Heni Hani and the Magic Pendant: Part 1 (Heni Hani and the fears of the unknown)

by Peter Ness

  ‘Life is short. I want to help you Jack. You know I do,’ Martin said as he opened the door and flashed a glance over his shoulder. ‘If things change then there are always other options. Let’s talk turkey when that happens,’ Martin said. He let the door slam behind as he strode out to his car sporting a sick grin. He began to whistle, but below the façade he was fuming. This wasn’t a good day. Not a good day at all.

  Jack stood staring out through the kitchen window as Martin’s green Jaguar roared off down the driveway in a cloud of dust. His face burnt with anger thinking about it, so he smashed the palm of his hand onto the sink bench top. The burning sensation raced up his elbow. Retracting his hand now, Jack tried to shake off the self-inflicted pain. The dull throb of an oncoming headache sapped his energy. A sharp pain sliced through the back of his neck like a razor blade, with the nerves contracting. Jack’s hand moved up to his neck and rubbed the area gingerly. Noticing that the piano lid in the lounge room was still open Jack walked across. He sat down and began to play a tune. Having wiped the tears from his eyes Jack focused on the ceiling. He began to sing. Music was his soul-mate. He found it relaxing. It reduced stress. Jack felt better already.

  #

  Standing up now, Jack Henton moved slowly back into the kitchen and bent over the kitchen sink. After washing his hands with warm water he splashed cold water onto his face. Taking a towel from the towel rack by the fridge Jack wiped it. Seeing a reflection in the window his face shot upwards. The line around his mouth tightened, the anger rolling back in.

  Just then, a car rolled up into the driveway towards the house beeping its horn.

  ‘If that sociopathic son-of a witch has come back to dig in the screws some more—,’ Jack rasped under his breath, picking up a sharp butcher’s knife off the kitchen sink. Thinking better of it he opened the top drawer and slung the knife inside. Slamming the clattering drawer shut, he closed his eyes and said a silent prayer.

  The purr of the car transformed to a splutter. It misfired as the engine died.

  ‘Hmm, that doesn’t sound like any Jaguar to me?’ He bit his lip, and began wiping the dishes. Jack’s head jerked upright due to loud knocking at the door. Jack walked back into the lounge room and opened the front door. Most visitors knocked on the back door, so this was unusual.

  ‘Sorry. Can I help you?’ Jack asked, stepping back sharply, a surprised look on his face.

  ‘Aye, I think so. I guess ye can,’ replied the Irishman at the door. Robin Grady, long black hair down to his shoulders with his trademark stubble beard, smiled back. ‘Hi. I’m Robin Grady. My colleague Lisa and I came to investigate the lights ye reported,’ Robin said. Reaching out they shook hands warmly. ‘We phoned.’

  ‘Yes. Yes indeed. You did, Professor Grady. You did at that. It’s good to see you made it,’ Jack said, rubbing a lump at the back of his rather tender neck.

  ‘Lisa and I are loosely aligned with Planetary Science and with the Meteorite specialists at UCLA. But, we also work with Bill Reilly from the Archaeology department,’ Robin said. ‘We coordinate with the Air Force liaison to correlate radar with UFO sightings. The work tends to be ad hoc. We do most of it in conjunction with MUFON who have been reporting UFO phenomenon in the USA since 1969. These day’s we’re extending our scope to cover interesting sightings from a few other nations.’

  ‘You must be jet-lagged,’ Jack said rubbing his painful neck again, face winching.

  ‘It took close to twenty seven hours travel time by air, plus a full day to drive here. I never realized how big this country really is,’ Robin said with a warm smile, glancing around the room. The Henton’s seemed to have most of the mod-cons: mains water and electricity anyway.

  ‘You brought some equipment, I see?’ Jack pointed at Robin’s vehicle.

  ‘Oh that? It’s in the boot of the car. Where do ye want us to set up?’ Robin said.

  ‘You can set up in the shearing shed if you like. Most of the sightings are over the Gullabilly National Park, in that direction. You can roll the doors open on the side, and if it rains you won’t get wet. There are bunk beds in the Shearer’s quarters. Denny arranged things for you. It has a toilet, small kitchen and a fridge,’ Jack pointed to the shearing shed. ‘We have no rats or mice, but the kids have some pet wallabies which might make a commotion and wake you in the mornings.’

  ‘Great! I’m sure that Lisa will enjoy that. She adores animals. If it’s okay with ye then, we’ll get started?’ Robin turned back towards his vehicle.

