Catch Us the Foxes

by Nicola West

  He stared at me for an uncomfortably long time.

  ‘Yeah, I think I believe you.’ He sighed. ‘But that doesn’t mean you’re not involved. Like, I don’t think you believe you’re part of all this. But, let’s be real, Lily would have said the exact same thing a few months ago.’

  ‘What are you trying to say?’

  ‘Think about it, Lo. You’re both the daughters of prominent members of the town, you’re both the same age and you both have fragments of this horrifyingly specific scenario that was apparently just waiting to be unlocked inside your mind. What if you’re part of it and you don’t even know?’

  ‘No,’ I said. It was supposed to sound firm, but it came out as a whisper. ‘I’m not on any medication, and while my dad may treat me like a child, he isn’t controlling. Seriously, he doesn’t give two shits what I’m up to. Oh, and I don’t have fucking satanic symbols carved into my back!’

  ‘What if not everyone’s brandings are in the same place? What if they’re somewhere else on your body?’

  ‘And I’ve just never noticed them?’

  ‘Lily didn’t.’

  ‘I’m not drugged up to my eyeballs on antipsychotics or whatever the hell she was on,’ I protested. ‘I know what my own bloody body looks like.’

  ‘It wasn’t only the drugs, just FYI. In the diaries, Lily talks about these weird therapy sessions she remembered having. They were kind of like a mixture of hypnotism and meditation, and she thinks her father was using them to make her forget things. She did some research into it, and it sounded like this super full-on mind control thing the CIA apparently used back in the day.’

  ‘Oh, so now I’ve been brainwashed? Fucking fantastic!’

  ‘Look, I’m just saying that it seems like there’s a pretty definitive way to tell if people are a member or not. It would make things a lot easier if we knew for sure.’

  ‘Stop beating around the bloody bush. What are you asking?’

  ‘Y’know… Strip.’

  ‘Piss off!’

  He exhaled exasperatedly. ‘So, you know I’m going to have to ask for my clothes back, anyway, right?’

  ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake!’ I shouted, before peeling off the outfit.

  ‘Buh bah bah bah buh tss tss,’ he hummed, clapping his hands and mimicking the sounds of a slow strip show.

  I dangled his clothes over the edge of the lookout before throwing them at his shocked face. He caught them and flipped on the torch, shining it over every inch of my body – just like my father had done to Lily. I was standing in only my bra and underpants. When I reached around to unclip my bra, he turned the torch off and covered his eyes with his hands.

  ‘Ugh, no, that’s enough,’ he said, repulsed. ‘I’m convinced, okay!’

  ‘Are you sure this time?’ I snapped.

  ‘Yeah. There’s no way they’d be able to brand those mosquito bites you call tits anyway.’

  I gave him the finger and reached for my singlet. Somehow it seemed even more waterlogged than before.

  ‘What are you doing, dumb arse?’ he asked, before holding out the clothes I’d just removed. ‘You can keep these. I was just trying to see if you had the marks.’

  I snatched the clothes back from him. They were damp where my bra and undies had soaked through but were still infinitely warmer than my wet clothes.

  ‘It’s good news though, right?’ he said. ‘I mean, you’re probably not in the cult?’

  ‘Yay,’ I flatly replied, pulling the sloppy joe over my head again.

  ‘In all seriousness though, you’re going to have to try to figure out how you know those things. Maybe reading through Lily’s diaries will jog your memory?’

  ‘Maybe.’ I shrugged. Picturing that little girl in the fox mask, and the marks on Lily’s back, I wasn’t entirely sure if I wanted my memory to be jogged.

  ‘Anyway, I’m going to need to head off if I want to make the last train out of this shithole.’

  I nodded, secretly wishing I could join him.

  ‘Oh, wait, Jarrah.’

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘Her funeral is scheduled for Thursday. Are you coming?’

  ‘Nah, I’m good. Lily wouldn’t want to be remembered being stuck in this town for all eternity, anyway.’

  I nodded. I knew the feeling.

