Forest Spirit

by David Laing

  Shadow woofed and wagged his tail. ‘It looks like you’ve made up your mind,’ Jars said. ‘C’mon then, let’s follow him.’

  This is silly, she told herself. She didn’t even know where she was going, where it was taking her. Was it to the cave, she wondered? The cave where Quenton was scared by a ghost? They came to an area of ferns and bushes that had been flattened recently. Quenton’s work, she told herself. This was where he had run in a blind panic. She wondered whether he had really seen a ghost.

  The cave was almost invisible. Several tree ferns and a large boulder concealed the entrance. The wombat wriggled through. Jars followed, ducking to avoid some spider webs. Shadow came after her. She entered the cave and scrambled to her feet. Despite the dim light, she knew at once. This was her cave; this was the cave in her dreams.

  She fished the pencil flashlight that the ranger had given to her from her pocket and quickly twisted the end until she got a beam. She shone the light around the cave; she saw at once that the cave was large, as big as a house.

  From a far wall a thousand eyes flashed. They blinked on and off and rippled up and down the wall like waves.

  Quenton’s ghost.

  She smiled. She knew what it really was – glow-worms. A kind of firefly, she remembered from her school lessons, sometimes called lightning bugs. The glands inside them caused the fiery glow. She must have disturbed them.

  Water drops splashed onto her face and arms. She looked up. They were coming from tiny holes in the roof where golden arrows of light from the outside speared into the gloom of the cave.

  Somewhere in the cave’s far reaches, the murmuring sounds of a stream reached her ears.

  With careful steps, she picked her way towards the sound of the flowing water. She came across a shallow chasm, long and narrow like a deep scar. Clusters of stalactites reached down from the roof. Stalagmites, like giants’ fingers, stretched upwards. At the bottom of the chasm a stream gurgled.

  It was then that she felt her spine tingle. She was being watched. She flashed her torch around the cave. It wasn’t the wombat, she was sure of that. His eyes couldn’t hide from the beam of her torch. No, it was something else, something you couldn’t see. With a rising uneasiness, she made her way back towards the cave’s entrance, shining the light from side to side as she went.

  A sharp cry escaped from her throat. There it was on the wall, a familiar drawing. She had missed seeing it when she had first come in, probably because she’d been so intent on finding the source of the water. She shone her light onto the carving, studying its every feature – the swirls, the tracks and the jagged circles. Like the ranger had told them, the tracks held a symbolic meaning for the original owners of the land. Animals had been important; they were a food source. She understood that. What did puzzle her were the small circular shapes that did not seem to belong.

  Then, suddenly and without warning, the figure began to change.

  Jars held her breath. She stood, wide-eyed and deathly still. The face of an old man appeared on the rock face – the ancient being, who had spoken to her.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked. ‘What do you want?’

  His words formed like magic in her head: ‘The rocks are weeping. Kodkuna yultan.’

  Transfixed, as though suspended in time, she stared. Then, as quickly as it had formed, the drawing faded. Once again, it became a series of swirls and dashes.

  Her eyes searched the floor beneath the carving. She gasped and took a step backward. There, at her feet, were the remains of a dead person – a pile of white bones.

  Her body began to tremble. She tried to move her legs but they refused to obey.

  The wombat’s soft fur brushed against her legs as it swayed slowly past her. It was heading towards the exit. It stopped and turned, as though asking her to follow. It was time to leave.

  ‘Let’s go, Shadow,’ she urged, somehow finding the will and strength to tear herself away. As she stumbled towards the wombat and the outside light, her mind screamed at what she had seen. The ranger had been right. She had seen it for herself. She had just witnessed some sort of sorcery, the magic of the cave.

  Still shaking, she reached the exit and wriggled through the narrow opening. Standing erect, she brushed her face and hair with her hands. Something was there, clinging and sticking. She pulled her hand away, looking at the sticky mass that had clung to her fingers. The remains of the spider webs, the ghostly fingers that had clutched at Quenton Quigley’s throat.

  She swatted them off and looked around. The wombat had gone. She shivered. It was chilly. She glanced towards the sun, now lower in the sky. Soon it would disappear behind the mountains.

