The Bluffs : A Novel (2020)

by Perry, Kyle

  Jasmine did her best to hide her trembling hands as she unwrapped the muesli bar. She picked up her pace.

  I’m just stressed, she thought. I’m just very fucking stressed. What the hell are we doing?

  She thought of her dad. She straightened her back.

  I will not back out.

  Standing up ahead was Mr North, at the side of the path with his arms folded across his chest, his mouth moving as he counted the girls going past.

  ‘How much further?’ moaned Cierra.

  ‘We’re over halfway, girls,’ said Mr North.

  As they continued, they heard someone yelling for Mr North from further up the track. A moment later Carmen, the fittest girl in class, came jogging back down the trail. ‘Mr North,’ she said, barely out of breath. ‘We think Missy has broken her ankle.’

  Mr North cursed, and together they went running up the track.

  A few minutes later Jasmine and the rest of the group caught up. Missy Carswell was on the ground, sitting up against a fallen tree, crying while Mr North tested her ankle’s movement.

  ‘It’s not broken, just twisted,’ whispered Carmen to Jasmine and the others. ‘She just doesn’t want to walk anymore. Plus she landed right in a jack jumper nest.’

  ‘Ouch,’ winced Jasmine.

  ‘Yes, how Hunger Games,’ said Madison, rolling her eyes.

  Mr North took charge, but didn’t even attempt to show sympathy. ‘Mr Michaels, Miss Ellis, take the girls on to the campsite.’ The frustration was clear in his voice. ‘I’ll help little Miss Carswell back to the road. We’ll call someone to pick her up.’

  The rest of them made their way to the campsite as one big group. There were no more incidents except someone saw a wood scorpion and freaked out – ‘I didn’t even know we had scorpions here! Are they venomous? Will they be at the campsite?’ – and a few girls got sunburnt, Jasmine included.

  Once they arrived, Jasmine, Cierra and Madison hurried to find the most private camping spot they could. They wanted to sleep as far as possible from the creepy Trapper’s Hut in the centre of the clearing: a one-room hut made of dark, rotting timber that creaked in the wind, windows boarded up and the cracked door swinging wide.

  They found a spot of soft grass between two dolerite boulders and a fallen cider gum, on the very edge of the cleared camping area, almost bordering the cliff itself. Miss Ellis had decided the sleeping arrangements. Madison and Cierra would share a tent and Jasmine would be sharing with Bree, in a tent she’d pitched right beside theirs, snug against a boulder. Georgia was sleeping in with Carmen, who had already set up her tent near the Trapper’s Hut.

  Jasmine was midway through erecting her tent, sweating in the muggy spring air, swatting away bristle flies and one stubborn spider wasp.

  ‘Didn’t think to ask me whether I wanted the tent here?’ came Bree’s harsh voice from behind her.

  Jasmine turned to see her blotchy red face, tight with fury. ‘Sorry. Thought this was a good spot.’

  ‘I just thought you might’ve asked me where I wanted to sleep tonight. You know, considering.’

  ‘Sorry. But look, it’s already half up.’

  Bree clenched her fists and spat, ‘Bitch.’ She stomped off.

  Madison laughed. ‘Notice how she didn’t offer to help?’

  ‘Alright over here, girls?’ said Jack, appearing at Jasmine’s side. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing, Mr Michaels. Jasmine just needs a bit of help setting up her tent,’ said Madison. ‘Aren’t you hot in that shirt?’

  ‘Let me help you with that,’ said Jack, taking the tent pegs from Jasmine’s hands.

  She stood back and let him finish it, brushing the wasp off his back when it landed there: a large black wasp with orange wings and antennae. It moved away with its weird jumping motion.

  ‘At least there won’t be any huntsmen around our tents tonight,’ she mused.

  Cierra shuddered. Jasmine knew she hated spiders: especially the thick, palm-sized huntsmen that bred around the mountains.

  ‘I reckon this spider wasp has a nest in this fallen tree,’ said Jasmine.

  Cierra squealed. ‘What the fuck is a spider wasp?’

  ‘Relax, it’s not a wasp crossed with a spider. It eats spiders, especially huntsmen. Drags them along the ground, sometimes it bites their legs off to make them easier to handle.’

  ‘That is messed up.’ Cierra shuddered.

  Madison snorted. ‘How do you know this, bug woman?’