  CHAPTER 21

  I managed to make it home in one piece, and I was doubtful anyone saw me or even noticed I had gone. The streets of the town had been well and truly empty – not that it was a surprise that early on a Monday. My dad was still sleeping when I crept past his door, and the booby traps I’d set up to alert me if anyone had entered my room remained undisturbed. The cottage’s creaks and groans felt louder that night. To say I was on edge was an understatement.

  I had a long shower and the warm water added colour and heat to my mottled skin. I could have stayed in there forever but as soon as I heard the hot water system begin to thump and shudder, I relinquished my sanctuary. I couldn’t risk waking up my dad. I wiped the condensation off the basin mirror and examined my body from toe-to-tip. I knew Jarrah had already checked but there was still some part of me that was sure I would suddenly see Lily’s marks carved into my own pale flesh.

  To my relief, there was nothing. But that just raised more questions. How could I possibly have known the things I did if I wasn’t involved in some capacity? It didn’t make sense. There had to be some other explanation – one that didn’t involve my father and half the town being part of a fucking cult. I tried to rekindle the spark that had set off those original images in my mind’s eye, but I couldn’t trigger them myself. Maybe they needed outside stimulation.

  I was terrified to let Lily’s journals out of my sight so I’d brought them into the bathroom with me. I stared at their bulk now; I knew I wouldn’t be getting any sleep that night. After bandaging my hand and putting on pyjamas, I retreated to my room and climbed under my covers.

  I opened the first journal and flipped through until I found the start of an entry.

  I could hear dogs barking, somewhere in the distance.

  I opened my eyes, but my vision was blurry. I was groggy and disoriented. The air was hot and humid, but the ground I was sitting on felt damp and cool. I looked down at my bare feet and was surprised to find them covered in mud and leaves. Sighing, I stretched my face skywards, feeling my head gently thud against something hard. There was no sky, only the green canopy of the rainforest, seemingly stretching on forever.

  Even with my hazy vision, I could tell I was sitting with my back against a towering fig tree. I was safely nestled between a pair of large buttress roots, like two arms wrapped around me. Pockets of sunlight filtered through the treetops, creating dappled spotlights among the bracken. The air was filled with birdsong, and I was bombarded by the scent of soil and decaying greenery.

  A loud crack bellowed from somewhere behind me, silencing the forest’s soundtrack. I thought I heard a scream. I replayed the sounds in my head, becoming more and more convinced that the crack had been a gunshot and the scream had come from a child. My heart was pounding. I didn’t know if it was better to try to run or stay and hide.

  ‘Over here!’ a voice called out. It was impossible to tell which direction it had come from.

  I dived onto my stomach so that the buttress roots hid me from all angles. A piercing horn reverberated throughout the forest, the sound ricocheting off trees and echoing all around me. The dogs’ barking was getting louder and I could hear twigs snapping as footsteps powered forward. There were so many people in the forest, frantically searching for something or someone. It was easy to assume that they were looking for me.

  After a few minutes, I heard the soft padding of footsteps on leaves immediately to my right. There was a louder sound as something thudded to the ground, making my heart leap. Then the sounds of someone weeping – snivelling gasps and mewling. I had to look.

  A little girl was on her knees, looking towards me, a red fox mask bound to he
r face. Pale skin, with constellations of freckles and frizzy red hair. She was wearing a white pinafore dress that looked like it had been tie-dyed brown and green by the forest floor. Her hands were clasped behind her back which gave her a reverent air. She stared at me, her hypnotic green eyes filled with tears, before faceplanting into the dirt in front of me.

  I gasped. It was only then that I realised her hands had actually been bound behind her, secured with clear cable ties. I also noticed something else – the plume of a bright pink tranquilliser dart hanging from her neck. I couldn’t tell if she was dead or knocked out, and I struggled to consider which fate was worse. Just as I was contemplating running to her aid, I heard more footsteps. I ducked down. There was a hole in the root I could use to see the girl without exposing my hiding spot.

  ‘Aikya! View-holloa!’ a voice shouted. It sounded eerily familiar.

