The Terror of Moreton Island

By Robert Sullivan

Charlie Mularczyk liked his job. He liked living on the island. And he liked working for the Parks Service. Life on the island had a little bit of everything: indoors, outdoors, water, sun, sand. In a one-man office, he was his own boss – at least when the suits and pencil-necks weren’t on the prowl – he set his own timetable, and the weather was terrific. It was all upside. Or was it?

For years Uncle Cec and Uncle Eck had been trying to convince him that there were dangers in paradise. They told Charlie, time and time again, that it’s not all myth, that there’s truth, a lot of truth, in the ancient fables.

“Ya remember what Ecka told us? Ya know, from when he was down the Lachlan? He seen it one night. He told me at the pub in Condo. It was dinkum mate.”

“Seriously Uncle Cec, we had this discussion years ago.”

“I’m not kiddin’ ya know. Ya gotta watch out. ‘Specially at night. Don’t go near no waterholes at night, I tell ya. It’ll grab ya.”

But Charlie ignored Uncle Cec and Uncle Eck. He usually had too much to do, and while he didn’t entirely dismiss what they said – that would be disrespectful after all – he thought it was more than a little bit ‘out there’. There was always a simple explanation. Until the tourists began to disappear.

‘Ronnie swept the beam in a circle around the truck. The light flickered over low dunes and small shrubs, the sand a blinding white, the shadows black and impenetrable. There was nothing there. He flicked the torch off and turned back to Shana.

“There’s nothing out here” he said, the relief evident in his voice. “Must have been the wind.” Then he saw Shana’s eyes. They were wide with horror.

“There...there...there’s something...something behind you.” Her voice cracked as she spoke. Ronnie turned around fearfully. There was something there, a deeper shadow in the darkness, a presence more felt than seen. He thumbed the switch of his torch.

Shana screamed.’

With three tourists missing and another a gibbering mess in the intensive care unit, the island is suddenly awash with police and emergency services personnel. It’s a hothouse of competing tensions, and Charlie feels like he’s completely swamped. Then the weather closes in.

A huge storm front settles on the island. It’s pouring rain, the visibility is all but zero, and they have only ninety personnel to search an area bigger than Ipswich. Who’s kidding who here? And then, just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, Charlie’s least favourite cop, Roger Bulmer, turns up with the team from Cleveland. Aye yai yai!

For three days mixed teams of CIB, local police, Park Services and SES personnel quarter the island, searching the overgrown terrain for the lost tourists. Everyone’s exhausted, the forensics crowd is stumped, the politicians are baying for blood, and Roger’s being his usual repulsive self.

Charlie and his colleagues, Graham, Kenny and Dao, struggle through a streaming landscape bathed in water and fog. They wade through raging creeks and across tortured hillsides, they scale impossible dunes and search the inky canyons beneath. Each day they move deeper into the heart of darkness. Each day they move closer to the point of no return.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert Sullivan
• Release date: Dec 21, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370623778

Book preview

The Mystery of Moreton Island

A Horror Novella

Robert Sullivan

Copyright © 2017 by Robert Sullivan

Table of Contents

Acknowledgements

1. Uncle Cecil

2. First taking

3. Crime scene

4. Second taking

5. Emergency

6. Search

7. The scientists

8. Unresolved

9. Something wicked…

Acknowledgements

I would like to express my thanks for the suggestions, observations and advice provided by my wife Sheila, and my friends Jenny Buchan, Sharon Buckley and Jan Rasmussen. Your assistance is greatly appreciated.

Uncle Cecil

Maaate!

It was Duncan Fuller, from the EPA. Charlie leaned his head back against the chair cushion, throwing his feet up on the desk. He tucked his hands behind his head and his phone against his shoulder. He’d been expecting Duncan’s call.

Hi Dunc. How’s it going?

Good mate, good. But I’ve just checked the reports from last week. Another big nada? Not a single sighting?

