The Golden Horn

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

Hugh was disquieted by the unexpected presence. He was himself a trespasser but had arrived with a certain sense of proprietary. He had spent years working in these woods and just as long dreaming of his return. It almost seemed as though the cabin existed somewhere between his internal and external worlds.

From a distance, the woods appeared as a sprawling dark mass, expelling all light from within. It was a strange country of jagged clay heaps and sunken hills. Spindly pines grew at odd angles, straining forward in the direction of some thin pocket of light. Wild blackberries grew along a high grassy ridge that led deeper into a gulley, where the ground was blanketed with needles and the old cabin stood.

Hugh watched on in dead silence, attempting to discern any kind of movement or sound from within. At last, a figure emerged. Hugh could not make out its features, and it conveyed only the barest impression of personage. The black shape slowly moved from the window and the candle went out. A more severe darkness fell upon the woods, Hugh brought out a small torch and shone it against the planks of rotting weatherboard.

"You are trespassing on private property!"

There was no reply.

A white shape in the distance caught Hugh’s eye. He crossed the front of the cabin and looked over the body of a goat. The creature appeared to have been shot several times and had suffered a large wound in its side. The scene evoked a greater sense of unease in Hugh and the silence became far more ominous.

Hugh's attention returned to the cabin and he noticed the glint of the padlock hanging from the door. Curiously, it appeared unbroken. There were no other signs of entry or even a suggestion of another’s presence here. Hugh readied himself to confront what lay within. He took out his old key and approached the cabin.

The padlock stiffly released and he paused for a moment with his ear to the weatherboards. He then quickly swung open the door and traced the small room with the torch, then turned back on himself to trace the near wall. There was no one inside.

Hugh collected his tools from outside and lit the oil lanterns and candles within the cabin. For now, the only antidote to the confusion marauding his senses was light. As orange hues swayed across the walls of the cabin, Hugh sat at a small table with its laminate top lifting from the base. He thought of his last days here: Hugh and Trevor were employed to search the land for traces of gold. The terrain had always seemed favourable – yet there was no evidence of any large-scale mining operation. The woods were part of a much larger property owned by Roko Kovačević - a grim, scrupulous man, well into his seventies. Roko owned a large battery hen farm adjacent to the homestead and every afternoon as they returned, he would stop Hugh and Trevor in his courtyard and ask them to turn out their pockets.

In addition to a modest stipend to cover some 20 acres, Roko offered 5 percent of the market value of any gold they discovered. Occasionally, he would come out with them and stand at a distance, if only to remind them that he could arrive at any moment. But the further the men worked from the homestead, the less likely he was to come at all. Both Hugh and Trevor were middle aged and had worked a variety of factory and labour jobs throughout their lives.

In the first months of this venture, they were all encouraged by the discovery of a marble-sized nugget, and Hugh and Trevor took great pride in presenting it to the old man. “Keep looking! Where smaller there will be bigger!” Roko said with vigour, shaking both men by the arms.

Shortly afterwards, Trevor was digging near the cabin at about two feet below the surface when he discovered a nugget just shy of twenty ounces. The men speculated it represented hundreds of thousands of dollars for Roko. As per their agreement, they were duly paid their share - $3,000 each. There was no way of knowing the true price of their discovery or what they were entitled to and neither man knew how to broach the subject with Roko. However, the old man treated them with far greater affection and each day watched them set off into the woods like a hopeful punter. Hugh and Trevor had not disclosed to Roko, the nugget they had presented to him was only a fragment of a much larger deposit.

It was buried at the base of the large granite rock, and had become entangled among roots like long, lecherous fingers – it seemed as though the netherworld was trying to claim the precious metal for herself. The two men discussed at length how to extricate the nugget: they could not bring other men on to the property, or any kind of heavy machinery. They decided they would saw away at the gold and remove it piece by piece - under their arms or strapped to their legs. Their understanding with Roko was such that he now performed the most cursory of checks, usually followed by a pat on the back with his raspy chuckle.

The discovery heightened the feeling between Hugh and Trevor. Something volatile and raw had interposed between their simple friendship. The two men had taken to using the cabin as a sort of club house and when it rained, they would sit and smoke or further discuss their plan for the gold and what they would do with their newfound wealth. Shortly before they had intended to enact their plan, their scheme was suddenly cruelled. Returning from the woods, Trevor fell a little way behind Hugh in the large paddock behind the homestead and collapsed. He suffered a heart attack and died there. Roko was so disturbed by these events he abruptly brought an end to their work.

