Black

TWO

In the safe confines of my bedroom, my mind floats back to Aiden Sweet. A smile takes over my lips as I lie on my side and hug my pillow. I’m overwhelmed. I didn’t expect to feel like this about anyone for a long time yet… definitely not today, not in this town. But there it was, a few fleeting seconds of it. Connection. I know it exists. Once had it, wasn’t scared of it. When people weren’t scared of me.

I’ve grown so used to shutting myself off from the world that it’s become normal. After Oscar, it was me building a wall around myself, shutting out the looks, the whispers, creating a safe zone of untouchable numbness. But I did it for too long. People stayed away. Things never returned to normal and now the wall – self-made or not – was just how it is. That’s why I can’t wait to leave Dainsfield at the end of the year. I’ll be able to do what I want with no one watching. I plan to let go. Be normal. Takes risks with my heart, out of view from those who care about me, those who just sit on the sidelines with worried looks on their faces, hoping I don’t crack.

I take a deep breath, close my eyes and exhale slowly to stop myself from choking up. I’m surprised at how emotional I feel. I didn’t know I missed the closeness of other so much – that unguarded laughter and having someone totally get you.

I reach under my bed, disturbing the thin layer of dust on top of the case I pull out. Inside are three photos in frames, which once sat on my bedside table. I put them away because it’s easier not to see them every day. I line them up on my bed. These are my friends that have died: Jess, Louis, and Oscar.

Three young, smiling faces. Three beautiful people.

Their only connection is me.

That’s how the whisperers see it anyway.

The whisperers’ real name is the pure apostles or the PAs. Dad found out about the group from an old colleague, Kevin Barrett, who went to a few of their meetings after his wife died. Father Ratchet told Kevin that the pure apostles could help him deal with his loss, and he hoped they could, but he couldn’t get past the whispering chants they did at the meetings. Ever since Kevin told dad about it, dads called them the whisperers. Kevin is also how we know the group is led by father Ratchet. The followers aren’t the usual Sunday-morning churchgoers. These guys have extra meetings a few times a week, and everything about them is kept secret. Kevin even said he had to sit behind a screen and he couldn’t see or join the others until he became a full member. He never got to that stage, he said it was a bit weird and wasn’t his thing. But it seems to work for some people. Especially troubled and gullible people like Ged – Geraldine.

Before, Ged and I were actually friends. But everything changed when Geds father bashed up her mother. Ged and her older brother were ok, but Geds mother ended up in the hospital with a massive head injury, and she never really recovered.

Like with Kevin, father Ratchet didn’t miss the opportunity to recruit. Dad and I happened to be walking past Geds house the morning after it had happened. I remember seeing the blue and white police tape draped over the front gate so no one could enter. Coles police car was parked on an angle on the front lawn, which was littered with empty beer bottles and broken furniture. A half-closed suitcase lay on the front lawn, clothes strewn all over the grass. With the shock of the whole scene in front of me, I stopped and wondered what might have happened. Then I saw a flash of white retreat deeper into the shadows at the side of the house. It was father Ratchet. I remember the chill that went down my spine at the sight of him lurking around like that. There was something really disturbing – sinister, almost – about seeing him there that day. Something unsettling about the fact that he clearly didn’t want to be seen. Since then, Geds father has been in jail – for what happened that day and for other things too. And after that, although it’s not openly spoken about, Ged turned into a devoted follower of the PAs and father Ratchet. It’s funny how secrets are known by everyone, yet everyone pretends not to know.

Once Ged became a whisperer, she became convinced that I was cursed, that I caused my friends to die, and she’ll tell anyone who listens to stay away from me.

I place the photos back in the case, close the lid and push it under my bed. I don’t open the case often, but sometimes I just need to see them. I need to remember that I was capable of sharing close friendships, capable of connection.

