Forest Spirit

by David Laing

  Jars started to go after Quenton. Snook grabbed her arm. ‘Let the idiot go.’ He pointed towards the trees. ‘From what you told me, he got a big enough scare the last time he went in there. I don’t reckon he’ll go very far.’

  Jars placed her hands on her hips, watching as Quenton disappeared into the thick canopy. ‘Still,’ she said, sounding worried, ‘from what I’ve seen so far, there’s no telling what he might do.’

  ‘Nah, he’s the nervous type. Scared of his own shadow. I reckon the thought of your ghost will stop him going too far.’

  Jars sighed. ‘Okay, let’s give him a little while. Then, if he’s not back, we can go and fetch him.’

  ‘Yeah, good idea. That’ll give him a chance to cool off. While we’re waiting, we could fill in the time catching a few fish. What do you say?’

  ‘You go. I’ll stay here, in case Quenton comes back.’

  Jars shivered as she watched Snook walk towards the lake. The breeze blowing off the water was cool. The faint aromas of the weed beds that grew near its edge came to her, and behind, somewhere in the distance, Jars thought she heard a sound – the cry of a bird perhaps. She could not be sure.

  Without any real purpose, Quenton ambled along the track, feeling the wetness of the forest floor beneath his feet. His eyes swivelled from side to side, hoping to see his lost camera.

  Instead, he saw a thin, dark-skinned man with the blackest eyes he had ever seen. He also saw the knife that the man held in his hand.

  He froze. His mouth flew open. A sharp cry escaped from his throat.

  ‘Well, well, look what we have here.’ The man with the knife stepped forward and grabbed him by the arm. ‘What’re you doin’ wandering about out here, fat boy? And all on your lonesome as well.’ The man called over his shoulder. ‘You can come out now, Arnie. There’s no need to hide anymore.’

  Arnie stepped into view. Quenton cried out once again. He was standing before a giant. The big man walked over to them; he tilted his head to one side, a puzzled frown on his face. ‘Um, what’s going on, Hector? Why are you holding onto the little boy?’

  Hector roIled his eyes. ‘Because he was snooping around. Like he was searching for something. Like he knew we were there all the time. Anyhow, he knows for sure now. The question is what do we do with him?’

  ‘Um, yeah, what we gonna do, Hector?’

  Quenton found his voice. ‘I – I was just looking for my camera. I – I didn’t know you were there. Honest, I didn’t. I – I won’t tell anyone I saw you. I promise …’

  A thin smile crossed Hector’s lips. ‘That’s right, you won’t be telling anyone ’cause you’re coming with us.’ He turned to Arnie. ‘Grab hold of him and make sure he doesn’t try to run away. When we get back to camp, you find some rope and tie him up. That’ll keep him quiet till we get the birds in the cages ready for loading.’

  Arnie took hold of Quenton’s collar. ‘Okay, little boy, you come with me now. Then you’ll be able to see the birds. You’ll like that.’

  Arnie grinned. ‘Evelyn will be pleased. Won’t she Hector?’

  Hector, who was bringing up the rear, barely heard. He was deep in thought, wondering what this new turn of events would mean for them.

  ‘Won’t she, Hector?’ Arnie repeated. ‘Evelyn will be pleased.’

  Hector wiped the back of his hand across his lips. If she wasn’t, there’d be hell to pay. His sister could get particularly nasty when she was mad. That was the last thing he wanted. The thought of being ridiculed and buIlied was almost too much to bear. It brought back memories that he’d sooner forget, memories of his father and the horrific nights of his childhood. He felt a knot develop in his beIly as dark images of a locked cupboard with himself inside it, cowering and shivering on the floor, flashed before him. ‘I hope so, Arnie. I hope she approves.’

  Jim Kelly strode along the gravel road that skirted the edge of the lake. A trickle of sweat escaped from under the brim of his felt Akubra hat. Although a thin blanket of clouds had now spread over the sky, shielding him from the sun’s rays, it was still warm. He wiped the perspiration that had formed on his brow, and lengthened his step. The sooner he got to Timber Creek and back to the kids, the better it would be.

