Queen of the Dark Things (19 page)

Kaycee reached the kitchen with its slick linoleum floor and its wide open space. She skated on stockinged feet, crossing the room in seconds, a giddy little smile on her face. Then a turn of the knob and the pantry opened, its dark innards beckoning, the thick smell of mixing foods belching out into the night. Beans. Crackers. Peanut butter. Honey. Smells so sweet, blending; a frothy, hearty stew, tickling her nose.

She looked up at the deep black in the corner of the topmost shelf. Though she couldn't see it, she knew it was there. Booze. Liquor of all sorts. Vodka. Whiskey. And most important, rum. She could picture them. The distinct shape of the bottle, square with a narrowing bottom like the jaw of a thick yobbo; the proud white polar bear peeking out from the yellow label ringed with red and brown racing stripes.

Kaycee knew the bottle well. Not only was it her father's favorite drink, but it also tempted and teased her. Polar bear juice. For years she had pined for it before sneaking a sip that she spat out on the couch. The stain was still there. Daddy had laughed.
Learn to keep it down or don't drink it. You don't waste good booze.

Tonight she wouldn't waste it.

Tonight she would feed it to the spirits in her backyard, spirits that would lead the way to the bunyip. Her insides tickled, dancing a little at the thought. She was so close now. All she had to do was climb this pantry shelf. In the dark. Silently.
Piece of cake.

She grabbed the shoulder-level shelf with both hands, gripping it between her chin and neck, raising her one good stockinged foot into the air, carefully feeling her way around. There it was; the shelf beneath her. Her foot came down gracefully, her weight shifting onto it. The shelf cried out a little at the added weight, the brackets holding it up straining to keep steady.

Kaycee held her breath once more. Snoring.

She raised her second foot, all of her weight bearing down on the two shelves.
So far, so good.
Then she pushed up, ascending a level, her hands grasping the next shelf, her weight for a moment on her bad foot.
Almost there.
Her hands trembled, equal parts nervousness and effort. The shelves rattled a bit, the food shifting as the boards began to bow. Once more she brought up a single foot. Then the other. And she pushed up again, rising to halfway up the pantry.

She stretched, her fingers tickling the top shelf, batting a blunted square bottle, spinning it blindly in the dark.

Kaycee had to climb one more shelf.

Her stomach tightened. She was too high up now. If she fell, she was going to get hurt.
No time to think about that
.
Think of the bunyip. Think about anything but how high up you are. Think about anything but the ground down there. Think of the bunyip. Think of the bunyip.

Her muscles were aching now, her hands shaking more violently than before, tightly grasped around a wobbly shelf. She raised a foot. Then the other. And she pushed up once more.

Victory.

The shelves groaned again beneath her weight. Bottles clanked as she grabbed them, shuffling them down a level. Her hands were cramping; her legs were giving out.
Just a few. More. Bottles.

That's when she heard them. Like gremlins. Scampering. Scraping. Clawing. Giggling, chuckling to themselves, hushing one another like teenage girls sneaking out of a house at a slumber party. She couldn't see them, couldn't make them out in the dark, but she knew they were there, climbing over one another just feet beneath her.

She looked down, her grip loosening, arms unsteady as ever.

Then a single clawed hand reached up, grabbing her ankle.

“Stop it!” she whispered loudly. “Let go!”

She acted quickly, shaking off the grip of the hand, leaping up to the next highest shelf. And with that, the shelf snapped beneath her.

She tumbled, her fall so brief that she never even knew what was happening.

Kaycee's head smacked hard onto the floor, the dull concussive shock blunting the sound of the back of her skull shattering.

T
HE PRETTY LITTLE
girl in the purple pajamas stood above her own broken, tiny body, watching as a large puddle of blood pooled beneath her head. Her hair had already soaked up all the blood it could and the rest spilled across the floor, racing to reach the walls. The shadows stood around her, watching the life drain onto the linoleum.

“Does this mean we're not getting any rum?” asked one of the shadows.

“Quiet,” said another.

“I wanted rum.”

