#Rustle the Carpet Python

[hasellia]

It's snake season alright.

The other day, I was watering and repositioning some pot plants in the garden when a Green Whip snake popped in to drink from the bromliads I filled.

And then today, I almost smushed Rustle the resident Carpet Python! ((( ；ﾟДﾟ))) .

We were worried I may have caused internal damage, but a check over from a local snake wrangler confirmed they were okay.

We released them just a few meters away since it's a resident, but the wrangler noted that they were unusually defensive and hostile, even engorging their throat for a bit, which is apparently unusual. He thinks it may either be a male trying to get to a female or a mother who is oddly away from its nest.

This heatwave (thanks climate change) means that snakes are breeding two months earlier than usual so keep your eyes out folks!

[xris05]

Writing thingy because I felt like it

The night was still. No leaves rustled, and no trees swayed. No bird chittered, or dared sing. The city too, though alive and bright with fluorescent gaudy light, pushing back at the umbra that enveloped the countryside that strode and encircled this pocket of civilization like a python slavering over its next meal, was equally utterly silent and still. 

A wind-that-was-not-there rustled the fine curtains, pulled them apart through the open mortar and brass of the window, and spilled inside, and once more the wind pretended to be a man. A tall, wire-thin, specimen. Hairy, with a full rough scratchy beard, tangled knots consuming his mane and thin, peering- yet almost gentle - eyes, the colour of the sea at night. Adorned in his fineries, a finely spun shirt, and crisp matte-grey trousers, held by a plain leather belt, but for the scratches along it, in the shape of talleys. Whilst the Wind was shifting and untameable, the conventions of word makes it easier for one to know this stranger as Callahan.

The man-that-was-wind took a moment to glance around the decor of this particularly lavish home, for one could not say that he wasn’t an appreciator of the finer aspects of living. This room was lavish and large. Fine dark wood floors provided the firmament on which he stood and the smell of ancient and dusty tomes forgotten for centuries, if not longer. Callahan inhales, smelling the parchment on the older texts, and the smell of confused fear on the butchered sheep whose skin became a method of preserving the Was fills his lungs.

Callahan smiles wistfully.

The sound of candle-light flickering, and hair-rising sensation of being watched, and the chill of the room through the now open window leads him deeper into the study, past this row of shelves, and onto the fine red carpet, which guides him deeper into the maze of history, geography, mathematics, the sciences, the real and the fictional.

The sound of a great clock ringing echoes in the air, nearly jolts the Wind, its deep ringing vibrato chimes bringing a sudden and stark life to these untrod halls. For all his years, long and tired, the sudden presence of noise where their rule of order was silence never failed to shock and startle him, a dreg of humanity in something that fundamentally was not.

Shock did not arrest his progress for longer than a moment, before his paradoxically silent yet heavy and sure footfalls stalked a path through the maze of paper and ink, oft pausing as he took minutes at a time to appreciate the fine covers which adorn some of the collection. He smiles, pearly white teeth gleaming in the light of lanterns, especially, at the classics, finding something terribly privately amusing about them all.

One of his pale fingers runs down the spine of a particularly ancient tome, before pulling it out of its coffin of hardwood and turning to look at the cover. Plain unadorned leather with simple faux-gold lettering at the front “Ἰλιάς” was the name of the book, and thick was its body, stuffed with loose papers and letters, scrawled in a tongue Callahan had mostly forgotten.

He pushed it back into its place, quietly as he could manage, and he continued on. 

Finally, they reached the back, or perhaps the heart, of this labyrinth and what else to find at its heart than the library's fierce and ruthless protector.

“Adair” Callahan’s melody of a voice cuts through the air, the din of the candle flickering under its unnatural reverberation- which echoed as if the man stood in a wide and snaking valley - “What a wonderful surprise to see you here!” there was something saccharine to his tone, that same private amusement still dominating the tone of the man.

The addressee of his comment snaps his book shut, the sound single, stark and sure. Morgan lets the book rest on the fine desk behind him- the cluttered valleys of free space snaking between plateau’s of books and the towering mountains of half-drunk cups of long since frigid tea. 

Adair was a man in stark contrast to Callahan. Shorter, a tension to his frame like a viper prepared to lash at the slightest provocation. Dark hair cut shortly and neatly into place, equally as well-groomed as the rest of the man who wore a fine suit, albeit unbuttoned and revealing the white shirt below . An almost aristocratic bearing brought a regalness to even the open hostility he felt towards the man opposite, his singular eye quickly scanning Callahan with a deriding disdain, gold and purple mixing into the curious almost ringed singular focus that the ocular organ possessed.

“Why have you come to vex me again, Callahan” was Adair’s curt response, his accent nearly implacable except for the slightest tinge of his Scottish origins.

“Why, I’m hurt” Callahan holds a pale hand to his heart, rolling his head back in mock anguish “Can a friend not visit a friend? Old acquaintances not make themselves reacquainted?” 

“Not when said acquaintances parted on the terms we last did. I do strictly recall telling you that I would not hesitate to strike you down should we ever face one another again.” his gloved hand pulled a desk drawer opened and retrieved a single blade, long and slender, pointed with a blackened metal that even now brought flashes of half-lingering pain to the long gashes that marked the torso of Callahan, and for but a moment his placid peace gave way to an expression like the rolling storm, thunderous and furious, ready to call thunder and hellish licks of the skies own flame to burn this wretched place-

But just for a moment. “Oh, that’s all behind us now, isn’t it? It was such a very long time ago, and really holding a grudge for so long is just… sad, don’t you think?” he pauses delighting in the quiet fury on Adair’s face “Oh, and don’t play the vicious fool Adair. You wouldn’t dare risk your precious books by starting a brawl here.”

That, more than anything yet, disarmed the man, who lowered the blade with a muttered curse, placing it behind him on the desk, where it made no sound even as it clattered against the wood.

“Was that so hard?” Callahan cooed “Really, you always, always make this so difficult-” 

“Get out with it” Adair simply grunted back “You’re here for something, and quite frankly I would appreciate it if you didn’t waste more of our time on your theatrics.”

“All the worlds a stage, Adair, let me have some fun” a laugh, like chiming bells from the Wind “Also, you shouldn’t waste both of our time by pretending you’re not perfectly aware why I’m here. Why we’re all here.”

“I didn't do it. I told them all that quite clearly in my letters and writing” a hint of anger overrides the disdain as Adair leans back in his leather throne, eye now narrowed “I don’t know who did-”

“And isn’t that ironic?” Callahan interrupted, voice dripping with smug amusement, to which only a venomous look was answered in reply.

“- but I can assure you, and the others, that I am no more pleased by it than any of you.” he finished.

“Shocking really, you’ve never known mercy and sympathy for those who’ve wronged you before. Why start now?” his gaze fell solely onto his counterpart's empty socket.

“Because I understand when something is a bad idea.” another curt reply. Enough to leave a brief pocket of silence, before Adair began to speak again “I understand when a decision will leave me in a position, backed in a corner and without many options. It’s exceedingly obvious to me that I have been framed for this heinous violation of the Sacrosanct because someone wanted me out of the picture, wanted me to stop and give up, to cease my searching.”

“Oh here we go again” Callahn sighed, before Adair bulldozed onwards, speaking louder and over him.

“They are scared of me, Callahan! They are terrified of my work, of what I know! They want me silenced, and they are not afraid to do whatever it takes to make sure that my work remains incomplete and my duty unfulfilled! And whilst I do not know yet who it is, rest assured I will-”

“For the sake of all things good just stop talking  and let me-”

“I WILL FIND THEM!” Adair finally shouted, with enough fury, primal and ancient as the lights in the room flickered like a heart-beat, and the sound lingered, bouncing in the maze of books before finally silence came again. The moment seemed to stretch out beyond the seconds that encompassed it. Hundreds of words left unsaid and actions untaken. Callahan had backed away, shock plainly written on his face, as foreign to him as wroth was to his opposite.

