“Well Charlie, we’se both bin gittin bit ole, but you just as good a fisher as in dem ole days. Ye still catch a fine fish or two and I can still make a fine fish stoo.”
He sipped his tea. Time to end reminiscing about his good life and get down to the fishing business.
He took two hand lines and baited each with his own special catfish bait. When he came close to the water’s edge he sat down, real still, for a good five minutes, looking for any sign that a big lizard was lurking. Satisfied it was safe to come to the edge he dropped his two bait lines in to what looked like the best places and waited.
Five minutes of nothing, then first one line started to twitch a bit then the other; two different fish, two different places, well apart. He hoped to Christ they both did not hook on at the same time. He waited until he got the definite bait pick up feel on the right line and gave that line a good jerk. Now he had the sucker, he could feel the weight and the real tug.
He wound the loose line onto the reel so he had a proper grip. This felt like one mother of a fish. He could feel the other line still twitching. He thought he had should pull it in for a minute lest he get a fish on each line together. He gave this line a tug to jerk it away from its inquisitive visitor.
Bloody hell, now he had another big bloody fish on this line too; just as much weight as the first one. Good in one way, if he could land them both his fishing was as good as done. But jeez, they were both big heavy fish. It would be a fair handful to get both in together.
Then he thought, I must be turning into a pussy in my old age, surely I can land the two together, got two hands and arms haven’t I?
So, rather than trying to haul them in with his arms, he used his two arms like shock absorbers, each hand holding a reel and his elbows flexing to ease the jerking on the fishes’ mouths. Foot by foot he eased both fish in toward the shore, walking backwards to pull in the line, now and then winding the loose line onto the reels, with quick movements, so as to keep close to the bank.
Finally he had them both fish on less than six feet of line. He could see them sitting in the water just below. Now time to get them out of the water, before a hungry gator tried to grab an easy feed.
Grasping the two reels firmly, one in each hand, he walked backwards steadily, hauling both fish in with even pressure, accelerating as he went. They pulled against him like two big logs. Suddenly two glistening bodies popped free of the water. A quick slide and he had them both over the lip of the bank. They lay flapping, side by side, on dry sand. They were seriously big mothers, each well above ten pounds. He thought both fish weighed between twelve and fifteen pounds.
He knew these fish alone were enough to feed all comers. But hell, catching them had been a buzz. The sun had barely broken the horizon. It was a too early to give up for the day. So, while he could fix some tucker or lie back in the swag for another kip, he was too pumped up for that.
He thought. I won’t be greedy, I will just try for one more. This time he decided to have a crack at the open water straight out from the bank, there was a nice clear patch between some water lilies maybe ten metres out. So he baited a line and cast it into this space, watching as the ripples faded away and his baited hook sunk out of sight.
It was a beautiful morning, temperature now perfect with dawn colours fading into a perfect sunlight day. Charlie felt good to be alive, old bones and all. Just one more fish and I will be away, he thought.
His reverie continued for five minutes. Nothing was happening this time, not even a little fish nibble. He mind said, I had better haul in and check the bait is still on, then try a different spot. But now his hook snagged something heavy. It is a too far out for a tree root, maybe a water lily bulb.
He gave a firm pull. Now it came free. He was dragging something heavy in on the line. It felt the weight of a good sized fish but there was no fish sized tugging. There was just a sort of bumping, like whatever it was half bouncing along the bottom as it came in.
Charlie wound up the excess line on his reel as it came in. Now he could see something, white to grey, at the end of the line in the water, sort of round and football sized but way too heavy for that.
As it cleared the water he realised, in a mix of surprise and shock, that he had caught a human head.
In that last second before he pulled it to the bank there was an image of a huge crocodile spirit fighting to keep its own, fighting both with him and other large crocodiles not to surrender a part of its being. Charlie felt an assault on his senses and a great urge to cast away the line and let this object return to its crocodile home in the watery deep. He put his hand to his head to clear the tumult and the vision receded.
In the process, as if of its own volition, this object came out of the water and half rolled across the land, stopping next to his feet. His mind sensed two spirits struggling for mastery of the destiny of this person object; a human spirit which sought release from this place of its crocodile destiny, as if to return to the lands of people; and a crocodile spirit which sought to hold fast to one of its own.
In the end the human spirit had won but the crocodile spirit stayed beside it, still calling out, “Return to the water.” Charlie broke the mind connection with the spirits and as he did his own world returned.
Chapter 3 – Who Owns This
Charlie looked at this ugly object lying next to his feet. Still clearly part of a person though the eyes were gone and only remnants of skin and hair clung to one side of the skull, he guessed the small fish had nibbled off all that they could get to and the bits that remained were lying in the mud.
He decided he had better pull it further away from the edge, lest its scaly owner decided to try and come and retrieve it. He was not going to touch it but the hook seemed well attached so he half lifted and dragged it across the ground. As he did he felt a second tug of war going on between a crocodile spirit and human spirit. It was pulling hard at him too, making it real hard to move. He sensed that he had messed up the balance of forces in this place and no longer trusted his ability to keep out of harm’s way. It seemed to take an age until it was a good ten metres back from the edge and the struggle abated. He let the skull settle on the ground, reel and line alongside. His body was now weary with the effort.
