by Krissy Kneen
There was no space for Jessica to interrupt. She sat, open-mouthed, as Murphy slipped one photo after another out of his folder. She had no idea what he wanted from her, except maybe a feature story on his entire family history from their arrival on the First Fleet. She listened and tried to focus on what he was saying but there was a fly slapping against the shut window and the sound of it clicking against the glass took up all her attention.
‘That is an original clipping from the Mercury. I can get that copied for you if you like?’
At last, a break in the stream of logging and accidents and death and an industry in decline. She leapt in. ‘I’m more interested in the tiger.’
‘Father shot tigers. They took sheep, you know. There was a bounty.’
‘Yes. I know all that.’
‘But we were a little too good at shooting them, right?’
‘But you’ve seen one.’
‘Few times.’
‘Geeveston?’
‘Yes. Sure. Camping overnight at Geeveston. I do those walks, you see. For my eightieth my family hired a helicopter, dropped me down to the Southwest Cape. Best walk ever, I—’
‘So, the tiger?’
‘Oh, yes. That one, cheeky bugger, came right into camp and stole some of the beef I had out ready to put on the fire.’
‘You got a good look at it?’
‘Sure. It was like from here to the fireplace away. Stopped and looked at me and backed away with my dinner in its mouth.’
‘Have you ever seen a tiger down my way?’
‘Southport?’
‘Or Ida Bay.’
‘Saw one at Cockle Creek. Not down near the water but further inland. I strayed off the trail. You know, I was tired. It was hot. Summer. I was thirsty too, which is why I thought it was a person, walking just over the ridge. I was sure I saw him. Crazy, really, man with no clothes on. Why would you walk around in that forest with nothing on? Worst place for a nudist colony—all ticks and leeches and tiger snakes. Still, I could have sworn it was a man and I called out and I walked over to where he’d been. Saw him duck down on his haunches, like he’d dropped something. But I got closer and it wasn’t a man. Couldn’t ever have mistaken that for anything other than what it was. Tiger.’
‘But you didn’t have a camera.’
‘No, didn’t have a camera. I had a smart phone. My daughter bought it for me. I took a picture with that.’
‘You have that?’
‘Here.’
He searched through the papers in his file and pulled out an image printed in black and white. It looked as much like a tiger as her scrap of video footage. Eyes, long nose, teeth, the stripes on the flank half-hidden by the trunk of a tree. The thing was looking right at the camera. It was a blurry shot but it seemed clear enough to her. It might have been a dog. She squinted. A thin dog. Ribs, perhaps, not stripes.
‘What did they say? The authorities?’
‘They said what they’re told to say. Tiger’s extinct. Told me I had a skinny dog.’
‘What do you mean, what they’re told to say?’
‘Preservation. If they find a tiger they don’t want every hoon south of Hobart out there hunting it. They want to send teams in, covert. Scientists. They’re looking for this one, all right.’
Jessica held the page in her hand. The eyes, looking up at her straight out of the page.
‘Does that look like a skinny dog to you?’
She narrowed her eyes. Maybe. But that mouth, that elongated bite, the stretch of the jaw, the stripes or shadows or ribs. Not enough to convince her: conjecture, not science. But she took out her phone.
‘Mind if I take a photo of your picture?’
‘Sure. Go ahead.’
And the phone snapped, mimicking an old-fashioned camera with the sound of the shutter hissing down. Taking the image into its digital memory.
She fumbled the key in the lock; her hands were freezing. She tried again, blinking in the vague moonlight, and the keys fell. Dropped through a gap in the boards and were gone, plummeted to the storage room under the stairs.
It felt right. Nothing should be easy anymore. She wanted to wake up to sleet. She wanted to find a lump on her breast and know that it would be cancer. She wanted the car to slip on black ice and hurtle off the road.
For now, this small inconvenience, the key falling between the floorboards, would have to do. A tiny punishment for being alive and at home when Matthew was not.
