Bunyips Feast on Fear: A Romance of Fate and Destiny

By R.J. Boyd

Mandy feels real physical fear for the first time in her life. After a shocker of a day, she arrives home to find her house ransacked, with the perpetrators still hiding inside. After a brief violent scuffle, where she is lucky to escape with her life, her assailants flee, taking with them her treasured antique heirloom ring.

Initially the ring had been given to her great-grandfather, as a gift of gratitude for having saved the lives of a gypsy woman and her daughter during World War One. It had now been in her family for the past hundred years, where it had been passed on from one generation to another. Before it had been handed on to her though, it had previously belonged to her murdered aunty, her grandmother’s only daughter.

After the home invasion, Mandy is plagued by the nightmare of what happened to her aunty all those years ago. The hideous crime had never been solved, but the haunting images of what happened to her on that fateful day, are being magnified by the rediscovery of a disturbing poem which her grandmother had written, as her own therapy to deal with that dark event.

The significance of the ring, why it was stolen, and the mystery surrounding the death of her aunty, begin to unfold with a new series of murders. The outcome will finalise a chapter of her family’s history, and bring with it, not only discovery, but also closure to a host of troubled individuals surrounding her and her family.

Thank goodness for her best friend Boyd. For a guy determined not to tangle the emotional wires and become embroiled in anything other than a friendship, his comfort, support and understanding in her hours of need, are most reassuring.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tellwell Talent
• Release date: Jun 15, 2020
• ISBN: 9781922440006

Book preview

Chapter 1

It was one of those stinking hot insufferable days. One of those days where the perspiration literally drains off your upper body, to funnel downwards and saturate your knickers, before then trickling down the inside of your thighs. It was one of those days where tempers fray and patience stretches to a breaking point.

Of course the weather forecasters got it wrong. A pleasant thirty-two degrees they said. How could an industry, with the most sophisticated computerised space-age technology and equipment in the world, possibly get it so wrong? If she’d known it was going to be a stifling forty-three degrees, then at least she could have been mentally prepared. To be forewarned was to be forearmed, it was simple psychology wasn’t it? You didn’t need a university degree to work that out. But no, there had been no forewarning, and here she was, with her car broken down on the side of the road and feeling totally out of control.

Furthermore, if she’d known the day was going to be as hot as it had turned out to be, then she wouldn’t have worn this colourful synthetic skirt and blouse, would she? No, she’d have worn a light-coloured cool little cotton number instead. Good God, her clothing was so inappropriate, it was clinging to her like a plastic raincoat. Problem was, all the perspiration was trapped on the inside along with her body heat, and that moisture was vaporising and leaving her with the sensation as if she were a chook roasting in a plastic oven bag.

Mandy headed for the shade, consciously attempting to suppress her rising annoyance. She didn’t even have a damn hat in the car, and why should she be carrying one anyhow? She wasn’t going to the beach, and she certainly hadn’t anticipated her car breaking down and that she’d need one either. Of course the spiritual purists would say that there was no such thing as a bad day. Their patronising doctrines would suggest, that subject to the time of year, it was just a blustery autumn’s day, or a cold and rainy winter’s day, or as it was in this case, a hot sunny summer’s day, but which ever one it was, it was nothing to get upset about. But they weren’t stuck here in her predicament were they, being caught out in the open in the frying sun, without a hat, and wearing a plastic skirt and blouse. No, their theories were probably conceived in the comfort of air conditioned offices.

Thirty or so metres away from where she’d broken down, Mandy found a place just off the side of the road, under a giant old gum tree where she could keep an eye on her car. The tree didn’t afford much full-shade protection, but at least she was grateful for its existence, and grateful for the fact that she’d broken down only about five kilometres from where she lived. If worse came to worst, and if all of a sudden in the blink of an eye it was the end of the world and everyone except her was dead, then at least she didn’t have far to walk home. The spiritual purists would also no doubt say that this was a fine example of every cloud having a silver lining, and maybe that was one strike for them. She had indeed been fortunate to have broken down in an accessible area with national bushland either side of the road, and to have been in the left hand lane when things had started to go wrong. Her car had chugged and coughed and finally died on the gravel shoulder, away from the congested throng of peak hour traffic heading home on a Friday afternoon. How embarrassing would it have been if she’d been in the centre lane when her car had died, and how much driver abuse would she have suffered as a result of the chaos caused by blocking all that free flowing traffic?

Mandy shook her head to dislodge the horrible imagery of what could have been. She parked her backside down on an exposed sandstone rock, spreading her legs in an unladylike manner, to then flap the hem of her skirt up and down. The air circulation to her wet thighs felt wonderful.

Oh God, anything for a cool breeze, she shouted out in frustration.

Temporally stopping what she was doing, she unfastened the top couple of buttons of her blouse, to wrestle the fabric off her skin. Of course the spiritual purists would probably say that she was overreacting to the situation and being her own worst enemy. If she was of rational mind, then she would probably have to agree, but it was hard to stay cool, calm and collected, or to think anything positive, when the events taking place around you seemed to be out of your control. The only stable influence in her life at the moment was her male friend Boyd. How she could possibly exist without his company or support, she had no idea.