“...and when they do, they’ll remember that what exists without my knowledge, exists without my consent” Adair finally finished.

“...quoting the Judge when you stand accused of murder doesn’t seem the wisest” Callahan quietly replied, the joke unamused and more for the sake of filling the poignant and acrid silence than anything truly comedic.

“Just go, Callahan. Tell them all that I just need more time.” Adair lifted his head from his hands, and saw nothing, but the rustle of curtains, and an open window.

The night was long, and it had only just begun

[testormblog]

Snakes, Agents of the Devil

From the moment I walked, Mother constantly warned me to watch out for snakes.  Every time I stepped outside, I scanned the ground for the slithery blighters.  Bing, my dog, was always hyper alert too.  He, a Fox Terrier, was a brilliant snake dog.  During our wanderings in the bush, he and I often saw the treacherous creatures.  When one slithered our way, he’d skirt around it then fearlessly attack it side on.  He’d bite its body and shake it violently until it died.

Snakes were a daily threat to everybody’s existence.  Even so, I only remember dogs and cats dying from snake bites, not any people.  To be honest, humans created the problem.  Our habitation of the area had brought farms, chook houses and rainwater tanks.  Mice and rats thrived on the grain stored to feed livestock and chickens.  The frogs happily spawned in the poorly maintained rainwater tanks.  Thus, with mice, rats, eggs, chicks and frogs on the menu, the snakes fed well and bred accordingly.  We also built them warm places to hide and hibernate for the winters.  Our wooden barns and houses weren’t snake proof.  The snakes found gaps between the boards to squeeze through.  They liked to curl up in linen cupboards or find somewhere warm in the kitchen when the annual chill came.  They easily moved about, camouflaged by the long grass everywhere.  Lawnmowers and slashers weren’t invented yet.  Mother kept two pet cats, monstrous killers, to despatch snakes and vermin seeking to live at our home. 

Thus, everybody feared snakes.  Furthermore, given the biblical references to serpents, these creatures exuded an evil mystic.  The superstitious and generally religious community thought them to be the Devil’s agents.  Such was its paranoia that people believed the surrounding area to be infested with a plague of them and every single one needed to be exterminated, irrespective of its poisonous status.  Whilst the browns and red belly blacks were lethal and whip snakes poisonous, the humble green tree snakes were neither.  If confronted, they slithered away or emitted a horrid stink.  There weren’t many carpet pythons around though.  Despite these pythons being over two metres in length, they were non venomous and wary of humans. 

Nevertheless, people killed every slithering creature they saw with whatever weapon they could grab, generally a shovel or a hoe but not an axe.  A person had to stay clear of a snake’s strike range.  Whilst a gun was the best option, not everybody had one sitting nearby when required.  Afterwards, they hung the snake’s carcass on their house fence, until it decayed, to proclaim their macabre victory and to act as a warning to others.  Some men boasted they could grab a snake by its tail, crack the devil like a whip and send its head flying off.  They probably drank a decent nip of rum first.  Many told tales of snakes.  These competed with the biggest fish stories fishermen recounted with the snakes increasing in size, length and ferocity over time.

My family had its own tales of altercation with snakes.  One day, Pop and I narrowly missed a tussle with a big blighter.  Pop was taking me home on the sulky with Bess, travelling along a disused track through some scrub.  We heard a loud rustle in a tree we were riding past.  Suddenly, a large black snake projected itself from the tree to another on the other side of the track.  It narrowly missed our heads.  Pop said some German profanities and stared at me in horrified incredulity.  I suppose his profanities were forgivable since they related to an ungodly creature.  A bird squawked.  We looked around to see the snake’s body hanging from a nest as it devoured the eggs inside.  If this snake had landed on Bess or us that would have been a right melee and a frightening one as we were defenceless.

Though, the snake, who found a warm home in our family’s thunderbox, created the most uproar, both in alarm and noise.  Mother disturbed a lethal red belly black from its hiding spot in the corner of the wooden closet.  This two metre long snake slithered through one of the vent holes in the closet and along the floor.  The gauze over these holes had rusted away.  Mother shrieked loudly enough for everybody nearby to hear and ran outside.  Me being a young boy at the time, I wasn’t far from her and was playing in the yard.  She yelled at me to watch the dunny from the outside to see where the snake would go.  I saw it silently skulk up the wall and out the gap where the wall met the roof.  It slithered upwards as far as it could then squeezed under the roof’s ridge cap, the tin piece that covered the join between the iron sheets.  I could still see its tail.

As Dad was away working, Mother rallied help from the neighbours.  In fact, the immediate community arrived, eager to participate in the snake hunt, with each person holding their chosen weapon.  Everybody had an idea how to coax the devil from its relative safety.  Somebody suggested throwing a bucket of boiling water at it.  Firing a gun at it was ruled out as the shot would have put a hole in the roof.  Men banged sticks on the dunny roof’s iron sheets.  Still, the snake didn’t move.  Eventually, the local sawmiller produced a hoe with a long wire wrapped around its end.  He poked the snake to tease it from the spot.  Another man was ready with a shovel.  When the snake slithered to the ground, he hit it quickly and hard to break its back.

If Mother had been bitten by the red belly black, she’d have run to the kitchen for the bottle of antivenene, everybody kept, and prayed hard that the potion worked.  Then she’d have had to act kindlier towards her uncle by marriage, Andy Stapleton, who concocted it.  Her family were jealous of his supposed wealth, earnt from his potion.  Apparently, he had watched a black snake bite a goanna.  Afterwards, the lizard searched for then consumed a certain weed.  It survived.  Andy distilled a potion from this weed and promoted it as successfully tested by himself though it wasn’t scientifically.  Nobody really knew if this ‘snake oil’ of his worked, and as its recipe died with Andy, nobody ever will.

Snakes, the Devil’s agents they are not.  They’re just predators in nature’s ecosystem, which we disturbed.  Nevertheless, I feared them as mortal enemies and some I still do.

[theribbajack]

“Harry? Where are you, son?”

Fear and adrenaline buzzed like a thousand swarming bees in Harry’s gut. Every instinct was dialed to overdrive. The sound of his own breathing was deafening, matched only in intensity by the wild beating of his heart. This couldn’t be real—it must be some horrible nightmare. Surely it could not be his own father that now prowled the balcony above him.

The dry rustle of scales across the carpet assaulted his ears in mockery of his denial, the click of jagged claws scraping the hardwood. Then the balcony rail groaned under the stress as the thing that had stolen his father’s voice hung down from it like some monstrous bat, eyes like glowing opals peering into the shadows beyond the light from the dying hearth.

“Harry?” purred that horrible voice, and Harry shuddered at the sound of his name rolling off that inhuman tongue. He pressed further behind the pillar, the silver dagger clutched in one sweat-slicked hand, willing his rubbery knees not to buckle beneath him.

“Come out and embrace your dear father,” the Goblin urged, its voice the silky caress of a python luring in hapless prey. “Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?”

Been brainstorming a Green Goblin AU for a few weeks now. I love the design from Into the Spider-Verse so much, and I thought it would be cool if Raimi!Norman turned into a horrible monster like that.

And because it just fit so well, I could not help but try and adapt it in the style of the amazing @abz-j-harding‘s Parliament of Rooks series. I did not think it was possible for an artist to capture my exact aesthetic, and yet here we are. So everyone go check her out if you like eldritch gothic horror, she’s amazing :)

[joeys-piano]

Lightning in a Bottle, Tender in My Arms

Tomarry | General | 492

Just something soft, tender, and sweet to end the first week of March with~ You can find this fic on AO3 if you’d like to read it there!