  Two German shepherds burst through the tree line. They were bound together by harnesses, and both sported leather muzzles. They were attached to a long leash and, as they descended on the girl, their handler came into view. He was in full fox hunting attire, with a black version of the girl’s fox mask covering his features. He reeled the dogs back towards him, patting and praising them for their find. They wagged their tails excitedly.

  More fox hunters arrived, each in the same outfit. They were all different shapes and sizes, and the group contained both men and women. I could still hear others in the distance and it seemed like the group was just a small cluster of a much larger party. One of them blew a funnel-shaped horn, while another approached the girl – a gun aimed at her head. He pressed the rifle’s muzzle against the back of her skull before turning to the other hunters.

  ‘BANG!’ he shouted, before descending into a fit of cruel laughter. A few of the other hunters joined in.

  In my shock, I’d loudly gasped. I clasped both hands over my mouth. Only the hunter with the horn looked in my direction. I prayed it was just a coincidence. Thankfully, he turned back to the girl.

  The hunter with the rifle used his foot to expose the girl’s face. Her eyes were shut, a pained expression etched on her unconscious features. He kicked her in her stomach, but she didn’t even flinch.

  ‘She’s out,’ he announced to the group. I was horrified to recognise the voice. It was a man my parents knew. He edited the newspaper.

  The hunter with the horn squatted down next to the girl, gently brushing her hair out of her face and tucking it behind her ear. He removed his glove and placed two fingers on her throat. With his other hand, he removed an ornate timepiece from his breast pocket. I realised he was checking her pulse. He removed the dart from her neck and placed it in his pocket. Without a word, he nodded to Mark, who bent down and grabbed a fistful of the girl’s hair. He dragged her motionless body back the way they had come. The rest of the group followed.

  ‘One more to go,’ I heard someone excitedly utter.

  To my horror, the hunter with the horn had stayed behind, his eyes scanning the roots of the fig tree.

  ‘You coming?’ someone called from the pack.

  ‘Nature calls,’ the horn-blower replied. ‘I’ll catch up.’

  It was my father.

  I was debating whether or not to run but I was still feeling so lethargic. Maybe he wouldn’t see me? It was a stupid and naïve thought, but I didn’t feel like myself in that moment.

  After a few minutes of silence, it was becoming obvious that my father had no intention of relieving himself. Instead, he stood where the girl had fallen, staring towards me.

  Finally, he broke his silence. ‘I know you’re there. It’s okay, you can come out.’

  I didn’t move.

  ‘Come on, Lily, sweetie. It’s Daddy, you’re okay. No one’s going to hurt you.’

  He unclipped the bottom section of his mask. He was smiling warmly, his arm outstretched – a hand waiting to be clasped. Without thinking, I rose from my hiding place and approached him before placing my tiny palm in his. It fit so perfectly. Like they were made for each other. A feeling of warmth and comfort spread throughout my body. I felt safe, even after everything I’d just witnessed.

  In one sweeping motion, my father scooped me up into his arms. He gently cradled me before carefully sitting down on the root I’d been hiding behind. I was perched on his lap sideways, my legs dangling over his forearm. He gently picked the leaves off the soles of my feet, and I giggled at the ticklish sensation. He smiled. A tender, fatherly smile.

  ‘I’m so sleepy, Daddy,’ I said.

  ‘I know, Vixen. You’ve had a big day, haven’t you?’

  I felt myself nod. ‘It was so scary, Daddy. They hurt that other girl. I thought they were going to hurt me too.’

  ‘Oh, Vixen,’ he replied, sounding genuinely heartbroken. ‘We’d never hurt you like that. You’re special. More special than all the other little boys and girls.’

  ‘I am?’

  He nodded before reaching up to my face. He swept my curls away before carefully removing my mask. I hadn’t even noticed I’d been wearing one.

  ‘See?’ he said, holding out the mask. ‘You’re a white fox. That means that you’re special – pure – not like the others. They might still hunt you, but they’ll never hurt you. You’re too important.’

  ‘But I don’t want to be hunted.’

  ‘I know, sweetie. Nobody does, but you should think yourself lucky that you have a pretty white mask and not a bad red one like the other little girl.’

  I reached out and touched the top of his mask.

