begun to realise the dark was what we’d be walking in if he kept on following me.

He gave up. There was no winning for this one. No winning at all. I won, and if you wanna know why, it’s because I was prepared to keep going. I knew where I was, I knew my location, and I was gonna keep moving until I got home.

My home, and this breed of man’s home were in two very different directions. Mine was several more k’s in the dark, his was back on a grain ship, which, if he continued to follow me, was something he would possibly never get back to and see the light of day again.

That is the entire point. It’s not about keeping up with the Joneses. It’s not about waiting for the sun to come up either.

It’s whether you are afraid of walking in the dark.

I’m not.

“Oh, they’re arguing again”

said the bystander in exactly the tone she despised, in the bystander’s humble opinion.

‘Shut. Up,’ she hissed. ‘And stop changing things.’

‘I’m trying to be pleasant and you just keep whacking me over the head,’ said one of the C’s.

‘Possibly because you are not my real brother at all, and being incredibly creepy.’

‘Keep saying that and I’ll defy your terms and conditions and publish the f*cking thing anyway.’

‘Really? Go for your f*cking life.”

This was what it was like, in this … “I said STOP IT.”

‘No YOU didn’t, I did!’

‘Oh come onnn,’ said the bystander. ‘ He is NOT that bad, is he?’

‘It’s my past she doesn’t like,’ he said. ‘Okay, I know I’m wrong, but it’s as good an excuse as anything. See that? She’s correcting me again. MUUUUUM.’

‘Nope. Not today, f*ckface. I know I wrote that properly, and you simply cannot get your face out of your own arse. See that. It’s ARSE.’

‘Why do they keep fighting like that,’ said the bystander. He leant back and picked up his shiraz.

‘That’s awful, that stuff,’ said the real C. No one knew who that was anymore, except her, and the one who named himself after someone’s…

‘MUUUUUUUM.’

‘Lame ass crepes,’ said the butcherer of really good euphanisms.

‘You see that? That is what the problem is. It totally is. AND I can make up words like butcherer, because butcherer is right, in my opinion. You just add shit up. That’s all you do.’

‘I am NOT MY DAD,’ he screamed/muttered, if that was even a thing. ‘It is NOW,’ he said. ‘Because I read scripts and you don’t and seriously they write that shit down, and I don’t know whut they’re trying to do with it.’

‘It’s what.’

‘Watt?’

‘Yes.’

‘Learn something new every day.’

‘Are you still fighting?’ the bystander asked.

‘No, she, being the cats mother, has decided she’ll keep watching it, although she already knows she is going to prevent herself from throwing things at the screen because I am not an absolute see you en tee in it, but really nice, so there. Okay so that was a lie, and you’ll see what I mean. Okay, I’m going because she attacked me WHILE I WAS ASLEEP, and that’s not the done thing around here.’

And off he stompled, the slightly overweight greenhorn musician from another language entirely laughing merrily to himself at their daft manoeuvres.

‘I’m not going home yet,’ added the other other C. ‘This is way too much fun, and my mum said I’m a good boy when I’m not sailing very large sailboat-pats (oh haha) in her river. I simp-luh-feud that, mummy, just so you know, because that was not me, it was not him, it was the other c the little one with the big hair and really short fretful ladies who call him busted. Ha-dee-ha-ha.’

‘Well then. I’ll pretend that’s the one I’m sending really nasty things to then,’ said his wonderful parent of no relation. ‘Thank you very much.’

And then the kettle popped on for no reason at all.

Many moons later, they decided to train the dog.

It had taken a while to realise the actual dog was what had caused all the problems, but now that she knew, she knew what to say to him (the dog).

So, she told the guys she allllwayyys argued with, the commands one had to say to make the dog behave himself.

He was (mostly) much better behaved than he was when he had been an alive dog (I know, just go with it) as he actually returned the things he had fetched, instead of running off with them and being a twit. She had found this out the previous evening when something had happened, and he’d brought it back for her.

For no reason at all, this had turned the bloody woman into a big sook, so she said to her dog…

‘That’s enough now, mate. Take a break, take a breath, and relax.’

And, for some reason, that made a number of people feel a lot better than they had for quite some time.

A little while after that, she said another short command to the dog, which was very specific to her own dog’s taught commands.

It worked, because when one has specific commands that only their own dog understands, things can get pretty hairy for those who do not understand those specific commands.