“Me too.”

“We all wanted rum,” said Jeronimus. “But she doesn't have a body to get it with anymore. She broke it.”

“I didn't!” said the girl.

“You did,” said Jeronimus. “You broke it.”

“Fix it!” shouted a shadow. “Fix it and bring us the rum!”

“I can't!”

“Fix it!”

The pretty little girl in the purple pajamas ran from the pantry, her incorporeal body leaping over the kutji, through the kitchen, and into the living room in the span of a breath. There, in his chair, her father slumbered loudly. She couldn't smell him, couldn't feel him. She shouted, “Dad! Dad, wake up! Dad, please!” But still he slept. “Dad, wake up! I need you!”

Wade muttered quietly, shifting in his sleep as if he could hear her like distant whispers in a dream. Louder and louder she screamed but couldn't rouse him. He was out, thick with the sleep of the drink, and she
wasn't real
. She was in the dream. The colors of the house were brighter, the shadows were all alive, and her father would never see or hear her, no matter how hard she tried.

“Dad, I'm dying,” she whispered, her voice choking with tears. She reached out with her dreamlike hand and stroked a face and chin she could not feel. “I love you.”

“I love you, darlin',” muttered Wade, unaware that he was saying good-bye to his daughter.

“You're not dying,” said Jeronimus as he crept softly behind her. “You're just beginning. The dream is out there
waiting
. The bunyip is out there
waiting
. Your destiny—”

“My destiny is waiting.”

“It is.”

She leaned in and gave her father a final kiss, trying to stroke his hair as he did hers, even if only for show. “Good-bye, Dad.”

C
HAPTER
26

N
IGHT OF THE
B
UNYIP

M
andu sat before the fire, the crisp, crystal-clear night sky wheeling above him, his didgeridoo—thin, wavy, painted the colors of a poisonous snake—pressed firmly between his lips. He blew, the long, droning hum, electrifying the air with the mystic buzz of its note, twittering deep like a three-foot-long locust.

Colby watched, entranced. He'd read about didgeridoos in school, but he'd never seen what one actually did to dreamstuff. The night grew colorful, ancient stories becoming songs, songlines taking shape in hallucinatory plays. The fire crackled and popped, long-dead spirits seemingly coming alive again to tell their side of it.

“What are you doing?” asked Colby, his knuckles white, fists clenched tight, eyes wide and excited.

Mandu finished his note, his breaths long and evenly paced, not having winded himself in the slightest despite the lengthy performance. “I'm calling out the things of the night. Telling them we're coming.”

“Telling what we're coming?”

Mandu paused, searching for the right words. “Tonight is an important night. I've had dreams about it for years, seen fragments that have slowly pieced together like a puzzle. Tonight is the night you and I go to the lake, drink of its waters, and see a bunyip.”

“A bunyip? What's a bunyip?”

“The most dangerous creature in all of the outback. Capable of drowning those who camp too close to the water while they sleep. Able to grasp a fella in its mouth and chomp him in half. It's large and furry, massive, really, like a horse, but broad and thick like a wombat. It's got teeth like tusks, but dozens of them. It can change shape, looking like whatever will scare you most. And it wants nothing more than to drag your corpse back into the water to feed on your innards for days.”

Colby gaped at Mandu, both baffled and terrified. Then nodded, coolly. “Oh,” he said. “You're sure?”

“You have no idea how sure I am.”

Colby mulled this over for a moment. “How does it work?” he asked.

“How does what work?”

“Your dreams. Seeing the future. How does that work?”

Mandu smiled, nodding, admiring Colby's curiosity. “The dreams come to me in pieces. We all see the future in dreams. We just have so many dreams that it's hard to tell them apart. In mine though, I have a dingo. A big one.” Mandu held his arms out wide, stretching them as far as he could. “Huge. Eyes black as black can be. He shows up, slips out of the night, and just looks at me. He's my familiar, my spirit animal. And when he's in a dream, I know that this is something that is going to happen.

