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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Mystery
- Subject: Horror / Scary
- Published: 04/12/2017
Outback
Born 1964, F, from Gordon, ACT, AustraliaOutback
By Hazel Dow
Born 1964, F, from Gordon, ACT, Australia
Let’s go bush, he said. It will be fun, he said …
Julia gazed out the window at the brown, the dust, the stunted and dying trees, and idly wondered if it was possible to literally die of boredom.
She watched as a trio of black birds circled lazily far overhead, and wondered what unfortunate creature was about to be devoured. She just hoped it was dead before the cruel beaks tore into its remains.
This was a land of heat and death, and she wondered for the hundredth time how in God’s name she had allowed herself to be talked into this trip. Rob had pushed brochure after brochure at her, his eyes shining with excitement as they looked at pictures of adventurous souls in cool jeeps driving up long dirt roads, dust pluming out behind them to mark their passage. Pictures of people sitting around campfires, a ceiling of stars high above them, gaily coloured tents standing guard behind them. These people were obviously having such a grand old time that you wished you could be with them, having a drink, eating marshmallows and damper off a stick, laughing and bonding.
The reality was mile after mile of this sunblasted landscape, breathing dusty air that made its way into the vehicle through the tiniest cracks and holes. The reality was waiting until after dark to eat so your food wasn’t covered in flies. The reality was retreating to the van early to avoid being sucked dry by mosquitos, and there were always half a dozen of them that crept in with you, plaguing your restless sleep with their dentist drill whine.
Julia was trying to be a good sport, but it was wearing thin. Conversation was so easy in real life. You discussed each other’s day, the latest news, what to have for dinner, eat in or out, what should we do this weekend. When conversation dried up, TV took over, removing the effort required to maintain small talk.
They had been driving for five days now. Conversation had dried up two hours into the journey, replaced by a tensely manic atmosphere that they both pretended to ignore.
Thankfully, there was the occasional town to break up the monotony, where Rob topped up the spare petrol jerrycans and water bottles and checked that the jeep had everything it needed to keep going. There were bleached stores selling cold cokes and bland sandwiches, partially melted chocolate bars and warm packets of salty crisps. Julie had the horrified conviction that they were travelling in vast circles and arriving at the same town over and over again, but at least it gave them something to talk about.
She checked her mobile phone and was relieved to find a strong signal. The online map showed them as a red dot creeping slowly through a brown landscape in the middle of nowhere. A small flag marked the town of Gura Gura about half an hour away.
“Hey, babe. Town up ahead.” The first words spoken in hours, her voice felt strained and rusty, strange to her own ears.
Rob nodded, and flexed his hands on the steering wheel.
They lapsed back into silence until Gura Gura appeared in front of them, shimmering like a ghost in the waves of heat rising from the baked ground. A sign studded with bullet holes welcomed them, boasting a town population of 88. Judging by the thin scattering of deserted and overgrown properties they had passed, Julia suspected this number must include the local snakes and bushrats.
The jeep crunched to a halt beside a dull petrol bowser and Rob switched off the ignition. They sat for a moment, listening to the utter silence. A gust of wind sent dust pattering across the side of the jeep, tiny dust tornados formed and collapsed around them.
Without a word, Rob swung open the door and stepped out, stretching luxuriously and looking around, his cotton shirt flapping in the hot wind.
Julia got out and went around to stand beside him, putting her arm around his waist and leaning her head against his shoulder. Surprised, Rob put his arm around her and gave a squeeze. Julia felt a glow of happiness that she had made the gesture, glad that it had in some small way closed the growing gap between them.
“I’m going to stretch my legs and see if I can find a store, get some snacks and a drink. Do you want anything?”
Rob shook his head. “Just whatever you can find. I’ll fill up and check everything. There’s probably toilets if you want to pee in a civilised loo.” He smiled and flapped his hand in the general direction of the service station.
Julia nodded. “I’ll take you up on that offer, just hope they’re not too gross!”