‘Please’ — it’s a verb, it’s a phrase, it’s common courtesy; it’s a request, it’s a plea, it’s the rarest word from those lips — whispered so he could hear it above the rustling of their bed, above the skimming down his shoulder and the limbs wrapped around him. Tighter than a python since Tom has a hold of him; that no matter which way he may wiggle, he’ll just sink further into this man.

Until he’s swallowed within his being and is like a fire in that pit, until there’s no way of distinguishing where either of them will end: that’s the kind of struggle Harry finds himself as he’s trying to leave the bed. And unfortunately for others and for the plans he had ahead, they’ll have to wait until this reptile has been nuzzled and well-fed. Because there were no other words to describe him whenever Tom was like this: this affectionate, this cuddly, this selfish in his own way.

As he holds him like a part of him and prompts Harry to stay, with both his arms and his legs meeting at the juncture of his waist; as he noses through his hair and breathes who he is, as if the latter were a cup of coffee he was sipping while in bed; and as he squeezes the bits of him and roams near his neck, delighted that he caught a bolt of lightning in his hands.

Because often, you’ll hear that it never strikes twice. But for Tom, he’s rather lucky — it strikes him every day of his life, on the hour and to the next if he has Harry by his side. So he intends to keep at it and to hold him for just as long, savoring every moment until it’s time to let go. And that’s a struggle in its own right, what with the end coming close, when he feels him wiggle from the blanket and the bottle of his own arms.

And there’s a reach, there’s a fumble, there’s a tap-tap for his glasses and when Harry finds them before Tom does, he��s already slipping from the mattress.

But as he sits there on the edge, toes ghosting along the carpet and while swallowed in a button-up that had Tom written all over it, he’s not leaving until he does this — until he strolls with his hands.

Meandering towards his partner and striking lightning beneath his lips because he’s thumbing at the softness only ever meant for him, a softness he’ll like for breakfast if Tom will like to join him. And Harry could prepare him some scrambled eggs if a kiss alone isn’t enticing and perhaps, maybe he will when Tom feigns his lack of interest.

But his eyes tell another story and they’re glinting when Harry meets them. And so with fingers as they’re digging with where he slept hours before, it’s no brainer that at this moment, breakfast-in-bed has been served.

[datauthorress]

Ashes of Night [Chapter 1: The Man from the Past]

Pairing: Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character

Summary: A young college student stumbles upon a man from the past, right in her very apartment. The man doesn't know why he's suddenly 119 years in the future, but maybe this is a second chance at a better life.

Warnings: Some strong language, some nudity and one confused cowboy.

The only thing that Shelby wanted to come home to was her animals, and then settle down and give them all the attention they needed. Her landlord, Mrs. Parish, had greeted her back home with a hug and a container of baked chocolate chip cookies, which she knew were Shelby's favorite. Shelby had been out of town for a couple of days for an interview on her new novelette, and it had been a very good couple of days.

Mrs. Parish had been more than happy to make sure Shelby's pets were watered and feed. Shelby owned two; a black cat named Kirby, whom she had rescued off a highway in the middle of a storm, and an albino ball python that she affectionately named Ghost, due to his color scheme. He was quite the sweet reptile, and loved people. He had been born in captivity and Shelby absolutely adored snakes, so she adopted one to give him a wonderful home.

As soon as Shelby walks up to the second floor to get to her apartment, Mrs. Parish greets her with cookies and mentions that she heard a thud from her apartment a couple of hours ago. Shelby deduced that Kirby had more than likely knocked something over, or was running around like a crackhead.

Boy, she had been clearly wrong.

As soon as she had stepped into her apartment, she had been aware of the motionless form lying in the middle of her living room. It was a man, and a rather stocky one at that. He was sprawled out on his back, a black hat lying on it's side not to far from him. He appeared to be in his late 30's, with a full head of thick, light brown hair that nearly seemed blond to her. He had facial hair, though not too much and wore a blue plaid shirt with dark brown overalls, with brown cowboy boots and what looked like a bandanna around his neck. There was a worn satchel around his torso, and she was startled to see a silver revolver in a holster on his belt.

Where the hell did this guy come from?

Shelby knelt down, sitting on her knees beside the unconscious man. She scrunched her eyebrows and leaned down a bit, tilting her head so she could see if he was breathing. She waited a few moments and finally heard a soft breath come from the man. So he was alive, and he didn't look injured. Very dirty, but not injured. She sat back up, her eyes trailing down to the revolver at his hip.

This stranger could be dangerous. Looked dangerous.

She complemented calling 911, but this guy looked like he came straight from the late 1800's, so the man would probably freak out if he realized he was in a jail cell, with no memory of where he was. Shelby sighed quietly and slowly reached down, curling the fingers of her left hand around the handle of the revolver. She checked to see if the man was awake and when he hadn't even stirred, she carefully pulled the weapon away from the man's hip. She let out a quiet sigh of relief and stood up, glad she had taken her boots off so the thudding of them on the carpet wouldn't wake the man up. She wrapped the gun up in a thick towel, and hid it underneath the couch, for now. She quietly ventured to her bedroom down the hallway, where she grabbed a couple of ties from her closet and went back out to the living room. She used the thick cloth tie his wrists together firmly, but not tightly enough to cause any damage. She took his boots off and cringed at the smell, before tying his ankles together.

Better safe than sorry.

Shelby then proceeded to drag the man by his shoulders onto the couch, making sure he was comfortable in his position. She sighed quietly, grabbing the blanket off the back of the couch and draping it over his prone form.

Kirby meowed softly as she hopped onto the couch, sitting down next to the man. “Think you can keep an eye on him while I feed your brother?” Shelby asked, and got a meow in response. “Thank you, sweetie.”

She took the next few quiet moments to straighten up a bit, grabbing Ghost's food out of the freezer. She walked over to the reptile tank and cooed as she opened the top. “Hi, baby. I got you some food. Yeah, I know...I missed you guys too.” she smiled, as Ghost slithered up a bit, bumping into her hand. “Here you go, baby.”

Ghost took the food gladly and she closed the top, letting him eat.

At this time, she heard a soft groan and glanced over to the john doe. He was stirring, his body moving slightly. She went over to him and stood about five feet away from him, as the man's head snapped up and his eyes opened.

Shelby was met with a pair of steel blue eyes, which chilled her to her very core. She swallowed thickly, before she spoke.

“You awake, buddy?”

The man blinked once, twice, before he glanced around, surprise evident in his eyes. Kirby meowed, her tail moving from side to side and the man looked down at her, before blinking once more. He then finally turned his attention to Shelby.

“Where am I?” the man asked, his accent deep, thick and rich. It was something Shelby hadn't expected, but she didn't let her guard down.

“My apartment.” she replied. “In Plymouth, Indiana. It's the summer of 2018, June 4th.”

“2018....?” the man muttered.

Shelby waited for a moment, looking around to see if she could show him the date. She remembered she bought a newspaper this morning, so she walked over to where her bag was hanging by the door and grabbed the newspaper out of it. She flipped it to the date and approached the man, showing him the date.

“Well.....shit.”

“Why do you say that?” she asked, tossing the newspaper onto the coffee table. “Your attire isn't really suitable for this day and age....late 1800's?”

“1899, if I remember correctly.” the man spoke, reaching up with his hands, and then just now realizing his hands were bound. “Why am I tied up?”

“Well, when a man appears from out of nowhere in my apartment and has a weapon on his person, the owner of said apartment is a little cautious.” Shelby replied. “And before you ask, yes, I took your revolver. It's hidden right now.”

“Are ya going to report me to the authorities?” he asked, steel blue eyes looking up into her own hazel ones.

