Foxes and Owls

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Foxes and Owls Part 7.5: Very Very Drunk

Alex had intended to write tonight, I promise but, well, things got in the way. I’m currently typing this on my laptop in the Kinglake Pub. It’s Thursday and Alex and Jasper are just down the bar from me, getting very very drunk. Too drunk to post something, I’m afraid, so I’m doing it instead.

  Even though we’d experienced something pretty awful, Alex was still chipper for the majority of Wednesday. He kept talking about Strawberry Blonde as we soaked the carpets with cleaning fluid and washed some of the upholstery. They had a date that night, him and Strawberry Blonde, and I kind of got the feeling that this was the first one in a while. He was a bit like a teenager to be honest, all nervous and exited. I on the other hand was going to spend the night chatting with some poker buddies on Skype, partially because I hadn’t seen them in a long time, but mostly because I didn’t want to be alone in the house, and also I guess, to some extent, so there’d be a chance I was awake if Alex came home and he could tell me how it went.   Well I was awake when he came home, but instead of the floaty, smiling, Alex I had expected, I got a sullen, internally angry Alex, who came inside and barely nodded at me before heading upstairs to the spare bedroom.   Thursday morning he wasn’t very communicative, he ate his Coco Pops with a sullen methodically, as though he was just trying to get through them. We sat in silence, punctuated only by the gentle sip of my orange juice, until Alex suddenly spoke, like a knife in the fog: “I’m getting very drunk tonight.”   He wasn’t lying either, at five o’ clock he burst through the wooden doors and took a seat at the bar and began ordering drinks. By the time Jasper arrived he was already well on his way, and by the time I had finished work and sat down to write this, they were reaching missing memory drunkenness.   I’ve decided I’m going to ask my mum and dad for more stories, mum had thousands of them, and dad has this habit of just chatting to strangers, so he’s bound to have picked some up. regards, Andy Dufraine.    

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Phone Conversation

So I am understandably shaken. I’m pretty sure I’m still in a state of shock. Alex thinks I still look pale, even though it’s been over a day. I didn’t want to tell my family what happened, but they needed to know the house was in a bad way, so I decided to call my dad. Here’s a transcript of the conversation. Dad: Hey Andy how’re you doing? Andy: Well, uh, not great Dad, if I’m honest. D: You all right Andy? Do we need to come home? A: No, look, I’ll be all right, the house is just a bit wrecked is all? D: What? Wrecked? What? A: Just some carpet stains, some animals got in, the whole thing was really weird; we’re actually kind of shaken. D: Well as long as there’s no damage…

A: Yeah, no damage. *Dad pauses for a moment, sort of introspectively* D: Not the first weird thing to happen out that way. A: huh? What? D: Oh nothing, just, you know. A: No, what? Mum’s stories? D: *laughs* no, nothing like that. Just, you know, people tell stories about Kinglake. We had that guy come past looking for panthers in 2003 remember.

A: Oh yeah, I remember him. What else is there? D: Hmmm, well, back in 85’ or maybe 86’ there was Audrey Hunt. Bit of a sensation, if I remember correctly, it was all over the news, um, some guys found her unconscious in one of the vineyards sort of west of our place, you know the ones.

A: Had she been kidnapped or something? D: Nah, see that’s the thing. According to the Sun she was from Footscray, so nowhere near up here, and she’d gone out for a walk the night previously and just never returned. They could track her up to a certain point and then boom! Gone. A: She could still have been kidnapped though, and just dumped or something. D: Yeah I guess, but she hadn’t been hurt or abused at all, and she couldn’t remember anything. Apparently she’d been missing for weeks. A: Nuts. D: Well, yeah, but pretty explainable. There are memory drugs and what have you. I think a lot of it was talked up in the media and so on. I seem to maybe even remember reading somewhere that it was hoaxed. But yeah, Kinglake can be pretty strange sometimes. A: Yup, sure can. D: Well look, I’ve got to go, I’ve got a meeting in ten minutes. If anything else happens, call us. You eating ok? How’s the pub?

A: Yes and good, give mum love for me.

D: Will do buddy, see ya.

A: Bye.

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Foxes and Owls Part 7: Blood on the Floor

The blood was the thing that made me panic. Drips of red on the hardwood floor of Andy's place. I didn't know where they were from and after the walk home from the pub I didn't know what to do. I didn't post yesterday due to me and Andy's evacuation so I'll bring you up to speed.

