Bunyip hellhouse, p.1
Bunyip / Hellhouse, page 1
THE NEXT FILES
DOUBLE PUZZLER
BUNYIP
And
HELLHOUSE
by
G L Keady
ALSO BY
G L Keady
DREAMRAIDERS
SONS OF STEEL
CHANNELING BO
THE INCARNATE
Axis Stone Mysteries
SUICIDE BLONDE
LEG MAN
SMUGGLER’S HOLE
HORSE ARM CASE
GOD’S DOOR
THE SACRED THREE
THE GIRL WITH THE LUNATIC FRINGE
CAT STREET
THE ZIGGY STARDUST DEAD RINGER
Sons of Steel Saga
FUTURES END
CYBERWARS
DARK ENERGY
BLOCKCHAIN
AL AND THE ID
TABLETS OF DESTINIES
DOMINION
ALL THE TIME IN THE WORLD
The Next Files
EIGHT DRAGONS
MIN MIN
LANG SUYAR
BLOOD OF THE AZTECS
Published in Australia in 2024
by Big Island Publishing
Copyright © Gary Keady 2024
The right of Gary Keady to be identified as the moral rights
author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance
with the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) AD. 2000
This book is copyright.
Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of private study,
research, criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright Act,
no part may be reproduced by any process without written permission.
Enquiries should be addressed to the publishers.
All rights reserved.
No portion of this work may be copied by any means without
prior written agreement of the publishers.
Big Island Publishing
PO Box 3027, Tuross Head, 2537, NSW, Australia
www.bigislandpublishing.au
ISBN:
E-book: 9780975633083
Print: 9780975633090
Edited by: Canon Doyle
Cover design: Brandon Evans-Keady
CHAPTER
ONE
Wearing earbuds that played ‘Girl of the World’, one of her favourite tracks, Mirren Butler tussled with the unsteady old gate of Mont House. It’s an abandoned, rundown farmhouse sitting on Yanco Creek. The moon was full and yellow overhead, casting an eerie shadow over the house from a big, dead blue gum at the driveway’s side.
Mirren is a Wiradjuri girl, working as a junior heritage officer for Parks, Heritage and Wildlife. She oversees six heritage estates, including Mont House. She drove her Rav 4 through the gate and pulled up at the homestead. Fresh from graduating Leeton High and new on the job, she had P plates on the council car. Mont House was her last stop on her weekly rounds, and she was late, not planning on checking for vandalism in the dark.
She left the headlights on, took out her earbuds, grabbed her torch, and stepped out of the car, heading for the porch steps. The single-storey weatherboard house had a menacing look, with windows on either side of the front door like eyes and a weird curved door arch resembling an angry mouth. The wind was picking up, hinting at the spring storm on the way, with lightning flashing in the south.
The floorboards creaked under Mirren’s work boots. A gust of wind brought a strange sound—a mix of a dog’s howl and a croaky growl, something she’d never heard before. She ignored it, scanning the area with her torch, confirming everything was secure. She checked the CCTV on the eave, its red light blinking, showing it was sending digital images back to the office via satellite. Job done, she waved at the CCTV, then turned to leave.
But then, a loud, unearthly scream stopped her dead. She swung her torch towards the creek, where the noise had come from. Suddenly feeling very alone in the dark, she bravely, tentatively, started towards the tree line edging the swampy creek, about 100 metres away.
The wind intensified, sending her long black hair streaming out like a banner; the storm was drawing closer—thunder rolled in the distance. A sudden crack resounded, and her torchlight revealed a Weeping Willow, where the large, intense eyes of an owl stared back at her. Winding through the trees, Mirren reached a stagnant billabong, a relic of the last flood, with the murmuring of Yanco Creek audible in the distance. Suddenly, the harmonious nocturnal chorus of frogs and crickets fell silent, leaving the world around her eerily quiet. She stood still, a chill running down her spine. The tales from her elders echoed in her mind, warning of supernatural occurrences heralded by such silence. A loud splash from the billabong made her spin around, her torch illuminating a floating cow, its body gruesomely ripped open... truly gross. The reeds along the billabong’s bank rustled violently ... something was moving through them, something low and swift. As she cast the light through the reeds, trying to spot the source, she caught a fleeting glimpse of something otherworldly, unlike anything she had ever seen or imagined. In that heart-stopping moment, Mirren knew, deep down, it had to be a bunyip.