Duncan was the section head of the Biodiversity Programs Branch. His team monitored mammal populations throughout south-east Queensland, feeding it into other EPA programs. The EPA married the quantitative data with scientific data to produce reports covering changes in animal numbers, geographic dispersement, and underlying causes/behaviours. This information was used in EPA fauna preservation programs to mitigate the impact of human population growth and urban sprawl.

To assist in the process, the Parks Service allocated resources to gathering quantitative data within all national parks. As the only Parks officer on Moreton Island, the data-gathering task fell to Charlie. Working together by phone and email, Charlie and Duncan established a data collection program that covered the whole island. While Duncan and Charlie had never met face to face, they established a good relationship over the telephone.

They agreed to break the island into three ‘data zones’. Within each zone, Duncan, with Charlie’s advice on terrain and accessibility, selected a number of data points. To ensure broad coverage across the island, the data points were dispersed throughout each zone. As a result some points were difficult to access. Charlie’s role was to visit all data points at least twice per week. Given the size of the island, and Charlie’s other duties, his job now involved a heck of a lot of driving.

Nothing mate, not a sausage.

What about tracks or droppings?

Zippo. Nothing at the north end, and nothing in mid-island either. The only place I found any trace was along the spine in the south end, maybe three or four clicks north of Kooringal. What was that estimate again, based on the data reads? About twenty?

Yeah. About twenty. Probably no more than two packs. But that’s less than fifty percent of the normal population. Have you found any dead animals?

I haven’t found any dead dingoes, or anything else either. I would’ve noted it. The whole place has gone quiet.

Yes, your data for November and December confirms a steady decline. At least it does in the northern half of the island. Most species are still represented in the south, but the numbers are down. Duncan was silent for a moment. Have you had any fires? Have any water sources been contaminated?

No Dunc. We haven’t had any fires, and no contaminations either. There’s plenty of clean water on the island. Rainfall during spring was up twenty percent. We’ve had more than a hundred mills per month since then. It was really wet over Christmas, and I reckon we’ll beat one-twenty for January.

Ok. As far as you know there’s been no specific event you can point to – so it’s something else. Is there anything you can think of – anything at all - that might have disturbed the food chain?

Due to their place in the local ecosystem, the dingo packs on the islands in Moreton Bay were closely monitored. This included the surrounding mainland national parks. The dingo populations tended to rise or fall depending on environmental conditions, but in recent years there had seen a significant spike. This appeared to be the result of increased tourism, which had distorted the natural balance for many native species. Dingoes, in particular, had benefited from easy access to food disposed of by tourists. But the subsequent growth in dingo numbers had proved to be disastrous for other species. As a result, strict waste control measures had been introduced throughout all parks. The measures were a key issue for all administrators, and had become a topic of heated discussion among holidaymakers, due to the heavy fines involved and the rigid approach of Parks and council officers. But now the dingo numbers were in free fall. Duncan’s concerns reflected those of his agency. When there were significant diebacks it was important to isolate the cause as soon as possible.

Plastic?

Plastic?

Yep. Plastic. It’s impossible to avoid. Nearly everything tourists bring over from the mainland is pre-packed, mostly in plastic containers – plastic bags, plastic boxes, plastic jars - and it all has to go somewhere. The waste bins are stuffed with it. And some of it gets loose. Could this be getting into the food chain? I reckon it could. I saw an article on TV the other week. Apparently the oceans are full of the stuff. It breaks down into smaller and smaller pieces until it’s microscopic. Fish ingest it, and then we eat the fish. Surely other species must be eating it as well.

Yeah. I saw the report. It could be something like that I guess, but then you’d find evidence. There’d be animal and bird remains everywhere. But from the numbers you’ve reported – or lack of numbers I should say - I think it’s something else. It might even be a natural rebalancing. It isn’t new, you know. This sort of thing’s happened before.

Must have been before I started said Charlie. I’ve been here for over two years, but I don’t recall anything like this.

Maybe five or six years back said Duncan. I pulled the reports. I’ve got them in front of me. We had a sudden drop, right across the board, from Fraser Island all the way down to Ballina. And the hinterland was the same, though not as bad. Almost sixty thousand square kilometres were affected. The papers were screaming ‘massive species die-off. You must have read about it.