  He hadn’t liked leaving the kids back there on their own. But, he rationalised, like Snook had said, it was daylight. And Shadow was with them. From what he had seen, the dog had grown fiercely protective of Jars. It never left her side. Even when he had spoken to the girl, to set her straight about a few things, the dog had growled its unease. Besides, he told himself, the alternative of spending another night out here and the possibility of even further sabotage to their car was unacceptable. He could have waited for Reg Carter to come out, but Reg hadn’t been specific about when he’d return. No, Jim felt his first priority was to find some fuel so they could leave. That was the safer option. Having to spend another night out here could be dangerous. After all, he didn’t even know who they were up against.

  He glanced at his watch. An hour had passed and he had not even left the confines of the lake. C’mon, he said to himself, keep going.

  In the distance, he could see where the road disappeared into the hillside. That boosted his spirits. I’m getting there, it won’t be too long now. He stopped and took a swig of water from the bottle he was carrying. He leant back, stretching; soreness had crept into his body. Too many hours on the cray boat, he muttered to himself. He arched his back again, feeling the bite of pain in his tired muscles. He shrugged away his discomfort. Keep going, he encouraged himself; another three or four hours should do it.

  An hour passed, then another. He was deep into the highlands now, surrounded on each side by thick, impenetrable scrub. The stale smell of decay permeated the air, and somewhere, in its tangled mass, he could hear the rustling of unseen animals. He stopped and drank the last of the water. The soreness in his back and legs had increased. He placed the empty fuel can on the ground and rubbed the small of his back. A little pain won’t hurt, he told himself. He checked the time – one o’clock. He tossed the empty water bottle into the scrub, immediately feeling a twinge of guilt. I would have told the kids off for that. He picked up the fuel can and continued to stride out. Another hour should do it, he estimated. That’s all.

  He saw the cloud of dust first, a yellow-brown swirl rising skywards above the green trees. Then he heard it, the familiar drone of a car, coming towards him. A feeling of relief swept through him like a wave, washing away some of the tension and anxiety that had built up in his body.

  Moving towards the middle of the road, he stood and waited. He saw that it was an old car, a battered, light brown station wagon. He waved it down and ran towards it.

  ‘Good heavens, you’re Reg Carter’s friend, aren’t you?’ a woman’s voice exclaimed. ‘What on earth are you doing out here? Weren’t you going to camp over by Wombat Track?’

  Jim stooped and peered through the driver’s side window. ‘Yes, that’s right. In fact we did set up there, but things have happened since then.’ He hesitated, feeling slightly embarrassed. ‘Look, I’m sorry, but I’m afraid your name has slipped my mind.’

  ‘It’s Evelyn Grimshaw, and if I’m not mistaken you’re Jim Kelly.’ She smiled briefly. ‘Now, please, satisfy my curiosity and tell me what’s going on.’

  He quickly outlined what had happened – the lights in the forest, the footprints in their camp, and finally, the sabotaging of the car. ‘So,’ he finished, ‘I’m hoping you can give me a lift back to town. I can pick up some fuel there, then I’ll get Reg to give me a lift … if he’s back from Hobart, that is.’

  Evelyn Grimshaw suddenly and without explanation, turned her head away, as though not listening. ‘Evelyn, a ride into town?’

  She turned to face him. Any hint of a smile had gone and when she spoke, he was sure her lips quivered slightly. ‘Oh, yes … yes, of course. Please, get in.’ There was a distinct edge to her voice that had not been there before.

 
; ‘I’m afraid Reg hasn’t returned yet,’ Evelyn said, her words clipped, as he climbed into the seat next to her. ‘His car wasn’t at the office when I passed by a few minutes ago.’

  For some reason his news about the happenings at the camp had upset her. But why? She hadn’t been affected by them, so why on earth would it matter to her? He stole a sideways glance in her direction. She was staring ahead as though deep in thought.

  ‘Okay,’ he said, holding up the fuel can. ‘I’ll get this filled up while I wait for Reg. I don’t expect he’ll be too long.’ He hoped he was right. What had Reg said again? That he’d probably be back today? Then again, he had also said it could be tomorrow.

  Evelyn started the motor and pressed down hard on the accelerator, causing the wheels to spin on the loose surface. ‘I’d take you back out myself,’ she said, ‘but I’ve suddenly realised there’s something I have to attend to, something that can’t wait. I’m sure you’ll be fine though. As you say, Reg should be along in a little while.’