  ‘Yeah sure. How long are you thinking of staying?’ Jack asked.

  ‘Oh. I’ve a guest lecturer filling in for me for a few weeks. So around a week to ten days — at least this time. If we get some useful results we’ll come back again,’ Robin explained. Pausing he turned to face Jack again. ‘Is that okay with ye?’

  ‘Yes. Yes. No problem. So, what do you think they are?’

  ‘They—?’ Robin asked, scratching his stubble beard. Jack’s face winced. Robin’s eyes flicked over at Jack’s neck. It suddenly dawned on him what Jack meant. ‘Oh—. They—, they. Well—,’ Robin Grady paused with a slight flex of the eyes betraying his concern. ‘There’s a ninety percent chance that ye just saw reflections of car headlights bouncing off clouds, caused by temperature inversions. In a small fraction of cases, these things represent energy released above fault zones. The rest are mostly hoaxes but ye look like an honest man. Statistically speaking, around 5% remain unexplained phenomenon. That simply means no-one has a practical working thesis that can be tested.’

  ‘So, are any of them of extra-terrestrial origin?’ Jack popped the question most people are just dying to ask. ‘You know — not from around here?’

  Robin laughed heartily, waving his hands in the air as he spoke.

  ‘But, what’s an alien anyway, Mr. Henton, but something that’s not from around here? I’m not from around here. Do I look alien to ye?’ he smirked, a little condescendingly. ‘Maybe it’s better that ye don’t answer that question,’ Robin joked. He paused, looking over his shoulder at the vehicle. ‘In any case, I think we both know that the sort of aliens that ye are imagining only exist in the movies and in people’s deepest, darkest, fears.’

  ‘How many cases have you investigated?’ Jack asked.

  ‘Well, the bulk of the tens of thousands of UFO cases MUFON has investigated in the USA, the UK and Brazil — most — can be explained by natural phenomenon. Take it from me. There’re no such things as aliens and little green men — or flying saucers,’ he lied. ‘If someone told ye that then I can assure ye, they’re toying with ye. Ye need to ask yourself this: why do ye only ever see them at night? The reason is because lights play tricks on the mind. I can assure ye. This case is likely the same. But, there are always exceptions to the rule so ye never know and it pays to keep an open mind. Now, tell me. Do ye have any children?’ Robin said, changing the subject.

  ‘Yes, three,’ Jack replied in a puzzled voice. He wondered what it had to do with UFO sightings. The thought that this guy might be a weirdo crossed his mind.

  ‘Tree?’ Robin repeated. ‘Tree? Well, are they all little leprechauns or are they of school age?’ He used his hand to make a suggestion of how high leprechauns should be.

  ‘They all go to school. Yeah. The oldest one is almost sixteen. Is that a problem?’ Jack looked back at Robin through suspicious eyes.

  ‘Is that a problem? Well, that we will have to see about. What about yer neighbors, Mr. Henton, do they have children as well?’ Robin asked, scratching his stubble beard.

  ‘Yes that’s right mate. Bill Thomas has three children. Jesse Hani has two children. Oh, and Ashton Hani has a child as well,’ Jack Henton’s replied. He moved on his feet uneasily. ‘Please call me Jack.’

  ‘How old are each of the children, Jack?’ Robin became more curious now. Jack became a little edgy; moreover, he stepped half a step back and scowled.

  ‘The oldest are around fourteen to sixteen. Sorry, why do you
want to know? I can’t see the relevance—?’ Jack stopped moving his feet now and crossed his arms defensively. He frowned skeptically.

  ‘Oh! Sorry. I can see by the look on yer face. My apologies. We’re just trying to eliminate the obvious. Ye know, teenagers be teenagers, kids be kids — pranks and the like,’ Robin explained, placing his hands in the air palm first towards Jack. ‘I know that I was a scoundrel at that age.’ Robin smiled as Jack heaved a sigh of relief. Then he turned around, strode back to the vehicle and climbed in, clicking its door shut gently. Robin lent out of the open window now.

  ‘Just one further question Jack, and it’s totally unrelated. I noticed a woman in town as we were leaving. She looked rather familiar, a lot like a friend from the past. Tell me, have any of the local women been to America before? Ye know, like before they were married. That would be fifteen or sixteen years ago, I guess,’ Robin said.

  Jack Henton took his glasses off. He rubbed his arm over the back of his head now and pulled a handkerchief out of a pocket.