  Quickly, Jars set out towards the track that would take her back to the camp. The others would be worried. ‘C’mon Shadow,’ she called, ‘we’d better hurry.’

  A sound, like a twig cracking, brought her to an abrupt halt. She strained to listen. Nothing. But there was something out there. She could sense it.

  Puzzled, she hurried on, anxious to be with the others. She didn’t like the icy feeling of dread that had suddenly crept over her skin. She didn’t like it at all.

  At the far end of the lake a breathless Hector Grimshaw burst into the makeshift camp.

  Arnie, who was placing some wood on the fire, looked up. ‘Ah, hi, Hector. Did you get it all done? Did you fix up all them cage things? Are we, ah, going to get everything ready now for the boat. Are we?’

  ‘Never mind that,’ Hector snapped as he walked quickly over to his brother. ‘And put that fire out. It looks like we’ve got some neighbours. I saw a young girl wandering around not far from here. She won’t be alone either. There’ll be others for sure. If they see us and find out what we’re doing, we’re sunk.’

  Hector looked around. Set back from the lake, they had made camp in an area fringing the trees on the opposite side of the forest, about two kilometres from the Kelly camp. It was an ideal site, chosen carefully to meet their needs, which were anonymity and seclusion. Consisting of stunted bushes, ferns and pockets of moss, the area they had chosen was invisible – even to the eyes of anglers in passing boats. A further bonus was the fact that no-one was ever likely to make the difficult trek along Wombat Track. Their activities had easily been kept a secret. But now …

  ‘Who are they?’ Arnie asked, his head tilted to one side.

  ‘Dunno. I don’t even know how many of them there are. Or if they’re camping, or if they’re just staying for the day. All I know is we have to find out. See what they’re up to.’

  ‘Then what, Hector? Do we go and um, visit them people?’

  ‘No, you idiot. But if they’re here for the long haul we gotta make sure they don’t come snooping around.’

  ‘Ah, how, Hector? How do we do that?’

  ‘We’ll find out tonight, when it’s dark.’ He shoved Arnie in the side. ‘Now do like I said. Put that fire out.’

  Jim Kelly was cooking some trout he and Snook had caught earlier, when the sound of footsteps running through grass made him look up. It was Jars. He called out to Snook, who was nearby. ‘Come and look after these fish will you, while I go and have a word or two with your cousin.’

  He walked towards Jars, his steps slow but purposeful. Jars saw her uncle coming towards her. When she drew near, he stopped, blocking her path. He folded his arms and glared, as if daring her to speak.

  She knew she was in trouble. She felt her stomach clench. ‘So, where do you think you’ve been?’ he said at last. He glanced at his watch. ‘It’s past seven o’clock for God’s sake. Did you forget what you were told – about wandering off on your own?’

  Jars lowered her head and stared at the ground, not sure what to say. She wondered whether Quenton had mentioned the cave and how she had gone looking for him. It didn’t seem likely. Her uncle’s anger told her that. No, Quenton had told a different story one that wasn’t true. Why else would her uncle be so upset?

  ‘Look at me when I talk to you,’ her
uncle continued. ‘We were all starting to get worried about you, including Quenton, who tells me he even went looking for you.’

  Jars looked up. She shook her head. ‘No, that’s not … that’s not how –’

  ‘And that’s not all. He tells me you lost his camera, which you’ll have to replace somehow. Now, what do you have to say? I don’t want any lame excuses either.’

  Jars hated what she saw. Her uncle’s face had turned a deep shade of red. His eyes, unblinking, screamed at her. ‘So, like I said before, what have you got to say for yourself?’

  She caught a glimpse of Quenton, who was peering from behind his tent. She wiped her hand across her eyes. ‘S-sorry,’ she managed. ‘I … I won’t do it again.’

  ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘we’ll leave it at that. Go and clean yourself up. Then come and have something to eat; the fish should be cooked by then.’

