Simpler Times

When I was a boy, my mother would tell me of the power of the Palmwood Cove cliffs. That if I listened hard enough, I would hear them whispering their secrets. But hard as I tried, all I ever heard was the cacophony of crashing waves below.

That all changed on Halloween ’87.

Those sandstone cliffs, perilous as they were captivating, towered over our small slice of South Australian coastline. The bluff stood forty metres tall and protruded from the cliffs like a finger steadfastly guiding wanderers out to sea. South of the bluff, a large stretch of steeply sloping grass lead down to a beach that offered sheltered waters, long gentle surf breaks, and white sand that sang under your feet. On the northern side of the bluff was a flight of stairs leading down to a rocky outcrop that could be followed right out to the fingertip in low tide. The stairs were built in the early ’50s to provide rock access for fisherman but was later fenced off - along with the entire bluff - after a young girl fell to her death.

***

“Mine!” I yelled. Ash was technically next in the lineup, but with that vacant expression on his face, I doubt he even realized a wave was coming.

Ash and I had grown up like family. A kid so shy, people were often greeted with the roots of his strawberry hair as his gaze tended perpetually towards the ground. This meant no-one ever saw the enigmatic depths and strengths he hid within. I awaited the day he’d look up at me, head held high, with a smile exposing confidence and hope, and I’d know he’d found the way to escape his internal prison. But the timidity only worsened after we started high school that previous year.

I was climbing back onto my board, ready to paddle back out when I noticed him heading towards the shore. “Charlie, I think I’m done,” he said as he pulled alongside me. “Let’s go home and get ready.”

“Yeah, fair enough. Reckon I’m getting burnt anyway.”

We trudged through the shallows towards the sand when I called for my dog to follow. Duke had spent the past hour alternating between lazing on the sand - lifting his head occasionally to ensure he hadn’t been abandoned - and walking to The Boatshed to get a free feed. I had christened him with the name of John Wayne’s dog, resulting from my irrational dream of becoming a cowboy. But as was the case with many tan Great Danes, friends typically just called him Scooby.

The Boatshed Cafe had been in the family for generations and offered the typical beachside cuisine of burgers, fish and chips, and milkshakes, but also promised the ‘World’s Best’ home-made ice cream. It sat on the shorefront boardwalk alongside a bait shop, and Seafire - an upscale seafood restaurant that serviced almost exclusively tourists.

As Duke raced towards us, I glanced over to the cafe and saw my parents hurrying to hang the finishing touches. It was Halloween, and the town was waking from its extended winter hibernation. Witches hovered over store entrances straddling their broomsticks, pumpkins already at varying levels of decay peppered resident doorstops, and the desert winds from the north were bringing the smell of warmer nights. I felt the elation wash over me; my favourite night of the year was underway.

* * *

One hour later, I had just finished dressing Duke in his black satin Dracula costume, and I was readying my own Trick or Treat outfit. Mother had always encouraged my brother and I to face our fears, so for the past three Halloweens I had dressed as a clown. Like hesitantly entering a cold winter’s ocean, I was taking small steps to acclimatise to a phobia that predated my earliest memories.

I was far from ready when the doorbell rang. Ash, dressed in military fatigues, had arrived with his twin sister Kristin. The relationship between Kristin and my brother Sam was similar to what I had with Ash. Not only were Kristin and Sam best friends, but Sam and Ash shared an intelligent reticence, whereas Kristin and I were both loud, self-assured, and incredibly stubborn.

“You’re early,” I said after answering the door. “Just give me 10 minutes,” as I rushed back to my room.

I later overheard Sam and Kristin discussing their plans in what they assumed was the privacy of Sam’s bedroom.

“Jason Segal asked me to come drinking at the bluff with everyone tonight.” Following an audible sigh from Sam, she followed up with, “He said you could come too.”

“Kristin, he’s two years older than you. And the guys a dick.”

“Yeah ok, maybe. But this is our chance to chill withthatgroup! Please!”

Sam’s sigh returned, this time more patient. “Fine. But don’t tell Charlie or Ash, Mum would kill me if she found out I took Charlie out there.”

This explained why Kristin had arrived sans costume, and it would make excellent blackmail fodder in the future.

* * *

Palmwood Cove may be a small town, population 8000, but an outsider could become very lost in the steep and windy streets. Indistinguishable mid-century modern homes - in a choice of white or slightly off-white - were hugged by lofty palm trees and cacti, and lined with river pebbles and grass that shone greener than nature ever intended. No front fences. I was confident front fences were illegal in Palmwood Cove. This made it near impossible to prevent Duke fromwateringneighbourhood lawns as the three of us wandered the streets, strategically knocking on doors known to offer the good candy - rather than fruit (or one year, toothpaste).