  ‘Dad told me. I saw one at our house once, with a huntsman. Dad told me it had paralysed it and was going to plant its eggs inside, that the larvae would eat it from the inside out, leaving the vital organs until last so it would live as long as possible . . .’ She laughed. ‘It freaked me out. I cried for hours. Mum went ape at him. Told him it was a stupid thing to tell me.’

  ‘He was right,’ said Jack. He had finished setting up the tent. ‘Stupid thing to tell a little girl.’

  Jasmine hit him playfully, but a little harder than necessary. ‘Luckily it didn’t scar me too badly.’

  Bree came stalking back, still furious. She saw the tent was up and she shouldered past to get inside, then zipped the flap shut behind her.

  Jasmine rolled her eyes. ‘It’s going to be a long six months,’ she whispered to the girls. They nodded and sighed, and Madison just smirked. Together they headed towards the middle of the campsite, carefully moving across the occasional patch of mossy rocks. The campfire was already going and some girls had gathered a pile of dead wood.

  Miss Ellis was nearby, supervising the construction of a communal gazebo tent, which had been left behind for them by the boys the weekend before. Jack rushed to help. ‘You can go find some more firewood if you like,’ she said to Jasmine and her friends, taking off her glasses to wipe away the sweaty condensation that had gathered on the lenses.

  The four girls turned, grumbling, and headed for the edge of the clearing.

  ‘Remember,’ Miss Ellis called after them as she put her glasses back on, ‘stick to the tracks.’

  ‘Like we’re gonna find any firewood on the track,’ muttered Madison. As soon as they were out of sight of the camp, she pulled her phone out of her pocket.

  ‘She’s suspicious,’ said Georgia. ‘I can tell.’

  ‘You can’t tell,’ said Madison.

  ‘She’s looking at us differently.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Madison sagely. ‘I’ll take care of it.’ She looked around. ‘We’ll split up, we’ll find more wood that way.’

  She and her sister broke away from Jasmine and Georgia, moving off the path and through a patch of needlebush, Madison tapping away at her phone. ‘Reception is literally shit.’

  Jasmine and Georgia walked a little way by themselves, leaving the track and gathering sticks, checking for insects before picking them up. Jasmine couldn’t stop thinking about the twins. It wasn’t good for them to be keeping secrets, not right now. After a few more moments, she dropped her bundle of sticks on the ground.

  ‘Madison is up to something.’

  Georgia sighed. ‘Yeah, duh. We all are.’

  ‘That’s not what I mean. I’m gonna go listen . . .’

  ‘Jasmine!’ said Georgia, but she was already moving off through the bush.

  She walked softly on the ground, avoiding branches and shrubs: she’d had practice sneaking through the bush, following her dad and uncle when they visited their secret marijuana crop. Soon she heard Madison and Cierra’s voices, and she stopped and crouched lower.

  ‘. . . three new players,’ Madison was saying.

  ‘Where are they from?’ said Cierra.

  ‘One from Surfers Paradise, one from Geelong, and one from Hobart,’ said Madison. ‘Ew. Hobart.’

  ‘Any guys this time?’

  ‘Two.’ Madison chuckled. ‘Look at this one. Hot as a Hemsworth. Jackpot.’

  ‘Hopefully they all send their nudes by tonight . . .’ Cierra’s voice w
as sombre. A moment later, she started sniffling.

  ‘Don’t cry – hey, we talked about this,’ said Madison softly.

  Jasmine backed away, worried they were going to start moving again and stumble across her in the bushes. She returned to the trail, but Georgia had gone already. She retrieved her own pile of wood and headed back to the campsite.

  Once she’d added to the growing firewood pile, she spotted Bree sitting by the fire. Jasmine took a breath. It was probably now or never. Time to see if she had an ally.

  She walked over and sat beside her.

  ‘What do you want?’ snapped Bree.

  ‘I heard Madison mention the game again, and nudes,’ said Jasmine softly. ‘I think you’re right: it’s something like Honcho Dori.’

  Bree gave a great heave of sarcasm. ‘That’s what I told you.’ She glanced across, angry again. ‘You can drop the act, bitch. I know you’re spying for her.’

  ‘No, I’m not, bitch.’

  ‘Spare me,’ said Bree. ‘Just keep your end of the deal and I’ll keep mine.’

  Jasmine watched her stalk off. She was frustrated, but it was alright, she’d have time to talk to Bree in their tent tonight. Jasmine could be convincing when she needed to be.