With his cowboy boots propped up on the desk, his father’s hat tipped back on his head, and blowing big purple bubblegum bubbles, Digger was utterly engrossed in the email he’d just received.
“Hey!” Jax exclaimed, entering abruptly, startling Digger nearly out of his skin.
“Jax, you scared the heck out of me!”
Jax sauntered over, “Oh sorry, didn’t mean to … What’s got you so jumpy?”
“This email from a Wiradjuri girl. She had a close encounter with a bunyip.”
“Seriously? I thought bunyips were just in Aboriginal folklore, you know, lurking in billabongs and riverbeds, waiting to snatch livestock, women, and kids … that kind of stuff.”
“Yeah, that’s what I always thought. But wait till you read this … She’s legit, works for Parks and Wildlife.”
Jax’s interest piqued. “Where exactly?”
“Leeton.”
“Should’ve guessed when you mentioned Wiradjuri. Their country includes Narrandera, Yanco, Leeton… Wiradjuri means ‘running water’, right? After the Murrumbidgee River.”
“Yeah, ‘Murrumbidgee’ translates to ‘big water’ in Wiradjuri. Here, take a look…” He swivelled his monitor for her to read the email. After a quick scan, Jax said, “So she wants us to check it out?”
“Yep. Locals think it’s typical cattle mutilation,” Digger explained.
“Like from aliens?”
“That’s one guess … The newspaper in Wagga Wagga reported it but didn’t specify. No mention of a bunyip or aliens. They hinted at dingoes.”
“Dingoes wouldn’t do that to a cow,” Jax stated matter-of-factly.
“It would make a cracking ‘Next Files’ story,” Digger chuckled, eager for a trip out of town.
“You just want to hit the bush,” Jax observed, raising an eyebrow knowingly.
“Think you can persuade Doc?”
“Probably. He loves debunking myths. He’d jump at the chance.”
An hour later, Jax was in Carter’s office, laying out the story for him. Carter, in his typical pitch-receiving mode, sat behind his desk, rotating a pen between his fingers while slightly swaying in his big office chair. After Jax finished her pitch, a pause filled the room. Carter halted his swivelling and pen-twirling, clearly having reached a decision.
“Hmm, the bunyip falls into the same category as the yowie, Australia’s version of sasquatch, the yeti and bigfoot … I’m not sure if a cattle mutilation will thrill our city audience.”
“That wouldn’t be my angle boss, like it’s about the horror this teenage Wiradjuri girl, Mirren Butler experienced at this old abandoned Mont House. Digger’s idea is for us stay a few nights there and film it, hand held…”
“I get it like the Blair Witch Project?”
“Yep, something like that.”
“Well if it gets the audience it got in 1999, but it was a mockumentary, is that your intention?”
“No. I won’t risk losing the integrity of The Next Files.”
“Good to hear,” he said, resuming his pen-twiddling. “Run it past Janet, if you get her approval it’s a go.”
“Thanks boss.”
As she was getting up to leave, Carter asked, “By the way when’s Tilly back?”
“According to Digger the next day or two.”
“And Doc, haven’t seen him around?”
“After Janet, I’ll need to pitch bunyip to him.”
“Good luck with that,” he said with a sceptical glint in his eye.
Jax entered the Friend in Hand pub, expecting to find Doc playing his usual game of darts. True to form, there he was, sitting with a couple of mates, enjoying a beer. Doc looked up as she approached and said cynically, “Ah, if it isn’t queen Jax.” His comment drew a raucous laugh from his three companions.