It wasn’t long before my dear friend asked his regular question. “Can I stay at yours tonight?”

“Yeah, you know you don’t have to ask.”

Ash didn’t seem to like staying at home very often. His parents were very nice, but I didn’t entirely blame him. Morty was a Palmwood Cove native and had met Jane while away at college in the city. They’d moved back here after he graduated, and she fell pregnant. She always had muffins and a warm smile ready for guests and he, an Aeronautical Engineer, was always up for a discussion on the latest video game or technological breakthrough. But every time I visited their house, my typical loquaciousness was promptly replaced with astunted politeness. Years of this involuntary façade passed before I determined the cause of my discomfort - I’d never witnessed a single word exchanged between Morty and Jane. The silence in that house could pierce. When I questioned my Mother about this, her response was frustratingly conventional - “All families have their problems Charlie, please don’t get involved.”

It was around 8pm, sunset in that part of the world, when the candy supplies were depleting and my boredom increasing. “You know Sam and Kristin are at the bluff?” I said.

“Your point?”

“They could’ve invited us,” I said, kicking the nearest pebble with a sense of entitlement. “Why don’t we head there and spy on them?”

Ash agreed. Not because he genuinely wanted to go spy on his sister, but because he was always willing to follow my lead. We went home to drop off the candy, grab a couple of torches, and remove Duke’s costume - his gnawing on the cape was a clear message that his patience was wearing thin.

What we saw when we arrived at the bluff left us deeply confused.

***

Rubbish was in no short supply - empty beer bottles, candy wrappers, and half full cigarette packets were strewn across the grass, a number of camping chairs encircled a lone esky, and Huey Lewis and the News confirmed it was Hip to be Square from a boombox hanging on a nearby tree branch. But underage drinkers were nowhere to be seen.

Duke sprinted towards the bluff stairs. Turning on my torch to see in the impending darkness, I followed close behind. I pulled off my clown mask and reached down to pick up the item he was sniffing - my brother’s necklace. A metal yin yang pendant that hung from a black rubber cord, this necklace maintained real estate atop my brother’s collarbone at all times - showering, sleeping, even tucked into his wetsuit when surfing. But there it lay, frayed at the knot as if it had been roughly wrenched off.

Then I heard it.

I assumed I was hallucinating. But when I raised my torch to see Ash’s terror stricken profile, it became clear that sound wasn’t exclusive to me. The echo of a young girl giggling was rising from below. A giggle completely devoid of innocence or joy.

“We need to go down there,” I said at an almost whisper, unable to remove my focus from the sound’s origin.

“Are you fuckin mad?” Ash’s eyes widened. “I’m going home.”

Duke directed a single bark towards Ash as he stormed off, clearly conveying his disappointment and urging him to relinquish all cowardice and return to us immediately.

“Your sister could be hurt down there,” I turned to face his back, stopping him in his tracks. “We go down, we look around for them, we come back.”

“You want to headtowardsthat sound? Charlie, this is crazy. Let’s just go get help!”

But as always, I needed things to go my way.

“If they’re hurt, there might not be time for that - the tides going to start coming in soon. And that sound was probably a Halloween prank. Some dipshit’s left a recording around here somewhere, knowing we hang out down there.”

I could see Ash was not following my flawed logic in the slightest. But as always, he allowed things to go my way.

I put Sam’s necklace in my pocket, told Duke to wait at the top of the bluff, and descended the steps.

* * *

A quick wave of the torch made it clear no-one was lying injured on the exposed rocks, but low tide allowed us to reach the large cave that punctured the bluff wall.

“Sam?” I meant to yell from the cave entrance, instead coming out as a strangled whisper. I cleared my throat and tried again, this time releasing a yell that reverberated against the cave walls. But my call was met with cold, black nothingness. There was a lump in my throat so big that I felt certain I was about to throw up or suffocate on my own panic. Further speech would only expose this anxiety to Ash, so I entered the cave in silence.

That silence followed us in the snake-like passage for what felt like an hour - a glance at my watch revealing it to be closer to five minutes. I wondered what sat above us as we walked. Had we passed under my house? Was Mr. Mitchell standing overhead, locking up MovieZone (our local video rental store) and getting ready to head home to Mistress Pudding (his cat)? Just as I was getting lost in my thoughts, and we were getting lost in reality, I heard crying. I aimed the torch at Ash’s face.

“It wasn’t me,” he sounded almost offended.Boys don’t cryin the 80s.

But I already knew that cry didn’t come from Ash. I recognized those stifled sobs from the time I consoled her after Clare Masters called her a ‘pudge nose’ in front of our whole class.

