Bushwalking alone was always one of my favourite things to do. I found it almost meditative – the heady scent of eucalyptus, warbling birds darting through the scrub and watchful wallabies peering out from between banksias. I loved the gravelly crunch of the path underfoot and the feeling of my limbs stretching and strengthening with each step, and craved the guaranteed solitude that came with a solo bushwalk, barring the occasional closed-mouth smile, nod, and cheery ‘afternoon mate’ to fellow walkers.
A lot of people prefer to bushwalk with friends or partners, but I have four housemates, a mum who calls me several times a day to check in and a stressful job. As an introvert, heading out bush with my backpack chock full of snacks and a good book to read was my idea of perfection, rain or shine.
The Goblin Lake track was a chance discovery on the way to the Grampians for my birthday weekend last summer. I had booked a bougie Airbnb and planned to spend the days walking blissfully and the evenings enjoying a pub dinner and a well-deserved pint.
Pulling a sickie, I drove up on Friday, and about halfway there I turned onto a scenic winding road and stopped to stretch my legs. It was unusually overcast and humid that day, the heavy clouds promising rain and a cooler evening. I leaned against my car, smiling at cows grazing lazily in the fields on the right side of the road and then turned and faced the dense wall of bush to the left side of my car. A sign almost buried by tea trees and gums caught my eye. It was slanted and clearly very old. ‘Goblin Lake Circuit Walk, 6.2 km’ was etched into the wood in ancient, flaking white paint. Instantly, I was excited. Hidden gem walks are often the most beautiful.
I had half a servo sandwich and a water bottle with me, and I decided that I’d give it a go. A quick Google search of Goblin Lake came up with nothing, and it didn’t come up on maps either. At the time, my excitement grew. I wondered if the walk would lead to a lake or merely a dried-up dam. I didn’t mind either way, keen to see something new.
I pushed through the scratchy branches behind the sign and was relieved to see an overgrown path. As I set off, I turned back to see the thick wall of trees had swiftly enveloped the clumsy gap I’d made as I pushed through them, obscuring my view of the road and my car.
I had been walking for only fifteen minutes or so when a weird kind of ‘ominous’ feeling came over me. I realised I felt unsettled and on edge, which I’d never felt on bushwalks before.
The path was clearly disused, and I was used to the trees being more varied in their density. Instead, the tea trees and gums seemed to become denser as I walked, like two dark and unmovable walls on either side of me. In spite of the warmth and humidity of the day, I felt a little cold in the quiet shade and wished I’d worn long sleeves.
Normally, walking relieved my anxiety, but as I continued to navigate the narrow, unkempt path, I felt my anxiety grow, taking up residence in my chest cavity. I couldn’t pinpoint why. Walking on overcast days promising rain was not unfamiliar to me; I had done it before, often much closer to evening and on paths equally desolate.
Perhaps it was the silence that was wigging me out, I thought, as I noted the total absence of the usual rustling and chirping sounds of birds and insects. It was odd. My footsteps seemed to echo, and I was hyperaware of every sound I was making.
My shoelace brushed my ankle and I jumped at the touch, clearing my throat, and laughing out loud to reassure myself. I felt a drop of rain glance at my cheek and looked up. The sky was darker than it had been before, and I checked my phone. It was just after two p.m., but it felt later.
I resisted the urge to look over my shoulder even though something about the density of the bush I was pushing through made me feel vulnerable, watched and claustrophobic. I quickened my pace and laughed again, the sound ringing bright and false.
The rain, falling heavier now, blurred my vision and I stumbled, landing on my hands and knees, my phone flying out of my pocket and hitting the path with a worrying smack. I sat down, wincing as I brushed loose bits of rock and bark from my grazed knees, and looked around. Trees seemed to circle me entirely, and with a sinking feeling I realised that I wasn’t on the path anymore. I’d been walking so quickly and so caught up in my own head that I must have veered off.
As I reached for my phone, I tried to steady my breathing. This had happened before and was inevitable with narrow tracks that were almost desire paths, barely distinguishable from the surrounding bush. I was sure I hadn’t been walking for that long, so I couldn’t be too far from where I’d started, and I decided I’d use maps to head back to the car. But my phone screen had cracked badly when fell, greeting me with wavy green and purple lines like TV static as I went to unlock it. I stood, disorientated, pocketed my broken phone, pushed back through where I assumed I had come from and scanned my surroundings desperately for the ochre-tinged gravel of the path.
