The Creeper

PROLOGUE

‘Tom, are we lost?’

No answer.

‘Tom!’

He was looking at the map again, head close to it, a thin line of sweat running down the back of his neck.

Laura took her pack off and slumped to the ground. Immediately, ants converged, and with a heavy sigh she got up and stumbled to a fallen log. Let spiders come and bite me, she thought, sitting down. I don’t give a rat’s. She had a drink of water, then felt about in her pack for a muesli bar.

The sun was fast losing its warmth. Through the steep valleys and ridges of Mount Razor, shadows crept closer.‘I’m getting a blister,’ Laura moaned. She took her boot off and inspected her heel. ‘Have you got a Band-Aid?’

He still didn’t answer, and when she looked up at him again, she saw he had the compass out. For the first time in two days, Laura felt a prickle of alarm.

‘Tom. Are we lost?’

Her boyfriend put down the map and stared at her. ‘I think we missed the turn-off to the campsite. Remember the sign we  passed about an hour ago? We should have gone left rather than right.’

‘Bloody hell!’ she exploded. ‘You said you knew where we were going!’

Tom began folding the map back up. ‘We’d better get moving, it’s getting dark.’

Laura shook her head and rubbed her foot again. Honestly, she might break up with him after this. What was the point of having a boyfriend who said he loved the outdoors when every time he was outside, he got fucking lost? She shook her sock out and put it back on.

He’d been pretty annoying this whole hiking trip, actually. Going on about how she shouldn’t have worn new boots for the walk, and how noisy her sleeping mat was. I mean, shoot me, she thought. So I want to be comfortable. And that English accent she’d found so charming at first was now just plain irritating.

As she pulled her boot on, she felt a shadow pass over, casting everything one shade darker. It wouldn’t be long before they needed head torches. And, just to make matters worse, she felt a cold drop of rain on her face. Zipping up her backpack, she stood.

‘Hurry, Laura,’ Tom said. ‘And don’t forget your water bottle.’

Hurry, Laura, she mimicked to herself, but as she leaned over to pick it up, the bottle rolled a short distance down the hill before stopping at a large rock shelf.

‘Leave it,’ Tom said, ‘we’ve got to get moving.’

‘Are you kidding?’ Laura was already sliding carefully down the slope. ‘Those drink bottles are, like, twenty bucks. And it’s just here.’

Something in the corner of her eye made her start: a dark figure, kneeling beside the rock. For a few beats she stood stock still, until the realisation hit that it was a wallaby.

‘Oh god!’ she called out to Tom. ‘I just got the fright of my life!’ Tom muttered something in reply.

‘What’s that?’ she answered, as she retrieved her bottle.

‘Be quiet.’ Tom’s voice was sharp.

Laura edged up the slope.

‘Can you hear something?’ He helped her back onto the rocky path.

‘No.’

His face was taut with concentration. ‘I thought I heard something – further up the path.’

Laura felt a twist in her gut. It really was getting dark now. ‘It’s nothing. Come on.’

They started walking.

‘There it is again.’ Tom turned abruptly. ‘Listen.’

Laura stopped. Silence. Then, on the ridge behind them, maybe five hundred metres away: a movement. Something making its way towards them. She narrowed her eyes along the ridge path. Yes – she could make out a definite shape.

‘A kangaroo?’ she said after a pause.

Tom hesitated, gave a short nod, and then began walking back the way they’d come. She followed, faster now. Yes, it had most definitely been a kangaroo.

Her foot began rubbing again. ‘Tom, I seriously need a Band-Aid.’

‘Really?’ he said. ‘Can’t it wait?’

‘No, it—’

A scream sliced through the air.

Tom and Laura stared at one another, then looked behind them.

The dark shape was now taking human form, running – or limping – towards them through the snow gums on the winding path. Three hundred metres away.

Tom dropped his backpack and began rummaging through it. ‘Binoculars,’ he said, and handed them to Laura. ‘You can see better than me.’

Laura held them up to her eyes, adjusted the setting. The sky was a deep velvet, merging into black. It was difficult to see. But yes, she was sure it was a person. She magnified her view.

A young woman was running, mouth open, glancing behind her, and at the same time pushing forward in their direction. Was that blood across her face?

Laura lowered the binoculars. ‘I think she’s injured, but I’m not sure.’

‘What’s she running from?’ Tom asked.

Another scream, and this time the words rang through the night, echoing up and down the deep valleys and jagged plains.

Help!

He’s coming!

They’re all dead.

CHAPTER 1

‘For weeks, Australia was fixated by the image: a beautiful woman, running screaming through the bush at night. What occurred in the remote mountainous region of North-East Victoria dominated every TV news program, every magazine and newspaper. What police found shocked the nation . . .’

The reporter on the screen was walking through dry bushland, hair perfect, face solemn. He looked like a Ken doll. Sally snig-gered at his tight suit pants and jacket, so unsuitable for the environment. This reporting is crap, she thought. I should switch it off. I really should.