I glance at my watch and realize I’ve lost track of time and that I don’t have long to get to work. I quickly change into layers for the ride and grab my wind-breaker and helmet on the way out the door. The air is crisp – the fog is moving in already, dimming the afternoon sunlight. Icy air bites my face and cools my lungs but I quickly heat up with the work of the ride. It’s uphill. I pass the main dam on the way. Fog sits low over the water. I’m seventeen and should be learning to drive, but after what happened to Jess and Oscar, the thought of getting behind the wheel of a car terrifies me. I refuse to learn. I’m not a nervous passenger, it’s only the idea of driving that bothers me. The responsibility is huge. I couldn’t live with myself if I crashed the car and killed someone.

Dad says my fear is irrational and that I need counseling. He says I am allowing the past to dictate my future. From a work perspective, he wants me to get my license as soon as I turn eighteen, but I’ve convinced him I can do the job on my bike. This means I can never complain about going out in bad weather or in winter when it gets dark early. It’s not always enjoyable, but I’ll keep doing it. It will always be better than driving.

The office is a large fibro box that was built in a neighboring town and then transported here in sections. It’s a total eyesore. Clearly, nothing was spent on design or aesthetics to make it blend into the environment, but it’s well situated and extremely well insulated. The moment I get inside I’m boiling, and I start stripping off my layers.

‘I’ve never seen this before’ Ed is saying, as he removed papers from the lower pockets of his cargos. He wears khaki shorts, a white t-shirt, a navy polar fleece vest and work boots every day of the year, even if it's freezing.

‘how many dams have it?’ its dad's voice.

I dash around behind Ed to see dad's face on the computer screen. When I come into view of the camera, dad sees me and his face breaks into a smile.

‘Here she is, Black, how are you today?’ he asks, still smiling

‘Hey, dad. What’s it like there today?’

‘It’s a total white-out. A blizzard has moved in. they’re saying it’ll see the week out.’

Dads in Antarctica, living his dream. Doing research there was number one on his bucket list.

‘Ed’ he continues ‘you’re going to have to check every dam. Notify council – tell them you’ve found it – but do nothing until you have all the data. It may be nothing to worry about.’

‘What’s happened’ I ask

‘Ed will fill you in. get back to me, Ed, if you get stuck. Black, how’s mum?’

We chat about family for a few minutes before he goes.  He may be thousands of kays away, but he’s hardly left the office. The water plant is his baby. He set it all up with a huge injection of cash from the government. He built it from nothing. Ed’s worked alongside dad since he started but he still runs everything by him, scared of doing the wrong thing. Ed says he’s worried he'll make a mistake and poison the whole town, but it’s not only that. He knows how much it means to dad that even the smallest mistakes aren’t made. They probably should have brought a formally qualified guy over to replace dad when he left five months ago, but dad knew Ed could work unsupervised. Technically, while dad is away, Ed is my boss because I’m just a casual. He always laughs about it and jokes that he’s the youngest, least experienced boss around. ‘Unqualified hydrologist contaminates the town water supply. Inexperience to blame for thousands dead.’ He often mocks, in his best newsreader voice. But underneath the laugh is true self-doubt. Which is ridiculous, because he’s totally capable. He knows everything about the plant, and he’s dedicated – he never slackens off or cuts corners – which is why I know that, whatever this problem is, it will mean a whole lot of cycling around the dams for me this afternoon.

Ed taps his pen on a notepad, his lips pursed. He’s had his hair cut in a short, college-boy style, like always. I bet it’s been six weeks on the dot since his last one.

‘Fill me in’ I say

He stands up and walks to the map that takes up half the wall.

‘There’s algal bloom I haven’t seen before. It came from dam two.’ He taps the map. ‘I checked dams five and seven earlier this afternoon and the sample looks the same. I sent it off to the main lab to confirm. We need to check the other dams. I’ll go to three and four’ he taps the dams on the map that are the furthest away from the office. ‘You do one, six and eight.’

