Alan Baxter - The Gulp - Five Tales of Horror

“I won’t tell anyone anything,” Rich said, appalled at the slur in his voice. The after-effects of the beers combined with the mighty slap from Stephen had left him thick-headed.

“Course you won’t,” Carter said. “Bring him.” He dragged Daniel up with a hand under one arm and pushed him ahead as he walked past the Toyota.

Stephen’s hand on Rich’s right shoulder was a painful clamp the big man used to guide him. Wearing nothing but cargo pants and t-shirt, the cool night air made his skin stipple with gooseflesh. He needed to find a way out of this, any way, it didn’t matter. Just get out. He’d make a bolt for the bush if the chance arose, take his shot there. The reassuring pressure of the phone in his pocket gave him some hope. With any luck they wouldn’t notice he had it, and maybe up here he’d catch a signal when he got the opportunity to try. Comply in the meantime, he told himself. Be compliant, let them concentrate on Daniel, the poor bastard.

They walked past a double garage filled with a mystifying array of tools and an old ute up on blocks, then between two open-front hay sheds into a wide field with fencing in the distance. This seemed to be a pretty big property, the bush cleared for several acres in every direction. Cattle, black and white Fresians and a few Jerseys, stood around in the paddock off to the right and Rich thought he saw the silhouettes of horses far to the left. The field they walked across was empty, sloping gently upwards, with thick bush on the far side that rose steeply to a ridge line, black against the sky.

The moonlight held back the darkness enough, Rich’s eyes adjusting to see where he walked. The stars were a thick blanket, not an artificial light source for kilometres around to dim them, just the speckles of light down in the town below.

Then he saw the large hole in the dirt.

Ice chilled his veins. The hole was about two metres long and one wide, a perfect black rectangle in the grass. A pile of dirt stood in a mound beside it with a shovel stuck in the top. A large wooden board lay beside the dirt.

“Mr Carter, don’t, please,” Daniel said, voice half lost in sobs. He’d been quietly stumbling along until that moment, but now he became animated, struggled against Carter’s grip. “What do you want, Mr Carter? Hey? Anything you want, Mr Carter, I’ll do it. Anything!”

“What I want, Daniel, is a more peaceful life. What I want is people I can rely on. What I want¸ you fucking cunt, is people who don’t blab and deal with the fucking Stinsons!”

“Mr Carter, please, I–”

Daniel’s sentence was lost in a cry of alarm as Carter shoved him forward and he staggered and fell into the hole. Stephen held Rich firmly, a few feet back. The hole wasn’t as deep as Rich had thought, Daniel finding his feet and standing up, the edge of the hole at his chest. He put both palms on the damp grass and made to push himself up, but Carter swung a booted foot and clipped him under the chin. Daniel yelped and went back down. He moaned weakly, out of sight.

Carter walked around the hole and picked up the large piece of wood. Several planks fixed together with crossbars, Rich noticed. A lid. A coffin lid.

“You disappoint me greatly, Daniel,” Carter said and dropped the lid down into the hole. He took the spade and began shovelling dirt in. It thumped onto the wood, the sound more muffled each time. Then a banging started, Daniel yelling, calling out Carter’s name over and over again, begging please, please, please. But the dirt kept going in, the sounds more muted by the minute.

Rich stood stock still, aware his mouth hung open in a gape, his knees weak. But he didn’t dare make a sound. Stephen’s vice-like grip never left his shoulder. It took about ten minutes for Carter to refill the hole completely, then he walked back and forth over the dirt, pressing it down, sweat sparkling on his brow. Daniel’s muffled cries still came faintly from below, punctuated by weak blows against the wood.

Carter finally looked at Rich, for the first time. He smiled warmly, gestured back towards the farmhouse. “Shall we?”

Stephen turned him and they walked back, Rich’s legs rubbery.

“Did you enjoy what you saw at the motel?” Carter asked as they walked.

“No, Sir, I did not.”

“Why’s that?”

Rich licked dry lips, lost for words. He shook his head. “I won’t tell a soul,” he said eventually. “I promise.”

“You had so many choices,” Carter said. “So many chances. You could have ignored the light. You could have gone to bed. So many times you could have turned away, but you didn’t.”

How did he know?

“Why didn’t you turn your back, hmm?”

“I… I didn’t know,” Rich said weakly. “I couldn’t believe it.”

Carter sucked his teeth, let out a sigh. “Such is life, hey? So many don’t believe. Too many people have lost touch with the old ways. Everything so modern.” He turned and pinned Rich with his icy blue gaze. “No respect for the numinous any more.”

Carter couldn’t have seen what Daniel saw. Someone in the pub saw, told him about it. He tortured Daniel to scare him. But why? He brought Daniel to the farm and obviously planned to let him die anyway.

Carter led Rich back between the hay sheds as another car pulled up along the dirt road. A small hatchback. It parked, the engine went off and the headlights with it. A woman got out.

“Hello, darling,” Carter said.

Chrissy walked into the light of the car port, came to meet them. She wore the same clothes she’d had on in the pub, but her hair wasn’t tied back any more. It hung over her shoulders in a wave that shone with reflected light. “Worked out all right then?” she said.

Carter laughed. “Yep. Donny put him in room six like you told him to, and the poor lad couldn’t help himself. Curious as the proverbial cat.”

Chrissy smiled, wide and filled with teeth. “I thought it too good an opportunity to pass up.” She moved to Carter and they embraced, kissed long and deep. The man had to be at least twice her age, Rich thought numbly. He tried to swallow, but his throat was thick with fear.

“Daniel?” Chrissy asked, once their sensuous kiss finally ended.

“Dealt with,” Carter said. He turned his attention back to Rich. “You’re new here.” Statement, not a question or guess. “But why did you come, hmm? No one passes through The Gulp. You came here.”

“I’m a truck driver. I deliver to Woollies. The truck broke down–”

“It didn’t break down, your friend fucked it.”

How did he know that?

“But that’s not what I meant. Why did you come here , hmm? At this time? Wheels and machinations, son. There are reasons .”

“It’s a new job, that’s all. I’m in training, to take over George’s routes. The last couple of weeks he’s been showing me the…” Rich’s voice petered out under Carter’s witheringly disdainful gaze.

“You won’t let it in, will you.” Statement again.

“Let what in?”

“You dreamed of it. The before time. Everyone who sleeps in The Gulp dreams of when they fell at least once.” Carter moved to put an arm across Rich’s shoulders. Stephen let go at last, the skin burning where the pressure was finally released. Carter turned Rich to face out over the view of the town below. “You have to embrace The Gulp. You do what it wants or it swallows you. What’s your name?”

“Rich. Richard Blake.”

“You can call me Mr Carter. You’ve already met Chrissy.”

“Let me go, please! I won’t tell anyone anything.”

“You will though, won’t you?”

“No! I won’t–”

“Oh, you might not tell any authorities. But you’ll tell the story. People always tell stories.”