Drinks ran slow two nights ago, foamy and warm. But it didn't stop from some enjoyable drinking, especially as it was pay day from the government funded slacker department known as Centrelink. Quickly the melancholic that had been sweeping over me for the last few days faded to wistful thinking. Strawberry Blonde had agreed to see me and I was very much looking forward to it. When 3am rolled around Andy and I walked home, talking of good things that could happen before I left on Wednesday and how we would stay in contact even after I moved onto a new location. But in a mixed blessing we came home to a broken door and the blood.

We walked in, cautiously and called out. Andy quickly spotted where the intruder was, a flash of orange fur and snarling teeth gave it away. Our neighbour had survived the attack... and evidently decided to move to the next house over. We were in shock and didn't know how to react. I picked up a cricket bat and edged backwards out of the house. Andy kept the light on our no long friendly neighbour, blood dripping still from a wound on it's side. As it moved slowly towards us, snarling, Andy tripped breaking a window and injuring himself. In reaction I jumped back hitting an owl perched on the railing. Immediately an other owl swooped and attacked me. 

It was at this moment that reality just broke. Two more foxes jumped onto the porch and started to menace towards us, Andy still trying to get footing and ebb the flow of blood that was coming from the gash in his arm. Several owls had joined the attack aswell, swooping at me as I tried to feverishly hit them with the bat in my hand. Andy yelled, not knowing what else was an appropriate thing to do. Then I decided to do the only thing that could improve our situation and ran at the fox nearest the car port, it was about to jump when I whacked it in the head with my bat. My vision blurred, grey objects moved into my vision and the owls swooped once again. Andy ran past me knowing to get the scooter started as I defended.

My vision was swirling, masses of grey and red, near eldritchly blurring together until all I could feel was pain. All I could see was blood. It wasn't until we were going into Kinglake that I realised... half the blood wasn't mine. I'd killed one of the foxes and probably badly injured two of the owls. They chased us for some time before they gave up. Then Andy, weak and in pain stopped the scooter and asked me to drive. We got into the pub and used the first aid kit to stitch up the gash in his arm. I had been bitten, but without hospital insurance I was uncertain if going to any medical facility would work. Instead we poured tequila on it and bandaged it up. This might seem strange but it would clear the infection and I knew from doing first aid courses in the past that a very small percentage of animals in Australia had diseases like Rabies that could effect me. In fact in Victoria there has never been a recorded case of a human being contracting it from an animal bite.

We fell asleep on the floor of the pub, the next morning we got to cleaning and by 2 in the afternoon the place was clean enough to never have it notice that we'd used it as a make shift medical institution. We returned to the house today giving me this chance to write down everything that had happened. In light of the circumstances Andy asked me to stay a while longer until he felt safe in his own house again. It might take us some time to clean up everything that was ruined. For now we are looking over the house to see what kind of damage was done by the foxes. They seemed to have been kind enough to drag their dead or wounded selves away, and summer rains washed away most of the blood before we even had a chance to get mop and bucket to it. Tomorrow the handy man will come to fix the door and windows. But until then we sleep with the bedroom doors closed.

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Foxes and Owls Part 6: Slow

It has been a slow day. I've been reflecting again on the reasons why I came here. The failled relationships, the fights with family. It all plays out like a bad 80s love ballad. Her name was Claire, she was beautiful and ugly. I remember her hair, auburn like leaves in autumn, her eyes, blue in spirals of depression. When I looked at her I became an idiot, willing to jump into waterfalls and watch the sun set on my last day without feeling like I'd wasted a moment. Where did this kind of love come from? From Misery, that's where it came from. Two people who were upset, lonely and wanting something that the other might have. At first it was just like anything else, but then the little things she did caught me. The way she tucked her hair behind her teddy bear ears, the way she would smile nervously whenever I said she was beautiful. 

But it was the fights that got in the way, her stupid decisions that drove me insane. Jealousy wedge a knife between our hearts. Love like thorns burying themselves in our flesh as we were close, so that tearing ourselves away from each other was painful. She would walk out the door to see a friend, and it would be an ex. She told me again and again that there was nothing happening and they were just friends. But how could I believe that? I think it was just went downhill when I started to follow her... when I realised these thorns in my skin were mine and mine alone, that she had me on a leash and that each of those times it hurt... it was her yanking me forward. Making me feel bad for having my own friends, making me feel guilt for things I shouldn't.

