Dead Tree Forest Read Online Free PDF

knew the story of Ginnumarra and her family; every black kid in Tasmania knew that story. But it was the stories of the forest itself, the curse that had been placed on it, that used to keep him awake at night.
    Because no one had travelled into Boolool Kiambram and returned to tell about it; no one knew for sure what curse Ginnumarra had placed on the forest. People had stood at the edge and told of the black death that seeped from the mass of withered, leafless trees. They told of the screaming, the pain. But that was all anyone knew about Dead Tree Forest.
    Chris’s Uncle Walter, dead fifteen years, had once made the trek up to Boolool Kiambram . He recounted the story one day during a summer barbecue, when Chris was in his late teens. After sinking back more than a few beers, the afternoon sun high and hot, the two of them sitting on the patio, his uncle had told Chris about his trek up to Dead Tree.
    Chris had listened to his uncle tell of the long journey up to the forest and how, from the lush green meadow, Dead Tree had hit him like a brick to the face. He told of how he had heard the screaming, and then, standing just on the edge of the forest, how the screaming had changed from a wailing to a floating weeping that seemed to permeate the woods: every tree, every dead branch and twig. He said it was like Ginnumarra herself was calling to him, and he took a few steps into the dark woods. He saw flashes of the past—white men on horseback, a headless man, he tasted dirt and blood—and then, with tears streaming down his cheeks, he turned and fled.
    He said he had never felt so much pain and anger in his life. That he could literally feel his life slipping out of him the moment he stepped into the forest. And that, if he had continued, he would surely have perished.
    But, he had also said that he felt the call of Ginnumarra; that, along with her pain and anger, there was a longing. He couldn’t be sure—there were so many other emotions running through him—but he thought that maybe Ginnumarra wanted help, wanted someone to come and rescue her.
    That’s when Uncle Walter had told Chris about tree between heaven and earth.
    The thing that Chris remembered most from that summer day fifteen years ago was how vehemently his uncle had warned him never to go up to Boolool Kiambram . It was a bad place—only death was there.
    Only a fool would willingly enter the forest. Only a fool with the strongest, blackest heart, a heart so full of blind courage and rage, could withstand Dead Tree. Only a person with a death wish would ever willingly enter Boolool Kiambram . Because the place is cursed, of that there is no doubt.
    The last thing his uncle had said to Chris before the subject changed to football, was this: “If you ever feel the need to go up to Boolool Kiambram , if you ever want to see that accursed placed for yourself, don’t get sucked into the forest. No matter how much you want to help Ginnumarra, no matter how much pain you feel pulsating from within, don’t give in to Ginnumarra’s cries. Not unless you have a heart of steel, the determination of a bull, and no longer care whether you live or die.”
    Chris had never been particularly intuitive; he certainly didn’t have his uncle’s gift. At least, he never realised he had such a gift until he stepped into the forest and heard the screaming and felt the call of Ginnumarra.
    He also felt the death. Above all else, he felt the black touch of death’s hand, and he was powerless to stop it. Like his uncle had described, it was like Chris’s life-force was being sucked out of his body. He was feeling short of breath, his energy seemed to decrease with each step.
    These three men didn’t know what they were in for. They laughed at Chris’s insistence that this place was cursed, that death was the only certainty—they were too foolish to heed his warnings. But Chris could definitely feel something happening to him; he didn’t know what exactly, but he