by Kathryn Hore
She threw it all up, but she could not conquer this knowing.
Silence. She shivered in it for a long time. Thinking of Greswold. Of the town which would make her their sacrifice. Thinking of the children. After a while, she raised her good hand to wipe at her eyes, her mouth; the other remained useless and damaged in her lap. The price of knowing, of wanting to know. It begged a question, what would be the price for something even more?
When she glanced back over her shoulder, he was still there. Black eyes watching. Waiting. Interesting, but she no longer felt afraid.
‘I know what I want,’ she said. Her voice sounded raw.
‘Yes.’
‘And you will give it to me?’
‘Yes.’
‘For a price?’
‘There is always a price.’
She nodded and pushed herself to her feet, balancing on her good ankle. For a moment, she looked at him in the semi-darkness, the torchlight and shadows competing across his skin. Taking in the strength of his jaw, the breadth of his shoulders, the power in his arms and hands. She thought again of what it would feel like to have those hands on her body, her skin. His lips at her neck, her shoulders. Her breasts. Her thighs. Impossible to deny she wanted it. She thought of his teeth sharp against her flesh, but she did not think she would mind.
She moved to stand in front of him. He did not try to touch her. He had only ever offered.
‘I want...’ she began, but stopped. It was important to get this right. She wanted many things, including this visage of him, but she had long ago learned that good-looking, powerful men were rarely worth the price they demanded.
And what she was prepared to pay for was something else entirely.
In her head, she heard echoes of her own cries. If we know why it’s come, we can know how to stop it... She knew why now. She even knew how to stop it.
But it was too late for that.
‘I want,’ she said and he nodded. He knew exactly what she wanted.
She lifted both hands to his face, leaned forward and kissed him.
His lips were cold. She dropped her hands to his shoulders and pushed aside his vest. His body beneath was searing with the freeze. It numbed her fingers, froze her hands. His tongue was ice in her mouth. She felt cold hands in her hair, tangling its strands, and shivers on her skin. Dragging down her back, her shirt torn from her shoulders. His fingers biting suddenly into her flesh. Sharpened nails, slicing in. Her body tearing with her clothes.
A single drop of blood fell from the corner of her mouth where it pressed against his, trickling down her chin.
She pressed herself against him all the harder.
He changed midway through her kiss. She had known he must. The semblance of man must fall away and it left only darkness, something rough under her hands. Something dripping red, inhuman and clutching. Claws ripping flesh, sharp points of teeth biting into her body. The reality of him came in flashes, too much to comprehend in total. She did not care. She embraced it. She wrapped her legs around it and cried out to the night.
She screamed, in the last. It was impossible not to. But she held on and got what she wanted.
#
In the night, the town sleeps with a sense of relief, if made unquiet with guilt. It was done, what had to be done. Sacrifice made, it would be enough.
It must be enough.
Behind locked doors, children lie safe, tucked in bed. They are watched by nervous parents reluctant to admit the snaking bead of doubt. Adults telling each other they did only what was necessary.
They only want to save the children.
Outside, all is quiet. The occasional torch flickers, shadows dance. In the stillness, a cat skittles away. A dog ducks its tail and runs to hide.
A woman stands at the edge of town. She is dressed in flowing white and her skin is the same shade. Her eyes are only black. Beneath the hem of her dress, her feet are bare, with one pale ankle ringed a stark blue. A bruise, perhaps a scar. Perhaps a memory. A breeze rises up with her arrival, bringing an echoing cry, don’t do this! Your children will not be safe! She drifts forward, dress billowing behind, black hair tangled like the woods from which she has come. There is blood at her lips. It stains her mouth, contrasts against the pallor of her skin.
Skin of snow, lips of blood, hair black as the darkness.
Behind locked doors, sleeping children toss in nightmare. The young who cannot know what their adults have done. She can feel the anxiety of parents. The desperation of the town. All their unspoken needs. Their fears. Their wants.
She wants.
The children. Sacrificed to save their children. Made to suffer for their children.
She wants to return that suffering. She wants them to scream. For the children.
