by TJ Park
“Tying the points is a mental castration of the victim, robbing the receiver of strength and power.”
Mick muttered something about “mental”.
“Who tied them?” Doug asked. “You?”
“No! Witches do it. Or the things they call up.”
Doug couldn’t believe what he was hearing, or the next words that came out of his own mouth. “Are you saying witches lived at the other house? Real witches?”
Warlock nodded vehemently.
“What proof do you have? The knife? That’s it?”
“That crazy shit over their walls, under the hanging rugs. You saw! I know you did. They’re charms, barriers of protection. It stops evil from entering.”
“I thought you said you didn’t know what it meant, you sneaky little shit!” Mick shouted.
“I didn’t want to know!”
“It wasn’t very effective, was it?” Doug said. “It didn’t stop us.”
Mick gave him a dirty look. But Warlock took Doug seriously.
“Something must’ve screwed it up somehow.”
Doug waited for Mick to blow up, but he just kept watching from the doorway, his expression forbidding and otherwise unresponsive. It would be up to Doug to shut away this lunacy on his own.
“Things were wrong with this place before we got here. Their farmhand’s gone on a bender. The feed’s contaminated, or some disease is going around. It’s got nothing to do with us.”
“You lot are the only fucking disease here,” Janet said.
Lauren’s shocked gasp was clearly heard. Scott’s eyes flicked back and forth between his mother and Doug as if he was taking in a screamingly fast tennis match. Rob looked closely at his wife. Warlock nodded eagerly at Janet’s insult.
“She’s right! That fucking roo hitting us! The screaming on the radio! All that weird shit at the other house! Nothing’s been normal since Cutter –”
“Shut up,” Doug warned him.
“It’s because of Cutter! We’re being punished for what he did to her!”
“I said, shut your mouth!”
Warlock began his entreaty. “Doug? Doug? You know this isn’t just coincidence. Someone’s doing this to us!”
“Who did what to who? What other house?” Janet asked, strident. “Who’s Cutter?” She turned her sights on Mick, sullen in the doorway. “Are you him?” Her voice was fraught with disgust. “Is that your real name?” Disgust turned into a growing horror. “Is that what you do?”
Mick wouldn’t oblige with a reply. Doug could see how he must look to her, like an impassive, half-lidded reptile. Doug knew better. Mick was just hiding how wretched he felt inside. But it wasn’t only Mick she targeted. She raked the lot of them with her condemning gaze.
Doug turned to Mick, who still looked on as if this madness had nothing to do with him. He was simply an observer. “Mick, you rested up yet?”
Mick grunted. “You’re kidding me. It was more relaxing in the shed.”
Doug almost smiled at that.
“That ute’s a stubborn prick,” Mick said, “but I’ll have it running by tonight.”
Doug grimaced. “That long?”
“I can only offer you miracles, Doug, not the impossible. I’ll get it going.”
It would’ve been more reassuring if he hadn’t tapped twice on the doorjamb straight after, committing his own charm. The knock sounded too much like someone who wasn’t expected, wanting in.
***
Despite refusing to believe in “Wally’s witch shit”, Mick took him to the shed to undo every knot that could be found, while he and Rob continued working on the ute. Mick did not believe the knots were hexing him. He just didn’t like the idea they were there for that reason. It put him off his work. He soon proved the whole thing was crap because the ute began coming together quicker than expected.
Warlock picked apart strings, untangled cords and skipped out of the way as heavy chains tumbled free through his fingers. He announced countless times that he was finished only for Mick to point out ones he’d missed. Finally, Warlock bleated that it was impossible for him to fix the last set of knots in a titanic heap of chain coiled in the corner. He could barely lift the links let alone undo them.
Mick let him go. The time wasted ordering him about was better spent on the ute. The repairs were moving along nicely now without further hitches, the work on it nearly done.
So much for being cursed.
