Not Your Average Monster, Vol. 2: A Menagerie of Vile Beasts

by Pete Kahle

  I was starting to believe that Matt was the pig king or something.

  # # #

  The barking woke me, a frantic note in the chorus. I blinked at the clock. Five thirty in the morning. Early light came through the curtains. I heard a door slam outside, and voices. I lay there, debating whether to get up or leave it to one of the hands to deal with.

  Someone shouted and running feet thundered on the soil. I catapulted out of bed, dragging pants on, not worrying about a shirt, and tumbled downstairs. Ashley was on the landing, sleepy-eyed, but I barreled past her without a word.

  I heard heavy steps behind me. Chris. I was glad of it, though I didn't say a word.

  I paused on the verandah. Between the house and the home paddock was a stretch of patchy grass, spindly garden, trees and dust. Lacey and a couple of stockhands were on the back of my ute. Bob was on the fence, waving frantically at Jules to stay inside. There were stockhands on the rainwater tank and a couple up a tree.

  Lacey cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted at me. "Get a gun!"

  I turned to go inside but Chris came through the door with two rifles.

  "Thanks," I managed. It was the first word I had spoken to him in over a week.

  Chris followed me down the shallow steps and onto the grass. We headed toward Lacey, eyes watchful.

  Lacey hopped down and jogged over to us. "Pig broke through the fence." We followed him to the veggie garden, Jules' territory.

  The bottom wire on the other side of the fence had been torn out of the ground, the main live line snapped. The fence netting had been torn apart, the ends of the broken wires dark with dried blood. The pig fence kept the feral pigs out of the house compound, kept the poultry shed, the stores, the poddy calves safe from their marauding. I had never heard of a pig that would go through an electric fence like that.

  Lacey straightened, dusting off his jeans. "Never seen anything like it."

  Neither had I. I looked over the fence, out across the mulga.

  "I can--"

  Screams echoed around the buildings, followed by a crash. I turned and bolted for the house, and I wasn't the only one. I pounded up the steps and through the back door.

  Ellie leaned against the wall, one hand over her mouth, the other pressed on her chest. Her teapot lay on the floor in pieces.

  I grabbed her. "El, are you hurt? What happened?"

  "I'm ok, I'm ok." She trembled in my hands. I half carried her into the kitchen and put her onto a chair.

  Bob came in, Lacey on his heels. "Bloody great pig. You all right, Missus?"

  Ellie was pale, her eyes wide. "It was in the hall when I came downstairs. Gave me such a fright." She tried to smile up at Bob. "I'm okay, thanks."

  "Where did it go?" I asked Lacey.

  "Bolted. Took half the fence with it."

  "Where are the stockhands?"

  "Half of them still up trees." Bob sniggered. "Should have seen Johnny leap for the water tank."

  It was funny, but it wasn't. Not after Steve.

  Ellie grabbed at me as I turned away. "Paul--"

  I patted her hand. "Get Ashley to sit with you, El. I've got to go kill this pig."

  Outside, Lacey was dressing the back leg of one of the horses, and Ben was telling the tale of how he'd been rushed by a pig in the scrub once. The boys were all keen to go after it, but I ordered everyone to stay indoors.

  "Anyone who goes out gets fired."

  There were mutterings, but I knew they'd do what they were told. Jobs out here weren't that common.

  Ellie made more of a fuss about her broken teapot than anything else. While she was cooking breakfast, I got on the phone to the local pig hunters.

  # # #

  Dicko and Barley made a living from hunting pigs. It wasn't a good living, but it suited them. Barley's real name was John Rye, but only his mother had called him that. They rattled up to the homestead in the evening, in an old green Land Rover with their tent strapped down on the roof.

  "Got a pig problem, huh?" Dicko said as he came up the verandah stairs. He hitched up his pants, something he did about every five minutes, and spat over the verandah rail. Barley, younger by a good ten years but still well into his forties, leaned his gun against a post and eased his bulk into one of the verandah chairs, which creaked.

  I handed them both a cold beer. "Big problem. Got a rogue pig. You heard about the one that killed Steve? Well, one of them busted into the homestead this morning and scared the hell out of Ellie. Broke the electric fence.”

