GRAVEYARD HILL
I wrote this story way back in 1997, but have since edited it a bit. I hope you like it. Ian King.
My cousin Shane and I set up our little tent at the back of the farm, where there was no one else about. Water leisurely rolled past in the gently river that flowed not too far from our chosen spot. It had a peaceful sound and smelled cool and fresh. Willows played their dainty leaves over it, hiding much of it from the sun. We had our hidden paradise all around us.
We were both ten years old, but I was the oldest because my birthday was in February and his in July. We had pitched our tent between the brier bush with its thorns ready to grab any careless by-passer. Above us was the pit where the tractor had dragged a few dead cows over the years and one beautiful horse named Princess to rest in peace. Fortunately, nothing had found its final destiny here recently. Pewww! We had named it Graveyard hill. It was nice and flat and hidden away. Many wild flowers grew about,amongst the sun-bleached bones scattered higgledy-piggledy. It made it sort of special for the local residents. The dead center of our farm, we would joke.
Earlier on Shane and I had caught some eels from down at the dam, not too far from here. We made fishing lines fit for the job, out of a tee-tree branch and nylon we found in dads shed. Some old fish hooks and old nuts for weights was all we needed. On the farm we used what we could; it's called kiwi ingenuity.
We were going to cook them on our fire over a spit. Some number '8-wire' and 'Y' sticks from some broken branches were poked into the ground ready to hold the eels up. The river sheer bulged with peppery watercress right out side our door. Yumm!
“Shane get some watercress please, I'll get this eel ready ok.”
“Did you bring the pot?”
“Yep. At the back of the tent. Fill her up. Oh! I saw some wild strawberries on the other side of graveyard hill. Can you get some of those too. We're having a feast tonight!”
“Oh yea boy! What about a rabbit? Shall we get one of those too?”
“Nah! We'll go out tonight with the .22 and try after dinner. They're easier to hit at twilight.”
“If you can see them that it.”
“We'll find one I reckon. There's plenty about. We'll need to bleed it over night. Rabbit stew tomorrow!”
The fire was stoked up and had plenty of hot coals after we boiled the 'cress. I had never 'spat' an eel before and when the flames licked at its grey flesh it came alive!
“Woahh! Look at that? I thought we'd killed that hours ago.” Shane's eyes near 'popped' out of his head as the eel looked like it was trying to wriggle away from every 'lick' of the flames. Freaky!
“Yea. It's dead alright. See that lick of flame there, it's amazing how that part of his body twists away from that point of contact. Must be nerves.”
“But it's dead!”
“Maybe 'dead' isn't all we think it is? You've heard of stories about life after death haven't you?” And that is when we started the ghost stories. The eel tasted great, and so did everything else. We were nearly popping out of our jeans buttons after. We felt good. This was fun! Our roaring fire danced In the cool damp air. The smoke shimmered mysteriously over distant shadows of the rough farmland.
Shane started . . . “One cold night in the deep woods of the Waipoua forest. A family was heading home to Opinoni and their car broke down. Only a few weeks earlier had someone been murdered and decapitated there. No one had found the body. His head had been thrown into the bush near the giant Kauri tree. Tanemahuta – king of the forest.”
“Oh come on Shane! Booring! Is that the one where the father has his head chopped off? Everyone knows that story. Can't you do better?”
“Yea, but you haven't heard what really happened.”
“Oh get over it. Let me tell you a story from around here.” And so it was my turn, and I told Shane about the man who was pushed off the mountain just above our farm. His ghost had been seen by many, and was still hunting the district for the person who had pushed him over the edge. “You can always tell when his ghost was around, because the wind would suddenly blow real strong. The trees would creak in a certain musical rhythm; evenly – creeeaak-creaking, creeeaak-creaking; only more rapid than the wind could have made them to creak.” I finally finished the story and actually scared Shane, but he wouldn't admit it though. I saw the terror and shiftiness in his eyes. Mind you, neither would I, 'cause I scared myself too.
It was a long time before we clambered into our sleeping bags. It was really dark by now and the fire was only smoldering with a few hot coals scattered about. We never did get out for our rabbit hunt. Oh well we could go early in the morning. No doubt we would be waking up at sparrows fart! Hopefully we might have even caught a rabbit in the snare we set up before dinner.