Blushing and a bit embarrassed, Jax folded her arms and rolled her eyes. “Done?”
Doc grinned. “Ease up, Jax. I was just telling these guys about our last crazy adventure.”
Jax wasn’t in the mood for small talk. “Need to talk to you, in private.”
Doc got up, “Sure thing,
As they made their way to the bar, Doc shared a light-hearted story. “My mate Bevan was just telling us he was visiting his sister yesterday when he came out of her place, the house across the street was being auctioned. He saw a friend of his in the auction, gave him a wave and bought the house.”
Jax cracked a smile. “For real? Or you just messing with me?”
“Nope, just trying to get a smile out of you. So, what’s up?”
They sat on stools at the bar. Doc ordered a couple of beers, and Jax filled him in on the bunyip story. Waiting for his reaction, she watched as he mulled it over. Finally, he said, “The cattle mutilation angle is interesting. I’ve read about instances in the States, blaming it on aliens doing experiments or something. Doesn’t make a lot of sense that an alien species would travel the galaxy to visit an outback town to autopsy a cow.”
“I agree, which is why Digger and I favour the bunyip scenario.”
“Isn’t that just Aboriginal myth?”
“Yes, but there have been sightings of it since colonisation.”
“What’s it look like?”
Jax handed over her phone, and as he looked at depictions of the bunyip, he read aloud, “’Descriptions vary enormously, from feathered alligators to large seal-like monsters and even giant three-horned toads. Some have suggested that the mythology may have originated from the early Aboriginal people’s encounters with megafauna, the giant marsupials that occupied the continent thousands of years ago. The bunyip was believed by the Aboriginals to have supernatural powers’… now that doesn’t surprise me… This is interesting, ‘In 1857 an Edwin Stocqueler travelled on the Murray and Goulburn rivers, where six times he sighted a large freshwater seal, having two small paddles or fins attached to the shoulders, a long swan like neck, a head like a dog, and a curious bag hanging under the jaw, resembling the pouch of the pelican. The animal was covered with hair, like the platypus, and the colour a glossy black. This he claimed was a bunyip.’”
“So, what do you think? Are you onboard to debunk a myth?”
CHAPTER
TWO
Later, at Tilly’s house, they were all gathered around a table in the sunroom. Jax, Digger, and Doc were deep in planning mode for their trip to Mont House. Digger, fidgeting with a digital camera, complained, “Don’t know why I have to be the cameraman.”
“It’s your idea for the Blair Witch-style shoot,” Jax reminded him.
“I’m not so great with gadgets,” Digger grumbled.
Doc, with a somewhat dour expression, offered, “Give it here then … If I could handle the camera on our last trip, I can manage this one too.”
Digger handed over the Sony camcorder with relief. “Yeah, well, just keep it dry, okay?”
Jax joked, “I don’t think we’ll be doing any white water rafting on this one.”
“So, you want it all Blair Witch-like, hand-held, reality TV style?” Doc clarified.
“That’s what Janet wants,” Jax said. “She thinks the less editing, the more convincing it’ll be.”
“Won’t be convincing if nothing happens,” Doc pointed out.
Digger, with a hint of mystery, said, “I don’t know ... I’ve got a weird feeling about this one.”
Digger and Jax exchanged a solemn look, which Doc, busy inspecting the camera, missed. “So, what’s the game plan?”
“I’ve talked to Mirren,” Jax replied. “She’s sorted out Mont House for us and will stay the three days. We just need enough supplies to last.”
“Is there anything at the house, like power, running water, eating utensils?” asked Doc.
“There’s power, but it’s a heritage site, pretty much unchanged since 1907. So, no electric lights, just candles, and no power outlets. It’s got a wood stove, but we’ll need to bring our own cutlery and stuff. Oh, and no fridge or beds.”
