Ghost Bird

by Lisa Fuller

Day 4, Midnight

  Foul tasting, squirming things fill my mouth. I want to spit them out but someone clamps their hands around my jaw, digging their nails in as I put up a token resistance. Their fingers pinch my nose and I am forced to swallow. When they finally let go I gag, my body fighting to expel what I’ve only just gotten down. I feel something brush my lips and recoil, but the hands are insistent, returning to dig in again and force my mouth open.

  Ice-cold water hits my tongue and I forget about everything else. I gulp it down as much as the hands allow, but far sooner than I am ready the water vanishes. I moan.

  I remember falling. I remember needing to get out, to go home. But the need to explore is gone now, broken under the weight of hunger and thirst. I’ve never felt like this.

  None of this makes sense. I haven’t seen a single Potter. No one talks to me, or asks any questions. It’s left me too much time to think. To worry about what was happening. To question why I’d done it to begin with. Troy made it sound so adventurous – a midnight raid, a run on country that should have been ours. I never even got to wear the present he gave me before our trip out to the Potters’. All of it sits on my chest and suffocates me.

  I force my eyelids open. As soon as I do I regret the impulse. The darkness holds me still.

  The hands are the first sign I’m not alone, other than when I’d made contact with my fist, which I am not going to think about, especially now. Since the fall and the frantic search for some identifying feature, which turned up nothing but a few rocks to stumble over, I eventually came to a stop.

  There is no night or day here, just dark. I don’t know where I am, and I’m too scared to call out. It occurs to me that maybe something is wrong with my eyes, and it isn’t pitch black at all. If that is true I don’t know what else to do. At some point I gave up searching. I shed tears that I can’t afford and continued to wait in the dark. Only the soft sounds of this person moving about tells me I’m not deaf. They never speak. Maybe they can’t? I’m desperate to hear another voice, to hear anything other than my own fears.

  ‘Who …’ My voice emerges, crackling like a dead leaf dropped and stepped all over. ‘Who …’

  It is all I can manage, and the frustration leaves me in the form of more precious liquid running over my cheeks. The hands reach out to brush them away, scraping claws where fingers should be. I flinch. Fingers press on my jaw and this time I voluntarily open my mouth. The water returns. Cold bliss flows over my tongue and I gulp it down. It vanishes again far too quickly, but now I can speak.

  ‘Who … are … you?’ A creaking groan, matching the tacky feeling of my lips and tongue. I wait in the silence. Wait and hope.

  The hands return to brush my face, a harsh texture to them, like a wolfhound’s rough fur, but all over. The hands rub over my cheeks, stopping on my chin, pinching slightly at the tip and angling my head upwards. A slow, reverberating growl begins and at first I think the world is shaking. Two bright red pinpricks of light appear and I rejoice. Is my sight returning?

  My eyes slowly adjust, taking so long to focus it almost hurts, I realise what I am looking at just as the soft pinch of my chin turns to a bite and claws spike into my skin. I open my mouth and scream and scream and scream.

  The red eyes watch and the world shakes from its growl.

  I feel my self rip backwards, away from her. I’m not Laney now, but Tace. I fly through the blackness, exploding out into light. I have seconds to see the cave, the mountain. I know this place.

  I jerk awake. Rhi is lying there snoring with her mouth wide open. The room is claustrophobic as the heat presses in. I pull myself up, careful not to wake her and tiptoe into the kitchen. I am so stiff and sore I move like an eighty-year-old with a hunchback. I know it’s hot but I feel ice cold.

  Tea in hand I head to my steps. I sit on that spot and let go of all my mind is telling me, staring up at the waning moon. I open myself up to the certainty that my twin is alive and waiting for me. I ignore the voice that says I am imagining it, if only for tonight. I know she’s out there, I know I have to find her.

  It’s like watching a horror movie and the black chick heads into the house. Everyone is screaming ‘No! Turn back!’ but the silly cow goes in anyway. Hopefully the ending will be better for me, but regardless, I have to go find Laney.

  The old man in the moon stares down at me with concern.

  I whisper into the night air, ‘Nan, I need your help.’

  I have to go out to Potters’ again and I need her with me. It might be easier if I can find whatever is in this house.