The breeze picks up, brings its echoes. If there is a monster in these woods, it will take them...
She grins a bloodied, sharp-toothed grin and walks into the town.
The monster in the woods. Come to take their children.
ROAD TRIP
Anthony Ferguson
Richie shot Frankie a glance as his companion punched the keys on his mobile. He gripped the steering wheel hard. He could tell by the way Frankie was bouncing around in his seat that he was agitated. Richie didn’t like it when Frankie got upset.
Nobody liked it when Frankie got upset.
‘Christ’s sake!’ Frankie shouted and smacked the phone against the dashboard. ‘How d’ya get a fucken signal in this godforsaken shithole?’
He held the phone out of the Commodore’s passenger side window and shook it vigorously.
‘Where the hell are we anyway?’ he said over his shoulder.
‘We’re just outside of Manjimup, on the way to Bridgetown,’ Richie said.
‘How long ‘til we get back to Freo?’
Richie chewed his lower lip. Frankie knew how long it would take. He had driven the reverse journey three days earlier. ‘About three hours.’
Frankie flung the mobile over his shoulder and onto the back seat via the roof of the sedan. Richie braced himself for the onslaught.
‘I’ve had it with these inbred hicks and their redneck shitholes. Ya can’t get a phone signal, ya can’t get the Internet, everything’s overpriced and ya can’t get good service. That’s when the shops are even open. Christ, ya can’t even get friggin’ Italian food out here. Only bloody restaurants are Chinko, and who runs those? Not the bloody Chinese.’
Richie smiled. ‘Christ, here we go.’ He watched Frankie’s Adam’s apple jiggle up and down with agitation before the tirade resumed.
‘How ‘bout that joint the other night, eh? What’s in the Chinese Hotpot I asked that ranga waitress, and what did she say? Aw oi dunno, Choinese shtuff. What the fuck is Chinese stuff? What’s wrong with a bit o’ spag bol? And I’m jack of payin’ fifteen bucks fer a sandwich too. Nup, ya can stick ya friggin’ country as far as I’m concerned.’
‘Well, at least we got the job done with no hassles, took out Jimmy the Bull, like Enzo wanted.’ Richie looked across for acknowledgement as he slowed to accommodate the vehicle ahead of them.
Frankie plucked a mint out of the packet sitting in the central console and stuck it in his mouth. Richie pictured the dissolving peppermint soothing his rage.
‘Yeah, ya did okay on that one, Rich. Ya coming on good. I schooled ya well.’
‘How many hits is that for you now, Frank?’ Richie asked, trying to shift the conversation onto safer ground.
Frankie’s brow furrowed. ‘Let’s see, that makes... thirteen now.’
Richie whistled.
‘Yeah, what can I say? It’s a living,’ Frankie mused.
Richie gripped the wheel and stared at the chassis of the old pick-up truck in front of them. A tentative sun peered through a crack in the gunmetal clouds and shed its light on the road ahead. Even Frankie conceded the south-west was gorgeous this time of year. The rains had created a fertile paradise among the fields and forests, and t
hey had lapped up what little sightseeing their journey afforded them.
Richie hadn’t known if he would be able to hack it when Enzo first brought him into the fold, but they threw him in the deep end and he had done whatever the Family asked. It was like Frankie said, ‘When you’re a wop and you’re stuff all good at anything else, whaddya do? Ya join the Mob.’ Having family connections helped, and when you’re Italian, everybody’s family. Even third generation bums like him and Frankie.
‘What’s this prick doing?’ Frankie motioned toward the truck ahead as they rode its bumper. ‘Bloody speed limit’s a hundred and ten and he’s sittin’ on eighty.’
‘Yeah, I know.’
‘Can’t ya overtake the dickhead?’
Richie waved a hand over the bitumen vista filling the windscreen. ‘Well, I can’t go over the double white lines, too many sharp bends on the road.’
Frankie lost it. ‘Shit! You can shoot a bloke in the head but ya can’t pass on a double line?’
‘Take it easy. There’s a passing lane coming up. We’ll take him then.’