“So, not exactly an AirBNB, huh?” Doc quipped with a smile.
“Nope, it’s pretty basic. Think sleeping bags and rations.”
“Will we be armed?” inquired Digger.
“Mirren will be,” Jax replied.
“Okay, I’ll ask the obvious question, what happened in 1907 for it to be vacated until now?”
“In that year three Wiradjuri, a man, his woman and their 4-year-old boy, were making their way along Yanco Creek looking for tucker, it was getting near dark, so they set up camp next to billabong, only a hundred metres from the Mont homestead. During the night it is believe a creature emerged from the swampy waters of the billabong, attacked the campsite and ate the little boy. The man managed to spear the monster but it had no effect, it came after them. They ran to the Mont homestead for help. Living there was Alister Mont and his wife Victoria. Banging on the door and screaming woke them. It was 3 am, Mont grabbed his rifle and answered the door. “Okay, I’ll ask the obvious question, what happened in 1892 for it to be vacated until now?” Doc queried.
“Well, in that year, three Wiradjuri people—a man, his partner, and their 4-year-old kid—were traveling along Yanco Creek, hunting for tucker. It was getting dark, so they camped near a billabong, just a hundred metres from the Mont homestead. During the night, it is believed a creature came out of the swampy waters of the billabong, attacked their camp, and took the little boy. The man tried to spear the creature, but it didn’t stop; it came after them. They ran to Mont House for help. Alister Mont and his wife Victoria lived there. The banging and screaming woke them up around 3 am. Mont grabbed his rifle and went to answer the door.” When he opened it, he found the two Wiradjuri on the porch, torn to pieces, and no sign of what had attacked them, just this weird guttural sound, like a large crocodile, coming from the darkness. Victoria was so freaked out by it, they sold up and left. Rumours spread, and the place has been deserted ever since.”
“So, Mont didn’t actually see anything?” Doc asked.
“No, the police combed the area the next day, including the billabong, and came up empty, except a black tracker found a set of huge, webbed footprints leading from the billabong to the house and back to the water. There wasn’t a proper autopsy, but a Leeton doctor examined the bodies and reckoned they’d been mauled by a large creature with claws. He’d seen similar wounds from a croc attack in Queensland. No crocs have ever been reported that far south in New South Wales, but in saying that, 2019, a skinned croc was found on the bank of the Murray River near Mildura. The Murrumbidgee, where Yanco Creek is a tributary, meets the Murray there.”
“Yeah,” Digger chimed in, “And the whole river system is fed by the Barka, right from near Queensland, so a croc might have made it down to Yanco.”
“The Barka? Never heard of that,” Doc said, puzzled.
“It’s the Darling River. The Koori call it the Barka,” Jax clarified.
“So, it could’ve been a massive croc?” Doc pondered.
“I doubt it,” Digger countered, “But if there’s been a croc or anything strange, the local Wiradjuri would likely know. Stuff like that usually shows up in their art.”
“That seems like a solid place to start,” Doc agreed. “When do we head out? I’ve got a gig tonight.”
“Oh cool, where?” Digger asked.
“The Friend in Hand. Come along, bring your harp and didge and jam with us.”
Digger’s face lit up with excitement. Jax, seeing his eagerness, said, “Sure, we’ll come. But I want to head to Leeton by midday tomorrow.”
Seated at the bar of the Friend in Hand, Jax had a great view across the crowded room to the stage. She sipped her beer and watched with pride as Digger joined in with backup vocals, complementing Doc’s lead performance of ‘Falling.’ The vibe in the pub was buzzing, and the music added to the lively atmosphere, offering a moment of relaxation and enjoyment before their upcoming adventure to Mont House.
Well, there’s twenty thousand faces
All standing in a line
Each one wants to get the job
But only one will sign
We’re falling, falling, free falling.
There’s trouble in the city
That’s what the papers say
But you can’t believe
In all you read
It’s a game we told to play
