Ghost Bird

by Lisa Fuller

  As many of us as there are, we all notice the missing face around the fire. Nobody says it. Nobody speaks about the day. We stay close, taking comfort in each other and trying not to listen out for an absent voice.

  Day 2, Midnight

  Opening my eyes on nothing, I grieve to see I have not been dreaming; the same dripping sound of this underground place, the dirt under me, the damp smell. I’m on my side in the foetal position, my knees so close to my chest that my forehead rests on them. Pain radiates through my body and I can’t remember the last time I’ve been aware enough to move position. I force myself to keep still, listening for the breath or the crying. There is nothing but that slow, slow drip.

  My mouth is bone dry and my eyes feel gritty. I have no idea how long I’ve been here. Calling out again doesn’t feel like a smart choice, so I carefully move my arm off of my leg. My right arm is tucked under my knees and feels dead, so I start with the easy things first. Left arm slowly reaching over my head, I flex my cheeks. Pins and needles break out everywhere I test, tickling at first but then burning like I’ve pressed them all into Mum’s fire pit. I bite my lips to keep from making a sound and move. I force the pain into my breath and release it through my nose so I won’t groan.

  Once the worst of the pain is over I force my left leg to unstick from its partner and extend it downward. The pain rages and my breath becomes ragged, but still I keep silent. Moving my right side is going to be so much worse. Rather than risk too much, I shift onto my back, going slowly so I won’t clench some muscles before I am ready. The tingles that are already racing over my right side warn me of what is to come.

  Using my left hand I clumsily stuff the neck of my shirt into my mouth and bite down. One deep breath in and out and I press my right leg over. I can’t quite stop the whimper that escapes, but I let the pain carry me away into its centre. A cramp hits my thigh so hard that I sob quietly through the cotton. Still, I make my foot point, force my leg straight. As soon as the pain is manageable I move my right arm. Focusing only on them, I fight the pain down by promising my body that it will be worth it. That we will make it out of this.

  A long time later I lie spent. Sweaty and shivery I take a second to just breathe in relief. I’m not entirely pain free as my left hand still throbs, and my mind shies away from why that is. Instead, I comb through my memories. I’d been with Troy. I know that someone has taken me, but I haven’t seen who, and time has no meaning. I feel shaky, weak and so damn hungry it isn’t funny so I know it’s been a while.

  Mum and Stacey would be seriously freaking out. Tace was right, I should’ve stayed home. Tears threaten before I push them back.

  This won’t help, and I can make it up to them after I get back safe. First I need to know where I am. It’s likely that the Potters have me; Troy probably led them straight to the car, the stupid prick. I try not to worry about where he is right now. I can’t help anyone until I help myself. After that I’ll do whatever I can to help him.

  That promise in mind, I slowly sit up. It takes a lot of courage to stretch out that first hand into nothing. By pure luck I hit wall to my left. I remember hitting a wall when that – not now. I can feel a wall, this must be it. Where there is a wall there has to be a door, all I have to do is follow it. The question is: should I stand or crawl? I try to think it out like Tace would – logic and science. In the end I can’t so I do it my way – on my feet. Getting up takes a bit of doing. The first scrape of sound nearly sends me back to the foetal position until I realise I’m the one that made it. I inch upward, wincing at every noise, till I’m upright, swaying slightly.

  Teeth gritted, I keep my left hand on the wall and my right stretched out in front of me. The first time I stumble over a rock I nearly curse, but the echoing noises send my heart pounding. Nothing happens so I push on. This time I extend my foot first, searching and finding firm ground before shifting my weight onto it. It slows things down a lot, but it stops a few stumbles over uneven ground and a few more rocks. My confidence grows and that’s when I make the mistake. Trusting it too soon, I think I’ve tested the ground properly. As I shift forwards the ground crumbles. I slide on my heel, trying to take the step back. No such luck.

  I plummet through the dark, tumbling down, down, till I hit belly-first. The wind’s knocked out of me. I gasp through it till I can breathe again. I lie face down, cataloguing my bruises and stings, waiting to hear what all that noise would bring.

  Nothing.