Five years had passed, and Hugh had returned after learning that Roko too had died. Hugh believed he had a period of days to remove the nugget while the homestead was empty and before the property could be more thoroughly surveyed. He looked over the table and saw an empty packet of cigarettes and a book Trevor was reading before he died. As he contemplated the death of his friend, the candles and lanterns in the cabin went out. In absolute darkness, Hugh could not so much as see the hands in front of his eyes. The room lit up again, but the light came from beyond. Hugh came to the window, turning towards a ferocious light and looked out on to a wall of fire. Trees broke in two like burnt matchsticks and birds disintegrated as they darted through the flames. Grotesque screams of wildlife filled the air and for a moment these screams seemed to take on a human form. The heat through the glass became unbearable and Hugh fell to the ground and crawled to the far side of the cabin. He turned his body from the wall and kicked the weatherboards until one end fell loose. He crawled through the opening and ran blindly towards the cooler air. Hugh stumbled over tree roots before colliding with a large branch and falling flat.

Reeling from the fall, Hugh propped himself on his hands and knees and began doggedly crawling forwards until the air had cleared. He turned towards the cabin and was shocked to look over a scene of complete nocturnal serenity. Trees gently swayed in the cold night air and spider webs glistened under the light of the moon. The cabin, except for the weatherboard he had kicked loose, was just as it was when he arrived. There was not so much as a fluttering ember.

Dumfounded, Hugh feared his mind was collapsing in on itself. He resolved to prise away whatever he could from the nugget and leave. He came to the granite rock and swept away the thin covering of dirt and needles from the ground. He dug around a portion of the gold and isolated a gnarled horn protruding from the larger deposit. As he prepared to saw, his eyes were drawn to a flash of colour and movement in the trees. He heard panicked steps through the trees, as branches whipped back in the wake of the movement. Hugh caught sight of a young woman with blonde hair. He rose up from the gold.

“Miss! Can I help you?” Hugh shouted and gave a slow, uncertain chase.

“What are you running from?” His words trailed off.

The sound of her steps ceased and as Hugh rounded a rocky bend, he found the young woman on the ground with hands set behind her. She grit her teeth and stared hatefully at him, desperately trying to suppress her grief. Hugh knew the woman but had not seen her like this since he was a young man. It was his wife – his former wife as she had been many years ago. Her cheek was swollen, and she bled from her left ear, as though she had been hit so hard the cartilage had separated from the skin. Indeed, that is what had occurred because that is what Hugh had done.

Hugh removed his jacket and attempted to rest it over the girl’s shoulders, yet just as the jacket was spread before him, she vanished from sight. Hugh smothered his face with the jacket and sobbed with abject shame. She looked little more than a girl. He could not remember the events that led to that moment, but it did not matter, he could not reconcile himself with the actions of the young man - he could only find relief in the fact that the girl had found the courage to leave him.

His mind turned sharply to what he had seen earlier – the dead goat. It too had seemed strangely familiar. He remembered hunting for rabbits as a teenager and being frustrated by a series of missed shots. He noticed a goat had strayed into the field from a nearby property. With a callous indifference, he turned his rifle on the goat and shot out its leg. As it scampered forward, he hit the goat again in the side and it fell to the ground. A moment of exhilaration passed as he loomed over its quivering body. The goat let out a weakened moan and Hugh was unexpectedly struck by a deep sadness. The goat let its head rest on the ground and Hugh dropped to his knees and stroked its ears. He realised there was only one small mercy he could offer and delivered a final shot.

Hugh’s greatest shames had been made explicitly real once again. He sensed there were forces at play – forces that had appointed this night for his reckoning. This was of course, the scene of Hugh’s greatest shame.

In their last days together, neither Hugh nor Trevor saw any purpose to applying themselves to the task. A dreadful tedium pervaded their work in the woods, punctuated by fits of joy as they looked to the granite rock and the gold held beneath. Waxing between ennui and ecstasy produced an altered temperament – their boredom was felt far more acutely, and they became agitated and off-hand with one another. On one such occasion, Trevor sat reading a book in the cabin, while Hugh made some pretence of work. After mildly rebuking his friend, Trevor responded with indignation. “Getting a few blisters on your soft, little hands, are you? I’ve worked my arse off mate, it was me who discovered that gold, don’t you forget that!”

Hugh left the cabin feeling disquieted - it was the first occasion either of them had invoked some greater claim over the gold. It was on this day Trevor had died.