  Georgia returned to the campsite, her hair full of little twigs, and delivered her armful of wood to the pile. She stopped by the gazebo, where there was a box of squashed fruit from someone’s pack, and then sat down next to Jasmine, handing her a banana. ‘We can’t afford to fight right now, Jaz,’ she said. ‘We have to stick together.’ She unpeeled her own banana, watching Jack, who was helping some girls still struggling to set up their tent.

  Madison and Cierra returned, still arm in arm.

  ‘I know,’ said Jasmine. ‘I just don’t think there should be secrets.’ She threw the banana skin onto the fire.

  Georgia laughed. ‘Not knowing each other’s secrets is the only reason we can all be friends.’

  After a dinner of pork sausages cooked on the smoky campfire and salad, all of the campers sat in loose knots. The Fab Four and Carmen sat in a semi-circle, on a straw mat that had been left behind in the Trapper’s Hut. On the other side of the fire, Scarlett, the year-level captain, had set up a portable speaker and her Triple J playlist beat against the sound of crackling fire and conversation. She was the only student who’d been allowed to bring her phone, although she’d be sharing a tent with Miss Ellis tonight, right beside the Trapper’s Hut, so the privilege kind of cancelled out.

  Without their phones, the rest of the girls chatted about normal things – the girls from school, the boys from school, the boys from town, the girls from town. Jasmine ignored a few not-so-subtle remarks about her and Jack, who they all noticed kept glancing across at her. Carmen seemed especially miffed by it. Jasmine knew she had a crush on him, but she didn’t even have the energy to feel pleased about that. All she felt now was nervous. The first chance she had, she was going to sneak away and smoke some of her dad’s weed. Tonight, of all nights, she had earned it.

  As the evening drew on, most girls were content to stay up and chat. Miss Ellis went to bed not long after the first group of girls did, telling the rest, ‘Remember, we have a long walk tomorrow,’ but in the sort of resigned voice of a teacher who knew the girls would do whatever they wanted.

  Mr North had finally made it to camp a little before dinner, having seen Missy Carswell safely home. He chatted to Jack and a smaller group of the football girls. He, too, eventually stood up, warned the girls to get their rest before the long hike tomorrow, and headed off to his tent.

  Jasmine watched him all the way, just to make sure he didn’t try to sneak into anyone else’s tent. Cierra and Madison’s, for example.

  Jack stayed where he was, at the other end of the communal area, staring into the fire. He seemed to be trying his hardest not to glance at Jasmine. If she was a good person, she’d break up with him tonight. But she knew that she wouldn’t.

  ‘Looks like Mum and Dad have gone to bed,’ said Madison. She huddled closer to the girls and pulled her phone from her pocket.

  ‘Madison,’ hissed Carmen. ‘How did you smuggle that in? You’ll get suspended.’

  Madison passed her phone to Cierra. ‘Who wants a story?’

  ‘Mr Michaels is still over there,’ said Georgia. ‘He’ll catch you.’

  ‘Not if Jasmine flashes her boobs.’

  Cierra began filming.

  ‘We’re here, at the Western Bluff campsite,’ said Madison to the camera. ‘This is the only place any trace was found of the girls who went missing in 1985. Both of Rose Cahil’s shoes, laces neatly tied, sitting side by side at the edge of the cliff just behind us . . . and a torn scrap of her jeans inside the Trapper’s Hut. They say her ghost still haunts the hut.’ Cierra swung the camera around towards it. ‘Everyone knows to never go inside at night.’

  Carmen shuddered. ‘I would like to be able to sleep tonight, Maddy. My tent is right next to it.’

  ‘The Hungry Man Abductions. Five girls, all disappearing within two months of each other,’ continued Madison. ‘Mallory Andrew, fourteen, last seen walking along the school track. Yolanda Swift, sixteen, taken while walking through Devils Gullet: her parents were only metres away but didn’t see a thing. Victoria Compton, sixteen, while —’

  ‘Stop,’ squealed Carmen, hands over her ears.

  Madison continued listing the details of each disappearance, finishing with, ‘And, one survivor . . . little Dorrie Dossett, fourteen years old. Who told us all about him, the bushman who took them.’ She paused. ‘The Hungry Man.’

  ‘What’s happening over here, girls?’ said Jack, approaching from the other side of the fire.