That’s when I heard what sounded like the snap of twigs underfoot. ‘Hello,’ I said, trying to keep the panic out of my voice, hoping a kind stranger with a working phone and band-aids was close by. I waited but heard nothing else.
I continued to tread carefully in the direction I thought had come from. With an overwhelming sense of relief, I found the path after about five minutes of navigating fallen branches and large rocks. I hesitated as I saw that the path looked different, wider and straighter than before. My uneasiness grew. It was definitely a different path, so where the fuck was I? I wished I knew how long I’d been walking for. I had expected the walk take me an hour and a half at most including breaks.
Still, I reasoned, the path was better than aimlessly trekking through the bush. It would lead somewhere, and the walk was a circuit, so even if this was the wrong way, it should loop back around to where I’d started.
The rain had stopped, but the sky had darkened considerably, and as I walked, I went to check the time before remembering my phone was broken. ‘Jesus’, I said to myself. I forced a smile and thought about how I’d laugh about this with my co-workers at Thursday night drinks. For the first time ever on one of these walks, I wished I’d brought a friend.
I walked for a long time, feeling fatigue blossom in my calves and a headache set in at my temples. I paused to pull out my water bottle, leaning against the cool, solid trunk of a gum. As I swigged, I heard someone laugh from the bush behind me. A soft, lilting laugh. I froze for a moment and then spun around, but no one was behind me. Could it have been a birdcall?
I felt unable to respond or shout ‘Hello, I’m lost’. The laughter tinkled through the trees again, and I felt my stomach liquefy.
I breathed, in and out, telling myself ‘It was a bird, you’re okay’.
And then I saw movement in the trees and stumbled back. It was a man, and he stepped gracefully and silently onto the path. I noticed that he was tall and thin, dressed in a bright red wool jumper. ‘Oh, thank god’ I exclaimed, laughing too loudly. ‘Hi, sorry, I’m lost, and I’ve stuffed my phone… I fell… do you know how to get back to the road? Like the main road from where this walk starts?’ I said. He stood still and didn’t respond, and I took him in. He was smiling at me, very wide, his lips stretched back over his teeth. He wore short pants that were red too, a darker shade than his jumper, and clownish red sneakers. His long greying hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and he had nothing with him, no bag or water bottle.
He laughed softly, and I was sure it had been him I’d heard laughing before. He stood motionless for perhaps a full minute. ‘I want to help you’ he said slowly, and his voice sounded wrong, almost childlike. I swallowed as he slowly raised his arm to point in the direction that I’d been walking in. I cleared my throat, aware there was something very wrong with this man. ‘Do you have the time? Are you heading that way too?’
He laughed again, and I wondered if he’d blinked since we’d met on the path. His eyes were off, very dark and large. He nodded and remained standing, smiling at me with what seemed like too many narrow teeth.
I swallowed again, my heartbeat in my throat, ears throbbing with each thump. ‘I need to get home, so I’m going to keep walking’ I said shakily. I walked backwards a few steps, and he remained completely. I fought the instinct to run. After a beat, I turned and continued quickly along the path. My body was sounding every alarm. I needed a bathroom and I needed to scream.
I was sure when I looked back he’d be behind me, silently approaching, and so I resisted the urge to turn my head. I walked and walked, the sky seeming to darken with each painful stride. After what felt like an eternity, the flat path dipped down, and I saw a clearing up ahead. I pounded towards it, and as I reached it, I spun around, bracing myself to see the red man, but he wasn’t there. I turned back to the clearing and with a jolt, realised I was standing in front of Goblin Lake.
It was a slate-grey expanse of stagnant water, jarringly pale against the dark bush that surrounded it. A shape I couldn’t make out bobbed in the water near the bank on the other side of the lake, and I swallowed hard, spinning around, scanning for the red man. Dusk had set in, and I squinted to see that on the other side of the large lake, there was a sign.
I numbly began to walk around the lake towards the sign, my head pounding. I felt sick and lightheaded. The lake emanated a strong briny and familiar scent that I couldn’t put my finger on.
As I got closer, I realised the dark shape was a grey kangaroo, dead. It must have drowned. I recoiled, shuddering.