  They sped on, continuing the rest of the way in silence. Jim frowned. Evelyn Grimshaw’s mood had not lightened. Creases lined her forehead and her lips pressed tightly together.

  She skidded to a halt outside the general store, which also sold petrol. He opened the car door and slid out. He said his thanks, then stood watching as she sped off, revving the motor hard. The engine screamed. The spinning wheels kicked up a shower of gravel and dirt that made him step back.

  ‘She’s in a hurry,’ he said aloud. ‘Too much of one. I don’t like it. Something’s not right.’

  A sudden thought came to him. A reason for her strange behaviour. He wondered why he hadn’t thought of it earlier. She had been outwardly polite and friendly at first, then her manner had changed – but only after he had told her about the lights, the footprints and the car. For some reason the news had upset her. A normal reaction from a normal person would have been sympathy, even concern, for his dilemma – not a sullen, almost hostile withdrawal. He took a deep breath as he came to the only logical conclusion, the only explanation for her odd behaviour.

  Somehow, Evelyn Grimshaw was involved; somehow she was responsible for last night’s strange happenings.

  He shuddered as a coldness, like a sliver of ice, slid down his spine. Earlier feelings that the kids would be safe left him. They could be in grave danger.

  The nerves in his body screamed in a growing panic. He had to get back to camp. But how? He didn’t know anyone here except Reg, and he wasn’t back yet. If he approached someone for help, for a ride back to the camp, the likelihood of their believing his story would be slim; after all, it was based on accusing Evelyn Grimshaw of vandalising his vehicle. For what reason? He didn’t know. It all sounded a bit shallow. Even to him. Besides, his fears were only a perception, a gut feeling. Evelyn lived here; she was known to the locals, whereas he wasn’t; Evelyn would be believed, he wouldn’t, simple as that. The nearest police station was miles away. If he rang them, they’d take ages to get here. Even then, they’d be hard pressed to believe his story.

  Standing on the kerb of the main street, clutching the empty fuel can, he lifted his eyes and stared over towards the mountains. He had never felt so alone or helpless.

  He shook his head slowly from side to side. ‘Reg,’ he whispered, ‘hurry up.’ He turned and walked towards the shop, unable to stop the sudden tremor in his hands.

  Jars looked over towards Wombat Track where it disappeared like a long, dark scar into the forest. Quenton had been gone for well over an hour. She frowned, then turned away. She walked towards the lake where Snook was fishing and cupped her hands to her mouth. ‘Snook,’ she yelled, ‘he’s not back yet! We’ll have to go and find him.’

  Snook stopped what he was doing. ‘Hang on,’ he caIled back. ‘Be with you in a minute.’ Jars watched as he packed up his fishing gear. She waited with rising impatience as he picked his way over the rocks towards her.

  ‘What’s up now?’ Snook asked as he drew near. ‘That idiot not back yet?’

  ‘No, and I think we should go and find him. He’s been gone for a long time.’

  Snook nodded. ‘Yeah, but one thing’s for sure. You’re not going anywhere. You’ve already copped it for being in there.’ He pointed towards the forest. ‘I’ll go get him. Here, stick these somewhere and I’ll head off.’ He handed over his rod and tackle box. ‘I don’t reckon I’ll be too long. That little wimp wouldn’t have gone too far. He’s too lazy for that. I’ll most likely find him under a tree somewhere, feelin’ sorry for himself.’

  Jars nodded reluctantly. ‘I suppose you’re right, but don’t be too long. If you can’t find him, come back and we’ll wait for your dad.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll find him. Like I said, he won’t have gone too far.’

  As Snook trekked deeper into the canopy of the forest, he began to worry. He had been walking for a good half hour without seeing any sign of Quenton. He had been sure he would find him just a short distance away.

  Quenton was offended – that was obvious. In his mind, Snook and Jars were ganging up against him. In a way, he was right, but as usual, he had exaggerated things. He couldn’t take a joke; that was his problem. Fancy getting all heated up over a little lizard. He should think himself lucky we let him hang out with us, Snook thought. Snook continued to walk along the narrow track, listening and watching. He heard the voices first. Instinctively, he crouched and crept slowly forward.