  "Same one or a different one?"

  "I don't know."

  Barley grunted. "We've had a good few seasons. Not surprised they've been breeding. Killed ten up at Dawson's last week."

  "Eleven," said Dicko.

  "Ten. You can't count that one. We never did find the carcass."

  "Got him clean. He crawled off somewhere to die. Eleven."

  "Ten."

  "Eleven."

  I put down my beer."Well I don't care how many you get. Just clean us out. It's 45 dollars per head, as usual."

  "Righty-o, Paul." Dicko stood and hitched up his pants.

  "Come in for a bite before you go," I said, knowing the old pair would appreciate it. I led the way around the verandah to the back. Ashley and Chris came out and sat on the rail to chat while they polished off two platefuls of Ellie's casserole. I even managed to ask Chris if he wanted a beer.

  They drove off just as the sun disappeared behind the hills.

  # # #

  When Mark pulled up out the front, I thought he'd just come for a visit. His uniform had patches of sweat under the arms, even though it was late August.

  "Paul." He pulled off his cap, ran a hand through his close-cropped hair.

  "Come in for a cold one?" I said.

  "No thanks, Paul. I'm actually on duty, but I was passing..." He shifted uncomfortably. "I just stopped by to see if Chris was here."

  "No, he's gone into town."

  "Well, I saw his ute by the side of the road when I was going up to Granstone's."

  I leaped up out of my chair. "Crashed?"

  "No, no!" Mark held up his hands. "It was fine. The door was open, so I thought he must be around, but I couldn't see him. Called but didn't get an answer. Thought he might be having a piss. But the ute was still there when I came back, so..." He frowned. "He's not here?"

  "No." I grabbed my hat, jumped down the steps and ran for my ute.

  Mark pulled out ahead of me and I followed him, dust rolling behind us in a red cloud.

  We pulled up beside Chris's ute. I opened the door and looked in. The keys were still in the ignition, but his hat was gone.

  Chris was not stupid. He'd lived here all his life. If the car had broken down, he'd have walked back towards home along the road.

  Mark came over. "He could have got a lift into town with someone. Flooded the engine, maybe."

  He could have. Maybe. I turned the key. The engine started with a roar. I turned it off again, remembering an angry, freckled face, and final words. I'll be back for what's mine.

  I wished Old John was still here. He would have been able to look at the ground, read what happened in the dust. Tell me whether Chris had gone into town with someone else, or… if something else had happened.

  Mark put a hand on my shoulder. "I'm sure he's fine, Paul. He'll probably call you from Pinjar."

  "Yeah." I wanted to believe that. It must have shown on my face.

  "I'm going back to town tonight. I'll ask around, tell him to give you a call."

  "Thanks, Mark."

  "Sorry to worry you, Paul. I'm sure he's fine."

  "Yeah, I'm sure he is." But I wasn't.

  # # #

  Mark called the next morning. "Did Chris come back?"

  "No." I gripped the phone in a sweaty hand. "Did you ask around in town?"

  "I did. No one has seen him, Paul." Mark's voice sounded official, cold.

  "Can I…" I swallowed against a dry throa
t. "How do I report him as a missing person?" My voice broke on the last words.

  "You can't report him for 24 hours, Paul. Sorry." There was an uncomfortable pause. "But I'll do up the paperwork for you. Just call if he doesn't show up."

  "Thanks." I hung up.

  # # #

  Mark sat across from me, notepad open on the table, thick with notes from interviewing the stockhands. Matt's name featured prominently in his notes. I'd told Mark as much as I could without sounding crazy, but that left very little to tell.

  Before me on the table was Chris's hat, which they'd found a little way from the car, hooked over a branch. There was no other sign of him. It was as if he'd walked into the scrub and disappeared.

  Mark leaned forward and closed his notebook, picked up his cap from the table. "I'll send out a report, Paul. He's listed on the missing person's register. There's not much else we can do. He's a grown man. But, you know, he might call."