  ‘We’re just telling ghost stories, Mr Michaels,’ said Jasmine.

  Cierra had quickly hidden the phone in the front of her jacket, but the camera was still visible, and still recording.

  ‘The Hungry Man is tall: freakishly tall,’ said Madison, ignoring Jack.

  ‘Hey, Madison, you know you’re not supposed to talk about that stuff,’ he said.

  ‘He wears a bushman’s hat, and his face is long and ghostly white. He hides in the bush beside you and, if you listen carefully, you can hear his footsteps matching pace with yours. If you call out, he won’t reply: but you’ll hear his breathing. If you make eye contact with him . . .’

  ‘Alright, that’s enough, Madison.’

  ‘What’s wrong, Mr Michaels?’ said Cierra, surreptitiously training the camera on him. ‘Scared of a ghost story?’

  ‘Even before 1985, there had been rumours for years that a hermit bushman lived in these woods,’ continued Madison, pursing her lips seriously, her hair creating a dramatic frame for her face. ‘Sometimes you could see the smoke of his campfire. Sometimes you heard gunshots as he hunted game. And once . . . they found the bones of a woman, who he’d eaten clean, and her shoes, the laces neatly tied.’

  ‘That never happened.’

  ‘Then who took those girls, Mr Michaels?’ said Madison. ‘What happened to them? Little Dorrie Dossett saw the Hungry Man. He kidnapped her from her own backyard.’

  ‘Dorrie Dossett had Down’s syndrome.’

  ‘Doesn’t mean she’s a liar,’ countered Madison.

  ‘Theodore Barclay was —’

  ‘Ted Barclay literally had the IQ of a ten-year-old. There was no way he took all those girls without a trace. And then he killed himself?’ said Madison.

  ‘He only got blamed because he was Aboriginal,’ added Georgia.

  ‘Alright, everyone go to bed.’ Mr Michaels clapped his hands. ‘Now. Or I’ll get Mr North.’

  Slowly the girls stood up, with some dark mutters. He kicked some of the coals back into the centre of the fire, then continued to shoo the girls along. Madison took her phone from Cierra, slipping it quietly into her pocket.

  When Jasmine unzipped the flap of her tent, she saw Bree lying on top of the sleeping bag, still awake, staring at the tent’s ce
iling. She rolled onto her side, facing away. Jasmine grabbed her toothbrush, water bottle and the cloth toiletries bag that now held one of the bags of weed, a cigarette lighter and a pipe.

  She walked off into the trees and sat on a rock, taking out the weed and the pipe. A moment later, Cierra joined her. Jasmine packed the pipe, lit it, and then handed it to Cierra.

  ‘How you doing?’ said Cierra, before taking a drag.

  ‘We’re really doing this, aren’t we,’ said Jasmine.

  ‘After tomorrow, everything’s going to change,’ said Cierra. She handed the pipe back.

  Jasmine took a heavy drag and coughed. ‘Are we doing the right thing?’

  Cierra took a drag. ‘We are. Madison knows what she’s doing.’

  They sat there smoking, neither speaking. Jasmine watched the trees. Finally she said, ‘What is the game?’

  Cierra went perfectly still.

  ‘The game,’ said Jasmine. ‘I’ve heard you and Madison talking. Players, nudes.’

  ‘I don’t know what —’

  ‘Tell me or I swear I’m going to tell Miss Ellis everything. Everything.’

  ‘Don’t be a bitch,’ snapped Cierra.

  ‘I’m not going into this if you and Madison are keeping secrets.’

  Cierra looked like she was about to reply, then hesitated. She took another drag of the pipe. ‘Alright, I’ll tell you . . . tomorrow. This time tomorrow. Alright?’

  Jasmine watched Cierra. ‘You don’t have to be afraid of Madison, you know,’ she said. ‘We would protect you.’

  Cierra laughed. ‘I’m not afraid of her. You don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Alright, Cierra. If you say so. But just remember, me and Georgia are here for you.’

  They turned back to the trees, and that’s when Jasmine saw it. A chill ran down her back, the hairs rose on her arms.

  ‘Cierra,’ she hissed. ‘Keep very still, and look to that group of trees, a little to the left.’

  ‘What is it?’ Cierra whispered back.

  ‘It looks like someone’s standing there. Watching us.’

  Cierra shook her head. ‘It’s just a tree, Jaz.’