Now he forced the spirits to leave his mind and looked away again, looking at the trees and earth around himself. He could feel the crocodile spirit sliding back to its watery place. It was still proper angry but had left for now. He felt safer himself now too.
He looked at this part of a person. Poor bugger, this once was someone who should have taken more care to hide themself away from the crocodile spirits, he thought. He wondered who he was. Clearly a white man, but much more than crocodile food the way the crocodile spirit had tried to hold him in the water.
He felt a huge urge to cast it back to its watery grave, but knew he could not.
He did not really believe in accidents. It was part of his destiny to find this. Now he must fulfil what the white man’s law, and maybe the spirit law of the land, required. Then, when it was all done, he would try to find a way to placate the crocodile spirits which lurked in this watery place. Without their blessing he dared not return here to fish.
He walked back to his Toyota. He needed to think, so he rolled up his swag. He sat on it while he rolled a smoke. A few blowflies were already drawn to this new prize. He did not want to handle it but could not leave it lying here for the birds and flies. He must cover it. Then he would drive back to the nearest bit of civilisation, the Bark Hut Inn, and ring the police, he decided.
He had a big bucket with a rope. He used it to gather water from billabongs, when it was not safe to come close. There were good sized rocks in the old fireplace at the far side of the open area that he had used this morning. So he placed the upended bucket over the head, carried the heaviest rock over and put it on top of the bucket.
That would stop the birds and flies, not much good for a big dog or pig, but it should do for an hour or
two while he went to call the police.
Then he cleaned up his two fish and put them in his esky, on ice. He put the esky on the back of his truck covered it with a tarp and some other things so it was not obvious.
He flung the fish guts into the water and noticed, with satisfaction, a big swirl as they vanished. At least he had returned some part of his catch to the river spirits.
He was determined to fulfil his mission to Rosie, and keep these fish. So he would not tell the police about this part. He thought, if he did tell, then the cops would try to confiscate the fish for evidence. So they could have the man’s head and he would have his fish. So long as they did not know he had kept his share all would be happy.
At the Bark Hut Inn he asked to use the phone and got put through to the Darwin Police Station. After a peculiar conversation, one where someone wanted to know lots more than he knew about how the head came to be there and who it belonged to, at last he got onto a senior policeman. This man assured Charlie he understood what he was saying. He asked Charlie to remain where he was until a police vehicle came to meet him.
It was two hours later before three policemen, in two cars, arrived. It was another half hour before they got back to the billabong. Charlie insisted on driving his own car, with the policeman following, even though the cops asked him to come in one of their cars.
But he was determined to leave as soon as he could. So he would show them what he had found and then get away somehow. It was close to lunch time when he left the cool shade of the Bark Hut Inn and it was stinking hot by the time they got back at the billabong.
Everything was as he had left it, his line lying alongside the bucket which looked undisturbed. He pointed and told them his story, saying he had begun fishing, hoping for a catfish and this was what he had pulled up instead. A policeman lifted off the bucket, but it was smelly now and he soon covered it again.
The police spent ten minutes talking to him. Seeing the line and hook still attached to the head it seemed pretty obvious that it came from the water. He told them how he had lifted the head with the line to carry it away from the water so a croc did not try and get it when he went away, but that once he had put it down he had not touched or moved it since, except to cover it with the bucket. He told them he had not been to this billabong since the same time last year when he had come here to catch catfish.
They asked a few questions in return but it all seemed clear.
Once they had the basic story straight they asked him to show where he had cast to. He pointed then threw a stone which landed almost exactly on the spot.
One policeman wrote in his diary a record of what he had told them and read it back to Charlie. He agreed it was correct and initialled the page. Then this man recorded his contact details, and checked them against his driver’s license.
Now he could see they were no longer interested in him. So he made an excuse about needing to get back to Darwin to meet his wife and some people who were visiting.
The cops nodded. It was like they had forgotten about him now; one, the boss man, got on the radio back to Darwin, organising for a boat and a team to help search the area and the billabong. A second was taping out the scene, and the third was taking photographs.
Finally he got the boss man’s attention, just to confirm his departure. The man half nodded, so Charlie walked over to his Toyota and drove away. As he was leaving he could see the one of them waving at him, he did not know if he was waving goodbye or telling him to come back. He ignored it and kept driving.
No one followed after him. As he left he thought. Bad spirit place, I not want to come back here anymore.
Sergeant Alan McKinnon, the senior officer, watched Charlie leave and wondered if he should call him back. In the end he just waved to him. He knew the man was in a big hurry to leave and probably had not told them everything he knew. But hell, if I fished out something like that I would want to get far away too, he thought. This guy was definitely spooked, but who could blame him.