  I nodded. I knew what Mark thought, what all the stockhands thought, apparently. The rumour was that Matt and Chris had run away together. Everyone knew I had thrown Matt off the property, had been angry at Chris for days. Everyone assumed they were lovers; that I had broken them up because I couldn't handle having a gay son.

  I only wish that was the truth. If only I could bring myself to tell Mark about what I had seen in the shed, about what Matt had encouraged Chris to do. But I couldn't. I couldn't sully Chris's name like that.

  # # #

  Three days later, young Ben found the remains of Dicko and Barley by the gate into the south paddock. He sat in the kitchen while I called Mark and told him there'd been more deaths on my land. Mark told me he'd be right out, and not to let anyone near the bodies, and to keep everyone there for questioning. I didn't think that would be a problem; the stockhands were hanging around the homestead like a pack of flies.

  I stepped into the kitchen. Ellie had given Ben a cup of tea. Her eyes were always red these days, her cheeks puffy from crying. She didn't look at me.

  "You all right, Ben?"

  He looked up at me, young face white and strained beneath the tan.

  It was a stupid question. I went to the cupboard and poured him a glass of scotch. "Get that into you."

  He nodded, took a long, shuddering gulp from the glass. Through the window I saw Lacey coming up to the house. I went to the door to meet him.

  "How's Ben?" he said.

  "Shaky. What's up?"

  "The boys are spooked. A heap of them want out. I told them you might let them go into Pinjar for a day or two."

  "Can't. They've got to hang around and talk to the police." I looked out at the silent groups of men. "But after that, yeah. Better to get them off the property. We can't send anyone out to the stock while this is going on."

  I was grateful that the yearlings had already gone to the works. We would miss the late muster this year, but that would only be a few hundred head.

  Lacey nodded and went to tell the hands. I turned back to the kitchen and caught Ben's eye.

  I'd seen that look before. I knew Ben wouldn't be coming back.

  # # #

  It was past nine when we sat down at the table together. Ellie hadn't bothered making anything. We just sat, Ellie and Ashley with a cup of tea, me with a double helping of scotch, while the clock behind us filled the silence.

  Ashley put her cup down. "Mark said they had run out of cartridges. He said the ground around them was littered with shells."

  "Ashley, stop." Ellie turned away, her face a mask of disgust. "Don't talk about it."

  "He said that Barley was hanging off the barbed wire fence, and everything below his waist was gone."

  "Ashley!"

  "What's going on, Dad?" Ashley leaned forward. "Everyone's saying-"

  "What?"

  "Ben said that his grandfather said there's a bad spirit on the land."

  "Oh please." Ellie rolled her eyes.

  I gulped down some scotch. "There was one. But he's gone."

  Everyone stared at me.

  "Matt," I said. It was the first time his name had been mentioned in the house since Chris had gone missing. Ellie pressed her lips together and looked away. But Ashley looked me in the eye.

  "You can't blame this on Matt, Dad," she said.

  "Yeah, I can." I gripped the glass tighter. "I think… I think he's done this. Stirred them up, somehow. Made them…"

  "For the love of God, Paul." Ellie shoved back her chair and stood up. She went over to the sink, her back to me. "He's just a boy. And Chris..." She pressed a hand to her mouth. Her shoulders shook, and I knew she was crying.

  I got up and stood behind her, put my hands on her shoulders. "El-"

  "Don't." She pulled away, turned around to face me, tears wet on her cheeks. "Why couldn't you just accept Chris as he was? Why did you have to chase him away?"

  "I didn't, El, it wasn't like that…"

  She shoved past me and ran out the door. I heard her footsteps on the stairs and then the slam of the bedroom door.

  It was my turn to lean on the sink, to regret actions and words. But what else could I have done? I tried. I tried to talk to Chris after... Maybe if I had found the right words, maybe if I had got it all out into the open between us, Chris would still be here.

  Ashley and Ellie went to bed without saying another word to me. I fell onto the couch, bone-weary with my head full of death. I stared at the stripes of moonlight on the floor. Then I got up and locked the front and back door for the first time since the house had been built.