Frankie pulled the sunshade down and checked his reflection in the mirror. He adjusted the crotch of his jeans. ‘Geez, I’m lookin’ forward to gettin’ home, eh? Gonna give the missus a bloody good seeing to.’
‘Yeah?’ Richie feigned interest. He cranked his window down a little to let the wind run through his hair.
‘You still seeing that Saskia chick?’
‘Nup. We broke up yonks ago.’
‘Oh, that’s right. She was two-timing ya, hey?’ Frankie shook his head. ‘Any bitch did that to me, I’d rub her out.’
‘Angelica wouldn’t do that to you, Frank. She’s not that type of girl.’
‘Oh, yeah? Know her that well, do ya, mate?’
Richie felt Frankie’s eyes on him.
‘No, of course not. It’s just... You been married three years, you got a kid — Hey, we’re coming up to Palgarup. We can lose this prick.’
The car descended into the town. As they rolled down the main street, Frankie spat the mint out the window. ‘Hey, pull up here, mate. I’m starving.’
Two beef and mushroom pies and a ham and salad roll later, they were back on the road.
Frankie had his mobile again and was fighting to get a signal. Richie kept his eye on the road while his tongue probed a crack in one of his upper cuspids for a stubborn sliver of onion. At the same time, he replayed their earlier conversation for clues. Was Frankie prodding him for information back there? Nah, he’s not that smart. Besides, everybody knows you don’t cut someone’s grass in the Family. Not if you want to keep your balls.
‘Shit!’ said Richie.
Frankie looked up from his phone. ‘Fucken country hick!’ He reached across Richie’s lap and leaned on the horn, then sprang back and stuck his head out the window. ‘Hey, dickhead! Get outta the bloody way.’
‘Unbelievable,’ said Richie.
‘Wait a minute. Isn’t that the same prick who was holding us up before we got into Palgarup? Faded red pick-up? He should be bloody miles away by now.’
As if in response, the pick-up slowed down. An intermittent stream of traffic sped in the opposite direction.
‘I don’t believe this arsehole. Is this some sort of joke?’ Frankie squeezed the mobile in his fist as if he wanted to crush it.
‘Thank Christ.’ Richie heaved a sigh as he hit the accelerator and pulled into the overtaking lane and passed the slower vehicle.
Frankie leaned out the window to give the guy a mouthful as they drew level and the truck accelerated ahead of them.
‘What the...?’
The passing lane narrowed into nothing and the pick-up was waiting for them, as impassable as ever.
Frankie said. ‘This guy is taking the piss. That’s it.’
Richie swallowed. ‘What’s it?’
Frankie glanced over his shoulder toward the boot of the car. ‘I’m taking this guy out.’
‘Frankie, we ain’t got time for this. Besides, we’re on the open road, too many witnesses.’
The truck ahead of them indicated a left turn, even though there was no road to divert onto.
‘Now what?’ said Frankie.
Several minutes later, a side road came into view. The truck slowed to a complete stop at the junction, its indicator still flashing.
Richie said. ‘What is he doing?’
Frankie broke into a smile. ‘The dumb prick wants us to follow. We’ll give him what he wants.’
Richie hesitated. ‘What if it’s a trap?’
‘Nobody would go to that much trouble. Look at the guy. He’s on his own. Enzo doesn’t have any enemies out here, none that are still breathing anyway. He woulda warned us.’
The red pick-up eased around the corner and the white Commodore followed. A green road sign indicated the destination and the distance.
‘Donnelly River. You know that place, Rich?’
‘Nup. Never heard of it.’
‘I know it, been there before. Keep going. We’ll teach this wanker to mess with us.’
The road narrowed into a single lane, with orange gravel framing each side. Dense forest hemmed them in. Richie wandered over the middle of the tarmac and glanced up at the sun as it began its descent toward the horizon. ‘Hope this don’t take too long. It gets dark quick this time of year.’
‘Yeah, don’t worry. This guy ain’t got long to live. Anything coming the other way will take him out before it gets to us. Just watch out for roos. They like to hit the paddocks around dusk.’