  ‘No. I don’t think so.’ He cleaned his glasses with the handkerchief. Suddenly, he stopped abruptly and held up a finger. ‘Hold on! Wait a minute. Yes, I think several of them did. Three — to be precise.’

  ‘Tree?’ Leaving the engine idle, Robin opened the door and stepped back out. He motioned to Lisa to drive the car across to the shearing shed. ‘I’ll be over in a jiffy,’ he told Lisa. Sliding across in the driver’s seat, she clunked the car into gear, waved to Jack, and the car drove off jerkily.

  Pulling a photograph out of a pouch Robin ambled back over to where Jack Henton stood.

  ‘Do ye recall their names by any chance?’ Standing next to Jack, Robin pointed at the old black and white photograph. ‘Is this one of them?’

  Jack Henton walked down the steps, and then put his glasses back on. He looked shocked, almost taken aback. Jack peered at the photograph, nodding his head in total astonishment. His finger danced over the old black and white photograph.

  ‘Now, that was taken a long time ago my friend — a very long time ago,’ he said, dropping his almost wavering voice.

  ‘Aye, that it was,’ agreed Robin.

  ‘I married Denny less than three weeks after they returned, you know,’ Jack pointed at the picture, lines creasing his forehead. ‘And—, as for the other two,’ Jack tapped the photo. ‘They were both married within a month or two. It all happened so fast. Come in. Let’s have a beer and I’ll tell you all about it.’ His face twitched from an itchy, throbbing feeling with a strong burning sensation, like raw sunburn once the skin is peeled off. Now he rubbed his neck, drawing blood. Jack screwed up his face and bit his lips. Robin’s eye’s narrowed, flashing towards a red glow emanating from the back of Jack’s neck. Jack winced as the spot on his neck meandered around and swished about. They both walked inside and shut the door.

  ‘I see ye have a crook neck,’ Robin said. ‘Here. I might be able to straighten that out for ye.’ Without waiting for a reply, he reached across, applying pressure to the back of Jack Henton’s neck. Robin retracted his hand with a green worm-like creature writhing in his fingers. He flung it on the ground just in time to catch Jack as he passed out. He maneuvered Jack, dragging him into a nearby chair.

  The worm-like creature turned its beady blue eyes upwards towards Robin and let out a blood curling scream.

  ‘Hmm. So, I guess this is the exception to the rule, and we’re not alone after all,’ Robin said, watching as the creature rapidly expanded in size and segmented. It kept growing larger, morphing into a different type of organism with each transformation. Wings and legs formed, as it turned into a small bee or wasp-like insect, then transformed into a larger bat-like insect and then a miniature dragon-like pterodactyl the size of a small rat. The creature looked up gurgling, snarling and growling viciously at Robin. Its sharp teeth gnashed and it snarled. Spreading its small moist wings it prepared to fly off.

  ‘Are you the Prima?’[18] It hissed back at Robin, its wet wings flapping slowly.

  Robin stood over it, looking down. He shook his head laughing, but he may have just been letting the creature know that its days were numbered. The creature cowered away from him as the shadow of his boot came down above its head. Robin ground it into the floor with his foot and watched it melt into a yellow puddle of liquid. The fluid vaporized, a pungent, nauseous smell of rotten egg gas wafting through the air. Soon the liquid had evaporated. Only the sulfur smell remained.

  Spinning away from the horrid smell Robin lent nauseous over the sink, trying not to dry-reach. Regaining his composure he wandered slowly over to the kerosene refrigerator. Opening its door now he pulled out two beers, slammed the door shut again, and cracked the tops of each of the bottles off with his pocket knife. Tossing the beer bottle tops onto the sink Robin moved back to where Jack sat slumped in a nearby chair. After dropping his pocket knife into his front trouser pocket Robin tapped Jack lightly on the shoulder with two fingers. Jack woke up with a start. Robin looked down at him.

  ‘Hey man, I clicked yer neck. Then ye just passed out. How is it? Is it still sore?’ Robin queried, wondering whether Jack would remember anything.

  ‘Hell no. I’m not sure what you did, but it feels like the world has been lifted off my shoulders. Thanks mate. Thanks a lot. That feels much better,’ Jack said, standing now.