“No.” Shelby replied, shaking her head. “You got a name?”

“Everyone's got a name, kid.” the man scoffed quietly. “My name is Arthur Morgan.”

Arthur Morgan? Why does that name sound familiar...? Shelby thought, scrunching her eyebrows. She held up a hand and went over to her backpack, rummaging through it and getting out the notebook she was looking for. She rummaged through the used notebook, soon coming upon the little project she had started earlier in the year. “Arthur Morgan.....Morgan....” she muttered to herself, getting out a small pile of newspaper clippings and pictures. She flipped through the pictures until she came upon a drawn picture of a man that fit Arthur Morgan's face.

Once she deemed the picture the right one, she walked over to the man and placed the picture close to his face. Same face structure.....

And the name at the bottom of the picture was what sold it.

“You're really Arthur Morgan.....” Shelby said softly. “Same face structure, eye color, hair color, everything...”

“Well, who else the hell would I be?” he drawled. “What's that in yer hand?”

“A drawn picture you, from the 1890's.” she replied. “Supposedly....you died from tuberculosis in 1899-”

“I did. I contracted the god awful disease from a diseased farmer and died from it.” the older man replied. “So.....this situation may be...”

“That you somehow got sent 119 years into the future, and here you are.” Shelby finished, putting the paper back with the others. She took the blanket off of him and grimaced, knowing she was going to need to wash it now. “Mr. Morgan, 2018 is a very different era from where you're from....things are very different now. I suppose, for now, I'll let you stay here until I can figure out what to do.”

“Yer letting a complete stranger stay in yer home?” Arthur questioned, arching an eyebrow.

“Where else can you go?” she asked, reaching forward to undo the cloth around his ankles. She undid his wrists next and took a few steps back, just in case he decided to attack or anything. When he didn't, she relaxed a bit. “Mr. Morgan, my name is Shelby Hartford.”

“Alright, Miss Hartford-”

“Uh....drop the miss, please. Just call me Shelby.” she said, a bit uncomfortable with the 'miss'.

“Only if ya call me Arthur.” he said, standing up.

Damn, he was taller than she thought. Shelby could only assume he was almost a foot taller than her, since she as only five feet, five inches. “Sure. Okay....um....” she paused for a moment, rubbing her hands together. “You need to clean up.....no man is going to be staying filthy in my home. I'm a neat freak.”

“I can't 'member the last time I took a well-deserved bath.” he mused.

“Alright, then. We'll get you cleaned up, and then we'll discuss rules for you staying here.” she nodded, motioning for him to follow her.

Shelby guided Arthur to the guest bathroom, letting him know where things were. She plugged the tub, and started the water, feeling it before setting it to a very warm temperature. She put a bit of bubble bath in it, and turned around, only to quickly cover her eyes when she realized the man was half-naked, and getting ready to take his overalls off.

“You could've waited until I was out of the room!” she exclaimed, keeping her eyes covered as a blush stained her cheeks.

“Girly, where I'm from, women don't shy away from a naked man.” Arthur's voice caught her ears.

“Shut up and just get in the tub.” she grumbled, keeping her eyes covered.

There was the rustling of clothing, and then the slight breeze as the man walked past her. She heard splashing and after a moment, uncovered her eyes. She refused to look towards the tub, and grabbed a large, fluffy towel from the small cabinet next to the sink. She placed the towel on the rack next to the tub, and spoke, while getting out some body wash and shampoo that her brother had left here.

“I don't have any clothes for you, so I'll have to wash your clothes until we can go shopping.” she spoke, placing the body wash and shampoo on the edge of the tub. “Which will probably be tomorrow. I'll have to measure your torso, waist and get your shoe size. Also.....no overalls. You can wear them tomorrow, but after that, no more. Overalls aren't really a thing anymore.”

“Way t' kill my style, kid.” the older man joked.

Shelby rolled her eyes. “Just call for me when you're done.”

She left the bathroom, picking up the filthy clothes before Arthur could say another word, closing the door behind her. She sighed quietly, before she made her way to the living room and set the clothes down with the dirty blanket. She walked over to Ghost's tank and lifted the hood, cooing as she reached in to pick up the snake. He immediately bumped into her hand as she lifted him out of the tank, holding him up to her neck. He slithered up to her neck and around her neck, resting his head just on the right side of her neck. She rubbed his head gently, and went back over to the clothes, picking them up. She tossed them into the washer and put some soap inside, then started the washer for a medium load.

Shelby went into the kitchen, searching for something to eat. It was only 5 PM, so she was hungry. And she was sure Arthur was hungry as well.

“I wonder if he's ever had spaghetti...” she mused. “What do you think, Ghost?”

Ghost flicked his tongue out and Shelby nodded. “Spaghetti it is.”

She grabbed out two jars of Prego sauce and mixed them in a deep pan, putting some spices into the sauce. She mixed it together well, before she allowed it to heat up and cook. She never realized that Arthur had walked out into the living room, with only a towel wrapped around his hips.

“Hey, kiddo, I was thinkin'.....is that a snake?!”

Shelby yelped and jumped, quickly turning around and felt heat creep onto her cheeks again. She slapped her hands over her eyes. “I told you to call for me!”

“Why is there a snake around yer neck?!”

“He's my baby!”

“Snakes aren't pets! Are ya goddamn crazy, girl?! Gimme that reptile!”

That drew the line and Shelby grabbed up her cast iron skillet, holding it threateningly. Arthur stopped a mere ten feet away from her, staring down at the young woman before him. The python around her neck lifted it's head up, flicking it's tongue out.

“Don't you touch Ghost.” Shelby warned. “In this century, snakes can be have as pets. Especially pythons. Pythons are sweet creatures who done no harm, except crush their prey.”

“Exactly! And you have it around yer neck.”

“I've had Ghost for two years now. Not once has he ever tried to hurt me.” Shelby said. “I adopted him from a pet store and gave him a better home than they ever would.”

“Okay....okay, jus'....put the pan down.” Arthur said, holding a hand out in defense.

Shelby eyed him for a moment, then put her skillet down. She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Just....gimme a sec. I'll have to give you a blanket for now.”

After calming down, Shelby grabbed a blanket out from the hallway closet, throwing it onto Arthur. “Cover up with that for now. Your clothes won't be done until later, and I don't have any underwear for you, so tough it out, cowboy.”

“Kid, I've been toughin' it out for years.” Arthur said back, wrapping the blanket around himself, and sitting on the couch. “What the goddamn hell is that....thing?” he asked, pointing to the television.

“It's a television.” Shelby replied, walking out of the kitchen and grabbing the remote. She turned the television on, and switched it to the sci-fi channel. “Watch the shitty b-rated movie while I make dinner.”

“Back in my time, movies were sure as hell not like 'his.” Arthur drawled, scrunching his eyes at the weird screen.

“Well, you're not in 1899 anymore, Arthur.” she sighed.

Arthur went quiet afterwards, his attention focused on the screen. He seemed....actually quite interested in it. Something about a winged, red-eyed creature going after some kids. Over the next hour, Shelby would occasionally glance over to the man on her couch, finding this whole situation just a complete weird-ass dream. She had to be dreaming, right?

Eventually, Kirby stretched out next to Arthur, flopping onto her side. Arthur had questioned about Kirby and Shelby answered, 'she likes men'. Arthur didn't seem to mind, and would occasionally pet Kirby's belly.

Shelby closed her eyes and rubbed her face.

How the hell was she going to deal with this?  

[bladesurgence]

Hmmm. How about a short view of their reunion after not seeing each other for years? Or perhaps, Irelia is sent to hunt him down, but one thing led to another. Thank you so so much! ^^

     Irelia approaches the gnarled oak, the tree trunk contorted like a python contracting around its prey. A two-pronged branch juts out of the shadows, allowing a sliver of moonlight to shine through the fork. On the other side of the tree, the distant flames of the camp site flicker in the night. Just a few more steps, and she’ll have finished her patrol.