  I count a hundred panting breaths before I finally start to believe I’ve gotten away with it. Sliding my hands under my shoulders I push up into a crouch and wave my hands around me, trying to find the wall, or something that can explain where I’ve fallen.

  I don’t realise there is something worse than the movement in the dark until I realise there is nothing around me. No wall. No feature to guide me. I am crouched in darkness so total I can’t see my own hands. I don’t know where I am. My sobs rebound from the awful dark.

  Bolting upright, I stare around my room in panic. Despite the stifling heat my entire body is shivering. Rhi doesn’t move, thank God. I really don’t want to hear her ask me if I am okay again. Pulling the old doona up over me I try to return warmth to my bones. The comfort of family had finally helped me get to sleep. Rubbing my arms briskly, I fight the urge to wake Rhi. Somehow telling her more of the dreams doesn’t seem like a good idea.

  Once I stop shaking I slip out of bed as carefully as I can. Mum must finally be asleep too because the house is in darkness. I tiptoe over the creaking floorboards, my eyes already able to make out the dark shapes. I navigate carefully out of the room, closing the door behind me, before finding my way into the kitchen where I dare to turn on a light.

  The brightness burns my eyes and I keep them shut while I steer around the kitchen table, making for the sunroom. Once I feel the blessed darkness close back in, I open my eyes, waiting till the sparkling lights stop dancing in my vision to look outside. Then I just sit, staring, trying not to think.

  These nightmares are driving me mad. The thought loops around and around in my head without end.

  A scraping noise breaks the loop. I stop. Listening. The air is so heavy I can drink it. I feel it more as a vibration rather than a noise.

  There! Near Laney’s room.

  I’m running before the thought finishes, straight to the room, desperate to see her sneaking back in her window. The door is shut. I hear the sound, rumbling up through my feet. Throwing the door open I look, but see only the empty windows spread wide to catch any stir of coolness in the night air.

  Nothing.

  Laney’s room has four windows across two sides of the house – two look out onto our front yard, through our crappy little fence and onto the street. The streetlight floods the space; she’s always complained about that. It shows me how empty her room is.

  I sag against the doorjamb and berate myself for imagining things. There is nothing moving out there. Goosebumps race over my entire body, but I can’t say why.

  I go straight back to bed and try to shrug off the feeling. I don’t even bother to turn off the kitchen light, telling myself I need to make sure I can see Rhi in the bed. Tucking the sheet over both of us I reason that it is one way to keep the mozzies off.

  I shut my eyes tight, refusing to open them again till morning.

  Day 3, Daylight

  Morning brings a little more hope. An even bigger mob turns up, driving in from different towns to help. Uncle Joe fires off roads and properties like some kind of drill sergeant, teaming people up, different cars and drivers to different terrains. Some of the local property owners who are friendly with their black workers are happy to let us search their land, especially in the areas where they share a boundary with the Potters’ property. We take that to mean even the whitefullas think the Potters have something to do with Laney’s disappearance. I spend a lot of time making pots of tea and
helping Mum fry up breakfast. Not once do I beg Mum to join, silently helping her cook and clean, before going and setting myself up in the lounge with my notebook and textbooks. She is so busy organising food and supplies that she doesn’t notice at first, but as everyone files out she stops and eyes me.

  ‘What are you up to?’

  ‘Mrs Clay hit us with a surprise assignment yesterday and it’s due on Monday. She just wants all us kids to have as miserable a life as she does. Bitter old troll.’

  Mum chokes on her own laughter. ‘Daughter, knock off talkin like that.’

  There is no heat in her words; Mum used to go to this school too. She bends over to give me a kiss before heading out the door. Waving them all off is where I go wrong. I know I’ve overdone it when Mum’s eyes narrow. Heading back inside, I finish cleaning up the kitchen and am stuffing things into my port when I feel a presence. I’m not surprised to find Mum in my bedroom doorway.

  ‘What are you doin?’ Mum is still eyeing me.

  ‘Gettin ready for school. What are you doin?’ I ask, giving my best ‘my parent is crazy’ face; eyes widening, one brow lifts as if to say, ‘And …?’

