CHAPTER 1
I don’t know what woke me, maybe the storm, but with a jolt, I was wide awake. I was relieved I was in my own bed and hadn’t awoken in the barn after another bout of sleepwalking. A glance at my phone showed me it was a little past five in the morning.
The sense of trepidation settled heavily on me. I jumped out of bed and pulled on some jeans, two mismatched thick socks, a bra, and a blouse, careful not to wake my housemate whose bedroom was at the other end of the house.
I always knew when something was wrong with one of the horses. I didn’t know whether it was a sixth sense or some sort of innate psychic ability, but every time I had a churning feeling in my stomach, something bad invariably happened.
I hurried down the steep stairs to the kitchen and pulled on my boots sitting in the walk-in pantry—sure, it was a funny place for boots, but it was an old house, and the pantry doubled as a mudroom of sorts.
I grabbed my torch and hurried outside. I wasn’t outside for long before I turned around and ran back inside for a coat. The driving rain was cold and relentless. I presently headed for the paddocks, shining my light over the horses. The mares in the closest paddock stared at me sleepily. I spun around to the side paddock.
Billy the Kid, an ex-racehorse, was missing. I had rescued Billy from becoming dog meat, but Billy repaid me for saving his life by breaking through the electric fences at the first crack of thunder and trotting across town to visit his girlfriends. Yes, Billy the Kid had multiple girlfriends. There was Starburst, the horse my neighbour bought for her granddaughter, and Fancy, the horse the postman bought to bribe his son into at least pretending to do his homework.
Billy’s was a small paddock, and there was nowhere he could hide. That was when I noticed the escape route—a tree branch had fallen on the fence. Those white gums drop their branches so easily. I thought I had heard lightning strike something close by the previous night.
I went around to the back of the house to turn off the electric fence, grabbed a halter and lead from the tack room, and took off at a jog towards the fallen tree. Billy’s paddock backed directly onto bushland. That horse could be anywhere by now.
Something was wrong, something more than the missing horse. I quickened my pace. I didn’t like the bushland around the creek; none of the locals did. Legends told of Bunyips, fearful creatures of Aboriginal folklore, living in that creek.
In the relentless mud, I could see a large hoofprint here and there leading down to the creek.
I spotted Billy grazing on the other side of the creek, his once grey coat now brown from dirt. Relief flooded me. A second later, my foot caught in a tree root, forcing me down hard into the mud. I picked myself up, shaken. My right arm had taken my full weight, and my shoulder was jarred.
The creek here was wide. I certainly didn’t want to swim over to the other side. At least, Billy the Kid was standing there, grazing, and not trotting away. I knew the river narrowed further down. I was already drenched, covered in mud, and the rain wasn’t easing. I had no choice but to continue to the narrow part of the river. I hoped the horse would stay where he was.
It took me fifteen minutes to reach Billy the Kid, and thankfully he allowed himself to be caught. “You’ve had quite the adventure, haven’t you,” I said, stroking his long mane.
I turned around and led him straight back down to the river where the track was stony and better underfoot.
The sight before me brought me to a sudden stop. There, lying on the riverbank, was a woman, and I was fairly certain she was dead.
