Free Forest Spirit by David Laing Page B

‘Quenton! What on earth …?’
    Gasping and sobbing, with perspiration streaming down his face, he saw Jars and stopped. ‘I – I’ve seen the ghost,’ he blurted. ‘The one the ranger told us about. He’s back there. In a cave. He – he tried to get me. He grabbed me around the neck.’
    Shadow, sensing something was wrong, whined and began sniffing around Quenton’s feet and legs.
    â€˜Quenton, try to calm down,’ Jars said. ‘Take a deep breath and tell me what happened.’
    â€˜It’s all right for you,’ he said, his voice quivering, ‘you weren’t there.’
    â€˜For goodness sake, Quenton, just tell me,’ Jars said, raising her voice.
    â€˜There was this wombat. On this track. Right in front of me, he was. I wanted to get a photo, but he kept wandering off. So I went after him – to a cave.’
    Quenton’s breathing had eased to something like normal by now, but his body, Jars noticed, was trembling. ‘You followed a wombat?’ Jars said. ‘How come? I’ve never seen a live one but I know they’re a wild animal. Why didn’t it simply run away, like you’d expect?’
    â€˜How should I know? All I did was go after it to take a photo, but it wouldn’t stand still. It just kept going and going, till it reached the cave.’
    â€˜Then what?’ she encouraged.
    â€˜It was dark in the cave but I could still see the wombat, so I took a photo with the flash. That’s when I saw the ghost. He had hundreds of eyes. They flashed like they were lumi … lumi …’ He struggled for the word.
    â€˜Do you mean luminous?’
    â€˜Whatever. All I know is they were looking at me. I took off. Just as I was leaving the cave, I felt his fingers grab my neck. Real sticky they were.’
    As though in shock and without warning, Quenton bent over, shoulders heaving, as if he was about to be sick. He gagged and dry retched. Shadow whined again.
    â€˜Here, Shadow,’ Jars called, both amazed and embarrassed as Quenton knelt in front of her. She tried to decide what to do. What was best? Then she noticed. His shirt was torn at the sleeve. There was something else. Something was missing. ‘Quenton, where’s your camera?’
    Quenton stopped gagging. He straightened and reached towards his shoulder where the camera should have been. ‘It’s gone,’ he stammered. ‘I – I must have lost it back there.’
    Jars sighed. ‘We’d better go and find it. From what you’ve been saying it was very expensive. So c’mon, we’ll follow your tracks, find your camera, and then head back to camp before we get into trouble.’
    Quenton wiped a hand over his eyes. ‘Why should I get into trouble? I’ve done nothing wrong.’
    Jars ignored him and turned to go. She expected him to follow. He didn’t. When she turned back, she could see that Quenton was already heading off in the opposite direction back towards the campsite.
    â€˜Hey, where are you going?’ Jars called out. ‘We have to go this way.’
    â€˜No,’ Quenton cried over his shoulder. ‘There’s no way I’m going back. Didn’t you listen to what I was telling you? There’s a ghost back there.’
    Jars shook her head, watching Quenton as he quickly disappeared around a bend. Snook was right. Quenton was an idiot. She wondered whether he would be capable of making it back on his own. Deciding that even he could manage that, she started to retrace his tracks through the scrub. She would have to go and find his ‘precious’ camera on her own.
    She had not gone far when she heard a noise, a snuffling sound. She halted and searched for the source. Nothing. Shrugging, she carried on.
    Suddenly she froze. Blocking her path was a wild creature, short and stocky, dark grey in colour, and about a metre long. It was staring at her, its