“It only comes in fragments though. Never the whole thing at once. Sometimes it's just a few images. Other times it is whole scenes. But over the years, if your mind is sharp, you can stitch all the memories together like a movie and get an idea of what the future is going to be.”

“So you know what's going to happen tonight?”

Shrugging, Mandu looked at the stars and juggled the answer. “Some. Not all. We'll see how it all shakes out. The dreams haven't lied before. But you can never trust nothin'.” He grabbed his walking stick, braced it in the dirt, and climbed it to his feet. “Even dreams lie. Let's go.”

T
HE PRETTY LITTLE
girl in the purple pajamas hid behind a large rock atop an outcrop overlooking the marshy billabong below—surrounding her on all sides was a flock of black crows, wriggling, dancing, ruffling their feathers, unable to contain their excitement. It was
the
night. Everything changed tonight. Everything. For everyone. Tonight a path would be chosen and set; they need only wait to see the moment for sure.

For the pretty little girl in the purple pajamas, tonight was the night she saw her destiny up close. For the crows it meant being one step closer to having one more piece of the puzzle that would set them free.

At first she heard them. The Clever Man was blowing his didgeridoo, buzzing sweet the night. Then the figures appeared, two blue-tinted silhouettes in the moonlight. The water began to ripple and dance, the reflection of the moon and the stars going hazy, then wavy, then vanishing to flash on and off in the waves.

And that's when she saw it rise out of the water.

The bunyip.

It was massive, like a furry rhinoceros, its head elongated, stretched out and squished at the end of a long neck as if it were clay pressed together too hard by giant fingers. It flicked a long anteaterlike tongue at the water, tickling past gleaming teeth as long as a man's arm. Six legs sloshed through the water, all of them with claws nearly as long as its teeth.

This wasn't a monster; it was a nightmare. The amalgam of almost everything she feared, dripping wet, creeping quietly toward land.

“That's what you've been looking for?” asked one of the crows. “It doesn't look like much.”

“Quiet,” said another crow. “It means something to her.” Then it turned to the girl. “Doesn't it?”

She nodded, her eyes bright, glistening slightly with tears. “Uh-huh. It's exactly what I've been waiting for.” She looked around at all the crows, who watched her expectantly, smiling. “Thank you. Thank you all. I wouldn't be here without you.”

“No, you wouldn't,” said the second crow. “Remember that when the time comes. Now, get down there.”

M
ANDU AND
C
OLBY
stood at the water's edge, the moon rippling in its sheen. They looked out and saw the hulking shadow moving slowly, silently toward them.

“Don't be afraid,” said Mandu. “They only charge faster when they sense fear.”

“I'm not afraid,” said Colby truthfully, his eyes straining to make out the shape of the monster.

Mandu looked down. “You're not, are you?”

“I've seen bigger. And scarier. If he gets too close, I'll—” He gestured with both hands as if he had a rifle. “
Pkew!
Pkew!
”

“I have no doubt about that.” Mandu reached into his pouch and pulled from it his bullroarer, immediately spinning the wooden charm through the air on the end of its cord. It hummed and whistled, seemingly whispering something unintelligible into the night air.

The bunyip stopped where it stood, scratching its ear with a paw, trying to chase away the noise. It whinnied and growled and stomped in the mud. Then it turned and sank back into the water, hiding in the deeps. The water rippled a bit more, then became unnaturally calm, inviting.

“You see, that's what will hold you back, Colby. You fight with strength, not cleverness. Cleverness is good for victory. Strength is good for killing. And killing never ends well.”

“I don't fight with strength. I fight with magic. And magic is cleverness.”

Mandu shook his head. “No. Strength is for using against others. Cleverness is getting someone to act against themselves. You can do that with magic. But you don't think like that.”

“Yeah I do,” said Colby, indignant.

“Then how were you going to stop the bunyip if it attacked?”

“I was, well, I . . . that's different. If it was going to attack, I should be able to defend myself.”

“I confused it. Sent it away. Clever. You were just going to make it go
poof
! Strength.”

Colby looked down shamefully at his feet. “I was going to make it go
poof
!”