  That little reminder flicks an unknown switch. Goosebumps race and suddenly I don’t feel safe in my spot. A soft rustle in the trees over the garage, a gentle scrape over by the tank stand. Once it would’ve been okay, but something tells me these aren’t normal night sounds.

  A silver shape glides through the night air.

  My heart stops as the tawny frogmouth lands on the tank. It sits and stares. Its low thrumming call vibrates through my chest and every hair on my body stands on end. Tears fill my eyes, but I don’t move. Not yet.

  Never run, granddaughter. Sing if you’re scared. Nan’s words give me strength and TLC’s ‘Waterfalls’ flows out of my mouth without thought. Slowly, so slowly, I stand. I take a step backwards. Up the stairs. Over the doorjamb. One hand creeps around the door and I swing it closed. My hand shakes as I lock it. I feel safe enough to stop singing.

  I stand there staring at the door. Listening.

  A soft scrape on concrete.

  A creak from the bottom step.

  My breath churns. I take a step back.

  Another.

  The steps creak in time with my movements.

  Something is pacing me.

  A smell hits me. Something musty, damp.

  I make it into the kitchen. Drop my cup on the table.

  Whatever it is stands on the top step.

  The doorknob twitches.

  Twists.

  I stifle a scream but a whimper slips out.

  A low hissing chuckle.

  The knob rattles violently.

  A huge bang on the door sends me bolting for my room. Throwing on the bedroom light I vault into the bed. Gripping the sheet, I pull it over our heads and stare into Rhi’s wide open eyes.

  I hold my finger to my lips. We stay like that for ages. Listening.

  There’s only so long your heart can pump that fast before you start to calm down. The longer we go without hearing anything, the more we relax. It is stifling hot but neither of us lowers the sheet.

  Somehow, hours and years later, we fall asleep.

  Day 5, Daylight

  ‘Stacey Claire Thomson!’

  Mum’s scream jerks me up in bed, half asleep and confused. ‘Uh?’

  My eyes feel like they’re filled with chewing gum, all icky and stuck together. I’m sore all over, but worse is the grit in my eyes that says I’ve had maybe a few hours sleep.

  ‘Why the fuck do ya look like ya been fightin?’

  I blush to my roots as a groggy Rhi pokes her head out of the sheets.

  ‘Hey Aunty.’ She blinks.

  Mum’s outraged gasp has me turning to look and I wince. Rhi hasn’t gotten off as easy as we hoped. Her big black eye is like an accusation. And if that’s what she looks like, I don’t want to look in a mirror. Somehow the bull story is looking more and more like … bull. Rhi goes from staring in horror at my face, to looking innocently into my mother’s.

  ‘Well, Aunty, see it’s like this, we were out at the river dryin off when this bloody big bull come along and chased us. We tried to run but ended up fallin down that steep hill out there, and, well …’ She waves at my face, not realising her own isn’t great either.

  Mum’s eyes move to mine and I know that story isn’t going to fly. I hold my breath and
wait. Her lips twist.

  ‘Ya got five minutes to get ya arses in the kitchen. I’m gonna need a coffee to deal with this one.’ She turns and marches out of the room, pausing to duck her head back in the door. ‘And before you think about tellin me that shit again the two of ya better stop and look in the mirror.’ Then she’s gone.

  Rhi and I exchange a look. ‘Well, at least we tried.’ Hell hath no fury like a Thomson mother disobeyed, and we both know it.

  The mirror is way worse than I expected. My eye and cheek are more bruised than Rhi’s, with some artful cuts and gravel rash thrown in. She presses up against the glass touching her eye mumbling, ‘He must’ve got a shot in. I didn’t even feel it.’

  ‘That’s what adrenalin’ll do. We look like we got roughed up by our pimp.’

  ‘How’re we gonna go outside like this?!’ Rhi wails.

  ‘At least it’s the weekend and I don’t ave ta go ta school like this.’ I touch my eye gingerly. I don’t want people seeing me like this either, but I’m more worried about the reaction of the woman in the kitchen. ‘Time to face the music.’

  I wash my face, wishing I could wipe away the evidence as easily, and head out. I give Rhi her due, she stays right there with me.

  We trudge into the kitchen; it’s now a firing squad.