  A loud beep from outside and Uncle Joe’s voice yelling ‘Al, move your arse’ breaks the staring contest. Mum hesitates. I need her out there looking for Laney, not here watching me.

  ‘Mum, what’s wrong? Aren’t you gonna go get Laney?’

  That’s when I notice tears in her eyes and I feel lower than a squashed dog turd. The woman was living her worst nightmare and I’m making things harder. Stepping forwards I grip Mum’s hand and stare her dead in the eyes.

  ‘I will be here when you get home, Mum. You can bet your life on that.’ It comes out as a whisper from my tear-choked throat. She wraps me in a fierce hug so I know it got through. When she finally lets go we both ignore our face wiping motions. I give her the cheekiest grin I can manage.

  ‘If you got nuthin better to do than hang around the house there’s a few chores needs doin.’ It’s what Mum always said to us when we were younger. She hasn’t said it since we hit puberty and she couldn’t get us to stay at home. Funny how that works. It’s a lame joke but Mum smiles, giving me another quick kiss and heading out.

  I get ready for school and even do some work on Mrs Clay’s assignment, which is due in four weeks, but still. I put a few extra books in my port and heave it up.

  The house is finishing its preheat cycle, which means it isn’t quite as hot as outside yet. I do as I said I would and head out. What I haven’t told Mum is that Thursday afternoons all the year twelves have free study periods. I will keep my promise, but I’ll be doing my own research too.

  I stride in, already wishing the hours away.

  Rounding the final block that brings school into sight, the last thing I expect to see is Sam Miller sitting on the grass. He lives on the opposite side of town, which means there’s no way he is there by chance. He’s already seen me and is climbing to his feet. There are people around and this will definitely get back to Mum.

  ‘What the hell?’ I hiss.

  He brushes his backside off and, pulling his port on, lifts a shoulder.

  ‘I needed to talk to you.’ He sounds annoyed, but won’t look at me.

  ‘You could’ve snuck me a note. We’re gonna get it for this.’

  ‘It’s too late for that. You aren’t goin out there, are you?’

  ‘No way!’

  Me thinks the girl protests too much. Bloody Mum and her love of misquoting Shakespeare. I didn’t even know I was thinking about it, but even as I deny it some part of me knows it’s a lie.

  His lips twist. ‘She’s not always like that. She has her good days and I thought she was havin one when I brought her up there. That was my stuff-up. But you can’t trust what she said up there. She wasn’t … right.’

  She’d scared the shit out of me, that’s what, and part of me desperately wants to take the excuse he is offering.

  ‘Why do you even care?’

  His eyes drop and he fidgets with the strap of his port.

  ‘She used to have more good days than bad, but now it’s goin the other way. Since she heard about Laney she’s been … better. I thought if I helped you and Laney …’ He finally looks at me again and I see concern. ‘But I don’t want ya ta get into trouble.’

  ‘Thanks. But what I do is my problem.’ I try to be stubborn but gentle.

  ‘Come on, Tace. Your mum’s already freaked about Laney.’

  I try to push past him. He can stick his emotional blackmail. He grabs my shoulder and holds on till I’m forced to face him.

  That stubborn jaw gives you away every time, granddaughter. Nan always sighed it, like she wasn’t the one who had passed down that jaw.

  ‘Shit,’ he explodes. ‘Well, if you’re goin then I have ta.’

  I open my mouth to argue but he gets in first. ‘You heard what she said – you can’t go alone and I’m the one that’s got ta take you.’

  We stare each other down, but truthfully, I don’t want to go alone either.

  Sam grins, seeing me weaken.

  I give him my best stare-down. ‘It’s my choice. You do what I say or you can piss off. I don’t play that macho bullshit.’

  His grin widens. ‘Go to the reservoir after school tomorrow.’

  ‘What about today? We’ve got them free periods, memba.’ I try not to sound desperate, ready to chuck my plans. I am failing.

  Sam pulls a face. ‘I can’t. It’s first training of the year, old Krantz won’t let us go till dark.’

  My face goes pale. Sam is a sports star like Laney, if she were here they’d be training together.