***
He was on the windmill again, a few rungs below the circuit of the blades, the day still breathless. Then a current of air must have come along, so precise in its passage that it did not touch Doug. The fan swivelled slowly to meet the breeze, the turning gears going off with sharp clacks and bangs. The blades did not turn on their own circuit, though. The whole, rock-solid lot of it rotated round and round on its creaking axis before coming to a halt facing Doug.
The chill that went through him made his skin prickle painfully in the close hot air. He stared up at the fan, willing it to pivot once more on a breeze. Instead, an optical illusion was offered up to him. Large clumps of cumulus were travelling swiftly to the rear of the fan, but his eyes were fooled into thinking it was the clouds that were still and the fan that was moving. The head leaned forward, its great weight shifting on the spindly frame, bearing down on him, pulled by something far more powerful and monstrous than a simple tug on a knife.
And when it blotted out the sky, when it took claim of what it was reaching for, that was when the blades would begin to spin, cutting like teeth.
***
Doug bolted upright in the lounge chair as if he was being pursued. He was surprised to see the room was much brighter than he recalled, then stunned to find darkness concentrated in the windows. The lights in the living room were on. For a few moments he was completely disoriented, thinking he had slept the night through and it was early, just before dawn. Then he checked his watch and the time brutally readjusted him. It was after seven. The afternoon was stolen away from him. Night had arrived.
Not yet fully emerged from sleep, he received another shock at the sight of Warlock sitting at his feet like a faithful dog. Warlock was leaning against an adjacent chair, a book propped up on his raised knees.
“What happened?” Doug gasped.
“You fell asleep,” Warlock replied amiably.
Doug recalled plonking down on the lounge chair to rest a minute, throwing his arm over his eyes. He hadn’t wanted to think several moves ahead, preferring to let his thoughts drift. That was all he remembered.
The book Warlock was reading was small, stout and bound in black, the yellowed pages ruffled with water stains, the front and back covers almost curled over into cylinders. Any title on it was long rubbed away by constant handling. It looked like a well-thumbed Bible. Doug guessed Warlock was probably flicking through the Old Testament, concentrating on the gory or incestuous bits.
Janet and her children still sat on the couch opposite, still lined up like collectibles on a shelf, with Janet in the middle. Scott and Lauren were sleeping, heads resting on their mother’s shoulders. She was firmly awake, ignoring Doug. She was paying attention to something else, the worry large on her face.
At first Doug couldn’t find his pistol. He was dismayed to learn it had slipped from his lap and into the gap between the seat and armrest. He turned back to the serenely-smiling Warlock. “Why didn’t you wake me?”
Warlock became indignant. “Hey, I was looking after them!”
No wonder Doug was still feeling woozy. He wasn’t fully awake yet. The faint clacks and bangs of the turning windmill had followed him out of his dream. He shook his head to clear it, but he could still hear them.
“Do you hear that?” he asked Warlock.
“The banging? It’s coming from the shed, isn’t it?”
Doug listened harder. “No. No, it’s not.”
***
Doug found Mick and Rob standing in the yard, staring out at the dark in fear
ful wonder. An intermittent string of blue flares pulsed in the distance. He could almost believe it was the storm, deferred from the night before and the night before that, now coming to finish what it had threatened to start … except the flashes played out too low on the horizon. Distant bangs, like thunder, troubled the ear, but with the flat resonance of struck tin.
“Shit … what is it?” Warlock asked.
Doug was so intent on figuring that out himself, he had no idea how long Warlock had been standing beside him. “Get back in the house and watch the others!” he roared. “If they were going to try something, it’ll be now!”
Warlock fled.
Doug did not believe the family would attempt anything without their father. He just felt like lashing out. The sense of being helpless in the face of impending disaster had overtaken him once too often.
Eyes fixed on the distant lightshow, Warlock bounced off the front door on his way back in.
Doug approached the other two men. “What’s going on?”
“I tell you, that fucking question’s been asked too many times the last couple of days,” Mick said. “Rob here thinks it’s his electric fences. They’ve gone wacko.”