  ‘Aunty, I gotta get home, Mum needs me to—’

  I glare at Rhi. She’s already edging her way towards the door when Mum speaks.

  ‘Stop. Right. There.’ She casts the evil eye over both of us. ‘Sit.’

  We drop into chairs and I stare at my hands.

  ‘Speak!’

  ‘I’m not a bloody dog,’ I mumble.

  ‘No, but ya act with about as much sense. And if ya don’t start talkin I’mma treat ya like one.’

  I don’t see a way out of this so I pick at my nails and start, hoping something ingenious will occur to me. ‘Well, we went out yesterday, in the afternoon.’

  ‘No shit, Sherlock.’ Mum folds her lips together. It isn’t hard to see where Laney and I get our mouths from. ‘Where did you go?’

  I hesitate, not quite able to spit it out, but nothing but the truth is pushing forwards. ‘Potters’ place,’ I whisper and duck.

  It’s like expecting a volcano to explode and getting nothing. Silence. I peek through my fringe and immediately regret it. It’s hard to say what colour Mum’s face is. Her brown skin is normally this lovely shade that reminds me of Nan’s. Right now it looks more like the burnt umber I used in art class last year.

  ‘It was my idea, Aunty, I wanted to—’ Rhi tries to deflect what’s coming but I shake my head at her.

  ‘I made Rhi come. I wanted to go lookin for Laney. It’s, it’s those dreams, Mum. It feels like they’re pointin me somewhere.’

  ‘Ya went to Potters’ place? At night?’

  ‘Not night—’

  She cuts me off with a slice of her hand. ‘Ya went to Potters’ place at ALL.’

  I wince.

  ‘And ya went even after I asked ya not to go out. After I begged ya to stay safe.’ Her voice breaks and I realise there are worse things than my mother’s fury. Her pain and betrayal reach across the table and suffocate me. She takes a moment to breathe. ‘Keep goin.’

  ‘We headed to where they reckon Laney and them parked that night, just to see if we could find anythin. Nuthin happened Mum, I swear, nuthin! And we got out of there before sundown.’ I rush to explain myself, to somehow make her understand that I am being safe.

  ‘So the trees come up and bashed ya then?’

  My eyes drop.

  ‘Would this have anything to do with Mick Franks lyin up in the hospital with a concussion?’

  I look at her again. ‘Is he … is he okay?’

  ‘For now.’ Her reply isn’t supposed to comfort me, but it does. I don’t like the man but I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I’d only wanted to protect Sam.

  ‘He jumped us when we were walkin back. I … I picked up a branch and whacked im with it.’

  Mum’s eyes turn brutal. ‘Good. Did he hurt you?’

  She’s looking at both of us now. I know what she’s really asking so I look her dead in the eye. ‘Not more than you see, Mum, I swear.’

  She lets out another big breath. Not a sigh but that moment when you’re holding it in anticipation or fear. The answer you’ve been dreading comes and the worst doesn’t happen, so the breath rushes to escape you.

  ‘At least ya listened to some things.’

  There are rules around fighting in our town. Rules that you have to play by if you want respect, and one of the firmest ones is to never, ever pick up anything in a fight. It’s fists or nothing. And at the end of the fight it’s supposed to be done, finished. I’m not sure when people stopped living by them, but now they do all kinds of dirty things in fights – double-banking, holding grudges, men fighting women. It’s disgusting. The lowest dog act, Uncle Joe calls it. Mum made us promise that if anyone’s looking to fight us and it isn’t fair, we will pick something up for them. Since I was facing three men I hadn’t even thought about it. Without a weapon I might as well have rolled over and taken what was coming.

  Mum isn’t finished. ‘They shoulda stitched the dingo up without anaesthetic. Just wait till your Uncle hears about this!’

  ‘Mum, you can’t!’ I gasp, my head flying up. ‘If it gets out he’ll have me charged with assault.’

  The silence stretches. Mum knows the score better than us. Her thirst for revenge turns to exasperation. ‘Where did ya even go? Don’t you know how dangerous that place is?’

  ‘Umm … to one hill there,’ I mutter it, but she leans closer.

  ‘What hill?’

  ‘Some big one Aunty, how’re we sposed to know what whitefullas call it.’ Rhi waves a dismissive hand.

  Mum’s hand slams down on the table and we jump.

