Night Walker (Undeadly Secrets Book 1)

by Aaron L Speer

  Night Walker

  ©Aaron L Speer

  ‘Some people like their houses

  With fences all around

  Others live in mansions

  And some beneath the ground’

  Lyrics “Give Me A Home Among The Gum Trees”

  “The misery I saw amongst them is indescribable . . . their heads, bodies, clothes, blankets, were all full of lice. They were wretched, naked, filthy, dirty, lousy, and many of them utterly unable to stand, to creep, or even to stir hand or foot.” – Reverend Johnson.

  – Wikipedia – “Second Fleet 1790”

  “The Aborigines showed surprise and some resentment at their first sight of the new arrivals. Men brandished their spears and women and children often hid. The whites were feared as the returning spirits of the dead.”

  “Other Aborigines in the Sydney district, often led by the noted warrior Pewmulwuy and later his son Tedbury, began a fierce resistance to the white invasion. For years Pemulwuy's spirited opposition disturbed European settlements. The belief even grew - until he was shot in 1802 and his head sent to England - that he could not be harmed by bullets.”

  Prologue

  1790 – Botany Bay

  Rev Johnson looked up to the grey heavens, beginning to feel a light drizzle on his face. The dreary weather matched his mood but the atmosphere surrounding him was far darker. He gave a small shake of his head and pressed a cotton handkerchief to his mouth and nose. One by one the poor wretches were moved past him, those few that could walk, irons clinking as they shuffled along. He observed the rest, those that couldn’t move under their own power and corpses lined up before him on their backs. One after the other. He had ministered to farmers in their barns with more tolerable odours than what he was subjected to here.

  The reverend despaired as he shifted along the path of bodies, the last convicts removed from the HMS Neptune’s hold. Their 159-day journey from England ended here on a makeshift port, stinking up the sea air of what was to be their new home.

  Donald Traill, master of the Neptune, appeared beside him. “You wished to see me?” Traill asked, munching on an apple.

  “I have heard disturbing reports, master Traill, of which I must bring to your attention.”

  “Indeed?” Traill asked, sounding genuinely surprised. “By all means, proceed.”

  “I have heard that you deliberately starved your captives, or fed them sour meat. That you took the money given to you by the crown for each of them as your own, in the hopes that they would die and have no need for it.”

  “A wondrous tale!” Traill smiled.

  “Then I wish to know how you intend to explain…” the reverend swept his hand slowly over the dead, “this.”

  Traill furrowed his brows and threw the half-eaten apple over his shoulder. Moving past the reverend, he stopped, looking down at what once could have been called a man. The corpse was balding, strings of lice-infested greying hair clasping the greenish brown skin of the head. Knees and elbows bent, angled to curl up into its body.

  Traill flicked the tip of his boot and nudged the body at the shoulder, before returning to the reverend. “One or two appear to be in a state of bother.” He shrugged.

  “Enough of this!” The reverend could abide no more of this man’s impertinence. “Good god man, this is criminal!”

  “Rather an odd choice of words. Have you forgotten what these gutter rats are? Why they are here?”

  “Their past crimes do not warrant such treatment! You were charged with bringing them to this country.”

  “And as you can see,” Traill said, moving out of the way as soldiers carried more bodies past him to the end of the line, “I have brought them.”

  “How can you be so callous?” Rev Johnson felt the anger brewing up inside him. He knew he’d raised his voice to the point others were taking note of the argument, but could not stop himself now. He thrust an arm out toward the tents that had been erected to treat those infected with scurvy, malnourishment and other ailments resulting from the horrific conditions the convicts had been forced to endure throughout the journey from England. Protocols were such that Reverend Johnson would ordinarily not have confronted a ship’s captain so openly. Yet a colony of just under two thousand had already bunkered down in recent months as supplies ran low. Tensions with the indigenous people were rising and sickness had crept in. Now to have a shipload of people, most of whom desperately needed medical care, and many would not last the day, had caused Rev Johnson to forgo all manner of formal propriety.

  “All this can be attributed to you and the scandalous way you have taken to your duties, sir! Could you not have shown even the slightest hint of mercy and let them find their rest at sea? To save others on the ship, at least?”

  “Tell me, Reverend, how did you come to be at this fine colony?”

  The reverend faltered, uncertain if this was really a question. Narrowing his eyes, he answered hesitantly. “I was aboard the first fleet to sail here.”

  “No doubt in lavish comfort, being a man of the cloth,” Traill said, giving a deep yet condescending bow, as yet more bodies were carried past them. “Do not address me with matters of duty. These animals were to be sent to this desolate rock and they have been. The words ‘dead or alive’ were written on the parchment containing my orders. As to casting their remains to the sea, I thought you, being a man of God, might deem it more proper to perform whatever last rites you see fit to send their unholy souls to hell.”

  “What is the meaning of this?”

  Both men turned at the sharp tone to find the Governor, Arthur Phillip, approaching briskly.

  “Governor!” Traill said brightly, touching the brim of his hat in polite deference.

