Georgia laughed. ‘Not knowing each other’s secrets is the only reason we can all be friends.’
After a dinner of pork sausages cooked on the smoky campfire and salad, all of the campers sat in loose knots. The Fab Four and Carmen sat in a semi-circle, on a straw mat that had been left behind in the Trapper’s Hut. On the other side of the fire, Scarlett, the year-level captain, had set up a portable speaker and her Triple J playlist beat against the sound of crackling fire and conversation. She was the only student who’d been allowed to bring her phone, although she’d be sharing a tent with Miss Ellis tonight, right beside the Trapper’s Hut, so the privilege kind of cancelled out.
Without their phones, the rest of the girls chatted about normal things – the girls from school, the boys from school, the boys from town, the girls from town. Jasmine ignored a few not-so-subtle remarks about her and Jack, who they all noticed kept glancing across at her. Carmen seemed especially miffed by it. Jasmine knew she had a crush on him, but she didn’t even have the energy to feel pleased about that. All she felt now was nervous. The first chance she had, she was going to sneak away and smoke some of her dad’s weed. Tonight, of all nights, she had earned it.
As the evening drew on, most girls were content to stay up and chat. Miss Ellis went to bed not long after the first group of girls did, telling the rest, ‘Remember, we have a long walk tomorrow,’ but in the sort of resigned voice of a teacher who knew the girls would do whatever they wanted.
Mr North had finally made it to camp a little before dinner, having seen Missy Carswell safely home. He chatted to Jack and a smaller group of the football girls. He, too, eventually stood up, warned the girls to get their rest before the long hike tomorrow, and headed off to his tent.
Jasmine watched him all the way, just to make sure he didn’t try to sneak into anyone else’s tent. Cierra and Madison’s, for example.
Jack stayed where he was, at the other end of the communal area, staring into the fire. He seemed to be trying his hardest not to glance at Jasmine. If she was a good person, she’d break up with him tonight. But she knew that she wouldn’t.
‘Looks like Mum and Dad have gone to bed,’ said Madison. She huddled closer to the girls and pulled her phone from her pocket.
‘Madison,’ hissed Carmen. ‘How did you smuggle that in? You’ll get suspended.’
Madison passed her phone to Cierra. ‘Who wants a story?’
‘Mr Michaels is still over there,’ said Georgia. ‘He’ll catch you.’
‘Not if Jasmine flashes her boobs.’
Cierra began filming.
‘We’re here, at the Western Bluff campsite,’ said Madison to the camera. ‘This is the only place any trace was found of the girls who went missing in 1985. Both of Rose Cahil’s shoes, laces neatly tied, sitting side by side at the edge of the cliff just behind us . . . and a torn scrap of her jeans inside the Trapper’s Hut. They say her ghost still haunts the hut.’ Cierra swung the camera around towards it. ‘Everyone knows to never go inside at night.’
Carmen shuddered. ‘I would like to be able to sleep tonight, Maddy. My tent is right next to it.’
‘The Hungry Man Abductions. Five girls, all disappearing within two months of each other,’ continued Madison. ‘Mallory Andrew, fourteen, last seen walking along the school track. Yolanda Swift, sixteen, taken while walking through Devils Gullet: her parents were only metres away but didn’t see a thing. Victoria Compton, sixteen, while —’
‘Stop,’ squealed Carmen, hands over her ears.
Madison continued listing the details of each disappearance, finishing with, ‘And, one survivor . . . little Dorrie Dossett, fourteen years old. Who told us all about him, the bushman who took them.’ She paused. ‘The Hungry Man.’
‘What’s happening over here, girls?’ said Jack, approaching from the other side of the fire.
‘We’re just telling ghost stories, Mr Michaels,’ said Jasmine.
Cierra had quickly hidden the phone in the front of her jacket, but the camera was still visible, and still recording.
‘The Hungry Man is tall: freakishly tall,’ said Madison, ignoring Jack.
‘Hey, Madison, you know you’re not supposed to talk about that stuff,’ he said.
‘He wears a bushman’s hat, and his face is long and ghostly white. He hides in the bush beside you and, if you listen carefully, you can hear his footsteps matching pace with yours. If you call out, he won’t reply: but you’ll hear his breathing. If you make eye contact with him . . .’
‘Alright, that’s enough, Madison.’
‘What’s wrong, Mr Michaels?’ said Cierra, surreptitiously training the camera on him. ‘Scared of a ghost story?’
‘Even before 1985, there had been rumours for years that a hermit bushman lived in these woods,’ continued Madison, pursing her lips seriously, her hair creating a dramatic frame for her face. ‘Sometimes you could see the smoke of his campfire. Sometimes you heard gunshots as he hunted game. And once . . . they found the bones of a woman, who he’d eaten clean, and her shoes, the laces neatly tied.’
‘That never happened.’
‘Then who took those girls, Mr Michaels?’ said Madison. ‘What happened to them? Little Dorrie Dossett saw the Hungry Man. He kidnapped her from her own backyard.’
‘Dorrie Dossett had Down’s syndrome.’
‘Doesn’t mean she’s a liar,’ countered Madison.
‘Theodore Barclay was —’
‘Ted Barclay literally had the IQ of a ten-year-old. There was no way he took all those girls without a trace. And then he killed himself?’ said Madison.
‘He only got blamed because he was Aboriginal,’ added Georgia.
‘Alright, everyone go to bed.’ Mr Michaels clapped his hands. ‘Now. Or I’ll get Mr North.’
Slowly the girls stood up, with some dark mutters. He kicked some of the coals back into the centre of the fire, then continued to shoo the girls along. Madison took her phone from Cierra, slipping it quietly into her pocket.
When Jasmine unzipped the flap of her tent, she saw Bree lying on top of the sleeping bag, still awake, staring at the tent’s ceiling. She rolled onto her side, facing away. Jasmine grabbed her toothbrush, water bottle and the cloth toiletries bag that now held one of the bags of weed, a cigarette lighter and a pipe.
She walked off into the trees and sat on a rock, taking out the weed and the pipe. A moment later, Cierra joined her. Jasmine packed the pipe, lit it, and then handed it to Cierra.
‘How you doing?’ said Cierra, before taking a drag.
‘We’re really doing this, aren’t we,’ said Jasmine.
‘After tomorrow, everything’s going to change,’ said Cierra. She handed the pipe back.
Jasmine took a heavy drag and coughed. ‘Are we doing the right thing?’
Cierra took a drag. ‘We are. Madison knows what she’s doing.’
They sat there smoking, neither speaking. Jasmine watched the trees. Finally she said, ‘What is the game?’
Cierra went perfectly still.
‘The game,’ said Jasmine. ‘I’ve heard you and Madison talking. Players, nudes.’