So... I did it... I went to a bar and found some girl. I brought her back to our place and I wasn't proud of what I did. But it's how you get someone out of your system. And in that moment I felt every thorn come out of my flesh, every last piece of pain I was in. And then as I started healing, lying there with a cigarette hanging out of my mouth and a woman hanging out of my bed, she walked in. Claire, and all the things I loved about her. She freaked, and the girl, the band aid I'd found at Stop 54, she ran out with only a white sheet clinging to her petite frame. A victim of the horrible nature that is called 'Humanity'.

And then it was just me and Claire, me and her teddy bear ears, her Autumn hair, her eyes... I just didn't know what she had thought would happen. How long did she think I could hold on? But... but I was sorry. So grabbed the few things I had. A few shirts and my laptop. Then as people got in contact with me about everything that happened. I found out that Claire had run to the arms of her ex, and though I was the one that was hurting, everyone was on her side. She at least had someone who cared. Helping her through this. So on reflection, I wasn't proud. I was sorry that I'd lost so much. But main pain, it was real... being dragged around like a pet, being taken for granted and expected to not feel jealousy when I saw her with that guy. She got her dessert, and I got mine. I'd been nothing but loyal until that night. I guess... it was easier to fuck up then to tell her I was breaking up with her. It was easier to push her away than saying "I don't love you." 

I lied... today has been very busy. But only in my head... she messaged me. She asked me... asked me why I'd done it. I didn't respond. Four months and her facebook says Single again. As much as being here is a good thing for me, how long can I run from her? How much longer would it take for it all to stop? I've never stopped loving her... and now what do I have? A girl in my phonebook called Strawberry Blonde? I want to make it all go away... but instead I called her... I called Strawberry Blonde. We're meeting up Wednesday.

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The Stone

So Alex asked me to write down the story my mum told me about the stone. I can’t really remember this one, or even when she told it to me, but here we go.

  A long time ago, in one of the many old cottages that nestle themselves amongst the trees, there lived a young boy by the name of Bryan Desquin, who lived with his mother, father, and three brothers.

  Bryan was only eleven, but he was already a good climber, a good runner, and a good football player, there seemed like nothing Brian wasn’t good at.

  However, Brian had a terrible secret, he was deathly afraid of any kind of water. Even though he was such a great sportsman, he could not, for the life of him, swim.

  One day Brian’s father asked him to accompany him along a nature trail, Bryan’s father was a park ranger, and so it was his job to care for the land around him. Bryan eagerly accepted and him and his father set out on their walk.

  Brian easily followed his father’s big strides, but about half way along the trail he tripped over something.

  His father bent down and picked up a stone, smooth and black.

  “This, Bryan,” he said, “is probably volcanic. A long time ago this land was covered in volcanos and they would spew rocks and lava into the air. That’s probably where this rock came from.”

  Bryan was amazed and asked if he could keep it. He put the stone in his pocket.

  After that day, Bryan kept the stone with him wherever he went. He declared it his good luck charm, and every time he won a game of football, or came first in a race, he said it was the rocks doing.

  Several weeks later, Bryan’s dad invited him and his three brothers to go swimming in farmer Joan’s dam. Bryan was scared of the idea, but went along with it anyway, because he didn’t want his father to know he couldn’t swim.

  They arrived at the dam with the sun high in the blue sky; Bryan’s dad and three brothers immediately stripped down to their bathers and dove in, enjoying the cool water.

  Bryan gingerly slid into the water on the banks, making sure he could get out at any moment.

  Suddenly Bryan felt a weight in his pocket! The smooth stone began to feel heavy, like there was a fish in his pocket, trying to swim to the dams muddy floor.

  Bryan panicked and tried to clamber out of the dam, but the stone was too strong. He was dragged into the middle of the dam, where the water was deepest.  And then pulled under.

  Bryan was sinking at an alarming rate, the stone was pulling him down, he began to drown, he gulped in water; he was nearly at the muddy bottom.

  With a splosh Bryan hit the mud, and then pushed through it. There was a moment of confusion and panic and he found himself rising up to the surface.

  He broke through the water gasping and coughing, and looked around.

  The farmlands looked different, instead of the lovely gold of dry grass there was only black mud, the glorious gumtrees that had towered over the dam had all become ghost gums, pale white, and the sky, before so brilliantly blue, was now grey with coming rain.

  Bryan stumbled to the shore and climbed up the bank. There, sitting where his father used to be, was a tall skinny man with no nose. He looked at Bryan and Bryan saw that the man’s eyes were golden.

   “You have found a way here, shame on you,” the man said.

   “I just want to go home!” said Bryan.

