Freedom

A Creative Piece By Keely Brown

Content Warning: Inferences to racial abuse.

There was a house. On the horizon. Almost invisible, buried as it was amongst the rolling hills and sparse shrubbery. Keeping low, the boy hurried towards it, careful of where he placed his bare feet. The setting sun cast the whole world in a burning orange glow, and sent long shadows out across the land. Crickets chirped and a light wind rustled the branches of the Eucalyptus trees. A lonely windmill cranked out a sullen song of creaking metal. The midday heat was gone, replaced by a suffocating blanket of humidity. Behind him, dark clouds loomed. 

The peace was short lived. The boy stopped dead as the sound of an engine reached his ears. With his heart in his throat, he dropped to the dirt. Could it be that they had found him already? 

The engine grew louder, the sound like the purr of a tiger. Abruptly, it cut off. The boy heard a car door open, followed by the crunch of a boot on the red dirt. Slowly, he rose up and peeked out. A woman stood by the truck, her arms crossed over her chest as she scanned the bush. The boy recognised her immediately, and he knew he was in danger. 

Dropping back to the ground, he crawled on hands and knees towards the house, using the cover of the trees and scrub. 

‘Charlie?’ 

He sped up. 

He reached the side of the house. Once he was sure the woman couldn’t see him, he stood up. The boy clung to the walls, following them around to the front, the opposite side to where the woman was. There was a porch, as brown and decrepit as the rest of the house. The staircase didn’t look solid enough to take his weight, so he stepped over it and went straight up on to the veranda. On his left there was a rocking chair. He walked past it and on into the house. 

The hallway was dark. He nearly walked into a cobweb and had to stifle a scream as he felt the spider crawl over his face. He swatted it away, and just stood there, clutching his face and breathing heavily. Once his heart had slowed down a bit, he cautiously felt his way down the hallway. 

He passed the front door, off its hinges and lying in front of the kitchen. Through the kitchen window, he could see the car. The woman was gone. He turned and hurried into a bedroom. In the centre of the room was a bed, adorned with dozens of moth-eaten pillows. The wallpaper was peeling in places, revealing a layer of mould underneath. He swallowed his growing fear, and dropped to the floor. He crawled as quietly as he could under the bed. 

He pulled his knees up to his chest and closed his eyes. 

He had scarcely been there for a minute when he heard the floorboards creak in the hallway. He screwed his eyes more tightly shut and hugged his legs. 

The footsteps retreated down the hallway, one slow, steady step after another. The footfalls stopped somewhere around the kitchen, the boy guessed. There was a moment of silence, before the heavy tread of her boots began again. 

thump. thump. THUMP. THUMP. 

She was getting closer. 

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

And suddenly her frame filled the doorway to his hiding place. A cold light from the window above the bed illuminated her predatory features. Dark eyes sat under a heavy brow, and she had a sharp, upturned nose. Her small lips were twisted into a smile that didn’t fit her face, revealing a set of crooked yellow teeth.

Slowly, she sank to her haunches. The boy scooted backwards until his body was pressed hard against the back wall. 

‘Why, hello there, Charlie,’ she said.

His black eyes met hers, and she looked back at him triumphantly. 

‘Why don’t you come out from under there?’

The boy shook his head as soon as the words left her lips. 

She went on, ignoring his protests. ‘We’ll take you back to the missionary, and we’ll get you all cleaned up. Won’t that be nice? You can see all of your friends.’ 

The boy whimpered. A single whispered word escaped his lips, ‘Please.’

She smiled at him, that smile that didn’t fit, and stood up. For a fleeting moment, he thought that she had left. But then her clawed hand was around his ankle and pulling him out from under the bed. He cried out, and gripped the edge of the bed with all his might. She pried his fingers away with ease and wrestled him into a bear hug, his feet dangling inches above the floor. He squirmed and fought and bit, but she didn’t release her iron grip. 

She carried him out of the house and around to the car. His struggling intensified and he started crying and screaming for someone to help him, anyone to help him. 

Without loosening her grip, she opened the back door of the car and tossed him inside. He rushed to get out before she shut the door, but she was too fast. The door slammed in his face. He jiggled the handle, but she had locked it. She smiled at him one last time, before walking around to the driver’s side door. 

The car screeched off, and the little Aboriginal boy in the back could do nothing but stare out the window and cry.