by Perry, Kyle
‘Madison brought it just before. I don’t really —’
‘Madison?’ Gabriella looked up from the statuette. ‘She was here?’
Eliza took Gabriella into the adjacent lounge room and they settled onto a couch, where Eliza recounted the conversation she’d just had with Madison.
‘What I don’t understand is why the police haven’t made it public that Madison planned their disappearance?’ said Eliza. ‘Doesn’t that change the whole case? There are still people searching the bush.’
‘Madison thought it was Denni’s statue . . .’ said Gabriella, lost in her own questions. ‘Why would she think that?’
‘Denni was good at woodwork. Her mum, Kiera, was good at it too.’ Eliza picked up the hideous statuette again. ‘But I’ve never seen anything like this in my life . . . except I think I heard a mention of it . . . Has any of your investigating brought up the Kundela Game?’
‘What’s the Kundela Game?’
Eliza was silent a moment, and when she spoke her voice was heavy. ‘I once overheard Denni talking about it on the phone to Madison. It was some sort of social game . . . a series of dares, one a day, and you had to prove you’d done them. I only really know about it because Denni was suspended for flashing her bra at the principal. It took a long time for her to admit to me it was a dare, and then I put two and two together. When I asked about the Kundela Game, she completely flipped out. She made me swear never to mention it to anyone, especially not Madison.’ Eliza’s voice grew quiet. ‘I think that’s around the time she stopped trusting me.’
Gabriella tapped her chin in thought. ‘In one of her YouTube videos, Madison had “the word is kundela” written on her sleeping bag . . . Maybe it’s just harmless pranks like flashing your underwear, but if it became more than that . . .’ She paused. ‘Were you aware that Denni was cutting herself?
‘I know . . . the coroner’s report said Denni had scars . . . What does that have to do with —’
Gabriella looked away, talking to herself again. ‘The Honcho Dori Club was a precursor to this Kundela Game. When Madison realised she could get people to do what she wanted, she got a taste for it . . . But who would have put a Hungry Man warding statue in her room?’
‘Hungry Man?’ Eliza shuddered. ‘What does that have to do with it? What’s a Honcho Dori?’
‘Do you want me to make us coffee first? This might be hard.’
An hour later, Eliza was still scrolling through the screenshots of the Honcho Dori Club group chat on Gabriella’s phone. She felt sick.
Gabriella sipped her second cup of coffee, deep in thought.
Eliza was a teacher – she knew how teenagers worked. She could easily read between the lines of the ‘messages of support’, seeing the hints of approval each time a self-harm wound was sufficiently large:
Wow, u must be in so much pain, ur so strong
Damn bitch, don’t blunt the knife lmao, you need to be kind to yourself girl
I wish I was as strong as you sis
And then the messages of slight derision from someone nicknamed Honcho if someone’s wound wasn’t deep enough:
Looks like you are recovering
A band-aid will cover that up
Not much blood on that one. You must have wiped the blood away already, hope it didn’t get on your school skirt
Dare you to cut deeper next time. Really feel it.
Both subtly and overtly, Honcho was encouraging self-harm, and the others were following suit.
Honcho had to be Madison’s username.
Eliza recognised the photos of Denni’s arm, from the freckles and skintone, and then by the photos of a knife that even now was in the kitchen drawer of this house. She was VoodooQueen.
She had yet to decipher the other usernames; she wasn’t sure she wanted to. The only consolation was that VoodooQueen’s photos became less severe over time, demonstrating a semblance of recovery, even as the other girls’ comments seemed to be trying to egg her on.
C’mon, VoodooQueen, anyone would think you weren’t feeling anything anymore.
Aren’t you strong enough for the Honcho Dori Club, VoodooQueen?
‘What does Honcho Dori even mean?’ whispered Eliza.
‘I googled it,’ said Gabriella. ‘It was a street in Yokohoma where American sailors went to find prostitutes. They started talking about feeling “hunky-dory”. But I think Madison chose it because she’s the head honcho. They’re all feeling hunky-dory on the outside, but they’re hiding all this stuff, and she’s in charge.’