She wandered around to the shaded side of the building, relishing the relief from the burning sun and hot wind. Something had died not too far away or long ago, and she wrinkled her nose at the charmless smell of dry decay. To her relief, the smell wasn’t coming from the toilet, and she luxuriated in the sensation of peeing in a toilet. Eliminating your body wastes behind a bush was a vastly overrated pastime, in Julia’s humble opinion.
She washed her hands and headed toward the silent town, giving Rob a wave as she crossed over the dirt laneway that separated the service station from the rest of the main street.
It was so quiet that she could hear her own footsteps. A nameless ball of dread formed in her stomach, and she hesitated for a moment, looking back at Rob. He was bent over one of the jerrycans, petrol pump in hand, a study of concentration. The moment seared itself in Julia’s memory with a bittersweet pain as she turned her back to him and walked down the street. She had the disconcerting feeling of heading towards a fate that she had no control over, and she dug her fingernails into her palms to keep from a sudden urge to cry.
She glanced hopefully at the first shop she passed. It was an auto parts shop, which made some sort of sense given its proximity to the service station. The wind blew the door inwards a little, making the dangling bell chime, but no-one came out to see if they had a customer. The stale smell of motor oil and old cars gusted out of the doorgap, along with an underlying odour of something that had gone off in the heat.
The next shop was Robbo’s Hardware. Through the grimy glass, she could make out untidy shelves piled with unsettlingly familiar items in this hauntingly foreign place. The dingy strip lighting flickered through layers of insect husks, but there was no-one visible in the shop or at the counter. A little voice in her head buzzed in fright, telling her don’t dare go in there. It might be okay, everything might be okay, but I really really don’t think it is.
She stopped outside the next shop, which was mostly empty except for some broken chairs and old magazines covered with grit. A faded ghost sign in cursive script read McWilliams & Sons, but there was no clue as to the original purpose of the store. Duct tape criss-crossed a web of cracks where someone had kicked the glass door. Dirt had worked its way under the tape, and the end flapped in the bad-tempered wind.
In the distance, she could see a plain wooden cross rising above the town, presumably a church. Across the road, much closer to town, was the mandatory pub with a semi-detached house where the publican no doubt lived. Julia stood still, straining her ears to catch the sound of people drinking, music, anything, but no sound came from the establishment.
Feeling sick with fear, she turned to see if she could still see Rob, but he was no longer there. The jeep stood empty by the bowser, the jerrycans safely stowed in the back. She knew he was most likely in the station paying for the fuel, but to her heightened senses he may as well have been snatched up by hostile aliens, vanished from this earth for all time.
The next shop, thank the Lord, was a combined grocery shop, post office, and hairdresser.
She pushed her way through the heavy door, standing for a moment to let her eyes adjust to the gloom.
The smell of death was stronger than ever, and she pulled her t-shirt up over her mouth and nose, breathing in the smell of her own body odour made sour by fear.
Now she could make out a pair of boots near the counter, the toes pointing skywards. As she got closer, she could see fat denim-encased legs. Then a grey t-shirt tucked into the jeans waistband, held in place by a leather belt. A decorative silver belt buckle gleamed softly in the dim light.
A fat blowfly darted past her, tangling briefly in her hair, and she slapped it away in appalled disgust, her skin crawling briefly in a rash of goosebumps.
She forced herself to walk far enough for the rest of the body to come into view. The gaping, bloody hole in his chest was testament to the fact that this man did not die of natural causes.
There was a curtain separating the counter from the back room. A pale hand poked through the bottom of the curtain, curled in death. The blackened edge of a pool of blood was just visible, hinting at the carnage that lay beyond.
Julia turned and fled the shop, doubling over in the street to vomit. She was suddenly completely sure that everyone in the town was dead, lying in their own blood, killed by some gun-wielding psychopath.