  ‘Please tell me,’ she says in a calm, reasonable voice, ‘that you did not go to that mountain on the Potter property?’

  Rhi and I share a look. Mum lets out a quiet scream, which is quite possibly the weirdest sound I’ve ever heard her make, before jumping to her feet to pace. She’s taking deep, audible breaths.

  ‘Do you think your grandparents warned ya away from there for fun?’ She finally looks at us and the rage is real.

  ‘No Mum, and I wouldn’t ave. But … Laney.’ I lift my hands and shrug, feeling helpless.

  ‘Oh ya better believe that little excuse isn’t gonna save ya.’ She eyes Rhi. ‘Either of ya. How’d ya even get out there?’

  ‘We walked.’

  ‘We rode.’

  We look at each other in horror.

  ‘Out with it! If I find out ya lied about any of this, Stacey Thomson, ya dead.’ The casual way she says it disturbs me. Ordinarily a threat will be delivered with fury, this is just stated as fact.

  ‘Mum … I … please don’t be upset. He helped us and protected us. If he hadn’t been there who knows what those cow-cockies woulda done!’

  ‘Stacey …’ The warning growl is all I’ll get. My head goes down.

  ‘Sam Miller drove us out,’ I mumble so quietly that I think for a second she hasn’t heard me.

  She stares down at me. I can feel her gaze drilling into my head.

  ‘You’ve been talkin to a Miller? Ya got in a car with Toni Miller’s son?!’ Her voice rises in volume and pitch with each question.

  ‘It was my fault, Aunty, I got a crush on im.’

  The horror on my face is only outdone by Mum’s as we both stare at my cousin, our jaws flapping.

  ‘I … I like him. He’s nice. And he protected us yesterday.’ She stops talking, a blush running over her cheeks.

  ‘You kids. Ya want to send me mad.’ Mum is talking to herself. ‘Every taboo we have, almost every single one, ya violated. I
don’t even know if there’s a punishment strong enough.’ She dropped back into her chair and puts her head in her hands. ‘I suppose we could get out the nullah nullahs, do it the old way, but ya’ve already been hit around pretty good. Mum woulda known what to do.’

  I’m not sure how I feel about Rhi’s sudden declaration, but I can’t help feeling amused at Mum’s reaction. Rhi has well and truly taken the wind out of her sails. A grin twitches at my lips just as Mum’s hands open and she gets a good look at my face.

  ‘Think this is funny, ay? You leadin your cousin to Potters’, to danger, getting flogged up and all with a Miller boy in tow. One your cousin is after!’ It’s not entirely clear which of those things is worse to her.

  ‘No, Mum, it’s not funny, I’m sorry.’ Her glare doesn’t let up and I can feel the wheels turning.

  ‘Sam Miller … That’s the one lookin after May all the time. This is to do with what your grandfather told ya, isn’t it?’

  All the funny walks out of the room and I go back to fidgeting. Laney would’ve cursed me for being such a bad liar. There’s a long pause while Mum thinks it through some more. She isn’t silly, dammit.

  ‘I’m still furious with both of you. I will be talkin to your mother, Rhiannon Louise. She’s got a better imagination than me anyway, and we’ll be workin out a punishment to fit the monumental stupidity of what you done. Something worthy of just how much you’ve betrayed our trust.’ I wince and am sure Rhi does too. Decree made, Mum sits back in her chair and sighs. ‘I can see ya won’t let this go, Tace, and now you’ve gone and drug your cousin into it.’

  ‘Mum please. What would you do if Aunty Mel went missing? Or Uncle Joe, Aunty Fern, any of them?’ Tears in my eyes, I beg her to understand. Her lips twist.

  ‘And that’s the problem, isn’t it. Cos I’d be out lookin for my sister too.’

  I feel like I’ve won a huge victory, for about two seconds. ‘But I wouldn’t be doin any of this! You’re runnin around half-cocked with no idea what you’re riskin.’

  ‘Then tell me! Since when have we kept secrets in this family?’

  ‘Since forever, little girl, and you’d do well to remember that.’ Her stern voice backs me up in my chair. ‘There are things the old fullas will never tell you, things whispered about. And you aren’t old enough or mature enough to learn any of it. At the rate you’re goin ya might never be ready.’