  After the meal, Jars, closely followed by Shadow, walked down to the edge of the lake. Its waters were grey in the fading light of the evening. A westerly breeze now blew over its surface, bringing with it a coolness that made her shiver. Ignoring the cold, she gazed absently over the lake, listening to the quarking of the frogs as they lay hidden on the shore among the weed and rocks.

  Snook, who had seen her leave, quickly went after her. ‘It doesn’t add up,’ he said to her back as she continued to watch over the lake. ‘I heard Dad yelling at you, telling you off, but it’s hard to believe. I mean, I’ve only known you for what seems like a minute, but, hell, you don’t seem the type to do what he says you did. So, is it true what Dad said, or did something else actually go on out there?’

  Jars turned to face Snook. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Yes, it does, something else did happen, didn’t it? I can tell. And I’m gonna find out what it was. And if I’m any judge, Quigley had a hand in there, somehow.’ He walked over to her side. ‘Am I right or what?’

  Jars rubbed Shadow’s ear, then sighed. She didn’t want to tell him. If she did, Snook would confront Quenton and that would cause more strife. She didn’t want that. It was best to leave things as they were.

  ‘Quenton would get into trouble with your dad if I told you.’

  ‘Why are you so worried about Quigley? You know he’s a waste of space.’

  ‘If your dad tells him off, he’ll make up a lie to tell his father when we go back to Cray Bay. I know what Quenton’s like now. He’d do that for sure, convince his father that he was the perfect little angel and that you and I were the villains. Then your dad would be put into an awkward situation with Mr Quigley – especially since he wants to buy the cray boat.’

  ‘Jars, there’s no doubt about it, you’re either too good to be true or just plain stupid. Look, I don’t really care what the little wart does. I don’t care what his old man thinks either. But okay, if that’s what you want, I suppose I can keep quiet. I won’t tell Dad, but if he’s been as big an idiot as I reckon he’s been, he’ll cop it … somehow. Now, seeing that I’ve promised to keep your little secret, let’s have it. What really happened?’

  Jars hesitated for a moment as if still making up her mind, then, taking a deep breath, she told Snook – about finding Quenton, about the wombat, the cave and the ghostly figure.

  When she had finished, Snook looked at her, his eyebrows raised. ‘You’re serious aren’t you? What you told me about Quigley, I can believe, but that stuff about a spirit, or whatever, is that really true? I mean, you told me before you’d seen a spook, or whatever, in a sort of dream, but now you’re saying …’

  Snook paused as if gathering his thoughts. ‘Now you’re saying you really did see a … a ghost? That what you’ve been telling me is really true?’ Jars nodded. Snook took a pace forward and slapped Jars hard on the back, making her stumble forward. ‘Awesome! It is kinda hard to believe, but, well, I suppose I do. You couldn’t just make up a story like that.’ Without warning, he punched the palm of his hand with a fist. ‘But I know one thing for certain. We have gotta tell Dad about Quigley. He can’t let you take the blame for something he did. I mean, how low can you get?’

  ‘No, just leave it, it’s over now.’ Jars’ eyes drifted over the lake. The mountains were growing black as they swallowed the last rays of the sun. ‘I – I’ll just be more careful from now on.’

  Even in the half-light, she could make out the first of the stars as they appeared in the sky. She watched as her favourite constellation formed in the darkness. It was clearly visible, far to the south – the Southern Cross, brightening the sky with its icy light.

  Looking away, she turned to Snook. ‘Let’s get back,’ she said, starting off. ‘It’s cold.’ She paused. ‘Snook,’ her voice barely a whisper, ‘over there, in the forest. Lights.’

  Snook followed the direction of her gaze and there, flickering through the blanket of trees, was the unmistakable yellow light of a torch. ‘C’mon,’ Snook said, walking quickly towards the camp. ‘We’d better tell Dad.’

  ‘There could easily be a logical explanation,’ Snook’s dad said when they told him about the lights. ‘Although I have to admit, it’s a bit odd. Anyway, let’s sleep on it. We’ll all go for a drive into town tomorrow. Reg should be back by then so we can let him know what you saw. He might want to look into it.’