  Phillip gave a courteous nod before addressing them. “I understand there is some misunderstanding regarding this latest batch of brigands and ne’er-do-wells. I’ll thank you gentlemen to leave off this futile disagreement and let me deal with the matter. Reverend, there are men in the second to last tent that require the Lord’s services.”

  Rev Johnson gave the scene one last look of contempt before acknowledging the Governor’s order with a curt nod. “I shall attend to them.”

  *

  “Charming man,” Traill noted to the reverend’s back. “Highly deluded chap, though I daresay it a result of this scorching weather.”

  “That is quite enough, Mister Traill,” Phillip quipped. “I do not expect you to comprehend the affairs of this state as you have been on a long journey. As it stands, I have direct responsibility for a colony bordering on starvation and severe lack of supplies. Not to mention difficulties with the natives.”

  “The savages with their sticks?” Traill laughed, “Governor, if I may—”

  “You may not,” Phillip snapped. “What you will do is get these poor souls off my beach and into the sea. Let the ocean be their resting place and let us hope they take whatever disease that took their lives with them.”

  “Mighty difficult to say what it was, sir.”

  “Indeed,” Phillips replied. “I see wounds on this man’s wrists. This one’s neck is still bleeding. I doubt whether cruelty can be classed as a disease.”

  “Now see here. I’ve just about had enough of these accusations!” Traill puffed out his chest and began to turn a dark shade of red. “Inspect these two, Governor Phillip. I ask you to find a single blemish on them. Yet there they are, as cold as a new morning.”

  Against his better judgement, Phillip walked past corpses, partially unclothed, frail, and brittle as skeletons, to examine the two Traill had indicated; a man and a woman, fully dressed and in pristine condition. Death had not diminished th
e young woman’s delicate, supple features, her raven red hair splaying beautifully across the white sands that were nearly as pale as her skin.

  Phillip extended the tips of his fingers to tenderly brush her jaw. The contact, even in this heat, reminded him of winter in England. “God has welcomed back one of his angels,” he whispered to himself sadly, before straightening. “These two look as though they had only fallen this morning. What sort of disease does this? What do you make of it?”

  Phillip looked to Captain Traill, whose attention was on something behind the Governor. Phillip turned to see two natives approaching the scene. They were the colour of over-baked bread, of equal height. They were not overly muscular but were by no means scrawny and each man carried a sharpened spear at their side.

  “Excuse me, please,” he called to Traill, and strode forward slowly, matching the natives’ movements so as not to appear threatening. He extended his hands outward in greeting, but the natives moved past him as if he was not even there. Everything around Phillip came to a stop, and he watched in confusion as the natives closed in on the exact spot Phillip had just vacated: standing over the woman.

  Phillip carefully circled them from behind, coming to stand next to them as the two stared down at the lovely, cold form that lay before them. One spoke to the other, a harsh sound (a question perhaps) in the native tongue. The other replied in what seemed like agreement. The first began to recite a low chant and raised his spear as if readying to plunge it into the already-dead woman’s chest. Then with a loud pop, he was on his back, blood pooling on the sands—the result of the bullet Traill had just placed through his skull.

  “Stop! Stop this!” Phillip cried.

  But it was too late. The other native charged at Traill and also fell flat onto the sands a second later, shot in the back by one of Traill’s crew.

  Phillip scowled at the smile Traill wore as he finished reloading the lead ball into his pistol. Phillip pointed his own weapon directly at his face before Traill could cock it.

  “I said stop.” Phillip seethed.

  “You wish him to die slowly then?”

  Phillip held in a breath. The reverend was right about all this inhumanity. He could not allow it to continue. More senseless death at the worst possible time. What made it worse was the native’s pathetic cries at his feet. Death approached him, and yet he was determined to scream out, reaching for the body of the woman, what one could only imagine were curses. No, it was something else. Warnings?

  Phillip’s pistol shot echoed around the cove, bringing an unearthly silence to the surroundings and putting the poor soul out of his misery.

  “Jolly good show, Governor. Nothing like a bit of good ol’ fashioned authority of His Majesty to keep the riffraff in line, eh?”

  Governor Phillip stowed his pistol, looking down at the man he had shot. “These men did not need to die. Perhaps you were not responsible for the corpses here, but you were responsible for this. Take the time you need to supply your vessel, and then I insist you leave. Dispose of these before nightfall.”

  Traill looked around for any able bodied convict and ordered stones to be brought forward, to weigh down the all the bodies. “I would think, with your permission, that the sweet plum here deserves a burial? Your reverend could perform some ceremony? She clearly does not have any sickness the colony should concern itself with?”

  “Very well,” Phillip answered, eager to have the conversation end. “Do what you must and do it quickly. Though I wish I knew why the indigenous people looked so…troubled over her.”

  “I wouldn’t be so concerned m’lord. Beauty such as this causes blood to boil in any man. Savage or not. They presumably wanted to engage in carnal rituals with her, even in death.” Traill offered.

  Governor Phillip turned without a farewell or salute as two convicts closed in, lifting and carrying the body away.

