“That’s it Big Hat Bill, I’ve had it up to here with you terrorizing this here little town. I’m gonna put an end to it right here, right now, with a bullet right between your eyes,” the ranger said with his hand hovering just above his pistol.
Big Hat Bill stood opposite the ranger down the stretch of dusty main road with a big dirty grin and enormous hat. “Good luck with that, you know how many men like you have tried gunning me down?” He laughed with spittle spurting across his grotty whiskers. “I was on this land before this town even got built, I know all its nooks!”
“This town belongs to the people, you’re nothing but a crook Big Hat Bill!” The Ranger drew his pistol and fired.
The bullet flew through the gap that formed between bill and his big hat as he dropped to the ground, and seemingly disappeared into it, leaving only the large hat sitting on the dirt. The ranger ran up to the hat wide-eyed and lifted the hat to reveal a trapdoor and hidden tunnel.
“Big hat bill! You won’t get away that easy!”
Foul laughter echoed back through the tunnel.
With gritted teeth the ranger kicked up a cloud of sand. I was so close, he thought, That Big Hat Bill and his nasty tricks! It felt as if hot air pumped through his muscles as his arms shook. He felt his upper lip twitch as he clenched his fist– A shot ricocheted off the ground, wide-eyed he blinked at the smoking pistol still in his hand.
Shaken from his rage, his eyes narrowed as he surveyed the main road. A woodchopper returned to his axe now that the commotion had eased down. The ranger scratched his chin. So, the slippery weasel’s got tunnels running all throughout the town. Tunnels are for rats, he thought, and I ain’t no rat. He’d have me out maneuvered in those tunnels, so I expect he won’t be coming out any time soon. It was too dangerous to follow him in.
The ranger paced before something nudged against his shin. No, to catch a rat you need… The ranger’s gaze slipped down to Bill’s beloved oversized hat still sitting on the ground, it’s size not so noticeable when Bill-less. The ranger smiled. The damn fool’s left me the perfect bait. All I gotta do is draw him out.
He approached the woodchopper. “Say, how much for all your wood and a box of matches if you got any?”
St Albans Line – Not in service
Altona Line – Not in service
Williamstown Line – Not in service
Sandringham Line – Not in service
Murmuring crowds gathered around the service screens at Flinders Street Station. Every single one of them read ‘Not in Service’. Had I known it would be like this I wouldn’t have slipped through the gates, I just wanted to take the train through the northern suburbs and get home. The myki inspectors were beginning to eye me. Surely there had to be something. I briskly moved to the windows overlooking the platforms. All were empty, save for one. Despite the screens, there was one train waiting at Platform One. It seemed an ordinary metro train, grey and blue, but the LED screen on the front read: ‘Service to the plains.’ Nobody was waiting to board it. Maybe I could board it, I thought. I looked over my shoulder, with a black scanning device in hand a man dressed as a wannabe cop was meandering over, trying not to spook me I suspect, too bad.
I scampered down the escalator to the train, a faint, “Hey!” called out behind me. The platform was empty, but the train was packed. I pressed the button, and the doors slid open, I maneuvered through all the standing passengers aiming to squeeze somewhere down the middle of the aisle with the hopes of blending. I settled on a position behind a heavy-set businessman who made a little wheeze with every breath. Peaking over his shoulder, the myki inspector paced the platform outside, shaking his head, speaking into a radio. An announcement played over the speakers of the train.
Could the fare evader please vacate the train immediately
I’d never heard anything like it and as if that would work. An additional inspector emerged from the bottom of the escalator joining the first in his pacing. I ducked behind the shoulder every time they passed by. They were looking more and more distressed. Before long, another five inspectors had joined them. They were overgrown flies swarming the platform, only growing in numbers.
Could the fare evader please vacate the train immediately
At this point, I couldn’t even look, I glanced around the carriage and felt a growing dropping sensation in my chest. The old woman with crooked teeth, the mother with her two boys with well kept teeth, the man with a lap of groceries from the butcher with oddly sharp k-9s, everyone was looking at me. They weren’t concerned though, they were all smiling, even in the reflection of the window the businessman flashed his teeth. I’d rather the dogs out there have me than whatever the fuck this is, I pushed through them all back to the door and pressed the button.