   “You have taken something from us,” said the man.    “The rock?” asked Bryan.

   “Yes,” said the man.

   “It’s not yours though,” Bryan, argued, “it came from a volcano.”

   The skinny man jumped for Bryan, and grabbed at the stone in his pocket. He removed it and held it in his long pale fingers.

   “This is ours, and you took it. Now you must stay here forever!” and with that he disappeared in a puff of smoke.

   And so Bryan stayed there for the rest of his life, living in the mud, with the ghost gums and the sky always nearly raining.

  And that’s why you should never steal Andy, and never swim where it is deep.

  In retrospect this story seems a pretty convoluted way for my mum to tell me not to steal, but mum’s sort of like that. Pretty loopy unless there were numbers involved. I was a strong swimmer anyway.

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Foxes and Owls Part 5: Shot in the Dark

I guess the place I have to start is last night. The concert was, without a doubt, a good place for me to go. Despite a somewhat mismatched crowd, there were some people that had come a fair distance to see the band play. I've never been much of a gig person. Standing around in a dimly lit room whilst someone groans and wails into a microphone. Nobody even dances any more, people just stare at a sceptical that is being had in front of them and occasionally move from side to side. It is kind of, weird... I guess people eventually became too embarrassed by their parent's dancing to do it themselves any more. Granted, when it came down to it... if you gave me a choice between standing still and dancing I would probably choose standing still.

About half way through the concert I decided to go outside and have a cigarette. The music wasn't half bad but nicotine was a much stronger addiction than the female lead singer dancing around in such a way that revealed her underwear every five seconds. There was a single bench, and someone else had already taken it. She had strawberry blonde ringlets and a dress sense that shouted opshop without being indi. I can't remember how we started talking but we did, not flirtatious, but I did get her number and ask if she'd like to catch up sometime whilst I'm in town. She agreed and I smiled happily. Not long after she had left, she had to work the next day, god knows who works on a Sunday. But she did, and so I went in, said my goodnights to Andy, who seemed reluctant to let me go so early, and absconded.

The walk home was longer than I remember, I guess drinks have an effect on your travel time. Sober it seemed to take for ever, so I made a game of counting the owls perched in nearby trees. There were maybe close to seven on the entire walk, they were easy to spot out against the blackened trees.

By the time I got home I'd finished what little tobacco I had and started to rummage around in my pockets for a key when I heard a gunshot. Someone was firing a gun at something. Then I heard it again, I looked around and saw lights up at the house on the hill. A weird sensation flooded over me. I knew that Foxes were meant to be killed. They had been introduced to Australia to be killed. They were now considered vermin. But that Fox, it was... almost a friend. Just earlier today we'd been hiding near the stream together and now it was probably dead.

I slept oddly that night. It was strange to think I could have so much buzzing around in my head. This girl I'd met, the fox... Andy's story surprizingly hit a nerve aswell. I had been thinking so much about the fires aswell that when I drifted into sleep I dreamt about them. The smell of smoke and flames around me. I dreamt the Fox was staring at me through the flames, waiting for me to help him... but I didn't. Then he turned vicious... into the creature that they said he was. He ran towards me with snarling maw and attacked. I woke up the next morning in a cold sweat.

Andy agreed that he'd come with me up the hill to see if they had indeed shot the fox. We searched the house over for about half an hour, then down the trap door and nothing came out. No fox, or gun shells, nothing could be found. I did take the oppertunity to look at the cellar more this time. Now that my neighbour had 'vacated' there was no-one stopping me from looking around. There were parts of teh cement walls that were cracked, leaving holes around two feet wide. This would've been the entrance to the fox's warren. Looking down into it I noticed a small rock, I didn't want to reach in and grab it in case there were more foxes. Andy told me a story about some kid once that found a rock, his Mum seems to have stories up the ying yang about nearly everything.

I left with a heavy heart. My friend was most likely dead, or gone. I found no trace evidence of it but he wasn't there now. We went back down the hill and decided that we'd take a walk into town. The day went slowly but I discovered the best coffee place in town and plan on coming here again... hopefully with the strawberry blonde girl. She didn't tell me her name, so unfortunately she is just that in my phone. Strawberry Blonde.

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Foxes and Owls Part 4: Reflections

It was a slow morning, me and Andy had cereal out on the porch and talked about things to do in Kingslake. Apparently a band would be playing at the pub tonight so I could wander down there at 8 or 9 to have a bit of entertainment. There was also some cool places we could go exploring on tomorrow if Andy didn't have work on. After our talks and a decent breakfast the day turned to Super Smash Brawl and accusations of homosexuality. But unfortunately Andy did have to leave for work at some point so once again I was left alone in his house with a few hours before I went down to the pub myself. In retrospect I could've just gone with him, but I hadn't done any writing yet today.