She stumbled across the street and pushed her way into the pub. There were bodies lying on the floor where they had tumbled from their stools. The smell of rotting meat thickened the air as she struggled to breathe.
A shout, a scream from the service station, then an echoing boom. She knew with a sick certainty that her husband of seven years was dead. And there was a mass murderer still in town. And she was the last person alive.
She staggered further into the pub, gagging against the putridity. Spilled beer, blood, rotten meat. She could hardly breathe.
Had he seen her? Oh God, had he seen her?
She ducked behind the counter, drawing up short at the sight of the one-time bartender, now deceased, with the top part of his head missing. She could see drying brain matter through the hole in his head.
Her face buzzed with numbness, and she leaned up against the wall, sliding down to sit on the floor. She fought the dizziness, knowing that if she passed out she was as good as dead.
Thank God she had her phone with her, although what help could possibly be summoned in time? At least she could let someone know what had happened here.
She fumbled her phone out of her pocket, and forced her sweaty numb fingers to dial 000. The sound of a human voice on the other end nearly made her cry, and she struggled to articulate her situation.
“My name is Julia Glatz,” she sobbed. “I’m in a town called …” her shocked mind couldn’t recall the name of this horrible place for a moment. “Gura Gura!” she screamed in a whisper. “There’s supposed to be 88 people here, but I don’t think that’s right. My husband’s dead, and there’s dead bodies everywhere! Please help me. I’m behind the counter in the pub. Gura Gura pub.”
“Ma’am, I have located the town. There is a police station five kilometres out. I’m going to connect you. Just stay where you are, I’ll stay on the line until I can connect you with the police.”
Julia leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes while she waited for the connection. The screaming wind died down, and in the silence she heard heavy footsteps crunching over the dusty concrete, coming closer. Then a weird doubling sensation as the ringing in her phone’s earpiece was echoed by the ringing on the other side of the door.
The footsteps paused, the call was answered, and Julia listened to the operator calmly pass the information to the killer outside.
Outback(Hazel Dow)
Outback
By Hazel Dow
Born 1964, F, from Gordon, ACT, Australia
Let’s go bush, he said. It will be fun, he said …
Julia gazed out the window at the brown, the dust, the stunted and dying trees, and idly wondered if it was possible to literally die of boredom.
She watched as a trio of black birds circled lazily far overhead, and wondered what unfortunate creature was about to be devoured. She just hoped it was dead before the cruel beaks tore into its remains.
This was a land of heat and death, and she wondered for the hundredth time how in God’s name she had allowed herself to be talked into this trip. Rob had pushed brochure after brochure at her, his eyes shining with excitement as they looked at pictures of adventurous souls in cool jeeps driving up long dirt roads, dust pluming out behind them to mark their passage. Pictures of people sitting around campfires, a ceiling of stars high above them, gaily coloured tents standing guard behind them. These people were obviously having such a grand old time that you wished you could be with them, having a drink, eating marshmallows and damper off a stick, laughing and bonding.
The reality was mile after mile of this sunblasted landscape, breathing dusty air that made its way into the vehicle through the tiniest cracks and holes. The reality was waiting until after dark to eat so your food wasn’t covered in flies. The reality was retreating to the van early to avoid being sucked dry by mosquitos, and there were always half a dozen of them that crept in with you, plaguing your restless sleep with their dentist drill whine.
Julia was trying to be a good sport, but it was wearing thin. Conversation was so easy in real life. You discussed each other’s day, the latest news, what to have for dinner, eat in or out, what should we do this weekend. When conversation dried up, TV took over, removing the effort required to maintain small talk.
They had been driving for five days now. Conversation had dried up two hours into the journey, replaced by a tensely manic atmosphere that they both pretended to ignore.
Thankfully, there was the occasional town to break up the monotony, where Rob topped up the spare petrol jerrycans and water bottles and checked that the jeep had everything it needed to keep going. There were bleached stores selling cold cokes and bland sandwiches, partially melted chocolate bars and warm packets of salty crisps. Julie had the horrified conviction that they were travelling in vast circles and arriving at the same town over and over again, but at least it gave them something to talk about.
