The Gulp: Five Tales of Horror

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Richard Blake’s day had been deceptively boring. Tall, pale gum trees lined either side of the road, and spread thickly back into shadow. Late afternoon sun occasionally lanced through a rare gap in the canopy that closed over high above. Rich sat quiet in the passenger seat as George Grayson drove the Woolworths big rig along the single lane highway.

“It’s like a tunnel,” Rich said eventually, leaning forward to peer out the windscreen. The road freaked him out. “Kinda claustrophobic.”

George laughed. “You haven’t seen anything yet. It’s like this for nearly twenty minutes from Enden until the Gulpepper turnoff. It’s another twenty minutes from the turnoff on the other side too, until you get to Monkton.”

“Nothing in between?”

“Only bush and Gulpepper. And that’s ten minutes from the turnoff through nothing but more bush until you reach the coast.” He nodded out the other side of the cab. “That way is thick all the way to the freeway that bypasses all of this.”

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