After Andy went to work today I took a walk down to the river that borders the two properties. Perhaps it was nostalgia from when I used to sit down on the banks of the Yarra with my old beloved. I couldn't help but think of all the things that have lead me to where I am. The fights, the things that were said. Since I lost my muse it was harder and harder to write, for some reason this release from city life has made it easier. Every day I seem to be able to write down at least a few paragraphs, even if it is just self indulgent dribble. There was something about sitting outside in the sun with a cider and cigarette that was nice. It was simpler out here, I didn't have to deal with friends of friends hating me or complicated social hierarchies.

After a while of sitting though I looked back up to the House on the Hill, or where it would be if I could see it. I wondered what it would be like, to live there. Have Andy as my neighbour, have a nice girl from the sticks on my arm. We'd get married in a few years, we'd introduce one of our friends to Andy and we'd have barbarques every friday. Eventually our kids would play together at this stream. I think... I think I just need something to hold onto that seems a little bit more real than cider and cigarettes.

My musing were cut short when I heard a voice coming from behind me. A pair of Jehovah witnesses stood on Andy's porch. I quickly dipped down the bank trying to make sure they hadn't noticed me. I looked back to see my neighbour staring at me, I whispered over to him that I was just hiding from the men up at the house. The fox looked up, as if following my gaze, and then with the same reaction that I had, it ducked. We lay there for a while. The fox and I lay there on opposite river banks. I smiled, this was something that I never thought I'd do in my life time. Hiding from Jehovah Witnesses with a fox. Eventually my friendly neighbour poked up his head, stood up and quickly went up the hill. I looked up to see that the Jehovah witnesses had moved on. I rolled over to watch the Fox clamber up the hillside, laughed and took a swig of cider.

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History and the Black Fox

So Alex asked me to write something about the history of Kinglake, I don’t know much, but this is what I ended up writing.

  I wasn’t born in Kinglake. I was born somewhere in Queensland, but we only lived there for two years so my memories of the whole area are pretty hazy. We moved to Kinglake in the summer of 89’ and haven’t considered moving since.

  The area is densely wooded and pretty high above sea level, it sometimes snows in the colder seasons, which is something of a rarity for Australia. There are farmsteads and houses separated by trees and forest, and the occasional set of shops and general stores which supply the mountains with food and DVD’s.

  Like many places colonized in the early days of Australia, Kinglake was borne out of the discovery of gold, in this case it was discovered, in 1861 on Mount Slide east of Mount Rush. It then grew and grew until it developed a township in 1874, which then quietly went about its business until 2009.

  In 2009 extreme bushfires swept through Kinglake and much of Victoria, burning 3, 700 acres of land. Thankfully our house escaped the fires, but only barely, were it not for a sudden change of wind I would not have Alex staying with me now. It changed the place, we hadn’t really experienced anything like that before, and well I certainly hadn’t.

  That’s really all the big history there is, if you want more let me know. Alex also asked if I had any stories I’d like to recount, I’ve been thinking about the fox we nearly hit on our way back from the station, and I thought of this.

  When I was little I used to wander a lot. I’d always get distracted by something, some sound or some smell, and leave the garden in search of it. Once I wandered off the path and got lost, and ended up spending the day huddled in the roots of a tree until my teary eyed mum found me and was to relieved to yell at me. It was that night that she told me this story:

  “A long time ago, before you were born, there weren’t as many people around here as there are now. There was no television, no computers, no Playstation, no Pokémon. Most kids your age worked instead of playing, they would bring in hay, or help look after the baby cows.

  There was a little girl called Anne who lived near where we do now, in those days little girls weren’t expected to help with the farm work, so she would spend her time playing the backyard with her dolls and toys.

  One day, whilst she was playing with her dolls, she heard the sound of a kookaburra coming from inside the forest. She put down her doll and decided to look for it.   After hours and hours of searching, and having not heard the kookaburra for a long long time, Anne decided to give up and head home.

   She headed in the direction she was sure she’d come from but after walking down the path for a while; she noticed that nothing was looking familiar. The trees didn’t look like her trees; the underbrush didn’t feel like her underbrush.

  It was getting late so Anne started to get very frightened, she ran and ran, not looking where she was going, and eventually ended up at the base of a mountain, staring at a little cave.

