The dark Secrets of Widow's Peak farm-An Australian Ghost Story

-An Australian Ghost Story-

Rain ceased falling but the mist still clung to the conifers like a drowning man hanging on for dear life and the limestone rock penetrating the mist like a huge accusing finger pointing at the dark, forbidden sky.

Myles Sparks stepped out of the land cruiser, carefully avoiding the muddy puddles, zipped his leather bike jacket up and dug his hands deep into the pockets. Randall stepped out along with Cooke, both with their hands deep in the pockets of their jackets. Sparks looked around the farmhouse and nodded his ‘royal’ approval.

It was old with a few tiles missing on the roof, moss growing on the masonry, fireweeds poking up out of the cobblestone paving. He felt uncomfortable about this place but didn’t want to show it so he lit a cigarette and looked around.

"Randall, you sure there’s noone around here?"

Randall nodded. "Bloody oath I’m right, Sparky. Since I was a kid, this joint been empty. We used to break in just for the hell of it. Still I have to say the place sort of creeps me out though." He looked around as if he empathizing his point.

Sparks wasn’t listening. The place creeped him out as well. He felt as if someone, or something, was watching them. But he quickly shook the feeling off and told Cooke to find a secure spot to hide the rover. Cooke wandered around the back of the farmhouse and came back, smiling. "Found an old barn that might do the trick. Bit of it collapse, rotted by the looks of it but the rover should be well hidden."

"Then do it if you think it’s suitable," He crushed the cigarette under his boot heels, took the bag out of the back and slung over his shoulder. Randall got the front door open and Sparks followed him in.

The place literally stunk of mildew, decomposition and Possum piss. Sparks almost gagged. Leading off the hallway was two doors. One lead into a bedroom that contained a warped wardrobe and a skeleton bed frame while the other door was either locked or jammed for he couldn’t get it open. There was the living room but all it had was an old upright piano with yellowed keys and a box full of mice chewed newspapers. Sparks picked an issue up and saw it was an old Woman’s Weekly dating back to 1936. He saw the box was full of newspapers also dating back to the early and mid thirties. Spooky, he thought as he picked one up.

Randall tried playing three blind mice but it sounded like three dead mice stuck in a mousetrap. Randall sheeplishy grinned. "I can play Chopsticks, if you like?"

"If you do, Randall, I’ll use your fingers as chopsticks," warned Sparks, giving Randall the ‘evil-eye.’Randall took the hint and wandered out into the next room.

The kitchen had a table and four chairs, a stone sink with no running water, and the floor was warped in the middle like as if the house was about to give birth to another house. Sparks dumped the bag unceremoniously on the table and waited till Cooke came in.

"Man, that barn’s like entering a museum. There’s tools in there that’s dating back to god knows when. They would fetch a pretty penny,"

Cooke said, as he pulled out a chair. "So, unzip the bag, Sparks."

Sparks unzipped the bag and tipped it upside-down. Money came spilling out onto the table. Two days ago they robbed the National Bank but, unfortunately, Cooke shot dead the two guards. He claimed they were going for their guns.