As Trevor sat hunched over, clutching his chest, Hugh desperately assured his friend he would call for help. He did intend to, but as he ran through the grass, he was occasioned by a sense of rank opportunism - an appeal to his basest senses. Hugh veered towards a large shed at the front of the paddock. He remained there. Would Trevor deny his rights to the gold? Would he do that to his friend? He peered from behind the shed wall and saw Trevor with his head against his chest. Returning to his frenzied thoughts, Trevor wondered of his friend’s nature. “What could he do to me? Am I entering these woods with a man who wants me dead?” Hugh sat against the wall with his face in his hands until he realised his decision was becoming increasingly certain. He finally peered out again and saw Trevor lying flat on the ground – the grass was so tall Hugh could only make out the ends of his boots pointing towards the sky.

Only at this moment did Hugh run towards the homestead but just as he was about to call out for Roko, the door slowly opened and the old man himself walked through.

“Trevor has collapsed in the paddock! He’s having a heart attack. Call an -”

Rocko waved away his plea.

“Ambulance is called. I saw from the window.” The old man said.

Hugh was stricken with fear and couldn’t articulate any words to convey the correct tone of urgency. Hugh had no choice but to follow this performance through. He ran ahead of the old man, to where Trevor lay. He looked over his friend’s body and grasped his hand. He could not detect a pulse or a breath. Roko turned his eyes scornfully to Hugh.

“Married?” Roko asked.

“No.”

“Children?”

“Yes, he does. A son, but I don’t think they spea-”

Before Hugh had finished speaking, Roko turned and walked back towards the homestead. He stopped a short distance away, pointed to the shed and asked, “Should I take the long way or short?”

Hugh went cold. Withering before the old man, he remained silent. He lowered his head to Trevor’s and held his hand to his chest. While desperate to escape Roko’s glare, to look over his old friend’s body had roused him from a delusion. He lay beside Trevor and wept.

After Roko had called an end to Hugh’s work in the woods, the two men never spoke again. Roko chose not to direct any culpability towards Hugh, though he had most definitely formed his own judgment of the man. Hugh often wondered at his decision - he knew he was despised by the old man but felt perhaps he was just too weary to have his life needlessly complicated. Why bother catching a few conspicuous examples of immorality when so much goes unpunished? Perhaps Roko was confident in a greater judgment? Hugh would never know.

Regardless of the depth and truth of his sorrow at Trevor’s death, Hugh knew he was betraying even that by returning tonight. Harangued by the demons of his past – Hugh’s ego began to form a resistance to the harassment he was enduring. He returned to the gold with a maddened sense of righteousness.

He took up his hacksaw again and began sawing the gold in a frenzy, letting out wild screams of catharsis. The gold fell to the bed of dirt with a heavy thud. He grasped the gnarled, gold horn and ran from the woods, emerging from the black trees into the open paddock. He passed the place Trevor had died and braced himself for the most severe recrimination of the night, but it did not come.

Quietly leaving through the gate of the adjoining property, Hugh walked a little way down the road and came to his car. He left the gold in the boot and set off. With every passing moment he sensed the past releasing its grip on his mind. He jubilantly sung down the country road until there came a thud from the boot. There came another. Suddenly, it seemed as though angry fists were pounding the hood from inside. As panic reared and shot through his limbs, Hugh looked over his shoulder towards the sound as it grew louder and louder. Turning back towards the road he came to a sudden stop at a crossroads. Hugh caught sight of a small, wizened figure in the middle of the road. He recognised the grim face of Roko Kovačević. His eyes narrowed towards Hugh and the old man lifted his arm and pointed towards him in condemnation.

The car shook violently and Hugh was seized by terror. He accelerated towards the spectre, howling curses at the old man when he noticed the faintest smile curling at the side of Roko’s mouth. At that moment, the sound of a blaring horn and screeching tyres charged into Hugh’s awareness as he turned to the sight of blinding headlights. In the middle of the intersection, a cattle truck careened into Hugh’s car, almost tearing it in two separate pieces.

The driver door opened and Hugh staggered out, his body utterly broken but somehow able to move. He walked like an automaton towards the mangled rear of the car and pulled loose the gold horn. The truck driver had survived the impact and raced to Hugh’s side. Hugh span about to strike the man and lost his feet. He crawled through a row of trees to an open paddock and started digging madly. He forced the gold into a shallow divot and heaped dirt on top of it.

As the first morning light stretched over the paddock, Hugh looked over the plains of wheat: lustrous swathes of golden brown - serene, and endless. The chaos within his mind seemed to be carried off on the wind, and as the sun met his face, it offered him a final truth.

Hugh fell forward and his life gave out. His body lay face down in the dirt, before the golden pastures.