“Can’t you turn them off?”
Mick answered for Rob. “Already tried. They’re not supposed to be on anyway, with the fire danger and all. We checked the switchboard in the shed. It’s off. I pulled the wires out. It didn’t make a difference.”
Doug was about to ask Mick if it was a ruse on Rob’s part, a way to bring attention down on them, but one look at Rob told him it wasn’t so. The man was close to panic.
Rob anxiously turned toward them. “I’ve got a mob of calving heifers in that paddock. I need to go out there and check on them. You can come with me.”
“That’s good of you to offer, Rob,” Doug replied. “No.”
“Look, those animals are my livelihood! I can’t afford to lose them.”
“We need you here working on the ute.”
“I won’t be much good to you, then. How can I concentrate with that going on?”
Doug considered the lightshow. It showed no sign of abating.
“You think anyone else could see that, Mick?”
“There’s a chance they might.”
“They could think it’s lightning.”
“Blue lightning? Yeah, you see that every day. And don’t forget the ever-fucking-present fire danger.”
Doug pondered a moment more before turning back to Rob. “You trust your wife to make the right decision by you?”
“What?”
“Would she be able to handle what we find? I’ll take her out there to check on your stock.”
Rob trembled like leaves on a tree blasted by the wind.
“My wife’s not going anywhere alone with you.”
Doug couldn’t help rolling his eyes. “Too late, Rob. Personally, I don’t give a shit about your cows, except whatever’s happening out there might affect us too.”
Rob’s bearing suddenly shifted. Probably unconscious on his part. His head hunched into his shoulders, the legs set apart, his arms positioned away from his sides, hands ready to catch or close – a fighting stance.
Doug kept his attention on the grazier. “Mick, I reckon that Rob here is thinking of doing something stupid. We’ve got plenty of electrical tape left over. You might want to make some leg irons for him before we go. Leave enough length between his ankles, so he can shuffle along without going arse-up.”
“I mean it,” Rob said. “You go anywhere near my wife, I’ll kill you.”
“Hey,” Mick said, almost sounding hurt, “you promised you’d kill me first!” He waved Doug over to one side. “I can handle him fine without that crap.”
“Humour me, Mick. I’ll have the wife tied up as well.”
Rob overheard. “You’ll have to kill me first,” he said.
“Jesus, everyone wants a go,” Mick muttered.
“Make up your mind!” Doug told Rob. “The only reason your wife is going is because she’ll save me getting lost. Or would you rather I took one of your kids to show me the way instead?”
A kick to his balls wouldn’t have got a better reaction. Rob’s face was frighteningly pale.
“Take it easy, Rob. If we were going to hurt anyone it would have happened already. You just pay attention to the ute. The sooner you finish it, the sooner we’ll leave you alone with your cows.”
Rob sneered. “And you’re going to let us go? Just like that?”
Doug said, “Heads up,” as he tossed his pistol to Mick. He spread his hands out to show Rob just how harmless he was – before giving him a hard, short right below the ribs. Rob slumped against him with a wracking exhalation. Doug supported him briefly, before letting him drop to the dirt, where he twisted up like a hurt caterpillar.
Doug looked down at him with some understanding, but not much patience. The grazier would have been wise to recognise the signs earlier. “No, we’re not going to just let you go, Rob. We’re going to tie the lot of you up. And a few hours after we’ve gone, the cops will get an anonymous tip and come get you. Isn’t that right, Mick?”
“Yes,” Mick said reluctantly.
“I don’t believe you,” Rob wheezed out.
Doug was readying to give him a boot in the ribs. Instead, he laughed out loud, almost savagely. His laughter did nothing for Rob’s faith in him, but it did wonders for his own spirits. Then he saw a man curled up at his feet who was only trying to do the right thing by his family. His laughter shrivelled and died on the spot.
But he still refused to help the stupid prick up.