Nothing.
I press it again.
It doesn’t open.
The inspectors all swarm around the door, I hear their muffled and panicked voices commanding me to get off. I point at the button and shake my head, a swelling form in my throat. I feel the train jolt, one myki inspector holds his hand to his head and I watch as he slides away from view, the train pulling out of the station.
I watch atop the autumn hills, yellowing dry grass jostling in a warm humid wind. A Hills Hoist clothesline hysterically squeaks somewhere nearby. The setting sun creeps through cracks in the bellowing overcast sky. Smells like it might rain, but something else is coming. Dread pushes up in my chest in a tremor, the ground shaking under my feet. A loud scratching sound from far behind grows louder and louder. With a powerful gushing of air, it fast becomes a deafening roar. A wide stroke of decay courses past me, like a road forming over the slopes, the grass withers into black ash, ember flecks carried up into the air dissolve into tiny particles while the grass blades curl into the bare dirt. The dying path continues effortlessly past the horizon. This hallowed countryside once again the canvas to famine’s brush.
A long beard hung from his face like an old shag rug riddled with dust mites, look close enough and one might glimpse a pair of eyes peering out from it, though without the cheerful wrinkle lines that ventured out from his own. No, his eyes were the night sky, so dark that constellations of stars shimmered across them in parallel to the ticking of his mind as he pondered over old fantastic tomes. He could be heard from rooms adjacent to his study as his gown was so decorated in enchanted trinkets and jewels that every movement, every turn of a page was accompanied by a jingle. He always read his books laying on his belly, his gown bunching down to his knees as he kicked his muscular legs back and forth. Muscular because as you know, a wizard’s books and magical items are their most prized possessions, and Filgert the Wizard was no exception. He carried all his gigantic volumes, magic scepters and potions, hid them all beneath his gown and it was of no surprise that floors would crack beneath his feet.
Also, he smelled like woodchips.
With his vision framed by leaves of the bush, he watched the cobbled tower intently. An orange light flickered through the window from the top floor. His heart pulsed as a shadow glided across the light and a moment later the light extinguished. He pulled his dark hood over his head and slipped out of the bushes; his chance had come. With the delicate jostle of the pick and an accommodating click of the lock, the old wooden door opened askew. He snuck inside the musty foyer, the ornate rug softening his steps. Looking around the circular room, a table covered in nicknacks and clutter, a cupboard and a couple of old leather chairs by the fireplace – he knew it would be too valuable to leave haphazardly down here. He needed to venture up.
He had been hoping for a stone stepped staircase, but now inspected the wonky old wooden steps spiraling up to the next floor. Crooked and malformed, they looked as though they might scream under the weight of any boot, the original home alarm system and with silence being the priority of any burglary, a sense of dread bubbled in his chest. Closing his eyes and ready to flee, he took the first step; relief – all quiet. Another step quiet yet again. Again. He was beginning to see the next floor, bookshelves coming into view. The silence shattered a creak on the last step, and then a thump from the top floor. He froze on the step with wide eyes. He waited. Footstep after footstep across the ceiling of the room, then a creak on the top steps down. Someone was coming – He was coming. He had to decide now, up or down. UP or DOWN. Fuck it – up.
He slinked into the darkened library and pressed himself against the cool stone wall behind the side of one of the many dusty bookcases. Every step down there was creak after creak. He thought himself lucky to learn just how noisy the second set of stairs was without having to set foot on them. The steps ceased as he must have been surveying the room. Moments passed, gusts of wind passed, the panic lessened. The sound of stair ascension and a sense of relief. He fell from his hiding place onto his knees and took a deep breath.
A breath cut short with a loud thump behind him. Someone dropping onto the floor. The jangle of jewels and trinkets rang throughout the room.
…and the musky smell of woodchips flooded his nostrils.