She turned up the volume.

‘One body, lying mangled in the bush, hacked to death. Four more fatally shot. The Parks Victoria officer, local James Brear . . .’

‘Jim!’ Sally called. ‘Get in here, you’re on the telly!’

‘. . . who was first on the scene, reported a fox already sniffing at the site.’

Sally sat back. The mention of the fox was a bit too much, bordering on the macabre. Yet she knew viewers would love the grisly detail. Plus, it was true: Jim had told her about the animal on one of the rare occasions he spoke about that day. The fox, he kept saying, it didn’t leave, even when I tried to shoo it away. It just stared at me.

The television screen was now filled with images of the people who had died that night, and then a map of the bush terrain in which they’d been found.

Sally stood up, did a couple of lunges, stretched her calves. It was important to stay fit: one demand of her job she liked. Outside, thick gum trees, closely set, dripped with last night’s rain. The air was heavy with it, even indoors. And to the back of the bush, Mount Razor rose like a god, its peak invisible in the cloudy morning air. Water would be cascading down its gigantic boulders; lacy ferns would droop like ballerina hands; and creatures would take cover in logs, burrows and caves. Everything bowed towards the mountain around here, the people most of all.

Sally called out to Jim again before dropping down to a plank position. She was trying to plank each morning for five minutes; it was excellent for the core. The report turned to early footage once more; this time, the police commissioner and a family member were being interviewed.

Barely kilometres from where she was planking right now, Sally thought, as her gut tightened and her breathing became laboured. A massacre just up the road.

‘And now, ten years on, the sole survivor, Laura Wynter, has finally agreed to talk about what happened that night. Her story, her words. Catch our exclusive on the Mountain Murders on—’

‘Why are you even watching this?’

Sally started, she hadn’t heard Jim come in. Her plank wobbled.

‘It was just on.’ She gave up the position and lay on her side. ‘I thought you’d be interested.’

‘I am not one bit interested.’ He was staring at the screen.

‘Well, like it or not, it’s about to blow up.’ Sally glanced at her boyfriend. ‘Ten-year anniversary.’

Jim made a humph sound, walked to the fridge, and took a long look inside. ‘I hate the way they’re going to rake it up. You weren’t here when it happened, Sal. You don’t know what it was like for everyone.’

Sally went quiet. The reason she didn’t know was because he barely talked about what he’d seen that day.

Jim rustled about in the fridge and selected a large apple. ‘I wonder why she’s talking now,’ he said to the piece of fruit. He was referring to the beautiful woman whose face was plastered across the screen. Sole survivor.

Ten years ago, in the dark of night, Jim had carried Laura Wynter to safety, fifteen kilometres through rough terrain on the Razor. What does that do to a person? Sally wondered, not for the first time.

‘I’d say a million dollars is why she’s talking now.’ Sally didn’t like the peevish tone that had crept into her voice. ‘Wouldn’t you?’

Jim nodded and walked past her, touching her absentmindedly on the shoulder. ‘Probably,’ he said.

As he headed outside to his Parks Victoria ute, she knocked on the kitchen window and he turned around. She gave him a heart sign with her hands. He gave it back. They did it jokingly, of course, but it made her feel better.

Sally’s eyes turned back to the screen, where the reporter was now kneeling by a small marker, touching it reverently, closing his eyes. She knew that marker, had read it a dozen times when she’d been walking along the Razor track.

In memory of the five hikers who tragically lost their lives on this trail
24th February 2014
Brooke Arruda
Kate Barone
Tom Evans
Lyn Howlett
Russell Walker

Five hikers. The sign didn’t include the local deer hunter, who was charged with murder-suicide. He didn’t rate a mention. Bill Durant: known as Deer Man to some; The Creeper to others. It was only recently, now the anniversary loomed, that Sally was beginning to hear his real name spoken.

Senior Constable Sally White picked up her keys and, after locking the house, climbed into her work-issued Toyota and drove the short distance to the police station. She passed one car on the way, gave the driver a toot: it was Don from up the road. Sally liked Don. He brought her tomatoes from his garden and gave her advice on the best walking tracks. Two months ago, she and Don had pushed a barrow full of zucchinis all the way up the Razor for charity. The man was nearing eighty, but he could walk like nobody’s business.

She drove over the Garrong River bridge, noting the rising swell of water beneath. Among other things to do today, she’d have to check the weather reports – road closures over Clearcut Creek might be necessary. For now, the sun shone through the clouds. A good song was playing on the radio: ‘Lazy Eye’ by Silversun Pickups. She turned up the volume and sang the tune out loud, beating her hands against the wheel as she made a sharp left down a dirt road and then a sharp right into the main street of Edenville.

Sally killed the engine, but not the song; she sat in the police car singing along. It was Thursday morning, all quiet in town. Stone gutters gushed with leaves and water; footpaths glis-tened; trees bent low. Despite the summer month, everything was lush and green. Six months into her work here, and Sally still marvelled at her luck: a posting in a mountain town, a hot boyfriend, good people and valleys and rivers and waterholes and country pubs. It was a world away from her Adelaide upbring-ing, then boarding school in Melbourne, flitting between the cities like a migrating bird.