Mandy unzipped her backpack, to extract her mobile phone and a screw-top plastic bottle of natural spring water. She gulped down a couple of generous mouthfuls of the warm liquid, before being wasteful, by pouring a little too much of the precious commodity over her neck and chest. Fluid flowed over the mounds of her breasts, to accumulate at the top of her cleavage, before then spilling over to trickle onto her stomach and fan out to join the saturated wetlands of her lower extremities. She fanned her blouse to capitalise on the sensation. Oh good God, it was so hot that she could easily dehydrate, pass out, and die right here on the spot, to melt away to practically nothing, and no one would be any the wiser. How horrible would that be though for her family and friends, to have her disappear from existence, with a broken down car on the side of the road as testimony to her last know whereabouts?

Just for a few long seconds, Mandy let her head explode with the paranoia of what had happened to her aunty so many years ago. It was with that thought association, and as she subconsciously touched her hands, that she realised once again that her aunty’s ring wasn’t on her finger. She had taken it off last night to give it a bit of a clean, and after doing so, had left it sitting on the bedside chest of drawers, deciding not to put it on straight away because of her swollen fingers. It was the horrible time of the month and she was retaining fluid. For that reason, she had taken a couple of fluid tablets before retiring to bed, and had every intention of putting the ring back on this morning, but somehow that hadn’t happened. It was a poor excuse, she knew that, but she was also prone to being forgetful around this time of the month. Perhaps that was why she now felt so moody and irritated, or maybe she was just angry with herself and of her life in general, and looking for someone to blame. Either way though she would blame her hormones, as she had done earlier on this morning with Argus Stuffer, her employer of six months, when he realised she wasn’t wearing it, and had asked with a degree of agitation as to its whereabouts.

Her boss was a strange character. In his early to mid-sixties, he was a balding, short, paunchy gnome of a man with intensely sinister dark eyes, who also wore thick bifocal glasses on the tip of his nose, to further highlight that disturbing feature. And although occasionally prone to verbal outbursts, he was absolutely fanatical and passionate about jewellery, particularly antique pieces with a dark history. He’d previously offered her a lot of money for her ring, and he’d been most insistent, that if and when she decided to sell, then he wanted first dibs on it. After he’d given her a dressing-down, she had immediately rung Boyd, to share with him her boss’s peculiar reaction towards her for not wearing the ring on her finger this morning. Unforgivable, her boss had said, shaking his head in disgust. Unique antique heirloom, century’s old with such superb craftsmanship. Living breathing history, worth a fortune, and you leave it sitting on your bedside chest of drawers. Given as a debt of gratitude you say! Sacrilegious and irresponsible not to wear it I say!

She figured he was just pissed-off about his clients not being able to see it, after all, it was a photographic feature of interest in their current online catalogue, and although not for sale, it had created a lot of unusual attention. Boyd had been fiendishly excited to hear of her little dilemma, and had laughed a lot at the way in which she had imitated and described her boss’s reaction. He reckoned her boss got his rocks-off by ogling old jewellery, and that she’d deprived him of his cheap thrill for the day. Boyd was usually right with his observations of people. He’d long ago nicknamed the guy Argus Stuffed, because he said the guy was stuffed in the head.

‘Stuffed,’ that was one of Boyd’s favourite words, and it about summed up the situation of how she felt right now. And it was a fact that the meteorologists were partly to blame for her predicament, and it was probably a fair assumption to assume that the majority of meteorologists were also men. They’d have to be, wouldn’t they? They always knew when a hailstorm was approaching. They always seemed to get that prediction right, as a forewarning to their own gender to get their precious vehicles under cover. But this whole boys-and-their-toys thing, was all about male insecurities wasn’t it? Dressing up chunks of painted metal with accessories to make it look better, sound better, or go faster, all for the purpose of elevating their fragile egos and making them feel better about themselves.

Hell, to use Boyd’s saying, she didn’t give a flying-rat’s-arse about her car. It was just a mode of transport to get her from point A to point B, that’s all, and now the damn thing was sitting up there on the side of the road, broken down. It was designed by a man of course, had to be, designed to break down on a forty-three degree day when a woman had her periods. It was some sort of a cruel joke on their part, wasn’t it, as payback, to get even for the difficult time that females gave menfolk, during the one week out of every four while they were going through their cycle?

Bloody hell she felt annoyed, and now she had this vindictive, all-men-are-bastards thing swirling around in her head, and she had to whinge to someone about her situation while she waited for road service to show up. Without thinking, she automatically flipped open her mobile, tapped contacts and swiped Boyd’s number to hear it connect. But why was she ringing Boyd, he was a male? Did she subconsciously want to vent her anger and frustration out on him, as a payback to all mankind? Surely not. Boyd was different, he wasn’t cut from the same cloth as all the rest, and perhaps that’s why she got along so well with him, and why she had retained him as her dearest friend.

City morgue. You stab ’em, we slab ’em, answered Boyd.

She giggled. He was obviously in one of his silly moods.