  Crying, the little girl climbed inside, thinking that maybe she could spend the night there, and then search for home in the daylight.

  She clambered further and further into the cave, until she saw a faint light at the end. Thinking that maybe someone was camping there she crept closer and closer and closer.

There, sitting by a lantern, was a raggedy old man, with a big bushy beard, and hairy eyebrows. His teeth were yellow, and he was eating a rabbit on a stick.

  Around him were paintings done by aborigines, of all the different animals in the area, they were flickering in the torchlight and it looked like they were moving.

  Anne began sobbing, and the nasty old man heard her crying.

  “Hey!” he yelled, “you girl! Get away from this place!”

  Anne was too scared to move, but she managed to say:

  “I’m lost and scared! Please don’t hurt me!”

  The old man hurried up to her, jingling and jangling as he went, as though he was covered in bells and glass.

  “If you don’t leave here soon, you’ll never leave here at all!” he bellowed, spit flying out of his mouth.

  Anne began to sob and scream; she was so scared she couldn’t move.

  The raggedy man grabbed her face.

 “He doesn’t kill you, little girl,” he whispered, “he makes it so you never were to begin with!”

  The little girl began to run. She left the cave and found herself back in the forest, tears streaming down her face. As she ran she noticed several orange foxes were running with her, keeping pace.

  The little girl cried and cried, terrified out of her wits, and then she noticed another fox running at the head of the others.

  A black fox.

  It turned and looked at her, and she saw that it’s eyes had no pupils.

  Nobody ever saw Anne again. Her parents looked and looked for her but nobody could find her. She had completely disappeared.

  And that’s why you should never wander into the forest, Andy. It’s very very dangerous.”

  Scared the hell out of me when I was little, and I still stay on the roads and hardly ever go into the forest unless I have to.

  Thanks for making me relive that Alex.

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Foxes and Owls Part 3: Sunrise

Sunlight is like memory, in that it hurts when it hits you after a big night. Andy managed to convince me to keep him company at work, and I may have gotten drunk instead. I'm currently trying to enjoy a morning coffee and cigarette on the porch that looks out toward's my furry neighbour's estate. I couldn't remember much of last night except that I ended up talking with a bunch of bikers who had made... probably mean comments in regard to my dress, but they quickly turned to cheery smiles. Apparently having a self proclaimed writer in their midst was call for telling stories and I lapped it up. Looking back I should've asked about the fires but instead they decided to start telling stories about the area.

One guy called Jasper, who looked similar to Santa gone metal, told me in depth about his experiences when he was riding down a road nearby. He'd stopped to help a lady he'd spotted on a nature trail. The thing I remember most clearly from his story was that she apparently wasn't wearing anything at all, out in the middle of nowhere and completely naked. According to him she was timid, not the kind of person who just took off her clothes in the middle of nowhere. She was also alone. He reassures me that he tried to give her clothes so she wouldn't freeze to death, so I presume that it wasn't in summer that this story happen. But she simply didn't understand what the purpose of clothes might be, acted perplexed by it. After a while, he realised she was mute as well. That it wasn't just out of fear that she hadn't said anything, she just didn't speak. He had offered her a lift back into town when an owl had landed on her shoulder and seemingly whispered something in her ear. She'd smiled, nodded and just walked off down a nature trail. Jasper had never heard anything else about this woman, nobody else had seen her.

I'd like to believe the story, it seemed very honestly told but the owl section seemed more far fetched then I was willing to give it credit. The night seems to get blurry after that. I remember telling them about my trip up to the house near Andy's property. A few of the bikers seemed to take my story with a grain of salt, Jasper seemed more intent on listening. Another one of the guys told me that there weren't that many foxes left after the fire, but that they were still a menace that should be shot on site. I didn't particularly want to shoot the fox, he... or she, seemed nice. It could've attacked me at any point when I was coming down the hill, but it just wanted me to leave.

Heading home with Andy at some stupid time of in the morning was somewhat enjoyable. I couldn't tell if he was a little drunk himself but he seemed in good spirits. We both took a moment to howl at one point, like foxes, and we seemed to get a response. I think I may have only gotten a few hours sleep, so I'll put my morning breakfast on hold and set this to be posted later tonight. If nothing actually ends up happening today this might be all for now. But I will do something interesting and worth while reading tomorrow.

