Now this may sound strange but I’ve been meaning to share this story for quite some time. I grew up in this small little farming town. No need to name, there’s not much reason to visit. It’s one of those tiny places up in Queensland. You might stop and get some petrol on the way to proper places but that’s all. Now what I want to talk about are all those storms we got.
Watching the clear blue sky become overgrown with a cancerous mass of storm clouds was a defining part of my childhood. Every few days or so, a heavy bout of wind and rain would come from the east and bucket down something fierce. It could last as little as a hour or drag on for days at a time. And no matter how much water it looked like was pouring, the ground would be bone dry within minutes after it left.
I suppose growing up in those conditions, you don’t think much of it. I imagine people live up near the artic are used to blizzards and all sorts of things. See or hear something enough and it becomes second nature. We all knew about the storms and how dangerous they could be. If the sky got dark, you ran as fast as you could to shelter and you didn’t come out until it was safe. There weren’t any questions to be asked about it. That’s just how it was.
I think I can recall only one time I was ever out in the rain myself. Maybe there were more times but they’ve been lost to the fog of memory at this point. I was out by the school house, trying to find lizards. There were a few big’uns with a nest under the floorboards and I liked going around on weekends to see if I could spot one. No real point to it. Just seeing them was more than enough for me.
So there I was, crouched down in the red earth peering at the scaly blighters. And then I feel a sharp cold rock my body. It was a drop of rain, no doubt with friends soon to arrive. The great billowing clouds cleared any doubt of that from my mind. I didn’t know if I had already been claimed or not. But the storm had got a taste of me. And it’d probably want more.
The school house was a far bit away from mine. I’d never make it before the rain came in earnest. Thank god they had an awning around the back for summer. Who knows what would’ve happened if it weren’t there? The sound of tin being hammered by fierce droplets drowned out all other noise as I scrambled under that blessed shelter.
Sitting as far back against the wood boards as I could, I could only stare helplessly at the sheets of silvery water lashing at the ground. It had walled me of, I was sure of it. That little lick had alerted the storm, let it know I was where I shouldn’t be. An eerie howl of wind pierced the sound of the rain, like a hungry beast crying for its next meal. Even across the barren flatlands, it sounded distant and echoed as if it were on the other end of a tunnel. Through all my years of enduring these storms, I’d never heard such a mighty row. Even now, I still believe it was calling to me that day. Asking for me to step out into the downpour.
I couldn’t tell you how long I was stranded under that awning. All I could hear was the wind and rain and all I could see were the backs of my eyelids, winced shut in pure terror. But eventually, the storm subsided and the darkened sky was replaced with a pinkish purple sunset. Without any other thought in my mind, I bolted home as quick as my legs could carry me.
After that, I suppose you could say I got a bit paranoid. I only planned outings on days I knew for absolute certain the rain wouldn’t come. Some mornings, my dad would say out of the blue; “Foul weather’s brewing.” And I had no choice but to believe him. As soon as I could leave that little town, I did. Took the van over to Tin Can Bay and that’s where I am now.
Though I suppose you’re not satisfied with things ending there. You’d like to know what happens when the rain gets someone. For a while, I did too. After all, I spent my whole time in that place dreading even the lightest shower. But I’d never seen it take someone. At least not until we got the bushman.
I call him the bushman because I never got his name. But he was dressed in this outlandish garb like he watched Crocodile Dundee and decided that’s how everyone should look. His truck was giving him a little trouble so the parents offered him to stay in our guest room while he got it seen to. He was a lovely chap though. Told fantastic stories of what he’d seen and done during his drives around the country. Sounded like he’d seen and done it all. A true adventurer. He probably got us so invested we forgot to tell him about the storms.
I still remember waking up early morning and looking down through my window. Raindrops were running down it, each one racing the other towards the bottom. Early morning storms were always good. Meant there wouldn’t be one for the rest of the day. A small comfort that was quickly dashed as I saw the busman out in that poor weather.
I think he must’ve been going to check on his truck. That was the only reason he would’ve ventured out that morning. And I got to see him strolling down the drive towards the main road one minute. And the next, he had vanished. It was all so sudden, a true blink and you’ll miss it. I could’ve almost sworn I saw him rocket upwards at great speed. But there was no way to be sure. And I certainly wasn’t going out to see.
I didn’t tell my parents what I had seen. There didn’t seem much reason to do so. He had left a hundred dollars on the kitchen counter as thanks and that was all they needed to know. Though I’m positive they realised the very next day when another storm rolled in, much sooner than the last one. I’d had my suspicions about these consecutive storms before but I could never prove them. It almost seemed too horrifying to be real. It must’ve been too much dust getting blown up into the clouds. But that’s the very day I decided this place was no longer fit for me to live. I stared out my bedroom window, and watched the blood rain down.