Half an hour later, the pick-up slowed and rounded a sharp bend. They followed until it rolled down a slope and came to a stop by a crumbling wooden structure.
‘Woah! What the hell is that?’ said Richie.
‘It’s the old wood pulping mill. Don’t follow him, go up this way. He ain’t going nowhere. It’s the end of the road.’
Frankie guided them into a clearing by an abandoned cluster of stone buildings. They got out of the car and looked down the hill at the foreboding relic where the truck had parked. The decrepit mill was dank and dark and it had collapsed in places.
‘That place looks haunted,’ said Richie, wrapping his arms around himself to ward off the afternoon chill. He swore the cold was emanating from the rotting hulk itself, rather than the river beyond it.
‘I bet it is. Lotta accidents happened there, from what I remember. Lotta accidents happened after it closed too.’ Frank smiled.
‘Whaddya mean?’
‘Funny that guy leading us here. I did my first hit here, five years ago, right over there where he’s parked, as a matter of fact. Small world, eh?’
Frankie popped the trunk and rummaged in a leather carry-all, retrieved a snub-nosed Glock.
‘Should I bring my gun too, Frank?’ Richie asked.
‘Nah, mate. Leave this one to me.’ Frankie slammed the boot of the car.
They walked past the crumbing main building and Richie’s attention was drawn to a large noticeboard, hammered into the ground.
Frankie checked the gun’s chamber. ‘This used to be a bit of a tourist spot back in the day, but all that died out yonks ago. People stopped coming here. The ones living here left.’
Richie read from the noticeboard. ‘Do not dwell in this sad place, where the dark ones watch from the shadows. What do ya suppose that means, Frankie?’
Frankie fitted a silencer onto the pistol. ‘Stuffed if I know. Never saw it before.’
‘Says it’s a quote from an Abo elder. Not a very touristy message, is it?’
Frankie ignored him, staring dead ahead. ‘I brought Angelica out here once.’
Richie flinched.
‘Screwed her right over there, up against the wall. She likes it out in the open, but you’d know that, wouldn’t ya Richie?’
‘Frank...?’
Frankie turned toward him. ‘Nah, don’t say anything, mate. Just start walking.’ He motioned toward the red pick-up.
‘Aw shit. Come on, Frank.’
Frankie spoke with quiet authority. ‘Shut up, Richie. Turn around. Don’t even look at me.’ Richie felt the barrel of the pistol pressing into his back.
Richie staggered ahead of his mentor. Down by the old mill, the occupant of the truck had alighted and stood with his back to them, staring out toward the river.
‘I’m disappointed in you, Richie. I taught you the ropes, and this is how you repay me, by banging me missus.’
Richie wheeled around and dropped to his knees.
‘I’m fucken sorry, Frank, all right? I’m sorry. Please don’t do this. Don’t let a woman come between us. It was her fault mate. She forced herself on me.’
‘Don’t make a spectacle of yourself, Richie. Try and act like a professional. We’re hit men, fer Chrissakes. We got a job to do here, remember? There’s no use arguing. I’m gonna do him and then I’ll do you. Two birds with one stone. So get up and keep walking.’
Richie rose with the enthusiasm of a condemned man. He turned and placed one foot in front of the other. ‘Please, Frankie...’
‘The only question left, Richie, is whether you get it in the head or in the balls. Now move!’
A chill wind swirled up from the river as they approached their target and Richie noticed the silence which enveloped the area. There were no bird or insect noises, not even the sound of ebbing water. The man stood with his back to them, his hands in his jacket pockets. He was tall and angular, and dressed head to toe in black garb.
Frankie let out a bitter laugh. ‘Turned out quite convenient this, eh, Rich? Enzo insisted I bring you back home to face the music, but now I figure, stuff that. Had a bit of trouble with a guy, he took Richie out before I could get him. Sorry, Enzo, but it’s the nature of the business.’
Richie shivered and his teeth chattered. ‘I don’t like this place, Frank. We shouldn’t have come here.’