Dark Winds Over Wellington

by Tabatha Wood

  They all grew pretty animated as we passed through the tunnel, talking loudly and laughing a lot. They laughed even louder if they heard the honk of a horn. I asked them if they knew what the toots were all about, if they’d heard of the local legend? They told me they had, and giggled amongst themselves. Hannah said people tooted for the ghosts, to grant them safe passage through the tunnel. Agnes laughed as if at some great joke, while Mary-Anne simply shook her head and stifled her giggles behind her hand.

  I thought that maybe they were drunk, yet I couldn’t smell any alcohol on their breath.

  Agnes leaned over from the back seat and asked me to toot my horn too. I told her I couldn’t do that when I was working. She grunted and stuck out her bottom lip, like a toddler might do, packing a sad. Hannah was sitting in the passenger side, and she tried to persuade me to toot too. Again I gave a very definite no. Her expression turned quite dark, her face shadowed by a frown.

  I thought it was a little weird, but by that time we were out of the tunnel and into Hataitai. The girls went quiet and spoke to each other only in whispers from that point. There was no more raucous laughter, indeed their whole tone seemed to change. They seemed somehow less amiable. Maybe even hostile.

  They were mostly quiet for the rest of the journey. I pulled up outside the address they’d given me, and I asked them for the fare. Hannah paid up without a word. She seemed almost reluctant to give me the money, furrowing her brow and pursing her lips as she dropped coin after coin into my open palm. They all walked away from the car without even saying cheers. I looked back in my rear view mirror as I drove away, but I couldn’t see them. I thought they must have gone inside.

  I don’t know why, but it bothered me. People are often rude to me when I’m driving. Mostly I couldn’t give a crap; I get paid regardless. I felt odd, though. Unsettled. Like I’d let them all down somehow.

  The feeling didn’t last, and I didn’t give any of them much more thought, until four days later when I ended up with them all in my car again. I said hello, and once more, they introduced themselves to me with their full names, despite there being no need. I found that strange. I asked them if they remembered me, and saw blank looks cross their faces. I shrugged and asked them where we were headed, and they told me the same address as before. Once again we would need to pass through the tunnel, and just like before they got more excitable and giggly the closer that we got.

  It was a sunny afternoon during the school holidays, and there were quite a few vehicles on the roads, no doubt heading to the beach and coast. The traffic slowed up as we approached the tunnel, and I could see Mary-Anne in the rear-view mirror, practically jumping up and down in her seat with what I could only assume was excitement.

  I asked her if she was alright, and she replied that she was, “Quite well, thank you.” Hannah and Agnes resumed their laughter and they squealed with joy as we entered the tunnel to be greeted with an echoing toot.

  Agnes asked me to sound my horn. She told me I, “Absolutely must reply”. I informed her once again that I was sorry to disappoint, but I didn’t do that while I was working. She kept on at me, begging and pleading, and then Mary-Anne and Hannah joined in too. The traffic was slow, barely moving, and the end of the tunnel seemed suddenly very far away. I repeated my apology and told them a very firm no, but by now I was feeling somewhat uncomfortable at their insistence.

  Another toot bounced off the walls around us, answered by someone further up ahead. The girls kept asking, and asking, and asking. No longer happy and giggly, there was a sharp edge to their voices. Their requests were no longer amusing or light-hearted; they were making a stern demand.

  Agnes, sitting in the seat beside me looked me straight in the eyes and told me, “You’d better go right ahead and toot that horn, Mister. Or there will be much misery in your future.”

  I didn’t know how to reply to that. Such a strange thing to say and way of saying it. I just kept quiet, fixed my gaze on the traffic ahead of me and focused on getting through the tunnel. I wanted to throw them out of the taxi right then, but I knew that was not only impossible, it would be incredibly dangerous. I would be putting them in grave danger from other traffic.