  ‘I hope ye don’t mind but I took the liberty of getting us both a beer.’ Robin passed one over to Jack. ‘Cheers! Here’s to aliens and leprechauns.’ He took a swig. ‘— and, to hoping that there amn’t any more of them come to visit.’ Taking another swig of beer now, Robin’s eyes flicked around at the paintings hanging off the walls. Rubbing his chin, he frowned observing the banjo and guitar leaning against the piano. ‘Ye know Jack,’ his bent finger pointed now at the wall, ‘I’m not an art expert but some of these paintings look like the real thing.’

  ‘Nah, they’re not ridgy-didge at all Robin. They’re all just cheap imitations,’ Jack swallowed his cold beer. Now that felt much better. ‘Anyway, that’s what my wife Denny says and she should know. She studied art.’ Robin scratched his beard and switched the subject back to cows.

  #

  Gandooree bridge, South of Pikawina:

  The CIB detectives clambered, sliding, slithering down the steep cliff into the gorge below the twin bridges. Arnold Truffle knelt down next to the stiff body, while Detective Jerry Cox wandered over and stood next to Lance Abbott the aboriginal tracker.

  ‘This one’s just a small boy,’ Arnold said, standing back up. ‘All the others were girls.’

  ‘The other bodies were all deposited at sea. It destroyed much of the evidence,’ Jerry replied. ‘Either he changed his modus of operandi or we have a copycat killer.’

  ‘Hey boss. Look, a cigarette butt,’ Lance pointed, loping into the reeds.

  ‘Yes. It still looks dry. Hmm. So now we know that the killer smokes, and his preferred brand.’ Arnold said reaching down for it. He wondered whether the serial killer was getting sloppy.

  ‘Hey boss, look ya here,’ Lance pointed at the faint lipstick on the cigarette butt.

  ‘So he’s gay, a cross-dresser, or we are looking for a woman—,’ Jerry began.

  ‘Or it was added to throw us off the scent,’ Arnold cut in, rotating the cigarette butt and sniffing at it. ‘Lance. Go do your thing.’ Lance Abbott began walking slowly down along the bank, eyes scanning for more clues.

  ‘Look here boss,’ Lance said, pointing at the bank of the gorge. ‘Size ten boots; a grown man was carrying something heavy. Middle aged, five-ten, perhaps with a limp mate.’

  ‘Only one dead body—?’ Arnold frowned, perplexed, his hand wiping the sweat from his brow. ‘There’s usually two.’

  ‘See the indents. Over here boss — a chain smoker — more footprints. Very clever — but you can’t fool old Lance here. Different sized shoes — same person boss.’

  ‘Well done Lance,’ Jerry Cox said grinning. ‘So we are looking
for one man.’

  ‘Or a very clever woman,’ Arnold scratched his thin crop of hair, pondering.

  Chapter 13: Snake Day

  The next day, at the Bus Stop, near the Henton’s: Tuesday, September 18th, 1973

  An old gasoline fridge marked the intersection where we got on and off the school bus. Stepping out of the bus, I dropped my bag onto the gravel road wearily. My eyes flicked up to the name of our farm, newly painted in bright blue on an old fridge door perched on the side of the road: J.K. & J.J. Hani — Cassiopeia Ranch. The word Cassiopeia was in cursive. Yep! It looked cool. I’d done a great job.

  On the other side of the road an old hollow and partly rusting 44-gallon drum hung from a pole, the last word painted by a small child: A.J. & R.J. Hani — Cassiopeia. Thick, dry, blue cursive paint oozed down the side, indented by little fingerprints. What can I say? It wasn’t so good but hey, don’t blame me. I chuckled to myself as Jo trounced past and picked up her bike. Then I lined my grey school shorts pockets with a few nifty pebbles of the right shape, flat-sided so they skimmed water but small enough to fit in my pocket. My blue shirt had a food stain under the pocket.

  ‘Darn! Mom’ll be pissed.’

  An old rusty drum belonging to the enemy camp swung in the breeze off the side of a tree: J.J. & D.J. Henton — Baracuta Holdings. Several gaping holes rusted in its side were gouged by fresh metal marks. It is amazing what a few large stones can do. I tossed one at it. Thud! It crashed into the drum which bounced and clanged, then settled down.

  My hand ripped open the white fridge door now. I kept it raised in the air hesitantly, checking for an errant tiger snake coiled ready to lash out at anything infringing on its new home. I hate snakes. Don’t you? But, the fear of getting bitten is often worse than the bite. There were none. There never were, but one can never be too careful. The Australia Post mail sat on a shelf. Pulling it out, I tossed the ream into my school bag. Clunk! I slammed the fridge door shut.