Lamb Island

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window.

Ana had finally found her cabin sea change far from the city, on a tiny fish- shaped rocky island off the coast of Australia. She had been drawn to the seclusion and the wildness of the place, much like the handful of residents who had called Lamb home before her.

Ana had been told by a local man she had seen once out by the water, when wading in the shallows, to stock candles in her supplies. He appeared out of the mangroves stocky, unkempt and smelling of old stale tobacco and yesterday’s beer, as he grunted “candles for blackouts” in his raspy voice. He shuffled past looking as though he had everywhere to be, but nowhere to go. As he disappeared off in the distance into the mangroves that day she continued enjoying the sun’s warmth and looking at the pretty volcanic rocks under foot. “An old seadog” she thought to herself, and smiled as she wondered how time may change her.

The winds like the seas here, turned from calm to anger quickly, often felling trees and isolating the island from power and phone, at times for days on end. This, she thought to herself was the first of many blackouts…

From her candlelit window Ana could see out past the makeshift beer bottle fence through the woods. The recent storm had now passed but she had heard some of the giant trees fall as lighting, strong wind and time had finally taken their toll.

Shadows danced through the trees standing on the horizon as she pictured through the window scenes of what had come before her. The sounds of the bats flying over in the thousands for their evening migration had finally cleared, and she found comfort in the sounds of the native bandicoots foraging in the nearby scrub outside the window.

She pictured in the tree shadows fisherman hauling in their nets with abundant catches of prawns and fish; and also imagined stories of survival and near misses out at sea. Like all wild places, things could change quickly here.

It was then that she heard it for the first time. A loud, eerie, wailing cry of distress.

And again! “Cur-leigh” that haunting wail again.

Was that a woman screaming through the trees? Was it a baby crying?

“No, it’s a woman in distress”, Ana thought as the sound and sorrow swept through her body. She looked down to see the goosebumps had covered her arms and the tiny blonde hairs on the backs of her sunburnt hands were on end.

She told herself that she was imagining things and her mind was simply playing tricks.

Then again! “Cur- leigh”.

Yes it was definitely a woman screaming. It was fight or flight now. Was she to run outside in the dark and call out for the woman to assist? Was someone in danger?

Ana couldn’t phone for help and didn’t know anyone on the island. She had been strong and independent deciding to move here but with one haunting sound immediately regretted her decision to leave the city behind. Ana couldn’t sit back and do nothing. She couldn’t ignore the call for help.

She was drawn to the sound as she’d been drawn to the island.

She carefully put on her gumboots and rain jacket, placed the book she was reading on her favourite wingback chair she had been sitting in by the window and picked up the candle. As she got outside the front door the rain became heavy and she leant forward to pull the jacket hood over her hair. “It will never dry in this weather”, she thought.

The door slammed shut with a Bang! [BANG]

The candle blew out! [BLOWS OUT CANDLE]

With no light and no keys Ana found herself distressed. The rain was beating down again. She began to panic and run around the outside of the cabin trying desperately to open the windows. She could feel the peeling paint surrounding the weathered window panes but the window hinges were firmly shut from age.

Her moment of bravery had turned to sheer terror as she realised she could be here for many hours, alone, before daylight. Her efforts were futile. The air was suddenly thick with the smell of stale tobacco and yesterday’s beer.

Then….”cur-leigh” that haunting noise again. “Cur-leigh” ….. “Cuur-leigh”. Suddenly another……

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[ SILENT PAUSE]

The evening passed, the sun rose and the storm cleared. The skies and the seas were once again clear and calm. Power and phone lines were restored on the island.

Ana, however, was never to be seen again.

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The curlew bird is sacred and protected in the area, and it’s distinctive call can be heard in the night.

Aboriginal lore in Australia and in the area (Nguderoo) closely associates the call of the curlew with life and death.

Some say the call of the curlew bird heard at night is the sound warning us of impending doom. Some say it is the cry of the lost souls themselves.

Lamb Island remains a special place where the stars are abundant and the moon and tides run island life.

These days on fine evenings after a plentiful catch on the water a handful of locals sit by the fire and tell visitors the legend of the Lamb Island cabin and the call of the curlew.

They say the cabin is once again up for sale, having been abandoned for years. They say it is waiting for the next person to be drawn to the seclusion of Lamb Island.