Free Thornwood House by Anna Romer Page B

It’s all so leafy, so beautiful . . .’
    I twisted off my lens cap and began shooting again, feeling a thrill as I reminded myself that the rolling landscape below belonged to me. My camera captured the forested hills and valley pastures, the rocky outcrops and steep-walled gullies. It caught the darker green of the garden, and the silver rooftop beneath which my daughter was enjoying her me-time unawares.
    The icy gale roaring through the tiny window had frozen my face and fingers and the first threads of airsickness were climbing the base of my spine. My throat was raw from shouting, and my hearing was dulled by the engine’s constant hammering . . . yet I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt this happy.
    ‘It’s a magnificent property,’ Corey shouted. ‘I’m glad it went to someone who values it. There’s nothing sadder than seeing a place like that fall apart from neglect.’
    ‘Do you know the property well?’
    ‘I grew up on one of the adjoining farms, but my parents sold up in the early nineties. See that green swathe of hills down there? That’s our old boundary.’
    We peered down at the rugged landscape where the Cessna’s shadow bumped over hills and dipped into verdant valleys.
    ‘I have fond memories of Thornwood,’ Corey yelled above the engine. ‘We used to play there as kids. It was wild and overgrown – infinitely more magical than the Weingarten organic fruit and vegetable farm. Bunyips in the creek, trolls under every hill, that sort of thing. We had a blast – feasting on limes, bananas, mangoes . . . cracking open macadamias, hiding in tree branches, skinny-dipping in the creek. Even after the old man died, no amount of warnings would keep us away.’
    I wasn’t sure I’d heard correctly over the noise. ‘Warnings?’
    Corey reached back and slid her window shut, then indicated I do the same. I’d finished shooting, so it was a relief to stop the rush of freezing wind. The noise dimmed dramatically too. The Cessna’s roar was muted now, the cockpit a bubble of calm.
    ‘What do you mean, warnings?’ I prompted.
    Corey gazed into the horizon of blue nothingness. ‘Our parents didn’t want us going there, I suppose because of how Tony’s grandfather died. Anyway, it only made the place more attractive. We pretended it was a haunted house, and made up stories about a secret room full of human skeletons. We used to dare each other to spend a night there, but none of us ever did.’ She cast me a sideways look. ‘Don’t worry, Audrey, the stories aren’t true.’
    ‘How did he die?’
    She frowned. ‘Tony never told you?’
    I shook my head.
    She studied the controls. ‘Some bushwalkers wandered into Thornwood from the national park. They found him under a tree, stone cold dead. His body had been mauled by animals. Apparently he’d been stalking around up there one night and fallen, broken his hip. Poor old guy, they reckon he must’ve starved to death.’
    ‘How awful.’
    ‘Yeah, it was. But it gives you an idea of the vastness of the place. Thornwood’s a huge property – you could walk for days and never see a soul. There are quite a few properties like that around here, up in the hills – especially bordering the national park. It’s beautiful,’ she added wistfully, ‘but you need to watch your step.’
    ‘Didn’t anyone miss him?’
    ‘Old Samuel kept to himself. Never even saw much of his family, as far as I recall. I supposed he preferred his own company, seeing as he wasn’t all that popular.’
    ‘Why wasn’t he popular?’
    Another puzzled glance. ‘Tony never told you that, either?’
    ‘He never spoke about his family. It upset him too much, so in the end I stopped asking.’
    Corey looked uneasy. ‘Well . . . I don’t know if should break it to you or not . . . after all, you’ve just moved there and you seem to like the place. I don’t want to give you nightmares.’
    I stared, waiting.
    She sighed. ‘He was