1 week ago
I was bored, so told a story to my mate on Facebook;
It’s dark. The sound of waves breaking softly against the shore, echo over the dune. I can hear only them and the sound of my own breathe.
I’m on lookout. Waiting, silently, for him to show himself.
Waiting for the uncertain silhouette to emerge, curious, from the tree line.
The Bunyip hasn’t been seen in these parts for a few months now, nor has he been anywhere else, but my platoon has found tracks, not too unlike human, where the Creek meets the ocean.
The tracks look large, and recent.
Branches break in the didtance. I crane my neck in effort to hear.
Silence again but I’m not convinced.
Raising my thermal sights, and squinting for focus, I face the sight towards the sound.
Nothing seemed out of order.
No heat patches, just general night infared.
Remembering back to briefs, I acknowledge that the bunyip is thought to be cold blooded.
And its long, matted hair will diffuse heat signs.
Suddenly, two deep white spots appear in my sight.
I realised, his eyes use more energy to see at night.
His eyes are glowing!
And he’s looking right at me.
There is para cord tying my wrist to that of my commander, and I reef at it as hard as I can.
But I fear it is too late.
I hear the thumps of the swamp master bound towards me, like the earth had a heartbeat.
And soon I didn’t need my sights to see the intensity of his eyes,
Or the ferocious teeth he bared,
Drooling his last meal.
I feel a long, ragged set of nails reach under my belt, and with that I’m thrown on his shoulder,
And bounding back into the bush,
A branch catches behind my knee and rips my calf completely open.
I cry agony.
My platoon already assumes I am dead, and I hear shots firing.
They don’t know what they are looking for and soon we are out of range.
My skin is going grey as the bunyip throws me on the ground. My pulse is high and my head is faint,
But my adrenalin is in over drive.
“ARGH” I scream into his face, in a futile effort of intimidation.
He isnt even flustered.
He pulls from a tree nearby two wire saws.
One he ties under the knee of my good leg, and pins it to a stump.
The other, wrapping around once, on my other leg, above my wound.
The rusty saw teeth have cut into my legs, and more blood oozes out.
In one swift movement, he rips either end of the saw apart, cutting my leg all the way to the bone.
His tongue is drooping from his mouth and his breathe loudens with excitement.
I feel my body start to shut down with shock, and I can’t help but to watch this beast chew my limb as if it were just a chicken bone.
I passed away after he snapped what bone was left from my knee.
And now, you may hear the rumours,
Found out in cowley beach,
For now, the bunyips hunt in packs.