Give me a weatherman, and I’ll give you a corpse, she responded.

Boyd laughed out loud.

Yeah the bludgers got it wrong again. How are you babe, and where are you? I thought you’d be home by now, but I can hear a lot of traffic noise in the background.

I’m broken down on the side of the road in this stinking heat. Jesus Boyd, I’m sweating like a lathered stock horse. I’ve got no hat, practically no water, and if these goddamn flies don’t leave me alone, she said, savagely slapping at her wet thighs. Then I’m going to go ballistic.

Ohhh!

What’s that supposed to mean … Ohhh?

Nothing Mandy, I can tell that you’re clearly annoyed, that’s all. Do you want me to come and get you?

Well why wouldn’t I be annoyed? I’ve had a shit of a day and now I’m broken down.

I know. Do you want me to come and get you?

And that would make everything all right, would it? she snapped, being infuriated by his calm manner and persistent question.

God she could be such a bitch when she wanted to be, and right now, although she knew her venom was being misdirected, she couldn’t help herself. Boyd’s calm manner had triggered another unresolved issue which she was struggling to deal with. Oliver Tait was rattling her chains again. Surely he had no right to contact her out of the blue, as he had done this morning, to expect her to drop everything to see him, to expect her to sleep with him again. He was a married man, and she’d been a fool and the other woman for far too long.

Hey kid, I’m on your side.

I know, I’m sorry. I had to lash out at a male, any male.

You always do in the middle of your cycle.

Am I that predictable?

Afraid so babe. Your cycle is on my calendar. Just so happens that this time around it coincides with a full moon, so you’re a little bit crazier than usual.

You know I can’t help myself, and this heat is …

I know, black is white, white is black, and all men are bastards. Perhaps tonight isn’t a good time to be going to that single’s function.

Why! Because I might embarrass you?

There you go again. You see, you want to pick a fight. You want to lunge at a man’s jugular, savage his ego and destroy his self-confidence. When you’re like this, you won’t let up until you’ve had your pound of flesh. Really babe, sometimes it pays to bite your tongue.

She sighed heavily, heeding his advice and resisting the urge to be nasty.

You’re right, I’m sorry.

Do you want me to come and pick you up?

Road service said they’d be about thirty minutes or so. Let’s just see if they can get me going first, and if they can’t and I need to be towed, I’ll ring you back.

Ok, and if …

I’ll die out here Boyd, she interjected. Christ I’m so hot, and these bloody flies are driving me to total distraction. I’d kill for a cold shower and a change of clothes, and you know, when I lick my lips, all I can taste is salt, and …

You’ll have to talk up babe, he said interrupting. I’ve just stepped out of the house and there’s a lot of background noise, but you’re right, it’s absolutely sweltering out here. Hang on a second … arrrr … that’s much better. I’m just stepping into the pool.

You bastard!

Man’s world sweetheart, he taunted back.

Boyd if I was there right now, I’d strangle you.

What, and lose the only man in the whole wide world who truly understands how you tick. I don’t think so.

He was right, she could never afford to lose him. He knew everything about her, her deepest secrets, darkest fears and of her reoccurring nightmares, and furthermore, he cared. She’d questioned herself hundreds of times over the years, as to why nothing romantic had ever eventuated between the two of them. The answer was simple enough though. If they had a relationship and it failed like they all seemed to do, then she would have lost him forever, so perhaps it was the fear of losing that friendship that united them. The one thing that she did know however, was that she loved him dearly, and she didn’t want that to ever change.

It was only timely, during the temporary reflective silence which followed, that the road service vehicle should show up. It stopped her from going down the emotional track of telling him what a good friend he was. It also stopped her from rehashing the married man issue with him on the phone. That issue, was an in-the-trenches, bayonet-to-bayonet, up-close-and-personal confrontational issue, which only Boyd with his rational male mind could help her work through. She would save that one for later on.

Thank bloody goodness, she retorted. Road service is here, got to go. Don’t go out anywhere until you hear back from me, and if there’s a problem, I’ll ring you straight back.

Chapter 2

Of course the road service patrol person was a guy, but regardless of how she was feeling, he was her knight in shining armour, and for that she was grateful. Leaving the shade behind, she walked the short distance back to her car, to greet him as cordially as she could under the circumstances, before then explaining what had happened. Oh for heaven’s sake, all he did was put his hand through the open window and turn the key. The damn thing started straight away. Of course, to add insult to injury, he also gave her that look and chuckle which was demeaning to all women, the one that said, Water goes in here and petrol goes in there. But it didn’t matter, she would, as Boyd put it, bite her tongue and not respond, as she could be back on the road again and be home standing under a cold shower within fifteen minutes.

Probably just a vapour lock due to this extreme heat, he said, as he topped up the radiator with about four litres of water. Happens quite frequently in this early model of vehicle. Get some air circulation through the radiator and around the engine and you should be all right. If it happens again, then just pull over and lift the bonnet like you did this time, then allow ten or fifteen minutes for the motor to cool down, before trying to start it again.

It was obvious the guy was stalling. He was creating idle conversation and deliberately