Ever since we went camping, my daughter’s been having bad dreams.
It was my wife’s idea.
A daddy daughter bonding experience, she said.
My daughter Cleo was 7 and had been begging me to take her camping and exploring for the last few months, so of course I jumped at the opportunity when I finally got a weekend off work.
I was excited to show her how to set up a camp, as well as take her fishing for the very first time.
She didn’t stop talking about it all week, the excitement building and building. I had to admit, I was really looking forward to it as well. As a kid, camping had been something my dad and I had bonded over, still some of my favourite childhood memories are toasting marshmallows with him. I was excited to make the same memories with my own little girl.
We packed the car and said our goodbyes, my wife blowing us kisses through the car window and demanding I keep her updated with photos and phone calls of our adventures.
We made it to the campsite in good time, Cleo helped me set up the tent, her eyes widening with wonder as she watched the blow up mattress rise.
We gathered sticks for our campfire and took a stroll through the bushlands, enjoying the scenery and quiet sounds of nature.
I realised hours had passed and I hadn’t checked in with my wife, so I snapped a photo of Cleo Infront of a massive oak tree, her toothy grin melting my heart as I clicked the camera on my phone, and quickly wrote and sent a text message to Anna, along with the photo of Cleo. I told her we were having the best time and that we missed her.
That night we toasted marshmallows over the roaring campfire, and we sung songs together about country roads taking us home.
I woke to a scream. It was blood curdling, the type of yell that meant something was seriously wrong. It took me a moment to adjust, to realise I was in a tent and that my daughter was not beside me anymore.
Heart racing, I scrambled up and out of the tent, screaming my daughter’s name as I swung around wildly in the dark, straining my eyes to try and see.
The scream sounded again and this time I ran straight to the sound, my feet crunching on sticks underneath as I made my way to wear my daughter was standing, still screaming.
When I got closer I could see her eyes were wide open, her mouth in a terrified o shape. She didn’t seem to acknowledge my presence. The screams continued despite my assurances she was okay, she was safe.
I grabbed her by the shoulders, gently shaking her, wondering if this was a night terror. She’d never experienced one before but it seemed like a plausible possibility at that stage.
My touch seemed to jolt her out of her trance like state, and she suddenly got weak and collapsed in my arms. I stroked her hair that was wet with sweat and whispered it was all okay, it was just a nightmare. She was safe.
I hardly slept that night, and when the sun broke the next morning, I was ready to start packing and head home.
But when the tent unzipped at 9am, and my little girl crawled out with a big smile on her face, bed hair and sticky marshmallow from last night stuck to her cheek, she told me I was the best daddy ever and this was the best trip ever!
Cautiously I asked her if she was okay, after last night. She gave me a look as if I was stupid, and told me it had been a bad dream. Then she started talking about putting the fishing rods back out again and that was that.
I put it down to a bad dream.
The second night was worse.
Don’t get me wrong, we had a great time fishing and finding - in Cleo’s words - ‘cool’ rocks and shells to take home for mum, but something was niggling in the back of my head. Something felt wrong, but I couldn’t put my finger on what.
I watched Cleo for ages that second night. She seemed to be dreaming deeply, her face in a frown of concentration.
It felt like I had only just fallen asleep myself when I was woken up again.
Instinctively I reached over to feel for Cleo’s small body, but I was met with an empty sleeping bag. I was out of the tent in an instant, praying that Cleo was just outside, just standing there. It worried me that I could not hear her.
Cleo was just outside, sitting on the ground, legs folded. She was staring off into the bushlands, but her eyesight was focused on the sky above the trees.
I crouched down beside her, not wanting to scare her. I breathed a sigh of relief she was safe.
We sat together for a few minutes, her smile growing wider and wider as if she was something beautiful in the sky.
Her eyes were darting about wildly, as if trying to keep up to something moving very fast.
I looked myself, but there was nothing there, a scattering of stars, but nothing else.
I was mesmerised watching her, wondering what she was dreaming about with her eyes wide open.