  I tried my best to ignore them, eager to deliver them to their destination and hopefully never see them again. I saw the reflection of Mary-Anne’s face in my rear-view mirror, a look of pure disdain and fury. In that moment I felt quite frightened, and yet I couldn’t fully explain why. I was distracted by my emotions, wasn’t paying full attention to the car in front. The taxi kept rolling, but the Mazda ahead of me had stopped.

  I felt the bang before I heard it. The two cars collided and crumpled like an empty chip packet. My seat belt pulled tight around my chest and made me gasp as my head bounced forwards quickly and then snapped back. My right hand slipped from the side of the steering wheel and came down hard on the horn.

  Truth be told, I’m not completely sure what happened next. Either the cab or my eyeballs became engulfed in white fire. I heard a pop, followed by two more, and my ears felt like they were filled with sea water. I smelled an unusual odour in the air; sweet and floral, yet totally repugnant all at once. My body was frozen, pinned by the seat belt and paralysed, perhaps from shock. It was as if all my five senses had been assailed at once, and my brain didn’t know what to process first.

  I heard shouting outside, was aware of movement as people approached the car. The taxi’s engine was still running and somehow I found the wherewithal to turn off the ignition and pull the handbrake. I turned to my left, the words coming out of my mouth almost before I’d even thought of them. Asking if everyone was okay.

  Nobody answered me. I was all alone in the cab.

  Strangers pulled me out of the car. They made sure I got to hospital. A doctor told me I had whiplash and a concussion and advised me that I should not drive. I told them driving was my livelihood, and they simply shook their heads and shrugged. They gave me a form, told me I could make an ACC claim to get help financially if I couldn’t work. I discharged myself that evening, took a bus home for the first time in years. I threw the form into the first rubbish bin I saw. I’d never taken a handout in all my life, and I didn't plan on doing so.

  A couple of nights later I awoke from a dream so unsettling yet so confusing, I could barely even call it a true nightmare.

  I was walking through the city at night, along Salamanca Road. I found myself entering a cemetery, a full moon shining in the sky. So far, so clichéd, I’d thought to myself, as I’d walked along the path past the headstones. There I saw three shadows, standing at the edge of the graveyard.

  I couldn’t make out much detail, but I could see the shapes of full skirts and bonnets. I walked towards them, calling out a cautious greeting as I went, but before I could reach them, my foot got caught on a tree root, and I fell. I almost hit my head on a wooden cross. An antique grave marker. Without knowing why, I read the name carved deep into the face.

  Mary-Anne Keating, date of death, 1886.

  Perhaps I should have been surprised, but in that moment it made complete sense. I cast my eyes around the graveyard, settling on another headstone not far from the path. Agnes Conlin, died 1884. I knew that if I searched, I would find Hannah too, but I didn’t want to. I didn’t need that validation. A thin cloud moved across the moon; shadows stretched out onto the grass beside me. I looked up to see the three girls smiling and laughing, their dark hair flowing around their shoulders, long fingers reaching out for me.

  I’d come to, not with the usual, violent jerk of awaking from a nightmare, but with a slow rise, as if I had ascended from being submerged under the sea.

  I finally understood.

  That was almost six months ago. I’ve had quite a few more like those three girls in my cab since then. I found that I’m pretty good at figuring out who my passengers really are. I reckon those girls left me a gift; they entrusted me with something. Maybe I had it in me all along, I simply hadn’t wanted to see. I don�
��t just have a job now, I have a purpose.

  It makes me smile, when I drive through the tunnel and hear a replying honk to mine. It makes me realise; most people are simply waiting for permission to toot. They want to, but they haven’t quite built up the nerve. They’re always waiting for someone else to go first. To lead the way. That’s no way to live a life, I should know. You have to be brave. You are allowed, encouraged even, to toot first.