  There, in a clearing, set back from the lake, was a man, and sitting on the ground with his back leaning against a rock, was Quenton.

  His hand and feet were tied and from the streaks on his face, Snook could see that there had been tears. The man, who wore a navy blue singlet, tattered shorts and brown work boots, towered over Quenton. Great slabs of loose flesh drooped from his arms and his belly bulged over the top of his shorts.

  Snook, who had been holding his breath, suddenly breathed out. ‘Bloody hell, Quigley’s been kidnapped by a bloody giant.’ On hands and knees now, he inched further forward, hoping to catch the gist of what the man was saying. When he was close enough, he crawled under a large fern, its dry fronds partly shielding him from view.

  Parting the fronds slightly, he watched, listening.

  ‘Uh, don’t you cry no more little boy. I – I don’t like it when you do that.’

  ‘Wha-what do you want me for? I haven’t done anything.’

  ‘Hector said we, ah, gotta keep you here till our sister comes with the boat. Then we gotta get the birds loaded on the ah, boat.’

  Snook’s mind raced. So, they were poaching birds. He’d heard about that – how poachers captured the birds then sold them to breeders and even to people overseas for lots of money. He had also heard that a large number of the birds, hidden in stockings and stuffed into suitcases, died – from suffocation, and, he supposed, from fretting. ‘Mongrels,’ he mouthed, ‘nothin’ but greedy mongrels.’

  A faint crackling sound came from behind, disturbing his thoughts. He spun around.

  Hector Grimshaw, gripping a cage in one hand and a .22 rifle in the other, grinned down at him. He placed the cage on the ground. Snook saw that it held a pair of birds, parakeets.

  Hector’s grin turned into a sneer. ‘So, two down, one to go.’ He raised the rifle, pointing it at Snook. ‘Get on your feet, then you can tell me where the girl is and what she knows.’

  Snook wriggled from beneath the fern and scrambled to his feet. He brushed some dead leaves from his jeans, then, with a look of defiance, eyed Hector up and down. ‘Go and bite yer bum.’

  Hector’s mouth opened and closed and his dark eyes narrowed to slits. Nobody ever talked to him like that, except perhaps his sister from time to time. He turned his head and spat from the side of his mouth. He waved the rifle in the direction of the camp. ‘Pick up that cage; you can carry it. Then get moving. You can join your little fat friend. Between the two of you, you can tell me a few things I would very much like to know, like what made y
ou come snooping around here. If you don’t co-operate, well, I have methods that might just persuade you.’

  Snook couldn’t see Hector pat the long-bladed knife in his belt.

  Jars threw some sticks on the fire. She sat on a log, watching the flames rise. Sparks crackled into the air and blue smoke eddied about her.

  In the heart of the fire, glowing embers began to form shapes. She saw the buffalo, saw the bodies of her parents and brother, saw the splashes of red blood.

  She hated the buffalo.

  Jars shook her head and forced herself to look away from the fire. Swivelling, she glanced across the clearing. She bit her lip. Snook had been gone for a very long time.

  She stood and threw some more sticks onto the fire. It was something to do. She walked over to the edge of the forest and peered through the dull light. She listened, hoping to hear the voices of the boys. There was only silence.

  Shadow, sensing her anxiety, whimpered and rubbed his body against her leg. Jars reached down, patting his head. ‘It’ll be okay. My uncle should get back soon. Then we can go and find them.’ Shadow’s tail gave a halfway wag. ‘I hope he does,’ Jars said, patting the dog. ‘I’m really worried.’

  Jars rubbed her arms. The cloud cover had brought a chill to the late afternoon. She walked over to their tent to find her jacket – a bomber jacket, her aunt had explained when they’d bought it two days ago.

  When she came out of the tent, her eyes once again focused on the trees and Wombat Track. ‘What are we going to do, Shadow?’ she said when the dog came to her side. ‘I’m not allowed to leave the camp. That has been made perfectly clear. But Snook and Quenton have been gone for ages. What if they’re in trouble? What if something’s happened to them?’

  Shadow let out a sharp bark and ran towards the track. He turned and raced back. ‘You think we should go and find them, don’t you? Well, I think you’re right. Let’s do it. If I get into strife again, well, so be it.’