“Do you hear that, daddy?” My little girls voice sounded so childlike, so sweet.
I told her I didn’t hear anything and she just gave a small, secret smile and a shrug. Tears were rolling down her cheeks.
“That’s okay daddy. I think this song is just for me.”
I didn’t tell Anna the full story. I just mentioned there had been some sleep walking. I don’t know why I didn’t tell her everything.. I didn’t fully understand it myself.
Cleo was fine, her usual self when we got back, excitedly telling her mother about eating spaghetti for breakfast and catching her first fish.
The only thing that was different was the sleepwalking. It was becoming a nightly occurrence. Anna and I were discussing seeing a therapist. We didn’t know what else to do.
I didn’t ever mention the.. thing.. Cleo was looking at, but I couldn’t see. It just seemed to strange to say aloud.
Life went on, but Cleo did not stop sleep walking. After another night of trying lavender essential oils and a sleep mask, I was feeling quite deflated.
Anna was in the shower and I was tidying, getting ready for bed. I scooped up the pencils Cleo had left laying out after her drawing time, as well as the scraps of paper she had drawn on.
A picture of a tent and campfire, two figures. In the sky was a round circle, with what looked to be wings around it. It sort of looked like that ball from Harry Potter, the one they play that game with.
I didn’t recall Cleo watching Harry Potter, but it wasn’t a big deal. Until I went through all the drawings.
The circle image was getting bigger on each page, more detailed. By the end of the papers I could see it wasn’t a circle with wings at all.
It was a face, a huge head, and it’s ears were just as large. Feathers and talons adorned the monstrosity, making it appear bird like in a strange way. It was just a drawing, just a crudely drawn picture by a 7 year old.girl. But it made my heart skip a beat.
I went to show Anna the strange pictures, who was still in the shower.
I could hear the pipes creaking as I made my way up the stairs, paper in hand.
When I opened the bathroom door, I was met with a rush of steam. She’d obviously forgotten to turn on the fan again. I didn’t want to scare my wife, so I cleared my throat and joked if she’d been in there long enough that her skin had gone pruney.
She didn’t reply. I waited. I started to feel anxious. It wasn’t the time for practical jokes, and - I ripped the shower curtain back and saw Anna on the showers floor, her head twisted at an impossible angle. Her eyes were open
And staring at me.
The last few days have been a blur. I’ve had a funeral to arrange, a daughter who doesn’t understand her mummy isn’t coming home. Cleo has been more withdrawn than ever. All she does is draw and I don’t even have the mental strength to look at them anymore.
They all show the same thing - the head with feathers and talons, flying high above the tree line.
Last night, Cleo begged me to take her camping.
I didn’t have it in me, but I decided I’d been a shit dad long enough and set up a tent in the back yard. She was the happiest I’ve seen her since Anna passed.
We sat outside, toasting marshmallows over the firepit I built. When Cleos eyes eventually drew up to the moonless night sky, mine followed suit.
I couldn’t see anything, but I could hear the faintest sound, and then it got louder and louder and -
“tue tue tue” it bounced around my head, sharp, piercing.
I glanced at Cleo, who was looking at me instead of the sky.
Tears had welled up in her eyes.
She asked me if I heard the song, and wordlessly I nodded.
She sniffled then, a small nod of acceptance. “I heard it before mummy went to heaven.” She seemed sad and so much older than her 7 years. “Now you’re hearing daddy, I’m going to go to heaven soon too, aren’t I?”
I’m not a bad dad, I try my best, anyway.
I tucked her into the sleeping bag and kissed her forehead. I didn’t want my little.girl to feel guilt over her mum’s death, I didn’t want her to fear dying.
“Daddy won’t let anything happen to you” I promised.
I stayed up a bit longer, watching the firepit slowly fizzle out, working out a plan.
I’ve done some research. Been on the net for hours.
I think I know what we’re dealing with here.
Have you ever heard of the Tue-Tué?
How the hell do I get rid of it?!
Please. I don’t want to loose my little girl too. She’s all I’ve got left.
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Tue-Tué