  ‘Yeah, okay.’ I can’t look at him.

  For a brief second his hand squeezes my shoulder. I look up to watch him walk away. There is no point glancing around – we’ve been seen and the news is going to rip through town. A Thomson and a Miller talked without swear words being exchanged, had even touched. I picture Kelly’s tear-shiny face as her parents shipped her off to Rocky. We are in so much trouble. And still my heart lifts. I’ll do my research today, tomorrow we’ll go out looking.

  School is nothing. I’m pretty sure I take in nothing, too. I sleep-walk through the classes, keep my head down and am ignored. Cassie and her crew have spread the word – I’m not to be spoken to or even acknowledged by the other girls in high school, all twelve of them. Bobbie is one of the main ones giving me evil glares. Even the teachers barely look at me. Either they can’t handle what I’m going through or they think a missing sibling is contagious.

  The bitches are at their best with all the swirling rumours about Laney, but none of them involve Troy. Course not, it’s always the woman’s fault in this town. It isn’t like talking to them would improve my day, but it isn’t great feeling like a social pariah. They’re going to extremes this time and I’m being ignored in class as well, with no one willing to sit next to me. When I find Laney I am getting out of this shithole and dragging her with me.

  Day 3, Afternoon

  It’s the last class after lunch and I am counting the seconds on the clock. When the bell goes I leap out of my chair and leg it through the door, while the teacher yells about using the free period to actually study. I like Mrs McKenzie, she’s my favourite teacher. She actually cares about us, and she is the only person who spoke to me all day, but I’m not sitting still today, not even for her.

  I walk like I’m doing what I should be, not wagging school at all. I head straight for the Eidsvold Historical Society. Just off the main highway that runs through town, it’s an old log-cabin-looking building filled with photos, paperwork and relics from the town’s goldmining days. It has a huge yard filled with ancient train carriages that they manage to keep in not too bad condition. I’ve never really paid that much attention to it. It’s covered in dust and cobwebs, and is wall-to
-wall white history.

  Everybody knows that some parts of the town are ‘white’ territory and others are ‘black’. Even the pub has a whitefulla side and a blackfulla side. They reckon it’s supposed to be all one now, and sure people cross between the two spaces, but it’s what everyone calls it. The pub is the centre of activity in the town and it’s the best place to see how things work here. The blackfulla side is all concrete, old plastic chairs and the toilets have never worked or been cleaned in anyone’s memory. People don’t even bother to complain. The whitefulla’s side is carpeted, has nice dining tables and chairs and a regularly cleaned toilet that works fine and doesn’t smell like open sewage. Mum remembers when there was no door connecting the two sides, but that door is weird territory. Crossing it makes you feel funny, like you don’t belong. And anytime someone, black, white or brindle, goes through it, people will turn around to stare. The historical society is like that, a white space where this town was ‘discovered’ by a pair of Norwegian brothers way back when and no one was here before them. Yeah, right.

  Rounding the last corner and seeing that little building set off the squirms way down in my guts. The closer I get to the place the more uncomfortable I feel. Psyching myself up isn’t helping at all. I wish Rhi could’ve come with me as back up, but she was off on the search. I shouldn’t really be nervous. Mum always says the old fulla who runs the place is lovely. The problem is you never knew who’s volunteering on what days.

  My steps get smaller as I walk through the gate and up onto the verandah, feeling a little disappointment when the door swings open under my palm. Maybe a tiny part of me hoped I’d get the times wrong and it’d be shut. I force my feet over the threshold, eyes flicking over the strange territory. The tinkle of the bell above the door isn’t the blare of alarms I’ve been bracing for.

  The inside is just like the outside: a big log cabin, with one open area that houses all the treasures, and it is blessedly empty. A couple of doors lead off to one side of the building, probably only big enough for a small office. Wooden beams hold up the tin roof. Sturdy tables line the rest of the walls and the few that are pulled back to back in the centre create two aisles, or a big circuit you can walk around. Stuff is scattered on every surface and on the walls hangs old black and white framed photos. The overall impression is wood, dirt and rust.