She checked her mobile phone and was relieved to find a strong signal. The online map showed them as a red dot creeping slowly through a brown landscape in the middle of nowhere. A small flag marked the town of Gura Gura about half an hour away.
“Hey, babe. Town up ahead.” The first words spoken in hours, her voice felt strained and rusty, strange to her own ears.
Rob nodded, and flexed his hands on the steering wheel.
They lapsed back into silence until Gura Gura appeared in front of them, shimmering like a ghost in the waves of heat rising from the baked ground. A sign studded with bullet holes welcomed them, boasting a town population of 88. Judging by the thin scattering of deserted and overgrown properties they had passed, Julia suspected this number must include the local snakes and bushrats.
The jeep crunched to a halt beside a dull petrol bowser and Rob switched off the ignition. They sat for a moment, listening to the utter silence. A gust of wind sent dust pattering across the side of the jeep, tiny dust tornados formed and collapsed around them.
Without a word, Rob swung open the door and stepped out, stretching luxuriously and looking around, his cotton shirt flapping in the hot wind.
Julia got out and went around to stand beside him, putting her arm around his waist and leaning her head against his shoulder. Surprised, Rob put his arm around her and gave a squeeze. Julia felt a glow of happiness that she had made the gesture, glad that it had in some small way closed the growing gap between them.
“I’m going to stretch my legs and see if I can find a store, get some snacks and a drink. Do you want anything?”
Rob shook his head. “Just whatever you can find. I’ll fill up and check everything. There’s probably toilets if you want to pee in a civilised loo.” He smiled and flapped his hand in the general direction of the service station.
Julia nodded. “I’ll take you up on that offer, just hope they’re not too gross!”
She wandered around to the shaded side of the building, relishing the relief from the burning sun and hot wind. Something had died not too far away or long ago, and she wrinkled her nose at the charmless smell of dry decay. To her relief, the smell wasn’t coming from the toilet, and she luxuriated in the sensation of peeing in a toilet. Eliminating your body wastes behind a bush was a vastly overrated pastime, in Julia’s humble opinion.
She washed her hands and headed toward the silent town, giving Rob a wave as she crossed over the dirt laneway that separated the service station from the rest of the main street.
It was so quiet that she could hear her own footsteps. A nameless ball of dread formed in her stomach, and she hesitated for a moment, looking back at Rob. He was bent over one of the jerrycans, petrol pump in hand, a study of concentration. The moment seared itself in Julia’s memory with a bittersweet pain as she turned her back to him and walked down the street. She had the disconcerting feeling of heading towards a fate that she had no control over, and she dug her fingernails into her palms to keep from a sudden urge to cry.
She glanced hopefully at the first shop she passed. It was an auto parts shop, which made some sort of sense given its proximity to the service station. The wind blew the door inwards a little, making the dangling bell chime, but no-one came out to see if they had a customer. The stale smell of motor oil and old cars gusted out of the doorgap, along with an underlying odour of something that had gone off in the heat.
The next shop was Robbo’s Hardware. Through the grimy glass, she could make out untidy shelves piled with unsettlingly familiar items in this hauntingly foreign place. The dingy strip lighting flickered through layers of insect husks, but there was no-one visible in the shop or at the counter. A little voice in her head buzzed in fright, telling her don’t dare go in there. It might be okay, everything might be okay, but I really really don’t think it is.
She stopped outside the next shop, which was mostly empty except for some broken chairs and old magazines covered with grit. A faded ghost sign in cursive script read McWilliams & Sons, but there was no clue as to the original purpose of the store. Duct tape criss-crossed a web of cracks where someone had kicked the glass door. Dirt had worked its way under the tape, and the end flapped in the bad-tempered wind.