I almost flinch when he says eight. It’s out of the way, but because it’s isolated, the quality of the water is never compromised by contaminants from dams one to seven. Dam eight is the town's back-up supply of water, which is great if something bad happened to the water supply, but it isn’t great for me, because its nestled at the back of Rockland forest and is only accessible by a narrow dirt track. I’ve only been there on my bike once before and it took me ages because I took a few wrong turns before finding it. Hopefully, I don’t do that again.

‘Do eight first and take a radio’ Ed says ‘I don’t want you getting lost, it’ll be dark around six. So I want you back in the office before then’

‘Since when have I ever been lost?’

‘Black, just take the radio’

‘Okay okay, I’ll take it’ I smile ‘I have a date on Friday night’

Ed drops his pen on the floor and leans on the wall clutching his chest.

I laugh ‘I know and I don’t want to hear it. I’m only telling you because ill be leaving work at six on the dot.’

‘Take the afternoon off’

‘I don’t need the afternoon off, I just need the last half-hour.’

‘Take the afternoon off. Do what other girls do with dresses and hair and face paint…. And enjoy.’ He pauses and makes a stern face ‘who is this guy? Is he worthy of you stepping out from the shadows?’

‘I don’t know who he is, he’s new’ I say, putting my layers back on. ‘The knuckleheads dared him to ask me out, I said yes because they expected me to say no. and then after all that, the new guy though I was a lesbian.’

Ed laughs ‘well, don’t go falling in love and getting gooey or anything.’ He follows me out the door. ‘You’re a scientist, your mind has to stay sharp.’

As I take off down the hill he yells ‘and if after this date, you think you’d like to go out again. Don’t forget to go out with me.’

‘You’re too old for me’ I yell back

‘Three years is nothing’ he replies

I know Ed is joking, but it still feels a little weird because there was a time I would’ve fallen off my bike if he had asked me out. When I first started working at the plant, Ed was new too. He was so smart, heaps of fun and I got the biggest crush straight away. It was the first time id felt anything like that since Oscar. I would hang back at the office if he was there, and sometimes he would drive me home.

I was totally in love with him, but I knew nothing would ever happen, so I made myself forget about it. Sometimes I still wonder, though, if we had met at a different time or under different circumstances if our relationship would have been more.

The fog clears as I enter Rockland forest. The light is flat, the air cold. The undergrowth is beautifully untouched.

I’ve been sitting idle for way too long, rolling downhill. The wheel on my bike crunches onto gravel then squishes through dark patches of slush. I reach into the pack that’s attached to the side of my bike and pull out my gloves. I put them on and the warmth registers as pain. Ugh! I never think to get them on quick enough. I push myself along the undulating road, enjoying the stillness and beauty of the forest.

I pull up on a five-way fork on the track. This is where I took the wrong turn last time and ended up about 10 kays from where I was supposed to be. I said to myself id have it sign-posted before I rode this way again, but of course, I forgot to ask dad or Ed about it.

One of the roads have tyre marks, so I take that one. No doubt the tracks are from Ed’s four-wheel drive. After about twenty minutes I start to think that I’ve done it again. Maybe I’ve taken the wrong road. I’m not too worried though. It’s not as if I’m lost. I can see; I can follow my own tracks out. The tyre marks are still visible, so I commit to riding around one last bend before turning back.

And then I see it.

I pull up sharply and suddenly become aware of my heart, which is pounding hard in my chest, probably more from shock than fright. It’s an abandoned house. Perhaps the abandoned house. The one featured in all ghost stories told at school camps. I’ve heard about this house in such great detail, but I’ve never seen it for myself.

Supposedly the family who lived here disappeared one day, leaving everything inside as if they went out for milk and bread and simply forgot to come home. There are so many theories about what might have happened to them. One is that something got them, super-natural. Of course. Some of the older kids tell more gruesome stories like murderers killing the whole family, taking their bodies and feeding them into a wood chipper at the dams.

I wonder what really did happen. Most likely they just moved and people made up everything else. Still, I’ve heard of people hiking up here and testing their courage by running through the house – but that could just be a story too. I’ve never met anyone who’s actually done it.