Additional: It's now about 1, I managed to get a few hours sleep in. Andy is far too awake to have drunk anything so that must've been my imagination last night. We were going to go for a rid on his scooter but upon inspection of it there appears to be some major damage to the front. Neither of us have used it since ride where we almost hit the fox and it wasn't damaged in the crash. I'm assured by Andy that the biker's wouldn't have done anything like this, I had apparently kept them in a very good, if not completely sloshed, mood all night. However this did raise my attention to the fact that I had apparently bought all the drinks last night. My bank account is empty of money and I don't get my next payment till Monday. It's going to be a quiet weekend after all.

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Foxes and Owls Part 2: Under the Ash

I was surprised at how quickly Andy was able to write up his piece on Kinglake. It is not often that when I make a request for someone to do a piece of writing that it happens immediately, even less so that they slack off at their work computer to do so.

I am enjoying Kinglake, appart from the accident yesterday my time here has been good. This morning I went to the main street, bleary eyed and chain smoking, to see what it was like. The locals seem friendly, though I can’t say they looked upon my smoking well. The summer heat means that any flame, small or otherwise, is considered a threat. I don’t blame them, but I’m not quite used to it yet. Everyone in town seems to dress in a similar fashion, as Andy described it’s easy to spot out a foreigner to Kinglake. The occasional motorcycle drove through town whilst I was there as well, making me all the more interested in seeing the place Andy worked at. 

Life still happened here, that’s the thing that got to me. These people had suffered, horrible losses. Family, friends, properties… but they lived on. Surely some nights they would break down over a bottle of wine or in the dead of the night wake up in a sweat, remembering the fire. To see all your worldly possessions dissappear would be hard enough… I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to loose a loved one. But here I can see them walking around, some with sullen faces, some with a slight crack of a smile. How long do you think it would take to get back to normal? Would it be something these people could ever escape? The sheer mass of the destruction caused by a small spark. It made me think… it made me put out my cigarette and not light another one until much later.

The property that I was staying at backed onto another one that had been hit by the fires. The trees were greener but still had black ash clinging to them. Andy informed me that there was a house just over the hillside that was now abandoned if I wanted to see the real kind of damage that had been done. Taking his advice I set off up the hill when he went in for his shift. I took a cider with me and drank it as I climbed the steep incline. The house itself was perched on a flat before the hill went up again, but was positioned far back so you couldn’t see it from the bottom of the hill. Before entering I took a huge swig of courage and whilst reaching for a smoke, I took a moment and then stopped myself. It would be disrespectful to do that.

It was old, not just since the fires had happened but since before. The wood must have caught and ignited like a sparkler. There was so little of the house still standing that it was hard to think of it as a place that would’ve housed a family. That the porch was once a place where people would sit and enjoy a coffee. The view from here was amazing, but you could see the damage. A black scar on the land. I had heard it in the news, but you never get the full image. A 32” plasma makes the fire look small… but from corner to corner of my vision would have been filled with smoke, just red and orange. How did anyone survive this? 

Whilst caught in a moment of horror, I tripped over the ground and fell into onto a trap door. It seemed strange that it had survived the fire, and my curiosity became hot wired. Surely some vast secret would be hiding down here and as the wood, jolted out of it’s position I was certain I heard a noise scuttling below. With caution, I eased my way down a dry, dusty step ladder onto a cement floor. There was little light so I fumbled around in my pocket to find a lighter. But the second I opened the flame up I heard a soft growl. A fox was staring at me from the other side of the room, near a hole in the wall.  It just growled once and then ran into the hole, but I knew better than to play against nature.

The scurry back down the mountain was somewhere between a run and a hurried walk. Anxiety told me that a hoard of them would be coming after me, but reason said that they would just stay where they were and not come after me… foxes don’t attack humans too regularly. Crossing the small river that seperated the two properties was the hardest part. In my hurry I’d forgotten to take the route that would lead me to the bridge that Andy had pointed out. So instead I waded through the water, holding my posessions above my head like an army cadet would his gun. But when I got to the other side and sat down to dry off I saw it sitting there. It had followed me down from the house to make sure I had left it’s property. I waved politely at the fox and smiled for a moment, My neighbour, the fox. Suddenly I understood that I had trespassed on it’s ground, that though the house had belonged to a human it was now in the rightful possession of nature… nature that had been introduced to Australia from afar, but nature none the less. Whilst I sat there and thought, the fox just studied me before it went back up the hill. 

-Alex Blanc

[engimatica-blog]

Kinglake Pub

Alex asked me to write some stuff about living in Kinglake. He wasn’t really specific about what he wanted, but this came to mind.