“Kris?” Ash yelled out.

“Ash?” The unmistakably gentle voice of my brother returned from what had to be only metres away.

“We’re coming.” I waved the torch around, my fear besieged by hope. “Call out when you see the light.”

Sam and Kristin were sitting huddled against the wall, her colourless face buried in his neck. Ash ran to hug his sister, stroking her shoulder and ensuring her she was now safe. This was the most affection I’d ever seen shared between them. After everyone seemed to gain their composure, I asked Sam what happened.

* * *

Their group had also heard the giggling. Jason Segal - the meathead who invited Kristin to the bluff - dared Sam to investigate. When Sam refused, Jason started shoving him towards the stairs (tearing his necklace).

The whole group had eventually entered the cave in search of the haunting voice, but none had made it out. The tide inexplicably rose within seconds, and while Sam and Kristin wisely retreated to the depths of the cave, the others had attempted to swim out, instead being devoured by a rabid ocean. The cliffs of Palmwood Cove secure another secret.

As Sam described the events that led them there, a sensation of being watched raced up and down my spine in a shiver. I peered deeper into the cave, seeing what appeared to be two eyes blinking off and on from the darkness. I shook my head and convinced myself it was just the fear getting to me. When I looked back, they were gone.

“Ok, we’ve gotta try and get out of here.” I got up and brushed the sand off my silver clown pants, suddenly realising that Ash was perfectly dressed for this bizarre situation. Me, less so.

“No!” Kristin was visibly shaking, her eyes protruding so far from her head that she looked like one of those toys with the wiggly eyes glued on.

I grabbed her hand and spoke softly. “Me and Ash just got here a few minutes ago. The tide is where it should be. It’s low enough. But it won’t be if we wait much longer.” She didn’t look convinced. “I promise you Kristin, none of us are going to let anything happen to you. We’ll walk slowly, if we see water, we’ll come back and figure out our next steps.”

Her shaking was so bad that she could barely stutter the question, “What about the girl?”

Getting us home safely was the number one priority. I’d let her worry about youth apparitions later, so I repeated the lie I told Ash. “That’s just a recording, a Halloween prank.”

Our exodus from the cave was far less eventful than we feared - somehow the walk seemed much shorter, and the tide was still low enough to make a safe exit. Also, no ghost girls. This was enough to raise our spirits. I raced up the stairs, excited to see and squeeze my big, dopey boy.

But Duke wasn’t there. The rubbish wasn’t there. And Huey Lewis had been replaced by silence. More goddamn silence.

***

After five minutes of staring at each other, hoping someone would speak up and provide a modicum of clarity, we decided we’d had enough excitement for one night and just headed home. Like Duke must’ve done.

I went to grab the key from under our front door mat but quickly realized the flaw in this strategy - the mat was gone. Too exhausted to address the oddity, or care that it’s very late and my parents were likely asleep, I pounded on the door. No-one answered. No dog barked.

“Maybe they stayed at the Marsden’s last night?” Sam said, not even believing his own words. “Why don’t we head to yours?” Directing the question to Kristin and Ash. A suggestion they swiftly shut down. They were meant to be sleeping at ours that night and a lengthy grounding was certain to follow if their parents discovered they were still out this late. Especially with the scent of stale beer lingering on Kristin’s breath.

We decided to head to the café and wait for our parents there. Wherever they were, you could guarantee they’d be at the café by 6am. It didn’t open until 9, but they always arrived early to start baking and prepping. Except Mondays, we closed Mondays.

We sat patiently along the boardwalk, near the cafe’s outdoor seating area. As an hour passed, a knot began expanding in my stomach. The way it does when you know you’ve forgotten something, but you can’t quite see behind the curtain to uncover what it is. Then sunlight slowly peered over the horizon, igniting the ocean surface with millions of flickering white crystals, forcing you to shield your eyes. Apparently, that past hour had quickly morphed into six. Confused, I looked down at my watch. The little cartoon cowboy was confidently pointing both hands directly north - it had just turned midnight.

I was trying to grasp at rational explanations for the unexpected daybreak. Maybe my watch had slowed down? But the timeline still didn’t add up - we had only been in that cave for thirty minutes, tops. And it stillfeltlike midnight. Even worse, I realized this wasn’t the underlying cause of the ever-expanding knot in my stomach. I was missing something else.

“Jesus, what time is it?” Sam muttered, raising his hand to his forehead and looking towards the rising sun.

But before I could figure out how to answer his question, the curtain finally fell, and my mystery knot was unveiled.

“Where the hell is the Seafire?”

END CHAPTER 1