Eliza sat the phone down. ‘And these little statues . . .?’
‘Yani told us the second part of the Hungry Man rhyme. Part of a ritual, for warding off the Hungry Man.’ Gabriella repeated the rhyme.
The awful conclusion had already occurred to Eliza. ‘So if Denni made this one, as Madison claims, does that mean . . . Denni thinks she saw the Hungry Man?’ Eliza put her forehead in her hands. ‘Hang a girl from a tree to die.’
‘Looking at her photos in the group, it seems she was getting better, and a few people we’ve talked to said they thought so too. But if you ask me, any girl who was involved in the Honcho Dori Club would have a hard time recovering. I don’t need to tell you that self-harm can be linked to depression and suicide. That’s why this is so serious.’ Gabriella’s voice softened. ‘Sorry, I’m trying to be considerate, but this is all just so left-of-field. I was wondering . . . do you still have Denni’s phone?’
‘In her room. I haven’t been in there since the funeral.’
Gabriella gripped her shoulder. ‘I know this is hard. Thank you for helping.’
‘What else can I do? Especially now everyone knows I was covering for Tom.’
‘Yeah. Not gonna lie, that was a bad move,’ said Gabriella.
Together, they headed deeper into the house, to Denni’s room.
It was exactly as Eliza had left it. The rickety single bed was still made up, with a purple doona, and the walls were covered in posters of space and indie bands. Drawings of trees hung above the little desk, and they seemed to immediately draw Gabriella’s attention.
‘Was something here?’ she asked Eliza, pointing to an empty spot where the tack marks still showed.
‘I took it down. It was a sketch Denni drew of . . . the symbol on the Hanging Tree.’
‘The what?’ said Gabriella.
‘It’s carved on the tree out by the mountain track. Kind of a messy capital A.’
‘Wait, is it . . .’ Gabriella pulled out her phone and swiped through the Honcho Dori screenshots. She held it up for Eliza to see. ‘Is it this? The picture they’ve used for the group chat?’
‘I think it’s supposed to be a stickman with a noose,’ said Eliza. ‘This is definitely the same as what’s on the tree.’
‘The Hanging Tree. Can you tell me about it?’
Eliza licked her lips, hesitating. ‘It’s where Denni died. And Ted Barclay. I’ll show you. It’s not that far from the road, really.’
‘Eliza, I’m so sorry. You don’t have to take me there, I’ve rented a car – you can just tell me where it is.’
‘No, it’s okay. I take flowers there for Denni sometimes,’ said Eliza. ‘And before you ask, that symbol was there before these girls were even born. Legend says it was on the tree even before Ted Barclay.’
She pulled open a drawer in the desk and took out Denni’s phone. She plugged it into the charger still attached to the wall and they waited for it to turn on. ‘What do you want to see?’
‘Her messages with Madison. If Denni was getting better . . . Madison came out with this new rhyme about a Hungry Man ritual and she was the first person to find Denni’s body . . . maybe she really wanted to cement this new part of the Hungry Man legend.’
‘You think Madison talked Denni into killing herself?’
‘I just want to see her messages . . .’
Eliza sat down on the bed, feeling faint. ‘When Denni died, Madison was desperat
e to come into this room. She begged me, but it just didn’t seem right. It was all still so raw. I found her in here, the morning of the funeral. I chased her out.’ Sudden anger came into her voice, and her hands clenched into claws. ‘Do you think she was looking for Denni’s phone?’
‘It’s possible,’ said Gabriella. The phone had charged up enough to turn on, and she opened Denni’s Facebook Messenger app. There were dozens of unread messages to scroll through. ‘Ah . . .’ She showed Eliza the screen. ‘See this message thread? It only says “Facebook User”. I think that means the other person has blocked her. That has to be Madison.’ She kept scrolling and gave a sad grunt. ‘Oh no.’