  # # #

  Someone shook me awake. I looked up to see Ashley with a cup of coffee in her hand. I pushed off the light blanket and sat up. The sun was just coming through the branches of the Wandoo.

  "Budge up," said Ashley. I took the cup and moved over to make room.

  Ashley sat down beside me. "Mum's packing. She says she's going to Aunt Lou's for a while."

  I nodded.

  "She said... she said it might be quite a while."

  "Oh."

  Ashley's hand slipped into mine. "She asked me to go with her, but I said I'd…"

  "You should go."

  "No, Dad-"

  "If you go with her, she'll have more reason to come back."

  Ashley was quiet for a time, then squeezed my hand. "I can't leave you here alone."

  "You can. I'll be fine." I looked into her eyes, gave her hand a squeeze in return. "There's nothing to do here, anyway. I'm sending all the boys away, getting some real professionals in to clean up this pig problem."

  Ashley frowned. "You won't stay here alone, Dad?"

  "Of course not. I'll pack up, go into town until the pigs are gone. Stay with Mark, maybe. Live off his wife's fried chicken for a week."

  "Dad."

  "I'll be fine. You go look after your Mum."

  Ashley threw her arms around me, almost spilling my coffee, and squeezed. "We'll see you in a week or two, okay?"

  "Okay."

  After she left I downed my coffee and headed for quarters. A couple of hands were up and tending the horses in the house paddock, but otherwise the grounds were silent and empty.

  Conversation faded as I came through the door of the staff kitchen. Those hands who hadn't left yesterday were making breakfast. The room looked empty, with more than half the staff gone.

  "Listen up. You're all on leave, half-pay, until I get this pig killed. I'll be bringing in a bunch of hunters from up north to sort it out. Until then, go into town and burn your pay packets, go home for a week, whatever."

  "Need a hand, Paul?" said Bob.

  "No, mate. Go take Jules for a holiday. I want everyone off this property. No more accidents."

  Even before I closed the door there was the rumble and scrape of chairs as people headed to their rooms to pack. In minutes the cars were leaving, throwing dust up in clouds.

  Bob and Jules were the last off the station. I waved at the old pair as they drove out, towing the caravan that was th
eir home. I hoped to see it back again.

  I came in the back way. Ellie was in the hall. She looked up at me, then bent to pick up her case.

  "I'm going to-"

  "-Lou's, I know." I reached over to kiss her but she turned her head. I left a kiss on her cheek anyway. "See you when you get back."

  She nodded at me and walked out the door. Ashley gave me a hug. "See you soon," she whispered. I waved them off from the front porch.

  I went back inside and started loading the ute. As well as my own rifle, I put Chris's in the cab, with boxes of cartridges. I went out to the back room, unlocked the gun cabinet and pulled out Grandad's old elephant gun. It had nine cartridges left, in a box that was falling apart with age. I checked the old shotgun over, cleaned off the dust then took it outside.

  The crack echoed around the empty buildings and chips flew off the trunk of the Wandoo. Good enough, and now I had eight cartridges left.

  I tossed them on the seat and whistled for the dogs. Molly and Ozzie came running, eager for an outing, and jumped up onto the tray at my command. They were cattle dogs, not pig-dogs, but I knew they would warn me if anything came near.

  I took off into the scrub. I should have done this as soon as Steve died. Found the rogue boar and killed it myself.

  # # #

  I drove around the fifth cow carcass. It was the same as the others. Legs savaged, belly torn open, half-eaten guts spilling out onto the dirt. So much for pigs not attacking a full-grown cow.

  Ahead of me was the gate to the eastern paddock. I slowed and looked around. Bad place to stop. The mulga pressed in close to the track on both sides. I opened the door.

  Something moved in the brush. I lay a hand on the rifle beside me. I would have to get out, walk the two metres to the gate, then swing it wide and walk back.

  I closed the door. Getting out here would be stupid.

  The gate was Taranaki style, all barbed wire, and I had a bull-bar on the front. I eased forward until I touched the gate, then put my foot down. The wire strained, but it was the latch that snapped. The gate twisted under me and I drove forward, careful not to snag the wire around the rims.