  ‘You want a black mask, like mine?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Well,’ he said, leaning close to my ear and whispering, ‘I’ll tell you a little secret. When you’re a big girl, you’ll get a black mask of your own. You’ll get to dress up like Mummy and Daddy, I’ll teach you how to use a gun and you’ll get to hunt instead of being hunted.’

  He squeezed me tight. ‘How does that sound, Vixen?’

  ‘But what if I don’t want to hun–’

  Before I had finished my question, my throat was already throbbing. I looked down and saw the pink plume at the end of the dart embedded in my neck. He’d stuck it in so quickly, I’d barely registered the movement of his arm. My father held me closer and began slowly rocking me backwards and forwards while shushing and tutting away my terrified protests. He began reciting scripture, like a soothing lullaby, and gently stroked my hair. I recognised it – the ‘Song of Solomon’.

  ‘Catch us the foxes, the little foxes, that spoil the vines: for our vines have tender grapes.’

  CHAPTER 22

  My eyelids sprang open and I gasped for air, feeling like I’d been holding my breath for an impossibly long time. I was in my bed, having just woken up from another strange dream. I lay there, recalling every moment. It had been a mishmash of all the horrifying details I’d read in Lily’s journal, translated by some peculiar type of dream logic.

  I rubbed my eyes much harder than I should have. I felt like I hadn’t had even a second’s worth of slumber, but that was clearly not the case. I never thought I would have been able to fall asleep after the things I’d read in the journals, but –

  Wait, the journals.

  Where were they?

  I threw my covers back. They were nowhere in sight. I tried to remember if I’d fallen asleep with them in my arms but came up empty. I leaped out of bed and began searching the nooks and crannies of my bedroom. All my usual hiding places were empty. Panic gripped me. I’d been so out of it, what if my dad had come in and taken them? The thought made me nauseous. But then I noticed my pillow was missing its case.

  A memory sparked in my mind. I had finished reading the journals and decided to hide them. I’d stuffed them into the pillowslip, and –?

  What, exactly?

  I rubbed my temples, trying to will the memory to form. In a huff, I slammed down onto my bed. My mattress felt different. I hadn’t heard the telltale sound of the bed boards creaking. Some
thing had cushioned the blow. I jumped to my feet before lifting the corner of my mattress. I let out a huge breath of relief as I pulled the pillowcase towards me. Three black journals. Safe and sound.

  I climbed back into bed and flipped through the journals. Lily’s illustrations merged together like I was watching an animatic for the most horrifying children’s cartoon. A picture book come to life.

  I slowly turned the pages, reacquainting myself with the contents. I’d tried to be as pragmatic and objective as I could when I read the journals. I questioned everything and tried to ensure my emotions never clouded my judgement, but it seemed Lily had taken the same approach. Every single time I questioned the legitimacy of something, the next sentence would contain a rebuttal or an explanation.

  She’d thought of everything, it seemed. I wondered if it was because she was looking for an out – something that proved her memories were false. I know I’d rather believe I was delusional than face the truth. But still, there was some part of me that refused to believe what I’d read. It was just too out there – too crazy.

  According to the journals, the ‘fox’ hunts occurred on the eve of Beltane, a neo-pagan celebration that had Gaelic roots and typically revolved around fire-based protection and fertility rituals. In Australia, Beltane festivities commenced at midnight on the first of November and were usually conducted on former volcanic sites, making Saddleback the perfect location. But while most modern Beltane celebrations forwent any form of human sacrifice – only ever going so far as to simulate it – that wasn’t the case for the Kiama rituals.

  Historically, Beltane had a dairy-based origin so I was unsurprised to learn that both the Williams and Rose families had apparently been instrumental in introducing the rites to Kiama. They were also generous enough to share their hectares of land for conducting the hunts and ceremonies.

  According to Lily, the rituals were as old as the town itself and had been shaping the lives of its inhabitants for just as long.

  At the conclusion of each year’s celebration, a branding was bestowed on the participants to render them complicit in the cult’s practices. Although they ‘hunted’ children every year prior to the midnight ceremony, they didn’t necessarily sacrifice them with the same frequency.