Eliza took the phone from Gabriella and read the messages:
Facebook User: I’ll be right behind you. I’ll make sure we find your body before it gets gross xx
Denni King: I can’t believe we’re actually doing this. I’m starting to feel a bit sad now.
Facebook User: I’ll meet you out the front of your house and we’ll talk about it. Bring the stuff, I’ll help you carry it up there. xx
Denni King: Alright. See u soon xxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxxoxoxox
There was a bizarre sound in Eliza’s ears. She didn’t realise she was crying until she could taste the tears on her lips. And that sound was coming from her, a high keening like a dying bird.
Pitiful.
She would never be pitiful again.
I have permission to be the strongest woman there ever was.
‘Eliza . . . I’m so sorry . . .’
I have permission to kill.
‘I’m gonna kill her.’ Eliza stood and walked to the door.
‘No, Eliza – we can get Madison for this. This is proof. These messages can be —’
‘That won’t bring Denni back!’ shouted Eliza.
She was almost out the front door, each step a promise of death.
Gabriella dashed in front of her, blocking the door. ‘No. Eliza, you can’t. If you hurt Madison, you’ll get blamed for the other girls, too.’
‘She deserves to die!’
Eliza tried to push past, but Gabriella knocked her away. ‘No, Eliza.’
Eliza raised her fists. ‘Move, Gabriella.’
‘No.’
Eliza punched, but Gabriella grabbed her wrist and the next moment Eliza was face-first on the ground, Gabriella on top of her. ‘Eliza, calm down —’
Now the true emotion came. Gabriella eased off her, but Eliza remained on the ground, thrashing first and then curling into a ball. ‘Denni! Denni, no! No, no, no . . .’
Gabriella pulled her up into her arms. ‘It’s okay. Shhh. It’s okay.’
Eliza buried her head into Gabriella’s shoulder. ‘I’m sorry . . . I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry . . .’
CHAPTER 36
MURPHY
Murphy locked his bedroom door and rested Butch’s laptop on his knees. He opened the USB drive.
My father raped my mum . . .
Jasmine’s words still rolled through his mind.
He played the second video.
Jasmine appeared in front of the camera in Madison’s room. It was a recent video: her hair was dyed black, pulled back in a ponytail. When she spoke, her voice trembled.
‘The first time I saw Mum crying, I was eight years old. It would’ve been after midnight and she was in the bathroom on her knees, her head on the edge of the tub. I remember her smell: like cooking and perfume.
‘I asked what was wrong, and she turned to me and smiled. “Nothing, baby. I’m just praying.”
‘I kneeled down with her and asked if I could pray too. She hugged me close and told me I could, but only for a little bit and then I had to go back to bed. She showed me how to pray to God, and told me that if I asked him to, Jesus would come live in my heart forever. Then I asked her whether Jesus lived in her heart, and she said he still did but she didn’t like to think about him too much, because there was someone in her life that she couldn’t forgive. She wouldn’t tell me who.
‘Five years later, when I turned thirteen, she did. It was only a few months after that that she died.’
Jasmine chewed the inside of her cheek.
‘But she told me something, that last week. She warned me what would happen if Dad found out, so I promised I’d take care of it. And the only way to make that happen was to do something drastic.
‘Dad . . . I need you to know. I’m doing this for the right reasons. You’ll see. I promise you’ll understand. When I come back, I’ll explain everything.’
Murphy felt he was coming apart at the edges.
‘For everyone else . . . secrets can destroy you. If you have your Mum and Dad close by, give them a hug. You never know when they might be taken away from you. And if you have a son or a daughter . . . sometimes it’s our job to protect you . . . or your memory.’
He heard a creak on a floorboard outside his door, saw the shadow of movement under the door.
He leapt up and flung the door open. Butch was creeping back down the corridor.
‘You were listening!’ shouted Murphy.
Butch flinched. ‘I was worried, I was coming to check on you, and then I heard Jasmine’s voice. Were those old videos on your phone or something?’
Murphy hadn’t shared the videos with him yet. He still hadn’t even been able to bring himself to tell Butch that Madison had planned it all. And the longer he waited, the worse it became.