Jessica pushed past the hibiscus growing flush against the wall, the spiked branches tearing at her coat. The under-house area was open—to the elements; to theft, if anyone fancied her tools or the smoker or the beer kit or the fishing lines. People rarely locked their doors here. Cars were left open. Boats hauled up and left unsecured on the strand. There was an ad for mooring nailed to a tree and, beside it, a dozen boats with their ropes looped casually around the trunk. Not like the city, where if you left a locked bicycle out there would be nothing left but the front wheel. That was one of the things Jessica liked about it here. People left you alone. They almost never stole your stuff.
As she felt around in the shadows for the light switch, there was a scuffling sound. Something hiding under here among the unopened boxes, a rustle of leaves. Not under the house. Beside it, among the trees and scrub of the sandy garden. Something big. She waited, listening for the thump-thump of a roo hopping off towards the waterline. Nothing. A dog? An old feeling, of being watched. Something was out there. It hadn’t moved since the initial rustling. It was paused mid-step. Waiting.
A glint in the dirt. The key was there at her feet. She glanced down at it, kicked it with the toe of her boot. Took a deep breath and knelt to pick it up. Here, crouched like this under the house with nothing between her and the ocean, this is when it would pounce. She felt the hair on her neck rising. Goose bumps trickled down her back like melting ice.
Just take me now.
Had she said the words aloud? She stayed down, stooped over, the back of her neck exposed. She counted to ten, out loud this time. She wanted it to hear her. She was waiting too. A relief. The feeling of teeth sinking into the back of her neck, the weight of a tiger on her, the end of the ceaseless waking up and going to bed again, the day after day trudge of hours, constant as the sound of the sea.
Ten.
She curled her fingers around the key and stood. Then the sound again, a body large as a man, pushing through shrubbery just as she had pushed past the hibiscus a few minutes ago. She held her breath. It was close, she could feel it. Something watching her. One of her arms could feel the heat off it. Of course it was her imagination, the blood rushing to that part of her skin, pushed there by her wildly beating heart. It will kill me. Once the thought was there it couldn’t be dismissed. Wild animal, rabid animal, kill or be killed. Here, crouched under the cottage, she was ready for it, the teeth of a shark, the sting of a manta ray, the claws of a tiger. Kill me. Kill me. I’m ready. Kill me.
The sound of a gunshot and she screamed, leapt back. Away from the bottle cap that rolled to rest at her feet and the hiss… the hissing sound of an exploded bottle. The ginger beer Matthew had put down just before he went missing, volatile as always, two bottles shattered and the beer fizzing to a puddle on the floor.
Jessica hesitated before turning the light off. In the dark she felt her fear return. There was something out in the garden at the side of the house. Devil again, perhaps. She wouldn’t rule out that ugly cancerous face rooting though her neighbour’s bins. A devil could snap her shinbone in two with one bite. A devil never let go of its prey: jaw locked, shaking, screaming to wake the dead. She was right to be afraid.
She took the stairs quickly, unable to lose the feeling of being watched. Tiger, she thought, tiger, knowing that she was going mad with her grief, knowing that there were no thylacine left. The animal was extinct, never mind that strange little man with his grainy photo of a dog.
She opened the door and when she was inside she lean
ed against it. The walls were so thin you could probably kick through them. The fire had died completely and it was as cold in here as outside. She stood in the corridor and listed the tasks ahead of her. Build the fire, light it, get the oven on, bake some fish, a potato to have with it, draw the curtains so she wouldn’t feel so exposed, pull the doona up, get on the couch, turn the television on to dispel the demons of the evening.
Someone knocked. She hadn’t even turned on the inside light; she was standing here in the dark. She looked to the peeling paint of the front door, her running shoes discarded beside it, the sand that had gathered there that she had failed to sweep outside. Through the thick wood of the door she saw the creature rising up, the haunches bowed, the jaw wide, the beast become man, or something like a man. She stepped towards the door, reached out to the handle. Took a breath, and opened it.