The sudden spine tingling chill of the cold sleeping bag lining gushed up our bodies, causing goose bumps all over us. Then after a few moments we were warm and cosy. After a few little giggles I couldn't stay awake any longer, I was too tired. The tent door flapped, and rocked me gently into my favorite place where anything could happen.
Creeeaak-creak. Fillitttt flltttt. Creeaak-creak. Fllitttt fllttt!
“Shane. Wake up! What was that? My eyes had sprung open like a mouse trap, only in reverse. The tent door was flapping wildly. "Shane! Are you awake?” He turned, cumbersome in his bag. "Shane! wake up!" I shouted in a hushed whisper.
"Whilmbldlree slrlrthtsd" He mumbled. I was shoving him now.
"Come on Shane. Wake up!”
"Whhhhgg!" he replied. This was hopeless. Finally his eye lids rose painfully open, slowly flapping resistantly. "Whadayuowant?"
"Did you hear that?"
"What?" The distant sound of creaking was piercing the night's eerie symphony. Flit-flit's and thunk, thunk-thunk, thunk's. “It'scoming down from the graveyard."
"Graveyard? Wadiya mean?"
"You know. Up the hill, above us. Where the cows are buried. Come on wake up! Can't you hear that?"
“Yea, yea.” He shot bolt upright, definitely wide awake now. “What the heck is it?” I could have sworn whatever it was would have heard our hearts thumping inside our chests. The door spoke furiously, angry! My heart raced like a rock concert.
"There it is again!" I felt trapped inside the walls of the tiny tent.
"What do you think it is?" Shane asked quietly, like he didn't really want to be heard. "Maybe its that man you told us about" He said with noticeable shakiness.
"Shhh! Don't say that" I could feel my blood pumping wildly through my veins.
"But what if it is?" He said strained and swallowing dry air. The noise changed slightly, and came closer to our tent. The trees still creeak-creaked and groaned in the distance. Suddenly the creeak-creaking stopped and the thunk, thunk-thunk, thunk's started again. They were coming toward us and definitely sounded like foot-steps. However, strange and irregular, as if the man, or whatever had a stagger. We hid right down in our sleeping bags, lying there waiting for a crazed attack on our defenseless fort. It seemed to take forever.
What was he doing? We could hear the loud pounding in our chest, surely this madman could hear our hearts too! The blood draining from our faces. I could almost make out Shane's face as a pale corpse. I wondered if my face was shrouded the same. The staggered plodding of heavy feet came closer, and closer. It was right outside now, I knew it! We were hopelessly trapped, throat's coarse and dry with fear. I reached for my torch, would that be enough to whack over his head – if he had a head? To knock him out? I was preparing to find out. The plodding stopped, but our hearts went ever faster, almost bursting out of our chests. No matter how still or how quiet we were, we knew that whatever was outside could hear the loud beating of tom tom drums inside.
“Shane.” I nodded for him to open the tent flap with my head while I held tight to the torch. I was ready for my most powerful swing. He hesitated, which I was glad about anyway. I guessed our only hope would be to yell as loud as we could and freak him out more than he freaked us out; we hoped. The silence was raging. His breathing was deep, coarse and wet.
"MMMMMoooooooo” We sat stunned and shocked in the tent, minds racing and confused. The silence went on. Then with a breath of relief we burst into uncontrollable laughter. It was only one of mum and dads cows. We felt so stupid, yet relieved. I shot out of my bag and Shane was close behind. We slowly pulled open the tent door to see who she was. Through the crack we saw her.
“Rosemary! You scared the crap out of us girl!” She towered above us. Her big brown eyes looking straight at us glistening as they caught the moon light. I'm sure they were laughing at our expense. She looked so funny, like a hand puppet gone wrong. She wiggled her ears, and gave us a gentle moo as if she was saying "Don't worry boys, I'll stand guard for you tonight."
"Rosemary, you really had us worried." I said in a timid voice. She was only a cow but with her looking after us that night, we felt safe. We went back into the tent laughing our heads off.
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