     He isn’t coming, Irelia decides, her breath expelled into the frosty air.

     The breeze picks up the wispy cloud, pushing it towards the sky like water spewed from a geyser. The vapor dissipates into the atmosphere, and Irelia realizes she’s not alone.

     His footfalls crunch upon the carpet of fallen leaves. He wouldn’t act so careless around any other guard patrolling the perimeter; he knows she’s here.

     The end of a sword drops into the earth, and its hilt reclines against the oak’s trunk.

     “You shouldn’t be here.”

     “Five members of the Placidium Guard keeping vigil around the ruins of a deserted temple. I could say the same for you.”

     “We received word of a rogue sorcerer set to meet a couple of his apprentices,” Irelia says matter-of-factly, before she realizes who she’s speaking to and shakes her head. Her fists clench in exasperating. “What are you doing, risking your skin to show up here, Yasuo?”

     She hears the sound of a canteen popped open and liquid funneling into his mouth. “Every day is a toss-up to whether I’ll be discovered or not. Brought in by the guards. Brought in by your men.”

     “All the more reason for you to get out of here!” Irelia throws up her hands, her whisper cutting through the air like a knife. “Leave, and go somewhere far away. To the end of the world if you have to!”

     Yasuo places a hand on his blade. It’s not a gesture out of self-defense, but his eyes look at Irelia and motion to the sword. Irelia understands. He’s not defenseless.

     “You believe I’m innocent, right?”

     Is he?

     Yasuo never repressed his feelings. Hewould act distant and aloof for periods of time, but she could always get an answer out of him if she persisted. And nowhere in the several years that they had known each other had he expressed disdain for Elder Roku, or the Council in general.

     The tides of war can weather even the hardest stone, however. So many truths that she had anchored her faith in crumbled as she watched in disbelief. Zelos would never leave her. Her village, small and remote as it was, would never be threatened.

     And Captain Katsuya could never lose a battle.

     Next on the line: Yasuo would never turn his blade upon his master.

     Irelia refuses to think that her friend could ever betray their nation, but neither does she buy into the naivete that assured her one too many times in her youth.

     She lowers her head, eyes focused on the sash wrapped around his waist. “I… I believe you.”

     Yasuo cocks his own head, and she can feel his gaze trained on her. “I’m glad. Grateful. I know you can’t tell the guardsmen to call off the search—”

     “I can’t abandon my duties. While the people continue to demand retribution, they will look for a scapegoat. Anything to blame on Ionia’s troubles.”

     Yasuo sighs, then nods. “Yes, I can’t imagine they’ll hold much back if I’m brought to the stand in public…”

     Irelia steps forward, her blades projecting in a cross-shaped formation around her. “I don’t want that to be you.”

     A pause, where the silence lasts long enough that she can hear his breathing travel along the air.

     “I understand.”

     Irelia’s eyes turn left, then right. The next guard is due to arrive at the oak soon. There’s not much time left. “Iwill do my best to avoid the issue, but I cannot guarantee that my superiorswon’t take matters into their own hands.”

    Yasuo chuckles, taking a drink from his canteen. “I can handle a challenge. And I can rest easy — easier — knowing you’re not part of their search.”

     Clasping her hands together, Irelia shifts from one foot to another, the blades itching for motion. “Iwant to help you. I really do. I’m just—”

     She feels a hand on her shoulder, and she turns her head up. “Don’t worry. I get it. You have a lot on your plate too.”

     The rustling sounds of overturned leaves in the distance startle Irelia. “You have to go!”

     “Not before you promise me that we’ll meet again. I don’t know when, or where— it could be months, years, perhaps not even in Ionia. But I’ll prove my innocence to you.”

     “Yasuo…”

     “This story is not yet finished. And Iwant you to knowwhat really happened.”

     Irelia looks toward the trail out of the corner of her eye, then manages aweak smile. “Right. Okay. Itwould comfort me to know that I put my trust in the right person. That I put my faith in an innocent man.”

     “Promise me you’ll hold out for me. So I can make things right.”

     It’s the most recent promise in a long line of unfulfilled vows, and the hollow that comes after each broken oath gets emptier and emptier. But she keeps on making them. One day, her trust will be rewarded.

     “I promise.”

     “Until thewind brings the dawn, then,” Yasuo nods, and then out of the vision of the passing guard’s torchlight, he vanishes into the night. 

[ecotone99]

(AA) Is it really safer...?

“It’s safer out here than in the city. For sure.”

With that, Adam helped lessen some of my concerns about my first overnight hiking trip.

He had a good point as well, I mean, apart from the occasional snake bite or fall, nothing that bad ever happens in the Australian bush.

Despite the fact that, well, our bush can have some bite to it. There are snakes, leeches, ticks, spiders, dingoes and wild dogs. To name just a few. And Ivan Milat. Australia’s answer to Ted Bundy. But he died last year.

The snakes are what freaked me out the most. When Adam first floated the idea of an overnight hiking trip, I quickly took to Google to find out what we might come up against.

The death adder. Eighth deadliest in the world.

The tiger snake. Seventh deadliest in the world.

The brown snake. Fourth deadliest in the world.

The inland taipan. Third deadliest in the world.

All these could be found around the region we would be hiking in the south-east of Queensland, near Brisbane.

I also had a nagging concern about other people. While scouring Google about hiking mishaps, I came across several articles about the murders of hikers who were camping.

Sure, these grisly deaths had occurred in America, a long way from Australia, but they raised fresh doubts in my mind about Adam’s assurances of the bush being a safe haven.

In one instance, a couple on the Appalachian Trail in America were brutally murdered by a drifter who decided to wander onto the trail for unknown reasons. Unlike most hikers, the drifter, Paul Crews, was carrying a long-barreled .22-caliber revolver, a box of 50 bullets, and a double-edged knife nearly nine inches long.

When Crews stumbled across the couple at a remote shelter, something happened, and while the exact details are unknown, he committed an atrocious double-homicide before fleeing the scene.

The incident ‘prompted outdoorsmen and trail officials to rethink conventional wisdom long held dear: that safety lies in numbers, that the wilds offer an escape from senseless violence, and that when trouble does visit, it's always near some nexus with civilization--a road, a park, the fringe of a town.’

But I had to put all those concerns to one side. I couldn’t dampen Adam’s mood as we breezed out of the city mid-morning on a Saturday. With dubious tunes blasting out of the pathetic speakers of his dirty white Holden Astra, I could feel myself start to relax.

While I had spent the past weeks looking up everything that could harm me in the bush, Adam was busy plotting what he described as an “epic hike”.

I stayed away from the details and trusted Adam to put a good adventure together. I knew we were heading south-west, but the actual hike? I had no idea. And to be honest, I didn’t really care.

Hiking is something I don’t really understand. I like a majestic view as much as the next person, but I could never understand the point of walking without a purpose. Walking to the shops to get milk? That makes sense. Spending a whole day walking around to only end up where you began? A little strange if you ask me.

​

Adam and I caught up weekly to run together, often heading from the City along the Riverwalk to New Farm.

Running together one Wednesday night, as the Brisbane skyline gradually faded from view, we began to reminisce on our teenage years bashing our bodies to pieces playing Aussie Rules. We were both defenders and relished repelling attacks.

Adam gave up footy a few years before me and turned into a bit of a fitness freak.

As we neared the turnaround point of the run at New Farm Park, Adam floated the idea of doing a hike together sometime.

“Yeah okay,” I agreed. “Something short, like Mt Coot-tha?”

“How about a challenge instead? I’ve never done an overnight hike and I’m keen to try one,” Adam replied.