  Sydney – Present Day

  “Cheers,” the bartender said to his last patron of the night, a heavy-set man sitting opposite him, wearing a suit with loosened tie and top collar, his shoulders dampened by the weather. “A fucked up end to a fucked up day.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” the man replied as they chinked their shot glasses together. Feeling the fiery liquid drop down their throats, the flow of conversation eased, unlike the roar of the rain outside.

  “You tell me yours, I’ll tell you mine,” the stranger said, tapping the bar with his glass.

  Liberally filling his own glass as well, the bartender recalled the major events of the day. “Well, let’s see. Surprise inspection this morning, sick calls from my two only staff, whole day without a break, dodgy customers, scuffles in the bar, police called… And the best thing is, I get to wake up and come back to this shithole tomorrow.”

  “Ain’t life a bunch of roses?” the customer replied solemnly, raising his glass in a toast and downing it in one.

  “And chocolates,” the bartender agreed. “So what’s your story, champ? I gotta say, I was this close to telling you where to go when you came in, but just the look on your face… Christ, you looked like death warmed up.”

  With a crash, the man dropped his glass to the floor.

  “There we go again,” the bartender said, quickly gesturing to the man’s expression. “What the hell’s happened?”

  The man shuddered, apologising, and placed his head in his hands. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Anyway, it’s a long story.”

  “Try me, for Christ’s sake. I’ve only got a set amount of glasses.”

  The man managed a short chuckle and the barman thrust another shot glass of whiskey in front of him. He accepted it with a shaking hand and drank up. When he placed the glass back down on the bar, the hand was much steadier. He loosened his tie once more, even though it was clearly not tormenting his throat. The bartender was patient.

  Finally, after a long sigh, the man spoke. “Have you ever seen anyone die?”

  Not quite sure what he’d been expecting—certainly not this—the barman took a minute before replying. “No, can’t say that I have.”

  “What about horror movies…ever get into them?”

  The bartender took a quick glance at the heavy man, his face curious. He quickly decided to answer the strange question, sure that it led to a point.

  “Me and the missus were crazy about them as kids. Well, truth be told it was more me. You know the old hold-her-when-she-gets-scared move…” he replied with a smirk, remembering those nights at the drive-in, when her views of him being her knight in shining armour led to much more than just cuddling her in the back seat.

  “What would you do for her when she finds out they’re real?”

  “What, you mean horror movies?” The bartender, more concerned now, placed both hands on the bar and studied the man opposite him. “Sorry mate, but are you going to start making sense anytime soon?”

  “Okay, listen. I was walking home from work tonight, like I always do. I take the same route pretty much every day as I have for the past seventeen years. I know the neighbourhood well, everyone’s familiar, you know how it is. Well, tonight, something was off. I knew I ought to hurry on home, but I didn’t. My stomach felt unsettled, so I decided maybe I needed a drink and then I could head home.”

  “Okay. I’m with you so far.”

  “I went to check out this bar I’d heard about from the young hot shots I work with. They said all kinds of crazy shit goes on there. Real ‘underground stuff’.”

  “What…like drugs?”

  “That’s what I thought they must have meant at first. But now I know they were talking about something…really underground.”

  “What the fuck does that mean?”

  “I went in…” he continued, indicating with a finger that he was getting to his point. “Ordered a drink and sat down. This place was unlike anything I’d ever seen before… Yet at the same time, it really was just like any other night club. Dark, misty as hell but I didn’t see any smoke machines, and
with music that I’m too old to get into. But the women were unbelievable. Especially this one… Man, you should have seen her. Dark red hair, a real wine colour. The place was packed, but as she moved through the crowd, time seemed to slow down. Every eye was on her, you know? Gorgeous thing. A goddess. Just looking at her, you couldn’t even imagine what she would do to you in the sack because it would be so much better than your wildest dreams. She moved like she was a queen surrounded by servants, everyone parted for her to make her way past. And she left, just like that.

  “Anyway, I dunno what came over me, but I stupidly tried to search for her until I caught another one in my sights. Not as stunning as the first, not by a long shot. She looked like she had just come out of an 80’s rock music video. Short blonde hair, and seemed like a pocket rocket…I like them,” he half chuckled. “I tried to get her attention, when all of a sudden she looked straight at me and stared and beckoned me over. I couldn’t move. I could not believe my luck. Just then, this little arsehole beside me decides to walk over to her. Bloke was so pissed it was like he was in…a trance or something. He could barely walk straight.”

  He shook his head before continuing. “I admit it. I’d had a few, and I decided if I couldn’t score a root, a fight would be the next best thing. So I waited to see what they would be up to, when I saw them both go out the back door. I moved through the dancers but when I got to the door, a bouncer appeared out of nowhere and stopped me. He said, “You really don’t want to go out there.”

  “By this time, I was both pissed and pissed off. I shot my mouth off a little at him, and I thought I was gonna get kicked out. He just stepped aside and said, ‘As you wish, sir’ and let me stroll outside.”

  The stranger stopped then, apparently lost in thought. The look on his face, though, was not one of contemplation. It was one of horror.

  “What did you see?” the bartender asked, the hairs on his arm starting to rise.