‘William.’
‘You got power problems? A fuse?’
He seemed taller than she remembered him. When had he visited? Three, four days ago? He was holding a saucepan between thick leather gloves. His fur-lined coat looked like the warmest item of clothing she had ever seen.
She snorted her relief, reached out and flicked the light switch.
‘I just got home.’
‘I brought some—’ He held the pot out and even with the lid on she could smell how delicious it was.
She lifted the lid. ‘Seafood mornay. Thank you so much. I was just trying to get up the energy to cook. You are a life saver. You’ll stay?’
‘No. I’d better get back. Shift in the morning.’
Jessica felt a stab of disappointment. She reached for the saucepan but he shook his head.
‘Careful. It’s hot.’ He sidled past her and headed down the corridor towards the kitchen. She liked that he took up most of the space. He made the empty house seem less so. She shut the door firmly behind him and followed. He was standing nervously by the fireplace; he glanced towards her shyly.
‘Is it being sexist if I offer to light the fire for you? I never know if that kind of thing is okay. Men and fire…’ He beat his fists against his chest and she found herself smiling.
‘It’s fine.’
‘Right. Sorry.’
‘No. I mean it’s fine if you want to help me light it. That was Matthew’s job.’ Men and fire indeed.
She watched as he built the fire and settled the logs on. The flame took easily—she could see the brightness of it light his face like a smile. It was nice to be looked after for a while. Someone else cooking her dinner, starting the fire.
He wiped his hands on his jeans and stood. ‘You should call me,’ he said, ‘if you need to get something fixed. Or if you just want to hang out, I suppose.’
‘I will,’ she said, hoping he could hear in her voice that she meant it.
‘Okay. Well, night.’
‘Goodnight.’
And an awkward dance as he shuffled around her and into the corridor.
‘I’m glad you came,’ she told him. ‘I was a bit…Something had me spooked.’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘A devil in the bushes, I think. Nothing. Maybe a dog.’
‘You see it?’
‘No, but I heard it. Big. A dog, probably.’
‘Lots of dogs in Southport.’
‘Yeah.’
‘You should think about getting yourself one now that—well, now.’
‘Maybe. You’re right. I should.’
‘Labrador?’
‘I like labradors.’
‘Just ’cause there’s a fellow with lab pups out my way. Can’t give them away, they’re a bit older now and they’re headed for the pound if he can’t find owners. And, you know, they’re smart. Good guards.’
‘Do you think I should?’
‘Yeah, course. You shouldn’t be alone out here. Not that it’s unsafe but, I don’t know. I get lonely myself. I might take a pup. Couldn’t hurt.’
‘Okay.’
He smiled and put out his hand, a strange gesture, but Jessica took it and shook it as if they had just finished a business meeting. She watched as Will folded his body into his tiny car.
‘William?’
He paused, waiting, smiling at her.
‘You could ask that guy with the puppies. I don’t see why not, right? If he has one still.’
‘I’m sure he does. I’ll check.’
Will put the car in reverse, then nosed it into a three-point turn. She watched his tail-lights heading up the hill, and shivered. It was too cold. Inside the fire was roaring. She shut the door and threw the lock and spent a moment pulling all the curtains to. Unable to shake the feeling, still, that there was something out there.
She ate William’s mornay straight from the pot. She had not been at all hungry, but now she wiped the sides of the pan with a slice of bread and when the bread was gone she used her finger to get into the bottom of the pot, thinking she had never tasted anything so good. Probably it was just the cold and her bitter loneliness and all this held at bay by the fire that Will had stoked for her.
She left the light on and curled up on the couch. She conjured up a group of people talking about nothing on the television, laughing, joking with each other. She used to laugh so often.
Now she scowled and pulled the doona up around her shoulders and prepared herself to wait out yet another interminable night.
A sound. Tyres scraping on gravel. She stood, lowering her bare feet onto the cold floor. Lights swept over the curtain.