In the distance, she could see a plain wooden cross rising above the town, presumably a church. Across the road, much closer to town, was the mandatory pub with a semi-detached house where the publican no doubt lived. Julia stood still, straining her ears to catch the sound of people drinking, music, anything, but no sound came from the establishment.
Feeling sick with fear, she turned to see if she could still see Rob, but he was no longer there. The jeep stood empty by the bowser, the jerrycans safely stowed in the back. She knew he was most likely in the station paying for the fuel, but to her heightened senses he may as well have been snatched up by hostile aliens, vanished from this earth for all time.
The next shop, thank the Lord, was a combined grocery shop, post office, and hairdresser.
She pushed her way through the heavy door, standing for a moment to let her eyes adjust to the gloom.
The smell of death was stronger than ever, and she pulled her t-shirt up over her mouth and nose, breathing in the smell of her own body odour made sour by fear.
Now she could make out a pair of boots near the counter, the toes pointing skywards. As she got closer, she could see fat denim-encased legs. Then a grey t-shirt tucked into the jeans waistband, held in place by a leather belt. A decorative silver belt buckle gleamed softly in the dim light.
A fat blowfly darted past her, tangling briefly in her hair, and she slapped it away in appalled disgust, her skin crawling briefly in a rash of goosebumps.
She forced herself to walk far enough for the rest of the body to come into view. The gaping, bloody hole in his chest was testament to the fact that this man did not die of natural causes.
There was a curtain separating the counter from the back room. A pale hand poked through the bottom of the curtain, curled in death. The blackened edge of a pool of blood was just visible, hinting at the carnage that lay beyond.
Julia turned and fled the shop, doubling over in the street to vomit. She was suddenly completely sure that everyone in the town was dead, lying in their own blood, killed by some gun-wielding psychopath.
She stumbled across the street and pushed her way into the pub. There were bodies lying on the floor where they had tumbled from their stools. The smell of rotting meat thickened the air as she struggled to breathe.
A shout, a scream from the service station, then an echoing boom. She knew with a sick certainty that her husband of seven years was dead. And there was a mass murderer still in town. And she was the last person alive.
She staggered further into the pub, gagging against the putridity. Spilled beer, blood, rotten meat. She could hardly breathe.
Had he seen her? Oh God, had he seen her?
She ducked behind the counter, drawing up short at the sight of the one-time bartender, now deceased, with the top part of his head missing. She could see drying brain matter through the hole in his head.
Her face buzzed with numbness, and she leaned up against the wall, sliding down to sit on the floor. She fought the dizziness, knowing that if she passed out she was as good as dead.
Thank God she had her phone with her, although what help could possibly be summoned in time? At least she could let someone know what had happened here.
She fumbled her phone out of her pocket, and forced her sweaty numb fingers to dial 000. The sound of a human voice on the other end nearly made her cry, and she struggled to articulate her situation.
“My name is Julia Glatz,” she sobbed. “I’m in a town called …” her shocked mind couldn’t recall the name of this horrible place for a moment. “Gura Gura!” she screamed in a whisper. “There’s supposed to be 88 people here, but I don’t think that’s right. My husband’s dead, and there’s dead bodies everywhere! Please help me. I’m behind the counter in the pub. Gura Gura pub.”
“Ma’am, I have located the town. There is a police station five kilometres out. I’m going to connect you. Just stay where you are, I’ll stay on the line until I can connect you with the police.”
Julia leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes while she waited for the connection. The screaming wind died down, and in the silence she heard heavy footsteps crunching over the dusty concrete, coming closer. Then a weird doubling sensation as the ringing in her phone’s earpiece was echoed by the ringing on the other side of the door.
The footsteps paused, the call was answered, and Julia listened to the operator calmly pass the information to the killer outside.
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Kevin Hughes
06/29/2019Hazel,
Oh great, now I can't even visit small towns in Ohio. I have turned off everything on my cell phone that would give away my location and then gave the phone to a guy I don't like- just in case.
Smiles, Kevin
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