The door of his ute squealed shut as he flicked the headlights on. Ahead, the salmon gums of the remnant bush stood shock-white. He peered into the sparse scrub. Not a rustle of movement. It wasn't cold, yet he shivered. He pushed the gearstick into first and headed home.

            Back on the farm, Mick's eyes roved the land. The front paddock was partially illuminated by the sensor-activated verandah light. It was one of few modern things he'd bought, and he only got it because Shell insisted. She was always ‘you oughta' this and ‘you oughta' that.

He inhaled long and deep. The post-harvest scent of baked bread that lingered on the air warmed him like nothing else. As he squatted and put a hand to the earth he spoke his usual words: ‘Bring forth gold next daylight.' It was what his father had said every night, and what his father's father had said, as far back as anyone could remember.

He was about to turn in when he saw someone standing before him, out in the middle of his field, staring with wide, gleaming eyes set in a face pale against the night. Like the boy from his dream, only a bit older. His lips were moving but Mick couldn't hear what he was saying, and the young man twisted his body to point one skinny arm toward the lake. The back of his head, where a full head of hair should've been, was a gore of glistening blood.

Mick startled.

The porch light blinked off and everything turned black. He waved his arm to activate the light, but when it came back on, the paddock was empty.

 

 

 

Excerpt from ‘Smokescreen' by Jodie How in Follow the Salt (2025, Night Parrot Press) https://www.nightparrotpress.com/follow-the-salt/

 

 

Author Bio:

Jodie How is a Vice Chancellor Top 100 Edith Cowan University graduate living on unceded Wadandi Boodja. Her stories are gothic and often explore the supernatural. She has appeared in Overland, Cordite Poetry Review, the little journal and other publications.