Truth was he was a bit spooked himself when he first saw it, like it was somehow connected to a big crocodile which lived here. He could almost imagine a huge crocodile hiding in the shadowy water and eyeing him off, angry to have lost its prize. Just superstitious nonsense, his mind said, but still he shuddered.
Then he thought. The man, Charlie, has done his job and we don’t need him anymore. Investigating here will keep us busy for the next couple days and it is better to not have him or anyone else in our way, plus we have his details to interview him again later if we need to. And it was too bloody hot to keep that poor old bugger standing around in the afternoon sun, with nothing to do but watch. With that Charlie passed out of his mind.
Now it was an afternoon for organising. He thought he had seen some tooth punctures to the head, which made him think crocodile. The pathologist was an hour away, so nothing would be disturbed until then. If a crocodile attack it was funny nothing had been reported and no one he knew was missing around here. Still people, particularly tourists, came and went everywhere so how could you really know.
He did not like the idea of trying to search this billabong for a body; it was a big billabong and it was bound to be full of big crocodiles. So no divers would be going in here until they worked out how to do it safely. And there was little point trying to drag the bottom with all the other crap that would be down there, all the logs and debris that washed along these rivers each wet.
What was needed was a steel cage that a diver could work inside. This would allow a diver to search the area around where the head was found, to see if any other bits remained. But, before they got too serious about searching the river, they should do a careful search of the dry land and get some pathology done to see if there was anything suggesting other than an unfortunate crocodile victim.
Now his radio crackled back to life. The pathologist, Sandy Bowen, had passed through the Bark Hut and asked that someone meet him on the main road so as to ensure he did not get lost on the last bit. It was a pretty confusing place to find with roads running every which way.
So he told his men to continue inspecting the site and he would go and meet the pathologist, back on the main road. The pathologist’s name was new. Well he hoped Sandy had a strong stomach, this smelly, singular and half decomposed head was not something for the faint hearted.
Sandy turned out to be a lady in her mid-twenties, one of those new grads who got sent to Darwin to learn their craft before getting a comfy big city job.
She seemed very young and fresh faced for something like this. Perhaps she would need her hand held. He would not mind doing that though he had his doubts about the level of her experience. He had spent ten years in the force getting to where he was and it had been a steep learning curve. But he loved the bush and it was a pretty good job, truth be told.
He did not say this but it must have been written on his face, a disdain for newcomers. He could feel a mix of antagonism to his manner mixed with her desire to prove herself.
Back on site it was clear that she was sharper and tougher than he credited. First she asked him to lift off the bucket so that she could look at the head from the various angles, but not touch anything.
She looked very carefully and said. “It looks like teeth marks, but it also likes the upper left side of the skull has been fractured, perhaps from the force of a bite. You can see it is out of shape, compared to the right side.”
She continued. “I would guess this happened at least a fortnight and no more than six weeks ago, though the laboratory tests will tell more. It also looks like a man of young to middle age.”
Then she did the careful walk around, noting the slight drag mark where the head had come out of the water and been pulled across the dirt. Then she tracked a mix of scuff marks and damp spots to the final destination. Then she pointed to two other drag marks, nearby but to one side of the one that led to the head. They were about two feet apart and came in from the bank for about two metres, and ended in two flat
tened areas in the dirt with some damp patches.
She said. “It looks like something else has been pulled out of here, probably this morning too,” pointing to the still damp patches of mud.
“It’s a pity that the man who hooked this head is not still here. I would have liked to ask him about this. It looks like he caught a couple of fish first, and if so it would be nice to know what sort they were and if they had been feeding on this. Not that I suppose it really matters, just like to get a complete picture” she said, shrugging her shoulders.
Then she carefully scrutinised the rest of the site, looking carefully from where she was standing, next to the bucket.
She said, “Before I look in detail at this head I would like to carefully look around the site, just in case there is any dried blood or other information from the time when he went into the water.
She walked directly towards the water’s edge, as if to start her search there.
At first Alan just looked on. He was feeling a bit silly for letting old Charlie leave without a closer check. Maybe he should radio the Darwin office. They could arrange for someone to be there to meet Charlie and check his car for fish when he returned.
But, like she said, it was really of little importance. They could ask him later. If Charlie tried to fob them off they could get more serious. Plus he did not really want any fish Charlie had caught, just in case they had a bit of a person in their stomachs. Not to mention that, if he read the signs in the damp earth right, Charlie had already gutted them and tossed the guts in the water. So it would be a total waste of time, not to mention seriously annoying this good hearted old fellow.
Then he realised Sandy was going right up to the edge of the water. Well she might be good at pathology but she needed to learn a few bush survival skills. He did not want her to become another statistic on his watch.
He called out. “Just wait a minute.”
She stopped a metre back.
He came over to her and, as he walked towards her, he unclipped and removed his service revolver. He made a signal to her to step back. Now they both stood side by side, two metres from the edge.
Crocodile Spirit Dreaming - Possession - Books 1 - 3 Page 26