I knew he had been getting into hiking but the idea of spending two full days walking around in the bush seemed a bit of a daft way to spend a weekend.

I let the idea sit for a while as we slogged along the pavement near the river. Adam is smart. By using the word challenge in a sentence, he knew he was putting me in a pickle.

Since our footy days, we were always locked in a tussle trying to outdo each other. Even then, as we hid our deep breathing from each other, we were attempting to be a better runner than the other one.

After a bit more baiting by Adam, I eventually relented.

“Fine. But I’ve got no gear to spend a night out in the bu…”

“All good! I’ve got a spare tent and sleeping bag you can borrow. That’s all you need.” Adam said.

While I didn’t like the idea of using Adam’s spare sleeping bag, that was probably last washed or cleaned a long time ago, it was only going to be for one night.

One night.

Easy.

​

Our final destination on four wheels arrived in agonising fashion. It was a carpark near Mt Joyce and I was absolutely bursting to go to the toilet. Adam’s advice to drink a couple of litres of water in the morning, so we wouldn’t have to carry as much water on the hike, had me in agony.

He had refused to pull over on the couple of dirt verges we had passed recently, and so I now had to do a dash of shame from his car to the nearby toilet block. Lucky no one else was around to see.

Relief, sweet relief.

With that out of the way, we extended our arms into Adam’s boot and heaved our packs out.

Our packs were about the same size but mine was much lighter. Adam’s newfound love for hiking also extended to hiking gear, and his pack was weighed down with an assortment of tools and ‘things’ that seemed to have no purpose.

“So, Mt Joyce? Never heard of this place,” I said.

“Me neither until recently. It looks like a cool little mountain and has a campground at the base,” Adam said.

A campground. Not really what I was expecting. I thought we would be sleeping rough on some patch of dirt. The campground might even have hot showers.

We started hiking but I was still imagining what other creature comforts the campground might have. WiFi, a pool, maybe even a BBQ so we can cook up a feast.

The trail was easy enough to follow as it gently followed the banks of Wyaralong Dam, so I was comfortable enough in my other world.

When I start daydreaming a blank expression normally takes over my face.

Never have I gone from blank to alert as quickly as I did when Adam shouted “SNAKE!”.

Shit. Shit. SHIT. I was yanked back to earth and started dancing on the ground as if the floor was lava and slowly evaporating away.

My eyes started scanning the surroundings so fast Arnie in the Predator would have been proud.

But I couldn’t see anything. Adam, in a relaxed composure, was a few paces ahead of me and lifted his finger to point to a nearby bush.

I could hear the rustle of undergrowth before I saw the tail of something, possibly a snake, fade into the bush.

“You scared him off.”

“Isn’t that the point…?” I replied.

“He was just minding his own business. That gave you a big scare, yeah? I’ve never seen someone bolt into action as quickly as you did,” Adam said.

“I didn’t know where he was. Anyway, let’s keep going away from it before it comes back.”

That snake, likely a harmless carpet python, was the first one I’ve ever seen in the wild. I didn’t want to see one again so we quickly forged ahead.

My heart rate was now easily in the triple figures, a combination of our encounter with the snake and the weight of my backpack. I stopped daydreaming and instead started concentrating on the side of the trail and every rustle which could pose danger.

We must have walked a few kilometres by now and up ahead I could see a building of sorts. It looked out of place amongst the natural surroundings.

As we got closer I could also see a few picnic tables and one tent already set up.

“Is this where we are camping?” I asked Adam.

“Sure is! This is Mt Joyce Base Camp. Let’s get set up here, and then keep going to the summit of Mt Joyce. It will be about two hours return to the summit. We can leave all our gear down here so it will be much easier,” Adam said.

Ahuh. I thought we would be slogging it out for much longer with our packs on, so this was a nice surprise. And given the rather remote nature of the campground, we didn’t have to worry about anyone pinching our gear.

The campground didn’t meet my earlier fantasies but it was much better than the dirt patch I had expected. We were in an open, grassy clearing, near the old building.

There was space for about six tents. We set our two tents up on the edge of the clearing, far away from the other tent which appeared to be empty, although someone could just be sleeping inside.

Adam did most of the setting up, as I was a liability with the tent poles and nearly stabbed him with them on a few occasions. And I don’t say that lightly, the spare tent he had given me had poles with ends that had somehow rusted themselves into objects capable of causing injury.

When everything was set up, we were ready to head uphill to the summit. I left all my gear in the tent, save for my phone, which despite having no signal, was a necessity to prove that we were tough bushmen capable of climbing mountains.

We had a quick bite to eat and then before setting out, we checked out the building near our tents. It was built out of wood and was surely over half a century old. It looked like it didn’t want to be here anymore, having grown tired of its quiet surroundings.

“Abandoned school hall,” Adam said, reading my mind.

“You’re kidding, right? Why on earth would a school hall be out here in the first place? There are no roads or anything connecting it,” I said.

“Dunno. Probably someplace they sent the shit kids for punishment.” Adam said.

Great, I thought to myself. We were probably camping on the site of a pseudo-juvenile hall for deviant kids. The clearing was probably the site of an old graveyard for kids who couldn’t spell. If any place was going to be haunted this would be it.

We poked our heads inside. It was as you expected from a building that hadn’t been cleaned or maintained in decades.

Graffiti donned the walls and scraps of junk sat untouched in the corners. There was a row of steel bunk bed frames along the back wall - ten beds in total. As expected, they were missing mattresses and the steel frames were coated in rust and paint chips.

The windows were blocked out with cardboard and there was only one door in and out. It was grim.

We investigated the hall for a couple of minutes, gingerly poking at objects with our feet. There was just the main room and nothing else of note inside. So with that, we ducked back outside and were relieved to be in the fresh air again.

It was hard to notice when we first entered the building, but now outside again, there was definitely a distinct smell of recent cooking inside the hall.

Adam also noticed the smell.

“Someone must have been cooking in there recently. Smelt kinda like a barbeque,” he said.

I murmured in agreement but didn’t add anything else. I was keen to get hiking again so we would return before sunset. I wanted to be secure in my tent as soon as it got dark, as the hall had given me an uneasy feeling.

​

The climb to the summit was harder than we thought. Adam thought it would take two hours return to reach the top, but after 90 minutes of hard walking, we were still some distance from the radio tower that signalled the summit.

I was enjoying the hike, despite the fact that it was looking increasingly likely that we would be returning to camp after nightfall.

It was a warm day and sweat started to drip to the ground. My calves, which are perennially tight, started to throb. But we were almost there.

After nearly two hours of hard, uphill hiking, we finally reached the summit. Adam tried to appear fresh as if the hike had been easy, but I could hear the strain in his voice as he pointed out the landmarks surrounding us.

“Mt Barney, that big one at the back there. Mt Maroon, that one just in front. And that one off to the side shaped like a wedding cake: that’s Mt Lindesay.” Adam said.

Looking out at these, much larger, mountains, I started to imagine a new life for myself.

A combination of the peak-bagging ability of Edmund Hillary, the literary genius of Jon Krakauer and the scene-capturing skills of Jimmy Chin. My 213 Instagram followers were going to love going on this awakening with me, so I started the dawn of a new beginning by snapped a couple of photos of the landscape.

I wish we could have stayed longer at the top soaking in the views, but with just 30 minutes left until sunset, we had to hustle to make it back down to camp before it got too dark.

Adam seemed pissed off, at someone or something. He was flying down the descent, almost breaking into a run at times. I made a few casual comments about the pace which he grunted at in reply.

“I’m sorry,” he finally blurted out.

“What? Sorry for what?” I said.

“This is my fault. We should have started earlier. We are going to be walking in the dark and neither of us has our headlamps.”