People always talked about the death of small country towns, but it wasn’t the case here – no siree, it was not. The whole town glistened with newfound wealth. New businesses were setting up in the main street: a wholefood store, a wine bar scheduled to open in weeks. Old weatherboards lining the river were being torn down and rebuilt in handsome wood and steel; enormous windows with views of the mountains and the sky. House prices were edging past a million; rents were soaring. It was pricy here in Edenville, but ah, what wealth could do! She looked with pride at the maple-lined streets and evergreen poplars. For the tourists, tree-changers and grey nomads, Edenville was a shiny Christmas present under the tree.

The song ended with a steady beat then a high thrum. Sally pulled her long blonde hair into a ponytail, briefly checked the mirror and stepped out of the car, ripping up a few weeds as she walked into Edenville police station. It was a pretty building, like something from a children’s book: white weatherboard, roses and geraniums. Add that to the list of good things about her life: a picturesque police station all to herself. Her friends in the city worked in offices where they were crammed two to a desk; it was like dodgem cars, they said. You bumped shoulders every time you reached for your half soy. And that reminded her: Corina and Jac, two friends from school, were coming up tomorrow night. She whistled a bright tune. Fun times ahead.

Inside, the phone was ringing. Sally picked it up, put on her good voice.

‘Senior Constable Sally White speaking, Edenville Police.’

‘Seen the news?’

‘Is that you, Lex?’ Sally’s heart sank. The gravelly voice was that of Lex Durant, younger brother of the deceased deer hunter accused of the Mountain Murders.

‘Need to speak with you today.’

‘Can you come into the station, Lex?’

‘Can’t. Foot got caught in a rabbit trap. Can’t do nothing for a week.’

Rabbit traps were illegal. She’d told him that before.

‘Have you been to the clinic about it?’

‘Yeah, nurse give me some tablets. Done nothing.’

A young mother walked past the station door, two little children in tow. They looked like something from a 1950s poster, till one of the kids kicked the other hard up the bum. The younger one wailed.

‘So, can you come here?’ Lex repeated.

The mother handed the screaming child a ball, and the noise stopped instantly.

‘No, Lex. You’ll need to come to the station.’

There was a pause.

‘I’ll put the dogs on a chain.’

During her first week in Edenville, she’d been called out to a disturbance on the Durant property. Illegal burning. As soon as she’d climbed out of the police vehicle, three dogs had rushed her, scaring her to death.

Lex’s property was down a dirt road on the outskirts of town, situated at the foot of the Razor. The mountain’s shadow often covered it in a dark shroud, as if the house was in mourning, and kneeling before a giant. In the near darkness, the old weatherboard structure had had a definite Wolf Creek vibe.

Lex cleared his throat down the line. ‘Got something to tell you. About my brother.’

A twinge of interest. Sally stretched her calves as she stood. ‘Yeah?’

‘You should come around.’

Lex had something to say about Bill Durant, did he? The whole country wanted to know about The Creeper right now. Sally looked at her day’s schedule. It was relatively free. She made a show of shuffling papers and muttering about work.

‘Okay, Lex, I can fit it in. I’ll be there just after one.’

The weak ray of sunlight beaming on her desk strengthened, then faded. Maybe it was a sign, Sally thought, before hanging up and turning to her work. Her friend Amelia paid a lot of attention to ‘signs’; and not just the run-of-the-mill, black-cat-crossing-your-path kind of stuff. Amelia thought that if someone offered you an orchid at a party, you would die before midnight. But Amelia smoked a lot of weed. So.

Sally looked up the growing list of road closures and made some calls. A woman came in, asking her to sign passport photos. Someone else dropped an eighteenth birthday party invitation on the desk, suggesting she check it out this Saturday night, because it could get wild. Sally noted it all down, then headed off to investigate the state of the roads. What’s a wild eighteenth look like these days? she wondered. At hers, she’d played beer pong with her mates, then hit the clubs. She’d kissed someone from Ballarat before stumbling back to her share house, her hangover hours away, the sun rising over the bay, and her high heels clicking in her hands.

At the Garrong bridge leading out of town, a Vic Roads worker was already setting up detour signs. The river wasn’t yet at flood status, he informed her, but if there was more heavy rain, they’d be closing the road altogether. The worker and Sally both raised their faces to the overcast sky.

‘Hang on, won’t that cut the town off?’ Sally felt a sudden pang of alarm. What about her friends coming from Melbourne?‘

Don’t worry, town’ll be safe as houses,’ the worker said, chewing gum loudly.

Sally took out her phone, noted it down. If the town was closed off, she’d have to let the school know, call the larger station in Wexton, check what the full procedure was.

But now, a different emotion – a slight excitement – bubbled up. The town cut off, and her in actual charge?