‘Madison brought it just before. I don’t really —’
‘Madison?’ Gabriella looked up from the statuette. ‘She was here?’
Eliza took Gabriella into the adjacent lounge room and they settled onto a couch, where Eliza recounted the conversation she’d just had with Madison.
‘What I don’t understand is why the police haven’t made it public that Madison planned their disappearance?’ said Eliza. ‘Doesn’t that change the whole case? There are still people searching the bush.’
‘Madison thought it was Denni’s statue . . .’ said Gabriella, lost in her own questions. ‘Why would she think that?’
‘Denni was good at woodwork. Her mum, Kiera, was good at it too.’ Eliza picked up the hideous statuette again. ‘But I’ve never seen anything like this in my life . . . except I think I heard a mention of it . . . Has any of your investigating brought up the Kundela Game?’
‘What’s the Kundela Game?’
Eliza was silent a moment, and when she spoke her voice was heavy. ‘I once overheard Denni talking about it on the phone to Madison. It was some sort of social game . . . a series of dares, one a day, and you had to prove you’d done them. I only really know about it because Denni was suspended for flashing her bra at the principal. It took a long time for her to admit to me it was a dare, and then I put two and two together. When I asked about the Kundela Game, she completely flipped out. She made me swear never to mention it to anyone, especially not Madison.’ Eliza’s voice grew quiet. ‘I think that’s around the time she stopped trusting me.’
Gabriella tapped her chin in thought. ‘In one of her YouTube videos, Madison had “the word is kundela” written on her sleeping bag . . . Maybe it’s just harmless pranks like flashing your underwear, but if it became more than that . . .’ She paused. ‘Were you aware that Denni was cutting herself?
‘I know . . . the coroner’s report said Denni had scars . . . What does that have to do with —’
Gabriella looked away, talking to herself again. ‘The Honcho Dori Club was a precursor to this Kundela Game. When Madison realised she could get people to do what she wanted, she got a taste for it . . . But who would have put a Hungry Man warding statue in her room?’
‘Hungry Man?’ Eliza shuddered. ‘What does that have to do with it? What’s a Honcho Dori?’
‘Do you want me to make us coffee first? This might be hard.’
An hour later, Eliza was still scrolling through the screenshots of the Honcho Dori Club group chat on Gabriella’s phone. She felt sick.
Gabriella sipped her second cup of coffee, deep in thought.
Eliza was a teacher – she knew how teenagers worked. She could easily read between the lines of the ‘messages of support’, seeing the hints of approval each time a self-harm wound was sufficiently large:
Wow, u must be in so much pain, ur so strong
Damn bitch, don’t blunt the knife lmao, you need to be kind to yourself girl
I wish I was as strong as you sis
And then the messages of slight derision from someone nicknamed Honcho if someone’s wound wasn’t deep enough:
Looks like you are recovering
A band-aid will cover that up
Not much blood on that one. You must have wiped the blood away already, hope it didn’t get on your school skirt
Dare you to cut deeper next time. Really feel it.
Both subtly and overtly, Honcho was encouraging self-harm, and the others were following suit.
Honcho had to be Madison’s username.
Eliza recognised the photos of Denni’s arm, from the freckles and skintone, and then by the photos of a knife that even now was in the kitchen drawer of this house. She was VoodooQueen.
She had yet to decipher the other usernames; she wasn’t sure she wanted to. The only consolation was that VoodooQueen’s photos became less severe over time, demonstrating a semblance of recovery, even as the other girls’ comments seemed to be trying to egg her on.
C’mon, VoodooQueen, anyone would think you weren’t feeling anything anymore.
Aren’t you strong enough for the Honcho Dori Club, VoodooQueen?
‘What does Honcho Dori even mean?’ whispered Eliza.
‘I googled it,’ said Gabriella. ‘It was a street in Yokohoma where American sailors went to find prostitutes. They started talking about feeling “hunky-dory”. But I think Madison chose it because she’s the head honcho. They’re all feeling hunky-dory on the outside, but they’re hiding all this stuff, and she’s in charge.’
Eliza sat the phone down. ‘And these little statues . . .?’
‘Yani told us the second part of the Hungry Man rhyme. Part of a ritual, for warding off the Hungry Man.’ Gabriella repeated the rhyme.
The awful conclusion had already occurred to Eliza. ‘So if Denni made this one, as Madison claims, does that mean . . . Denni thinks she saw the Hungry Man?’ Eliza put her forehead in her hands. ‘Hang a girl from a tree to die.’
‘Looking at her photos in the group, it seems she was getting better, and a few people we’ve talked to said they thought so too. But if you ask me, any girl who was involved in the Honcho Dori Club would have a hard time recovering. I don’t need to tell you that self-harm can be linked to depression and suicide. That’s why this is so serious.’ Gabriella’s voice softened. ‘Sorry, I’m trying to be considerate, but this is all just so left-of-field. I was wondering . . . do you still have Denni’s phone?’
‘In her room. I haven’t been in there since the funeral.’
Gabriella gripped her shoulder. ‘I know this is hard. Thank you for helping.’
‘What else can I do? Especially now everyone knows I was covering for Tom.’
‘Yeah. Not gonna lie, that was a bad move,’ said Gabriella.
Together, they headed deeper into the house, to Denni’s room.
It was exactly as Eliza had left it. The rickety single bed was still made up, with a purple doona, and the walls were covered in posters of space and indie bands. Drawings of trees hung above the little desk, and they seemed to immediately draw Gabriella’s attention.
‘Was something here?’ she asked Eliza, pointing to an empty spot where the tack marks still showed.
‘I took it down. It was a sketch Denni drew of . . . the symbol on the Hanging Tree.’
‘The what?’ said Gabriella.
‘It’s carved on the tree out by the mountain track. Kind of a messy capital A.’
‘Wait, is it . . .’ Gabriella pulled out her phone and swiped through the Honcho Dori screenshots. She held it up for Eliza to see. ‘Is it this? The picture they’ve used for the group chat?’
‘I think it’s supposed to be a stickman with a noose,’ said Eliza. ‘This is definitely the same as what’s on the tree.’
‘The Hanging Tree. Can you tell me about it?’
Eliza licked her lips, hesitating. ‘It’s where Denni died. And Ted Barclay. I’ll show you. It’s not that far from the road, really.’
‘Eliza, I’m so sorry. You don’t have to take me there, I’ve rented a car – you can just tell me where it is.’