“It’s okay mate. Walking in the dark will be fun. And we have our phones to use as torches anyway. It’s all good.”

He didn’t reply but seemed a bit more relaxed after that brief conversation. I knew how much time he put into planning everything, and this weekend of hiking was no exception.

We were about halfway back to camp when the sun set. The sky started to gradually darken 15 minutes after that. My eyes worked hard to adjust as less and less light filtered through the trees. The trail we were following, which had once seemed like a highway, now required a hefty dose of concentration to follow.

With darkness now all but hugging us in the depths of the woods, our phone lights came on and, probably, saved us the embarrassment of spending a night lost in the bush. At times, we would lose the path and stumble awkwardly into tangles of bush or undergrowth, before adjusting our focus and finding the faint slither that would return us.

Adam was quiet and focused on the task of getting us back to camp. I didn’t want to say it, but I was having fun bashing around in the dark. It was just us two, out on an adventure of sorts.

When the gradient of the trail started to level off, I knew we were close to camp. Around every corner, I expected to see the ratty outsides of the old school hall. When it did loom out of the darkness, I was relieved. That was until I could see the clearing where the tents were.

​

Our tents were in the same position as before - five metres apart near the edge of the clearing. But the other tent, which had been set up on the other side of the clearing when we arrived, was now perched smack bang in the middle of our two homes from the night.

“That can’t be the same tent can it?” Adam asked.

“Hmm, I think so. We haven’t seen anyone else out here today, and it’s the same colour and design as the tent from before. It must be the same one.” I said.

“But why would they move it to in between our tents...that makes no sense,” Adam said.

“I don’t know. It’s creepy. Let’s go see if anyone is around.”

While we were hiking, there was always a bit of space between Adam and I. A metre or so.

But now we walked across the clearing our arms were brushing against each other as if preparing for some attack.

As we were getting close to the tents, Adam startled me by yelling out, “hello, HELLO?! Is anyone there.”

No response. There was no sound or light coming from the other tent. It looked empty just as before.

“Let’s get our headlights out so we can look around,” I said.

We split, to go to our tents. I’m not sure why, but I was scared of unzipping my tent. I had an uneasy feeling about the whole situation and couldn’t help but think someone was going to jump out at me.

That’s crazy, I said to myself. Safer out here than in the city…

I tried to unzip my tent as quietly as possible, and then poked my head inside and illuminated the insides with my phone torch.

Nothing.

My backpack was gone. My sleeping mat and sleeping bag, which had been unfurled before we left, were gone. The inside of the tent was completely empty.

“What the fuck. Where the fuck is all my stuff.” Adam shouted. He was a few metres away but it sounded like he was right next to me.

I was speechless. I looked over at Adam’s tent, and from the faint light emitted from my phone, I could see the rage on his face.

He ran over to my tent and looked inside, as if he thought I had somehow pranked him by taking all of his stuff.

“Who the hell took all our stuff.” He said.

“Well, there’s only one other tent around here. Should we look insi….”

Before I could finish, Adam was already ripping at the opening of the other tent.

“Be careful. We don’t know if this person took our stuff or not.” I said.

Adam didn’t care. He wrenched the zip open and thrust his head inside.

“Ohhhhh, someone is definitely messing with us. Look at this shit.” Adam said.

Not wanting to look, but also desperate to see what was inside, I glimpsed over Adam’s shoulder into the tent.

Our backpacks weren’t inside. Nor were our sleeping bags or mats. Just two items were sitting on the floor of the tent: both of our headlamps.

Adam grabbed mine, passed it to me, then scooped up his. He shone his phone light around the perimeter of the tent, looking for clues about where the rest of our items could be. But nothing materialized. Just an empty tent.

I tried to click on my headlamp but nothing happened. Click. Click. I shook it a few times. Click. Click. Nothing. I shook it again and then noticed it wasn’t rattling like normal.

Fearing the worst, I opened up the compartment to where the 2AA batteries normally went. Nothing. Completely empty.

“Adam...are the batteries still in your headlamp,” I said.

Adam looked at me puzzled, then slowly flicked his compartment open. I didn’t even need to look, I could tell from his face that they were gone as well.

“Is this your idea of a joke?! You’ve set this up, haven’t you? Well, very funny. It’s a shit prank so just tell whichever mate you’ve got doing all this to stop.” I shouted at Adam.

To add more impact to my words, I also shoved him. Hard. He stumbled back a few metres but stayed on his feet.

“I promise you I’ve got nothing to do with this. No one is going to drive all the way out here and give up their whole weekend just to prank you. All my shit is missing as well.” He said.

“Did you tell anyone we were coming out here? Is someone trying to fuck around with both of us?” I said.

“No, not really. I mean, I told my housemates but they weren’t even really listening.”

“Well, fuck...what do we do now,” I said.

Adam’s response to that was to start pointing his phone torch around. The light could hardly reach more than five metres in front of him, and he appeared not to want to move his feet in any direction.

I knew there was nothing to gain from looking around the clearing. The only logical spot where our gear could be was in the old hall, which looked even more menacing now in the dark than it had before.

I didn’t want to bring up that idea though, I just wanted to retreat to the tent and pretend none of this had happened. Wait until dawn and hope for the best.

Adam’s fruitless searching though had brought him to the same, and only, realisation. His faint light beam now settled on the hall.

The hall was 15 metres away from our tents. We looked at each other, and without saying a word, started inching across the damp grass towards it.

Before we could reach the hall, Adam grabbed my shoulder and spun me around to face him.

“Go grab a rock or something!”

“What? Why?” I said.

“In case someone is inside. Better to be prepared. I’ll shine the light through the door once we open it, you have a rock just in case.”

A rock. Okay, whatever. I didn’t want to venture too far away in search of a lethal-looking rock, so I plucked the nearest hockey-ball sized rock out of the ground and returned to Adam.

We continued our approach to the hall. I put my phone in my pocket and let Adam be the gatekeeper of light.

Adam glanced disapprovingly at the rock I had selected. It was too small to do anything. Too small to hurt someone. Too big to skim across a pond. Useless but whatever.

The door to the hall was getting closer and into focus now. There was no handle or lock, but it stood still in the windless night. When we were a few metres away, Adam’s light flicked across the door.

What...this can’t be real can it?!

Stuck to the door were the 4 AA batteries from our headlamps. They were no longer useful though, horribly deformed and chipped as if someone had bashed them with a rock. A much larger rock than the one I was carrying.

We both couldn’t believe it. Either someone we knew was carrying out an extremely elaborate prank on us, or we were dealing with a freak.

“I don’t want to go inside,” I whispered to Adam. “Let’s call the cops and find somewhere safe until it’s daylight. It’s not safe here.”

“No, I want my stuff back. Someone is just playing a trick on us. We will have to walk back towards the car anyway to get phone reception.” Adam said.

​

Forget any dreams or words I had shared previously. I wasn’t going to be the next Edmund Hillary. I never want to go hiking again, let alone pitch a tent in the middle of the stupid bush.

Safer out here than the city...bullshit. I wanted my city comforts and security back. Right now.

Without consulting me, Adam pushed the door open with the tips of his fingers.

I entered into a stance resembling a baseball pitcher, my rock poised to create damage to whoever, or whatever, was inside.

The faint glow from the moon didn’t reach into the hall, so it was darker inside than out. A matter not helped by the pitiful light Adam’s phone was putting out.

He swept the light across the hall. Nothing.

We stepped inside and scoped out the dark corners of the hall. Nothing.

Nothing jumped out of the dark at us. Nothing in the hall looked different from how it had been earlier.

Once we were satisfied that we had looked over every area of the hall, we circled back to the middle. I dropped my rock and kicked it away to a corner of the hall.