‘Why didn’t you knock?’
‘Honestly . . . I didn’t think you wanted me to see you crying again.’
Butch came in and sat on the bed. The two brothers were silent for a few moments.
Then Murphy’s phone buzzed. An unknown number was calling him.
‘Yeah?’ he answered.
‘Murphy. It’s Constable Cavanagh. Con told me to call you. He thought you might want to . . . look, get online right now. Madison is streaming live, and it’s . . . it’s massive.’
Murphy opened the laptop and Butch leaned over his shoulder. He opened the MMMMadisonMason page. He began the livestream from the start.
‘I have a confession to make, and I need everyone to listen closely.’ Madison sat on her bed in her usual spot. Her mascara had bled, almost too well – artificially well. Her lips were red as blood. She looked straight down the camera.
‘I planned it. I planned it all.
‘I mean the disappearances. Cierra, Bree, Jasmine . . . our other friend, who can’t be named. We all planned it together, but it was my idea. They were always going to go missing on the school camp.
‘Yes, I know it was stupid. Yes, I know it was dangerous. But I had a good reason. I’ll explain everything in my next video. But the honest-to-God truth is that I have no idea what happened up there. The plan was for the girls to make contact with me when they were safe, but they haven’t. Now they really are missing.
‘I’m not responsible for our friend who can’t be named’s death. Our plan was for the four of them to leave the trail and meet at Lake Mackenzie, gather the supplies we’d stashed there, and drive to a safe location. I have videos of all of them, speaking before the camp. I’ll share them tonight, so you can understand our reasons – their reasons.
‘But before that, I want to have a vigil for our friend who can’t be named. Everyone who’s watching this, everyone who cares: bring your candles, your flowers, and your prayers, and meet me at the school. We’ll walk from there to the bottom of the trail and then to the top of the cliff where she fell. Please, no photos of her, and don’t say her name, out of respect to her family. And thank you as you continue to search for my sister, and my friends, who I may have lost forever. I promise, I’ll apologise personally to each and every one of you.’
Madison broke down. Even Murphy, who was trying to block out the sound of Butch’s incredulous cursing beside him, almost felt sorry for Madison in that moment.
Almost.
She was a good actress.
‘We’ll meet at Limestone Cr
eek District School. I hope you all know while the school has been closed since the disappearance, it’s providing free counselling for any students who want it, and will continue to do so for the rest of the week. We’ll meet at the school at seven o’clock – that’s one hour from now – and make the short walk together,’ continued Madison. ‘Come and join us, as we light a candle for our friend.
‘Love you all.’
Butch exploded. ‘She planned it? Jasmine meant to go missing?’
‘Looks like it,’ said Murphy woodenly.
‘So she might be okay, lad! She might be safe!’
‘Except that Georgia is dead.’
‘But if Jasmine was close to Georgia, she might be at this vigil tonight!’
Murphy’s heart lurched. He hadn’t thought about that. Everyone would be there – locals, strangers, media, police – so she would be keeping a low profile, but she would want to go for Georgia.
‘Look . . . this might sound paranoid, but I don’t think we should go together,’ said Butch. ‘Or at least, I think you should call your new cop buddy, see if he’ll take you. That way it’s all above board, no one can say you had anything to do with anything.’
Murphy paused, but he couldn’t deny the wisdom. ‘You’re right, bro. I’ll call Con.’
CHAPTER 37
ELIZA
Gabriella parked her car on the side of the mountain road, in a gravel pull-off. Invisible in the night was a secret path, known only to a few, that linked up with the trail from the school, a short five minute walk to the Hanging Tree.
‘We don’t have to do this right now,’ said Gabriella.
‘No,’ said Eliza. ‘We do.’
The two women headed into the trees, following the path. Although it was well into the evening, the sky was still just about light, Daylight Savings and the southern extremity of Tasmania keeping the night alight.
Eliza inhaled the cold peat-bark smell of bush, the wet-gravel spice.
