Pickering's Flat

Pickering’s Flat

It was 3.30pm in the afternoon and my pal, Fin and I thought it might be a great decision to go camping.. Fin, a fine, flamboyant and fluid creature was always full of wonderfully enticing and often nature inspired ideas. Me, Lenny, who is often halfway between a big anxious ball of worry and what ifs while simultaneously sporting a big case of FOMO (fear of missing out) always feels a strong desire to follow through with them because sometimes visits with Fin are far and few in between.

We piled our blankets, potatoes, a bottle of wine and our excitement into Fin’s oddly small FWD. It was quite comical as Fin was an exceptionally tall and lanky human and watching them try and fold themselves into this little vehicle was something to behold. We set off from woolies carpark, the beautifully coloured wooden beads bouncing around as they hung from Fin’s rearview mirror, some funky tunes to groove to and grins on faces.

As we headed toward Mansfield, it was getting dark, quickly. The sunset was just lovely, pale yellows and blues with pink and grey streaks. We got out and took some pictures of Fin posing, naturally. One of my favourite songs from my time in teen hood began to play on the radio. “Candle in your window” by Josh Pyke. It was the most loveliest of soundtracks to leave the sunset behind us with.

I had no idea of where we were going apart from through Mansfield and down the road toward Mount Buller. Fin sort of knew. It was so exciting as well as a bit spooky as we turned right off the road toward a place called sheep yard flats, knowing that we would get there in the dark and have to set up camp not having a clue of any landmarks or anything. It felt strange knowing that we were doing this because we could. We were adults that weren’t committed to anyone, could make our own decisions and for once, weren’t in any rush.

We drove by the light of the car’s eyes now, along this dusty dirt snake of a road. The temperature was getting cooler and the trees that guided our way as we turned and twisted were starting to look a bit more wild. Deep, deep and deeper we went into the bush. Into the night.

After what felt like the longest time, we saw sign’s of life in the form of camp fires protruding into the darkness. We drove through a few of the already made camps to find a space but thought let’s just drive further in to find a spot to ourselves. Why? I don’t know. As two over thinkers, you’d think we’d want safety in numbers. There were a couple of steep and narrow tracks that we had to turn around on which was slightly terrifying as Fin’s car was a manual and they kept stalling it as we sat on tricky angles and their GPS had no signal anymore. We were in a completely reception free area. Phones being useless is both blissful and a cause for concern.

I was getting tired and just wanted to find our spot so after a few more goofy giggles and should we just stop here? No..maybe? Too many people, keep going scenarios and with Fin wanting to settle in a place near running water we found our special spot. Up a fair way from any other campers was a place called Pickering’s flat. Absolutely empty. A small voice inside me wondered why.. It was a big ground and looked gnarly in the dark with only our headlights to show us the way. Everything looks different in the dark. It felt like it would be easy to get lost as everything seemed the same no matter what way you turned.

We parked the car near a big old tree and could hear the sound of a loud singing water source just a way down from it. Fin was happy. When we got out of the car it was nice, yes but also quite eery. There were no animal sounds. It was all too quiet apart from the river. And no moon. We needed to make a fire but we had had some good, hard rain in the area the past week so everything was damp. We are both pretty unorganised people so we didn’t think to pack dry timber. We both wandered off together in search of some fuel for the fire I was determined to build. Another way that I lacked in organisation was my ability to forget about practical things such as checking head torch batteries. Both of ours were crap and were going flat so we had our phone torches but knew they wouldn’t last long.

As we trod over moist and undisturbed ground with dew already starting to form, I realised I was getting a little disorientated. Clouds of steam were billowing out from within us. This was around the high country. It was a cold place. But geewiz, it smelt so good out here.

My Blundstones made their way through wet grass as I dragged some less damp debris we had found, avoiding blackberry brambles and treading on fallen leaves beginning their rotting processes. As we strode through the night, we caught sight of an old rickety log fence. How Intriguing. We followed these old, splintering beams until out of the darkness we saw the shape of an old hut type dwelling within its boundary. I had an uneasy feeling in my stomach and Fin expressed they were experiencing the same. The place felt very ominous in the dark. I was very curious too. It was surrounded by big old Maple trees, Oaks and Silver Birches, which fell slightly out of place in the Australian bush but complimented the scary as shit shack perfectly. The dark windows reflected back our own piercing torch light. It was empty, I think. Once we recovered from our little fright, I realised it was a hut that the park rangers would probably use. It felt very strange still. We decided to get the hell outta there.

As we tried not to leg it back to were we were set up, we took a few wrong turns getting our bearings as to where we were, my stomach started to grumble. It took me a while but I managed to start a small fire to cook our spuds while Fin set up our little tent abode. I couldn’t wait to tell my Dad that his daughter started a fire from wet wood in the dark. We sat all alone at an old wooden picnic table and drank a whole bottle of red wine as we feasted on soft cheese and chocolate almonds, giggling and reminiscing. Just as the threat of yawns and the lure of sleep started to creep it’s way up on us, I remembered something. Oh why did did this have to pop into my noggin right now. Just before I was planning to sleep soundly.

A story that I’d heard intruded upon my alcohol fed thoughts. A story that I’d heard about a man that lives somewhere up in these parts. I’m not sure how much the story had been embellished and exaggerated but all I had remembered was that this sinister character lived somewhere out, far in the sticks by himself for months at a time. That he was called The Button Man or maybe The Antler Man or something along those lines. The reason for the name being that he makes buttons and stretchers for his ears out of antlers he’d cut from deer he had hunted. He’d been known to wander into peoples camps to scare them and was possibly questioned over the disappearance of an older couple and some hikers around this area.. Possibly around this very area. It was probably a load of nonsense but people swore that he was real.

Not being in my right mind, I started to go deep into panicked thoughts. Freaking myself out. We were out here all by ourselves, no contact with the outside world and because we decided to go last minute we hadn’t let anyone know where we had gone or our location. I couldn’t tell Fin because they were a big scaredy cat and I didn’t want to ruin this for them. I told Fin I had remembered something and they begged me not to tell them until the morning. With the brain altering substances we had consumed neither of us could’ve driven anyway. No, no, no. I couldn’t forget this now. My Father always said that I would have made a great detective or something because all I do is think about every detail of a situation (often only how it could go bad). Also my ability to put myself in people’s heads, figuring out how their mind might work. I thought it would be a great idea to get my cleaver knife out of the car that I’d brought for cutting up our dinner and bring it to bed with me. Just incase. My mind spiralled. We were next to a very loud river, so there was no way we could hear a car approaching or see if they had their lights off. What if he’s been here the whole time, watching us setting up, waiting. What if he creeps up and blinds us with spotlights on his ute and shoots us with a tranquilliser? Or just runs over us? Will he take us back to his place in some kind of wolf creek scenario and tortures us? Hacks us up and makes buttons from our bones? What if he has night vision goggles and can see everything. I was too afraid to even get up and go for a wee incase a kangaroo gave me a heart attack. What if he’s in that old hut? What if he was staring back out of those empty windows in at us. Waiting in the dark. Biding his time.

I’d made up my mind as Fin slumbered and snored peacefully beside me. I would sacrifice myself for them no matter what. If this was the end I’d go out screaming like a mad old witch, kicking and swinging this cleaver around if it meant some kind of escape for my dear friend, Fin. If this is how I am meant to go, death by the bush button man then so be it. My eyes were wide open in the dark. I think I kept imagining seeing lights. Illusions of the mind. My very active mind. Wait.. no. That’s definitely a light.

By Ellen James.