“So someone has just taken our stuff and ran. They must have thought it was funny to tape the batteries to the door and scare us.” Adam said.

“But what about the other tent?” I said.

“Hmm, no idea. Probably just another hiker who is still out there. Maybe they got their stuff stolen as well and have gone back to the carpark.”

He sounded more relaxed now. Content even. I was anything but. There were no other cars in the carpark when we had arrived this morning. So it didn’t make sense that there was another tent in the clearing.

​

I was about to reply to Adam when I saw out of the corner of my eye the door to the hall opened. It made no noise, just swung open.

A man of average height and build stepped through, making sure the door closed after him. He was holding both of our backpacks.

“Hey, mates. I’ve got all your gear. I didn’t know where you were, or if you were coming back, so I collected it to keep it safe.”

He dropped our two backpacks on the ground.

Adam and I were shocked.

“It’s all good, mates. I’m a hiker myself. That’s my tent out there. I’m just here for the weekend. What are your boys’ names?”

Still shocked we didn’t respond.

“Come on, mates. If we are going to be spending the night together, you oughta be polite.”

His voice had started to deepen and an aggressive edge could be detected. Our bags were on the ground, but he still had his own backpack on.

“Why would you touch our stuff.”

Adam punctuated the silence.

“I told ya, to keep it safe. It had got dark and you weren’t here, so I wanted to make sure no one else touched it.”

“So you took the batteries out of our headlamps and destroyed them?” Adam said.

“If you’re not going to thank me for looking after your stuff, then you can fuck off. I’m going to sleep in here tonight, so grab your shit and get out.” He said.

With that, he dropped his backpack to the ground and pulled out a tattered sleeping bag. He laid it down next to our bags and started fiddling with it.

He looked homeless which made sense. The hall was a perfect spot for a drifter to set up in. But he had a tough homeless edge to him.

“Let’s get our stuff and get out of here. Quickly. Back to the car.” Adam whispered to me.

I was still in a state of disbelief at this man and his behaviour, but my legs followed Adam’s as he made to cross the hall.

Adam was a few steps ahead of me, and when he reached his backpack he stretched out a hand for it, with his eyes still fixed firmly on the stranger.

I didn’t know what to expect. I still had an inkling that we were in trouble, but the stranger appeared not to care about us anymore. He wasn’t looking at us anymore, just arranging his sleeping bag.

Just as Adam’s hand made contact with the strap of his backpack, the stranger sprung into action.

His hands, buried in his sleeping bag, whipped out a small camping shovel. He lashed at Adam with it wildly, hitting him flat on the front of the face. The shovel was small but it was still metal and emitted a resounding ding when it collided with Adam. His nose copped most of the hit and splayed to the side.

“FUCK YOU for coming here. This is my home.” The stranger shouted.

Adam dropped to the ground without making a noise. Completely out.

The stranger turned to me and raised the shovel to make a second strike. He was quick but I was able to back away, and the blow missed me.

He pushed forward and swung again. This time I had to raise my forearm to block the blow which was tracking towards my head. The edge of the shovel dug into my skin and dinged off bone.

Using my free arm, I was able to shove the stranger back. Pain reverberated up my arm and shot to my brain.

I had a decision to make. Dash for the door and try to escape into the woods. Or try and fight this madman.

My brain went instantly into coward mode. I scurried towards the door, past Adam’s prone body. The stranger was a few steps behind me but I was able to blast through the door before he could catch up.

I set myself in the direction of the bush past our tents, hoping I could lose him in there. That was the extent of my plan. I was halfway between the hall and our tents when the shovel crunched into my upper back.

Not wanting to let me escape, the stranger had flung himself for one last attack. In the process, he lost his grip on the shovel and it fell softly to the ground.

Despite being badly winded, I knew this was my chance. I turned around just as the stranger launched his hands and nails at my face. He dug his nails into my cheeks and started clawing at my face.

It felt like an animal attack, not something a human was capable of doing. I lowered my head and grabbed the front of his jacket. I was taller and heavier than him. I was also possessed now, wanting to see this fucker dead.

On my previous search for a rock, I knew there were a couple of decent ones around my tent. If I could push him on top of a tent, possibly get him tangled up, then I would have time to bash his head in.

I had a solid hold on him and flung him away from me. All my anger went into the push and he went flying in the direction of my tent.

He stumbled and then, once his feet hit the edge of the tent, fell back in a magnificent arc on top of my tent. There was a snapping sound as he fell to the ground. At first, I thought it was his arm or leg. But then I noticed the tent pole poking out near his stomach. Adam’s decade-old tent had come to the rescue, and one of the ancient aluminium poles had snapped and wedged itself through his lower back.

It all happened so quickly. He howled in rage and tried to lift his body off the pole, but I was there in an instant, rock in hand to hammer away at his face. I landed a dozen blows on his forehead before I dropped the rock and put my knee, and all my body weight, onto his neck.

He was barely conscious at this stage, and after a minute without breath, I was sure he wasn’t coming back.

I stepped away from his body and looked at what had just happened. Blood was pooling on my tent. Adrenaline was raging like crazy through my body and my arm was stinging.

The stranger looked almost peaceful now, even with the top of his head completely decimated. Our fight had lasted just longer than a minute, but it seemed like only a few seconds had gone by.

The bush surrounding our clearing was completely quiet as if nothing had changed in the last few minutes. I was at a loss at what to do next.

​

Adam! Shit. I rushed back into the hall to see my friend.

He was still lying on the ground, but his eyes were half-open. Blood, which had mainly erupted from his nose, had flooded onto the ground around him. I shook his shoulder and his eyes widened slightly.

“What happened? Where is he?” Adam said.

“He’s gone...I had to kill him. He was trying to kill both of us. He is outside on top of my tent.” I said.

Adam struggled up into a sitting position, and then with my help, made it to his feet. I grabbed a spare shirt out of my bag to clear away the dried blood around his face. I also got him four panadol to help with the pain. He said his head felt okay but I wasn’t so sure.

I wrapped a pair of underwear around the cut on my arm to stem the bleeding. We were both banged up but we knew we had to get out of here and call the police.

We left our backpacks in the hall and went back outside to the clearing.

I half expected the stranger to have magically disappeared, but he was still there. Adam looked at him from a distance, his face not registering any emotions.

He turned and started off in the direction of the car. I followed after one last look over the clearing.

The journey back took an hour and I had to lead Adam along as he kept feeling dizzy and wanting to rest. I wasn’t scared of the bush anymore. Snakes, spiders, whatever. They couldn’t compare to what we had just faced.

I got back into phone reception near the car and immediately called the cops.

They arrived just as I got back to the carpark.

They believed our story and took us to the station while another patrol went to scope out the campsite and retrieve the body. Adam had a checkup in hospital but was cleared of any major damage, save for an adjustment of his nose.

A week later we heard from the cops again. Turns out the weekend prior to our visit, the same guy had hassled a group of six guys who had camped overnight. But with the weight of numbers against him, he had taken a more mellow approach compared to when we had met him.

Who he was or what drove him to take up residence in a remote camping spot, we will never know. But I do know that I’ll never go camping in the bush again.

Anyone or anything could be out there, which makes it a much more dangerous place than the city.

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[hasellia]

I got a visit from a local legend today!

This is Rustle, the Carpet Python. They're named so for the sound of rustling leaves they make as they move. Other that, people in the street usually know he's around by their shed skin. Actually seeing them is rare to my understanding, so I feel blessed. Interestingly, my mum was alerted to him by a local couple that were making alarm cries. When my parents were harrasing Rustle with photograph, the magpies were surprisingly tolerant of our presence while we were taking photographs. Maybe we made them feel safe?

Rustle resting in a tree, or perhaps hoping g to catch a bird feeding on Wattle necter.