  I take my obligations seriously. When those who come to me ask me to sound my horn for them, I do so willingly. I am the one who gives them passage. I am the guide who leads them when they are lost. We are all just going from A to B, the excitement is in choosing the roads we take. No-one can go on forever. Everything has to end. When your adventure is finally over, I’ll be waiting in my cab. We can go together through the Toot Tunnel.

  I’ll make sure you get home safe.

  Fake Meat

  My name is Ewan Kennedy and everything I am about to tell you is the truth. This is not a joke. This is all completely real.

  I’m holed up in my garage at 87 Moorefield Street. I know I probably don’t have much time left, and there’s no hope for me, but I hope whoever sees this can find help for Katie and James. Maybe for my wife, Cindy, too. The kids are hiding under the house. I’m not sure where Cindy is. If you can help them, please tell them all I love them very much.

  I’ll it say again, this is genuine. This is not a hoax. It is happening in Wellington right now.

  I need to start at the beginning. I need to tell you everything so you can understand.

  It began, I think, with the burgers, at Welly On A Plate. It’s the only thing that makes sense. It was a pop up place selling vegan burgers which tasted and bled just like meat, but they were made from a special mushroom from somewhere in Southeast Asia. Only ten dollars for a decent-sized burger and a side of fries. Crazily cheap. People queued for ages, all eager to find out what the fuss was about. A group of us went there after work, had to wait for nearly twenty minutes before we got served. It was worth it. The burgers were amazing, tasted like the best beef I’d ever had. We all agreed, you would never know they were made from fungi.

  The only thing I thought weird at the time were the rictus grins on the faces of the two girls who served us. Their smiles were identical and they creeped me out. Like they were wearing some kind of mask.

  We ate there a whole bunch of times before the place disappeared. Almost everybody did. Mostly thanks to word of mouth and social media, people travelled all the way across the city to try the food. Then, even before the food festival ended, the pop up place stopped trading. It was a little unusual, but I didn’t give it that much thought at the time. Even when Bob got sick in the office, we didn’t realise it was in any way connected. Not at first anyway. Not until I started to think about it.

  It was pretty brutal. He chundered all over his keyboard and his whole body turned grey. I would never have believed how much sick could come out of a person. Then he threw up blood. We tried to help him as best we could, but I think he had some kind of heart attack. He collapsed on the floor of the office. He died right there in front of us.

  The paramedics came and took Bob away, and Simon, our boss, told us all to go home. I suppose I noticed then that Simon’s skin looked pretty waxy and he was sweating a lot, but then, we were all in shock about Bob.

  I took the bus home like I usually did. I didn’t want to talk to anyone so I put my headphones on. I didn’t even realise what was going on until people on the bus began to shout and stand up in their seats. Apparently a woman sitting at the back had thrown up repeatedly. She convulsed and collapsed. The bus stopped and people tried to help her, but it looked like it was too late.

  I was a wreck by the time I got home.

  The next day wasn’t much better. Simon and Carlos were absent, but no-one seemed to know why, and Joe spent the morning looking green before he excused himself and went home. I don’t know if he ever made it.

  We saw dozens of people getting ill in the street. It was obvious something was very wrong. At half-past two the police came, and we were told to get out of the city. Nobody would tell us what was going on. There was nothing helpful on social media. Every local radio station said the same thing. We should go home, lock all doors and windows, and stay away from the hospitals. The best we could figure, it was some kind of serious stomach bug.

  There was a bloke in the city centre yelling that it was food poisoning, to stay away from the street food, but I don’t know where he had got that information. A few girls standing on street corners were selling white paper face masks for twenty dollars each. They were making an absolute killing.

  The city was total chaos. Everyone was trying to get out at once. People were falling over in the street and people were being sick. I wanted to help, I really did, but getting home to Cindy and the kids was my priority. I tried to call her on my mobile, but the network was totally munted. I couldn’t get through no matter how many times I tried. The roads were stuffed, traffic bumper to bumper in every direction. I walked from the city up the Old Hutt Road and climbed the steps towards our house.