Chapter Twelve
Janet’s mount was an old speckle-backed mare, the colour of cigarette ash sprinkled on milk. From the way Janet cooed and stroked her, she was a family pet, an ugly duckling favourite. The horse had a name, too, but Doug deliberately missed it.
He was about to offer the help he thought would be needed. Instead, he watched Janet throw on and cinch a heavy saddle by herself with her hands tied wrist-to-wrist. A formidable woman indeed. He must remember that.
“Janet,” he said quietly.
She turned to him, distracted, in the midst of trying to soothe her mount. The mare was bewildered and nervous. Perhaps the animal wasn’t used to a change in routine or to strangers, or both.
“Janet, listen carefully. If you try to escape, I promise you I will shoot.”
Janet smiled sourly.
“So here it is. What you really are. You’d shoot a woman in the back.”
“No, Janet. You misunderstood. I won’t shoot you. I’ll shoot the horse.”
Janet stiffened briefly, then reverted to her easy contempt of him. “The nearest place is a day’s ride from here. This old nag would be dead before she got halfway. And do you honestly think I would run out on my own family?”
She swung herself up into the saddle, dismissing him.
Doug slung her husband’s Winchester over his shoulder. He had a feeling it would do a better job than a pistol or sawn-off in dealing with the unknown out here in the bush. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be needed.
Rob liked Doug appropriating the weapon about as much as he had liked Doug taking Janet. Doug was not up to par with Freudian associations. If he had been, he would have realised the implications of taking a man’s gun as well as his wife.
Doug swung a leg over his own ride, one that had a stall to itself like Janet’s mount. He kicked over the engine on the first go, babied it out of the stall, then rocketed off into the night outside, jetting loose straw behind him. The mare lashed out at the sudden din, hooves cracking against wood slats in the way.
“Easy, Garnet,” Janet soothed, then muttered, “arsehole.”
Doug came about outside, slewing to a stop and waiting, the trail bike’s headlight punching a hole in the dark. Janet clucked her tongue, then dug her heels hard into the mare’s flanks. She didn’t like doing it, but the mare wouldn’t have budged otherwise. Janet exited the ba
rn and rode past the bike, challenging Doug to go at the slower pace since he had no choice but to follow.
***
Doug stepped from the bike to open a gate. If Janet was forced to dismount, she might not be able to climb back on again. The mare was more unsettled than ever. Doug needn’t worry about the grazier’s wife trying to run him down. She had enough trouble persuading the mare to stay in place. The horse threatened to spin her away in circles.
Even so, a sure hand could have Doug trampled underfoot in a moment. But all Janet did was force the mare through the gate and wait for him on the other side.
Doug rode his bike through. In turn, he waited for her to lead the way again.
“Shut the gate,” she shouted. In struggling to keep control of the mare, she showed ironclad determination, eyes shining, teeth clenched and bared, neck straining.
Shit, Doug. This is no time for infatuations.
“I thought you were in a hurry!”
“You leave the gate as you find it. It’s the rule. Doesn’t matter if the fence has blown down around it, you leave the gate as you find it!”
If he didn’t do it, he knew she would. And the mare looked spooked enough to run a couple of hundred kilometres if she got loose, even if she did fall down dead at the end of it. Doug switched off the bike, strode back and pulled the gate shut. It was going to get monotonous real fast if he had to keep doing this all night.
He heard the approach of trampling hooves as he latched the gate. He spun round, heart thumping. But it wasn’t Janet having a change of heart; the mare had just run a tight, panicky circle.
Janet pulled the mare back into line. No matter how hard it was to keep her mount still, Janet’s eyes never left Doug. There was no tenderness in them.
“That woman? The one at this other house? Tell me about her.”
She waited for his reply, never mind the mare trying to shift out from under her like a slowly collapsing landslide. She wasn’t making it easy for him. He returned the favour.
“She was raped and killed.”
She sucked in breath with a hiss. “This ‘Cutter’ did it?”