I was overcome with the horrible thought that I would never make it home, and trudge aimlessly through these trees forever. The comfort of a warm bed, hot chips and television I craved with every ounce of my being felt so far away. When I reached the wooden sign, I was met with crude slashes of black paint that spelled ‘Goblin Lake was dug by hand’. A new wave of sick heat washed over me. This place was so fucking weird. I wanted to go home. I turned wearily back to retrace my steps around the lake to the path and froze. The red man was standing just in front of the path I’d come from.
He waved almost in slow motion, and his arms seemed to be longer than before. He laughed, softly but loud enough for me to hear, and then started walking down the bank of the lake and wading into the water. I felt frozen to the spot as he waded deeper, and then started to swim across towards me with powerful strides of his too-long arms.
Adrenaline coursed through me, and I ran back around the lake, repeating ‘Don’t look back’ as a mantra with each ragged breath. I didn’t hear him running after me but the blood rushing to my head roared so loudly that I couldn’t hear anything at all.
With every step I seemed to stumble, scraping my arms and legs as I bashed against the trees on either side of me. It was getting too dark to see clearly, but I kept going, occasionally glancing down and around to see that I was still on the path. My lungs burned, and I stopped for a moment to try and catch my breath. I realised with a shaky sob that the path seemed to disappear into the scrub a few paces ahead of me. I looked around wildly, tears stinging my eyes. I slowed to a power walk, my entire body vibrating with anxiety, and pushed through the trees, falling forward into another clearing. I blinked and saw a large tent in front of me. It was old-fashioned, ornate and very red.
There was something odd about the clearing. It was a perfect circle that gave me an uncanny feeling.
As I stood, I took in with mounting dread that carefully arranged in circles around the tent were shoes. Pair after pair of different shoes in many different sizes, women’s, men’s and even children’s. All the pairs were walking and hiking shoes much like the ones I was wearing. I felt like I was floating above my body as I skirted the edge of the clearing, not taking my eyes off the tent and too scared to look behind me. I pushed through the scrub and started running when I reached the other side.
I was again sure I’d be running through these trees forever when somehow, finally, I reached the road and began to cry like a baby. My car was nowhere to be seen, and I was sure I had emerged from the bush onto a different road than before, but in spite of this, I had never felt such intense relief in my life. I looked back at the wall of trees and collapsed.
I lay on the road for a few breaths, my body totally spent, but aware I needed to get as far away from here as possible. I managed to heave myself up and began to limp down the road, in the direction of a couple of old farmhouses I could just make out in the distance. As I got closer, I could see that one had lights on in a window and I approached, terrified of who would be inside but aware I needed to get help immediately. I braced myself as I shakily knocked at the door, and an irrational part of me was afraid that somehow it would be the red man would greet me with his awful smile. To my relief, a confused older couple opened it, alarmed by my presence.
I explained to them, somewhat incoherently, that I was lost and needed help. Eventually, they passed me a mobile phone before locking their screen door and looking at me with concern.
I rang my mum because hers was the only number I had memorised. My only other option was to call the police and try to get them to help me, even though they’d probably think I was nuts. I gave my worried mum the address of the couple’s farmhouse to pick me up and take me home. It was nearly nine p.m. The couple, Dave, and Cynthia, were kind enough to let me wait on their veranda as my mum was about an hour-and-a-half drive away. While I waited for her, I sipped a cup of tea and nibbled a biscuit. As I calmed down a little bit, I told Dave and Cynthia in more detail about Goblin Lake and the red man.
‘That’s bloody weird’, Dave said, and I nodded, distracted by how much I desperately needed to use the bathroom, but aware they probably didn’t want the panicked stranger on the veranda with bloody knees and scratched-up arms to come inside.
Cynthia had been very quiet as I told my story, but when my mum finally arrived, she came outside and walked me to her car. ‘We’ve got a daughter not much older than you. We used to camp around these parts with her all the time during school holidays. Dave won’t remember this, but one morning we woke up and all our things had been moved around in the night. Nothing was stolen but it was all definitely rifled through. I thought it was ratbag kids or possums, but our daughter had said she had seen a clown man dancing around our campsite at night, laughing. We thought she was just dreaming or making it up, but it made me uncomfortable, and I always made sure we booked proper campsites after that. I wonder if you met the same man today.’
My mum peppered me with questions the entire journey home, but I barely had the energy to respond. Dread had made a home in my chest, and I had nightmares for weeks where I was back on the banks of Goblin Lake, the red man swimming towards me. I’ll never bushwalk again.