The Barn Yip

A lone figure trudged through the soaked gully. The droplets bounced off his rough leather overcoat, the limits of its thick hide being tested. Protecting his shoulder-length hair was a leather Akubra. It wasn’t too necessary, after weeks in the bush his hair had the same greasy waterproofing as a duck’s feathers.

The storm was getting worse. The wind howled around him, tugging at his hat. The man, Luke, jammed it back on and picked up his pace, mud sucking at his gumboots like quicksand. Rounding a bluff he saw a shape on the distant plain several kilometres away, too solitary and square to be a hill. Thank god, a building, he needed to get inside before he was washed away.

Luke approached the barn cautiously. There was no shortage of overly-territorial farmers with shotguns in the region. It was quite dilapidated, the red paint had mostly peeled off, an upstairs window was broken, likely from the large pine tree branch jutting next to it. Okay then, coast was clear. The massive front door had a thick plank of timber nailed over it, the nails as thick as garden stakes. Bugger it, he went to the small side door also barricaded from the outside but smaller planks. He slid out his crowbar from his rucksack, after a few laboured tugs the door splintered open, softened from a decade of rot. Luke slid inside and exhaled, finally free of the rain. Pulling out his torch he cast its feeble beam around the barn. A large pile of hay lay in one corner, a stack of planks in another. A tractor lay rusting to the side. Petrol , kindling and wood, time to warm up.

Luke stood in a pair of boxers over the fire blazing in an old gallon drum. He had strung up his drenched clothes on a rope to dry, letting his skin bask in the warmth. The wind had picked up to a gale force outside, streaming through the broken window on the attic floor.

Luke sighed, pulled on his boots, picked up several planks and dug around for some rusty nails in an overturned toolbox. He climbed the ladder, nails in his mouth, planks and crowbar bundled in one hand. Reaching the window he noticed there was no broken glass on the floor, guess he hadn’t needed his boots. Most of the glass was missing, the bottom pane deliberately cleared of. Luke’ goosebumps, initially from the cold, increased. He thought those barricades were to keep someone out, not in. Now hesitant, he began nailing planks over the window with the crowbar. Something in him made him only hammer the nails half-in, loose enough to be able to yank the planks off, just in case.

Luke clambered back down, fatigue setting in. The pile of hay lay beckoning, the closest to a bed he had seen in weeks. Embracing his exhaustion, he collapsed into it. A loud clang rang out as his shoulder impacted metal lying under the pile, pain shooting through his left shoulder blade. Swearing loudly at himself for letting his guard down, he tore at the hay with his right hand, manic in his burning pain. Finally, the hay lay in a thick carpet throughout the barn. Revealed was a large metal trapdoor Luke smirked, some old coot farmer must have hid his savings and croaked before he could cash out. At least the trapdoor was ajar and not open, he would’ve broken his neck. He swung it open and turned on his torch, its light now sputtering. Better make this quick. Descending down the ladder he swung the weak beam around. No obvious gold bars or safes, just empty cages, large enough to hold a cow. Luke’s boots hit the ground, crunching on bones scattered on the floor. Some were small like chickens, others much larger. His beam lit up a metal sign nailed to the wall. In its fading stencil he could make out ‘Bunyip Chimera.’ What the hell was this? A notebook lay rotting in the corner. Flipping through it revealed sketches of animals: crocodiles, kangaroos and dingoes. Finally, the last page revealed a grotesque synthesis of all of them. So, that explains the window. To hell with this place, he’d take his chances in the storm. Adrenaline now dulling his throbbing shoulder, Luke hurried up the ladder and to the fire, yanking his still-damp clothes off the line.

That’s when he heard them, small vicious yips coming from the open door. Luke crouched behind the drum and peered around as the massive creature entered. Its head was a dingo’s but an unnaturally longer jaw, crowded with fangs. It loped forward on large kangaroo hind legs, large scaled pines protruding along the ridge of its thick furry tail. Reptilian claws stuck out awkwardly from its chest. It stopped yipping and started sniffing the air. Luke held his breath. Slowly it turned to the fire curious. It creeped forward, now growling. It was only metres from the fire, it would sniff him out in a second.

To hell with it. Luke pushed the drum over, flaming petrol spilling and catching on the thick hay carpet spread throughout the barn. The creature howled in surprised pain and fear, hopping away instinctually to its escape route, the ladder. Fire had reached the walls of the barn, the rotted timber catching like paper. Luke ran to the door, his gumboots melting in the flames. The creature had almost made it to the top floor. He burst through the burning doorframe, the torrential rain hitting and soothing his burns. Falling onto the ground, smoke rising from his singed body, he heard a howl. Turning he saw the barn collapsing onto itself. The creature was half out the window, stuck as it fell backwards. The roof crumbled onto the fallen wall with a crunch of bone, silencing the howl with a thud. Luke lay panting and smoking in the rain, a wry smile spreading over his face. Thank god for this storm after all.