  Tucked in her sleeping bag, Jars didn’t hear the soft patter of rain on the canvas, and for once the images of the cave and the ghost did not disturb her. She slept soundly.

  That is, until a noise, like a sharp yell, shattered her sleep. She sprang awake, and Shadow, who had been lying on the floor near her side, let out a low growl.

  Lying perfectly still, she listened; the rain had gone and the night was silent, except for the faint breathing of Snook and his father, who were in a separate compartment.

  However, there had been something … a noise, loud and sudden, like someone cursing when they bang their finger with a hammer.

  She strained to hear it again. Probably a wallaby, she decided, or one of those Tasmanian devils Snook had told her about. Yes, that would be it. Snook said their growl was high-pitched, like a human screaming. Satisfied, she snuggled into her sleeping bag once more. It wasn’t long before she fell asleep again.

  Jars was the first to awaken. She unzipped her sleeping bag and let her eyes wander around her small section of the tent. She squinted, trying to see through the greyness of early morning. At first she didn’t realise where she was. Then she came fully awake and remembered. She also remembered waking during the night, and the noise that had disturbed her sleep. She rolled off the camp-stretcher and dressed quickly, anxious to have a good look around the campsite. Maybe there would be a clue that explained what she had heard, like animal tracks. Then I’ll light the fire, she decided. Make breakfast. Her uncle would like that.

  Unzipping the tent flap, she stepped outside. Shadow padded behind her. A crisp, cooling breeze had rippled into life during the night. She shivered and rubbed her hands together to warm them, then stood watching as the gusting wind scuffed the lake’s surface.

  Shadow immediately began to run around, stopping every now and then to sniff the ground. That’s strange, she thought, he’s never done that before. He stopped and scratched at the ground near her tent. Curious, she walked over.

  At her feet, directly in front of her, were footprints that should not have been there.

  Narrowing her eyes, she studied the prints. There were two sets and they belonged to strangers. She was certain of that. Her mother and even the station hands had taught her how to read the signs that people and animals left behind.

  Did they somehow tie in with the lights she and Snook had seen? Was the sense of being followed yesterday, after leaving the cave, part of it too? She bit her lip and gazed in the direction of the forest, then towards the tent where her uncle and Snook still slept. I’ve got to tell them, she said to herself. They have to know.

  She hurried over and was about to enter when Snook came out, yawning and rubbing his eyes.
‘What’s up?’ He gave Jars a questioning look. ‘Something bothering you, or what?’

  Jars quickly told Snook about what she had found.

  ‘You mean some low-life was here … last night?’

  ‘I found two sets of prints, Snook. It rained last night, making the ground soft. Someone was walking around the camp.’ Jars nodded in the direction of the tent. ‘We’d better tell your dad.’

  ‘Yeah, we’ll do that … when he gets up. There’s no real hurry.’

  Jars was about to disagree when she heard a noise coming from Quenton’s tent. She touched Snook on the arm. ‘Did you hear that – a sort of moaning sound? We’d better check it out. Make sure Quenton’s okay.’

  Snook nodded. ‘Yeah, I heard it. He’s probably dreaming about stuffing himself with cream cake or something. But yeah, I suppose we can have a look – see what’s bothering him.’

  Jars, followed by Snook, walked over to Quenton’s tent. ‘Are you okay?’ Jars called through a gap in the tent flap.

  A whuffling, groaning sound came from inside the tent. ‘Snook, something’s wrong.’

  Snook, who had been standing behind Jars, leaned forward. ‘Hey, Quigley, what’s goin’ on? You havin’ a nightmare, or what?’

  Jars reached through the gap and unzipped the flap of the tent. She stepped inside. ‘Quenton, what’s …?’ She stopped in mid sentence.

  Quenton was lying on his back, a blue eiderdown sleeping bag zipped to his chin. His eyes, wide and staring, darted from side to side. ‘Do something,’ he whispered, his voice trembling. ‘There’s a snake in my sleeping bag.’

  Snook stepped forward and rubbed his chin as though deep in thought. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Y-yes. It – it’s at the bottom of my sleeping bag, near my feet. I – I can feel it.’