The house is completely overgrown, with leafy branches leaning on part of the roof. The outside of the house is covered with the remains of a vine. No leaves, just long, gnarly tendrils clasping the walls. Remnants of white paint fleck the weather-boards. Three small windows under arched eaves jut out from the roof, each with four panes of glass, all still intact. Amazing. The windows on the ground level are tall and narrow, the same size as the front door. They are all blacked out with snugly fitted external blinds that look newer than the house – out of place, heavy-duty. Six wooden poles hold up the narrow porch, which just covers the front steps. It would have been beautiful in its day, nestled in the forest. A house people would dream of.

My eyes trace a path through ferns and grasses from the front step to the bulb-shaped road that stops before the house.

Then I notice something strange.

Some of the grass in front of the house is flattened, as if cars have recently parked there, and the path from the front door to the road is worn.

As if someone visits.

I’m totally and irrationally spooked and the forest and the fog lurking above suddenly feels ominous and menacing. The sound of a car startles me. I turn and see the dim light hit the trees at the bend. I pull my bike off the road, trip on some rocks, let myself fall into the moss and ferns and then scramble along the wet ground out of sight. The car moves slowly. I don’t dare peer over the rocks for the fear of being seen. The car creeps by slowly even further. Red glows on the trees around me. Holding my breath, I keep my head down and lie still.

The car crawls past, I breathe.

A dark four-wheeled drive pulls up at the house. A broad figure wearing a dark, long coat, sunglasses and a beanie steps out of the car and looks in my direction. The face is cast in shadow.

My cover isn’t as dense from this angle. I lie flat, motionless. Any movement could give me away. The figure turns and walks to the house. I sit up to get a better view and strain my eyes to see better. The person turns before entering and looks right at me.

As soon as the door opens then closes, I’m up and running with my bike. I hope – one, two, and three – to keep momentum, while my other foot finds the pedal, I don’t look back. Cold seeps through my clothes as the wind rushes over me. I’m wet from lying on the ground. I glance down at my arms. They’re covered in mud that’s a color I’ve never seen around here before. Black.

When I finally roll onto the office, it’s just on six and dark. I’m frozen solid. Numbness in my fingers causes me to fumble with the samples as I pull them from my bag. I hug them to my body so I don’t drop them and stiffly, push my way through the door. Ed looks up and smiles, pushing his tortoiseshell rims onto his face.

‘It’s a human icy pole….’ He laughs. ‘So that no driver's license thing is still working out for you?’

I place the beakers down, sigh intentionally and loudly and ignore him as I shrug out of my coat. I have spare clothes in my locker. It’s not the first time I’ve come back from the dams wet and freezing.

‘You should be learning to drive Black, there’s a car just sitting there. In a few months, you could be driving around dry, with the heater on 30 and arctic monkeys blaring through the spe – Jesus Black!’ he says when he sees the state of my clothes. ‘You stacked your bike?’

‘Not exactly’ I move the beakers so they’re directly in front of him.

‘Well there’s no hiding where you’ve been’

‘What?’

‘The mud. Mud that color is only found out the back of Rockland. Scientists here call it ‘black earth’. Clearly they spent a lot of time on the name.’ he chuckles. Then he continues in a stupid American accent. ‘But the Texans, they were a little more creative. They call it ‘black gumbo’. “Girl” they would say “you’re covered in black gumbo”.

I can’t help but laugh ‘you sound like a rapper, not a Texan. I’m going for a shower.’

Ed taps out a beat with his pen and starts to rap as I walk away from him. ‘My little work chumbo hit the black gumbo. She came off her bike cause she hit a big spike and landed on her teeny-tiny bumbo.’

‘Ed’ I cut him off, lacing my voice with the flatness of boredom.

‘C’mon Black, that one was totally excellent!’ he calls as I close the bathroom door laughing under my breath.