No, I didn’t read about it. You reckon it could be the same thing?

No idea mate. And that’s the trouble said Duncan. The Department spent a motza on it in ’08, but the results were inconclusive. A lot of reasons were considered. I’ve got ‘em right here. Listen to this; ‘waterborne parasitic outbreak’ – never proven; ‘climate related heat induced ecosystem degradation’ – data didn’t back this up; ‘invasive species – zero, not even enough toads yet to have an impact; ‘emerging apex predator – not really considered; and the best one – ‘human habitat expansion and unforeseen ecosystem amenity penetration’. Seriously? Who writes this stuff?

You guys do. Charlie couldn’t help himself. So, it was never resolved?

You’re a funny man Charlie, very funny. But to answer the question – no, never properly resolved. But it’s similar to what you’re reporting right now – no evidence of live animals across wide areas, but no animal remains either, and thus no evidence of die-back. It’s odd to have all populations crash so quickly, so it’s likely to be something environmental. When it’s not species specific it’s usually something in the food chain. Or some other form of broad-spectrum exposure. But it’s puzzling, because either way there should be animal and bird remains everywhere. Duncan was silent for a moment. Charlie could hear him tapping a pen or finger against the side of the phone as he mulled it over. Best bet is probably a mixture of things. Could be all of those I mentioned, plus a few extras. When’s your next data run?

The next data run’s scheduled for Wednesday. That’s five days. I’ll cover all the designated data points. I can also do some walk-throughs in the nearby dunes if it helps. It might throw up something. I’ll be doing a maintenance run up north in the meantime, but only to check campgrounds and facilities. I usually keep maintenance jobs separate from your stuff to save time.

Five days is good. We won’t be able to use anything from the walk-throughs, but some observations might be helpful said Duncan. Keep me posted. We get a bit twitchy when things like this occur. The heavies start worrying that some sort of virus or pathogen is on the loose, particularly since the swine and avian flu outbreaks. Mention the words ‘cross-species’ and they get hysterical.

I’m with you mate. None of that cross species stuff. Nasty. said Charlie.

Are you still in Kooringal by the way? Is the move to Bulwer still on?

Charlie sighed. It’s still on, just a bit on the never-never. Evans told me last week it’s likely to slip to next year.

Well, that’s only a few months away. I assume you’re talking financial year?

Yes mate. I’m talking financial year. But in suit-speak that means it’s anywhere between six months and eighteen months. There’s plenty of time for something else to crop up.

How’d the Ranger station end up in Kooringal anyhow? It seems a bit inconvenient, you know, right at one end of the island.

Yes. It is a bit inconvenient. But it was established forty years ago. Heavens knows what they were thinking back then. Close to the airstrip maybe? Cost? Bureaucrats not paying attention? The quickest ferry? Whatever. I don’t think we’re going anywhere in the short term.

Did you get any help after the last bid?

Yep. Evans caved. But only for two days a week Charlie snorted. The usual double talk. But I’ve got a young bloke from Kooringal helping out, Col Simpson. He does the weekend shifts. He looks after the maintenance.

Isn’t it the weekend now?

Charlie laughed. Yes. It is. But he’s on leave.

Duncan laughed with him. There you go mate. Our lives are in the hands of the lunatics.

That’s for sure Dunc. But anyhow, take it easy mate. I’ll be in touch.

No sweat. Have a good one.

* * *

After Duncan ended the call Charlie dropped his phone back into the cradle and scratched his chin. There was a topographic map pinned to the wall above his desk. He repositioned his boots on the corner of the desk and leaned back, his eyes moving across the map. Dunc was right about the station being in the wrong spot. The shape of the island was, loosely, that of a lamb cutlet. Slightly more than forty kilometres in length, and up to thirteen kilometres wide at the north end, tapering to barely a kilometre at the southern tip. Placing the Rangers station in the far south of the island had been a stroke of pure genius.

Charlie’s eyes traced the map. He could still do the data run