  Very recently, much to my detriment, I became employed at the Kinglake Pub. I didn’t want to, nobody would ever really want to, pubs like the Kinglake pub have the sort of staff that seems to have grown there, like contractors came in and built the pub and sprinkled some kind of powder in the corners and waited for a barman to grow. They tend to be either wiry or that kind of scary-fat people sometimes are, where their pudge isn’t disarming and instead adds to their overall bulk, I think bears probably use the same technique.

  I, however, am not hewn from the same piece of hillbilly granite, and so when my parents informed me that they had gotten me a job working at the Kinglake Pub to ‘give me some character’ I was disappointed and somewhat frightened. I’d been in there in the past and found the warmth of the log fire and the dust on the barstools frankly unsettling, and so it was with this in mind that I walked into the Kinglake Pub at three o’ clock on a Monday morning.

  I don’t know if you’ve ever been to a Country Pub before, but they don’t really open until around six, or at least, that’s when things start kicking off (here kicking off refers to Bikie fights and scary-fat Santa looking guys getting drunk), so for several long hours I did nothing but listen as the barman, half-drunk, described the various drink sizes and how the till worked. I have retained none of this.

  My career as a barman more or less involves me listening as alcoholic farmers and truckers tell me I am pouring their Guinness wrong. I still don’t know how to pour Guinness, so they might as well have saved their breath. Every night I finish at around eleven or twelve and walk home, something that might be easy in the warm embrace of Carlton or Richmond, but in Kinglake means fifteen minutes of deserted road accompanied only by rabbits and the occasional fox. There is nothing more frightening than the sudden “Wyaaaaaahiii” of a fox, it sounds like a lady wailing and it is unwelcome so late.

  I really only said yes because it was something to do, Kinglake is pretty boring at the best of times, and after the fires it’s more or less deserted. If getting myself out of the house means I have to sit through Shelly talking about how her cousin fought someone at a wedding somewhere, and feed the rampant alcoholism that seems to become more frequent the further outside the city limits you are, then so be it.

  I start my third week next Monday. I hate it, but it’ll do.

  I hope that’s the kind of thing you’re looking for Alex, I have more stories if you like.

[engimatica-blog]

Foxes and Owls Part 1: Encounter

It has been several weeks since I have placed pen to paper. It took me some time to understand that my writers block had stemmed from stagnation in my own life. After a quick search on the internet I found a couch surfing website that would allow me to stay at people's houses for free. Without much having much of a cash flow in my life, this provided me with an opportunity for a much needed sea-change. My host's was Andy  Dufraine, a slacker like myself who was blessed with a wealthy and supportive family. From my understanding his parents  decided to leave their Kinglake property to him after the bush fires. Being alone most of the time he was fine with having people stay if only for the company. The plan was to meet at Hurstbridge station and he'd give me a lift up to Kinglake.

I was surprised by his appearance. He dressed in pop-culture apparel and skinny jeans, not at all what I expect from someone who grew up in the sticks. The main thing that caught me off guard was the bike helmet under his arm. Whilst approaching him he pushed it out towards me and introduced himself. He seemed happy to meet me, as if he hadn't had anyone to talk to in some time. After brief introductions, he explained that his only mode of transport was a vintage scooter so he was happy to see I was travelling light. It was hard for me to think about travelling heavy, the only possessions I had was a few hawiaan shirts, a packet of tabacco and my laptop... anything else was out of my price range.

It took me a little bit of convincing before I allowed myself to get onto the scooter. But after I put on the helmet and lit up a cigarette I was pretty calm. He knew the roads well, sweeping through the mountainside tracks, like an eagle flying around stony peaks. I was comfortable, relaxed, completely and utterly without care. It was at that moment that out of the burnt out shrubs a red streak bolted from one side of the road to the other. Andy swerved off the road and into a ditch, I knocked my head against the red soil. It was lucky we got off uninjured, though I can't say I was impressed... so close to heaven and then sudden thrust back down to ground level. Andy apologised profusely about the crash, his arms animated like a poorly animated cartoon.

There was little other trouble getting to his place, no damage was sustained to the scooter and within minutes I was back to soaring high. It didn't take me long to set up. Andy apparently had landed a job at the Kinglake pub so I was alone until much later on. I enjoyed the company of the native wildlife out on Andy's porch whilst I downed a few ciders from the fridge. Cigarettes, cider and the company of a friendly owl, my mind was finally starting to clear from the big city stresses. 

-Alex Blanc