  Cindy was already at the house when I got home; she hadn’t been into work. I knew she was rostered to work the evening shift at A&E this week. I hugged her tight and kissed her, then looked around for the kids. I started to panic when I realised they weren’t there, but Cindy calmed me down. She told me they were in the laundry room, that she had put them there to keep them safe.

  It was then I realised how pale she looked, how red her eyes were. I asked her if she was feeling crook, and she said she was feeling terrible. She said she thought maybe she had picked up a bug from work. I got scared then. I sat her down on the sofa, and she was shaking all over.

  We didn’t have long. She… she started being sick, and I managed to get her to the bathroom, but by then she was vomiting bright red…

  I couldn’t…

  I tried…

  I stayed with her until the end. Everything was such a mess. I was such a mess. In so many ways. She was my rock. I loved her so much. So much.

  I couldn’t stay. I wanted to. I didn’t want to leave her side. I left her in the bathroom and I closed the door. I knew there wasn’t anything I could do for her. I needed to go and help Katie and James.

  Cindy had put them in the laundry room underneath the house and covered the door with the wooden picnic table from the deck. I slid the table out of the way. I could hear them moving around inside and I called out to them, to let them know it was me and it was safe, but when I tried to open the door I realised Cindy had padlocked it from outside.

  I went back to the house and rummaged in the drawer where we usually keep the keys, but I couldn’t find it anywhere. I figured Cindy must have kept it on her. I really didn’t want to go back into that bathroom, to see her lying there, but I didn’t think I had a choice.

  I was halfway to the door when I heard noises from inside. I thought… I mean… I was so hopeful. You can imagine.

  I opened the door and saw her. Saw it.

  Whatever that was, it wasn’t Cindy. She snapped her head back at almost a hundred and eighty degrees, and screeched at me. Like some kind of giant bird. There was a pale brown growth, like a thin tentacle or something, protruding from her forehead. Her eyes had turned completely black.

  I’ve seen the movies and the TV shows, I know what those things are supposed to look like and behave, but this, this was nothing like that. She was so fucking quick! She took literally seconds to go from being on the floor to almost getting out the door.

  I didn’t think. I just slammed the door shut and leaned all my weight on it, and she hurled herself into it from the other side, over and over again. I don’t know how, but my tiny, no more than fifty-five kilo vegan wife, seemed to have the strength of a hundred kilo All Black.

  I tried to figure out what to do.

  The bathroom was at the end of the house. There was nothing immediately to hand that
I could use to bar the door, to keep her, it, inside. My only choice was to run. Run and hope it didn’t catch me. I waited a while, until the banging stopped. I thought perhaps it had got bored or had forgotten about me.

  I took my weight off the door and ran like hell for the bedroom. I was wrong, it hadn’t forgotten me. Somehow it managed to get out and it was after me almost before I could slam the bedroom door. I slid the dressing table across the door frame then moved the bed across as a second barrier. I could hear it thumping on the door, and screeching. I knew I couldn’t stay in the house, I knew I needed to get the kids out and get away somehow.

  I wasted a lot of time in the bedroom, trying to think about what to do. I should have busted out of there straight away and taken care of whatever that thing was Cindy had become. Or… no… I probably wouldn’t have been able to. Whatever it was, it still had most of Cindy’s face. I don’t think I could have...

  Oh, fuck. I should have done more.

  It banged and crashed outside for a while, and I could hear it snuffling. There was pretty much nothing in the bedroom that I could use as a weapon. I opened the wardrobe and pulled all the clothes off the metal hanging bar. I wrenched that loose. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

  I listened at the door, I knew it was still there on the other side. I opened the bedroom window as quietly as I could and slipped outside into the garden. I shut the window behind me. I didn’t know how long it would take it to find a way out.

  I was on my way back to the laundry room when I came across our neighbour, Mrs Waverly, standing in our garden and going through our rubbish bins. At least, it used to be Mrs Waverly.