She padded over and peered out, holding the fabric so there was as slight a gap as possible. Headlights. The car was facing the window. It must have been parked across the narrow dirt road.
Who the hell would be blocking her driveway at this time of night? There were so few cars in winter, just a few tenacious residents. Fishermen, abalone men, loggers. The men she had seen at the pub; they knew where she lived. Jessica couldn’t see past the headlights. She couldn’t tell if it was a ute or a car or a truck, there was just this glare. She blinked. The lights flared: switched to high beam.
She squinted. The car revved and jumped forward; Jesus, it was going to hit her shack. It was going to burst through the window.
She dropped the curtain and leapt back. The sound of the engine rattled through the glass. The lights swung wild streaks through the curtain and across the walls. She held her breath. Then the rattle of gravel as the tyres spun into reverse. And away. It was racing away. She pulled the curtain in time to see the taillights wave erratically from side to side. Too dark to see what kind of vehicle it was, and then it turned the corner and there was nothing left of it.
It felt like a warning. Like she had been warned.
Jessica picked up her phone, her hands shivering. She punched his name into her phone and heard the tone, imagining his phone ringing somewhere, too far away.
‘William?’
Was he still in the car? Was he home yet?
‘Hey.’
Her voice sounded calm. She didn’t feel like her voice sounded. She felt rattled.
‘I just…Will you ask him? That guy. About that dog?’
‘Yes. Of course.’
‘Would you ask him soon?’
‘You okay? You want me to come back?’
She paused. She did. She really wanted him to come back. ‘I just think a dog would be good company.’
‘Boy? Or girl? If there’s a choice?’
‘I really don’t mind. A feisty one. The one that barks the loudest. A brave dog.’
‘Okay,’ said William, ‘I’ll pick the bravest one.’
She felt her heart finally calming.
‘Okay, great. Thanks.’ The thud of blood in her ears seemed quieter now. ‘Goodnight, William.’
‘Goodnight, Jessica.’
The red welt tore down the back of the girl’s calf, a long weeping gouge with a fainter one beside it. Claw marks. So she said.
‘He called me.’ Crystal clasped her hands protectively ov
er the bulge of her stomach. She had a surprising little voice, high like a bird, like someone pretending to be a toddler. ‘He called out “Crystal!” and I turned and I could see something behind the greenhouse and it was him. I know it was him. And I ran, and…’ She lifted her skirt again and the big mark was inflamed, stitches lining it, dark crosshatching, and all of it red and swollen.
‘I didn’t stop,’ she said. ‘I kept on running because of what you all said. Like to not let them trick you. Not let them catch you.’
‘What did the doctor say?’ The women all turned to glare at Jessica.
‘I told him I tripped and got caught on some lawyer vine.’ She dropped her skirt, sat back down on the caved-in couch. ‘I don’t think he believed me but he stitched it up. I think he reckons someone’s beating me up again.’ She held the swell of her belly, stroking it as if to assure her unborn child that everything would be okay, but she was nervous, agitated. ‘Do you think I’ll turn into one of them now? What if I turn into one?’
‘You should get a shot for it,’ Jessica suggested.
‘Can you get a shot for that? Like for rabies or something?’
‘Tetanus.’
The girl snorted. ‘This wasn’t no rusty nail. He’s been watching me. Following, I can feel him. Every time the sun goes down I can feel him.’
Jessica frowned. She felt watched, even now she felt like there was something out there in the dark. It had followed her from the car right up to Maude’s door, she could smell it. It was that scent of a feral animal, that reek of the wild. It assaulted her, rising up from the darkness whenever she stepped out at night. She was going crazy. Letting these women get into her head.
‘They stay close for a while.’ Maude nodded. ‘They still remember us. My husband followed me for a year. Now is the time we should be hunting it.’
And Jessica said: ‘No.’
‘Your man’s been gone a matter of weeks. And Crystal’s been widowed six months, the baby’s not even come yet. So there’s two of those creatures that still remember their human selves. We should hunt them down now.’