It's been a while I had anything supernatural happened... Or should that be 'supernatural'? Anyway, if you haven't read my story, do so. I'll wait...oh, you're back, that was quick...now, for the second part (sort of). I'm still doing traffic controlling, did some major jobs by just standing there with the E Stops (that's the portable traffic lights you see with the TCs standing there looking like they're on the phones but we're really watching the control device) or doing the bats (the stop/slow paddles you see). This time around I'm in the Tambourine Mountains, at the back of the Gold Coast, up near the Border Ranges.
I had to drive three and a half hours from where I live to get to work, do what I had to do, and then drive frigging back home. I eventually talked my employers to put me up in some pub, me and two other TCs because by the time we get home, we have to get frigging ready again to start work. They reluctantly agreed on paying for our accommodations at some out of the way caravan park. We were given cabins, that were no bigger than a tiny home, which I wasn't bothered for the view was breath-taking, and the town was only a twenty minute walk, and a half hour stagger back. The four of us were stoked.
Anyway, getting back to tale, we were on some rural road. Just the two of us while the other two were rostered for the 6:30 to 4pm shift while Robbo had the 17:30 to 0300 then work stops for a bit. I was told by our team leader, Brett, I think his name was for I haven't worked with him before and he was of the local council, pretty obvious. I was given a piece of real estate which had a stunning view of the ranges before me.
"Pretty bloody quiet along here," he said as I got myself readied and 'signed' on. "Not much traffic."
"Then what's the point of Robbo and I been here?" I had to ask.
"Cause, mate, it's a part of your job and this is what you get paid for. F**k me I wouldn't be whinging. Check the view," he nodded at me, got into his work truck and drove off, leaving me. As already know that I'm a sticky beak. Gotta have a 'dingo's breakfast', a piss and a look about. I walked a bit down the road, looking about. On the left side is a pretty bashed up steel guard railing and beyond a small creek gently flowing by and an open paddock, emptied of cattle and a forest that ascended towards the ranges beyond, and yet on my right side were giant grey ghost gums (I think they are), and a forest that also ascended up the face. The road itself was cracked tarmac, and windy as it snaked through the bush. There was something weird about this area but couldn't put my finger to what was making me feel nervous. It felt somewhat 'haunted', weird way to put it but that's how it felt, I felt unseen eyes. It was late afternoon, and the shadows were creeping in, making figures out of trees and bushes. This landscape felt WEIRD.
My two-way crackled. It was Robbo doing a radio check. I answered back and started making my way to my spot.
Five and half hours had passed, and my legs were sore, and there was eff all traffic. I had the usual bullshiat chatter on radio until we told to shut it, so I had to put up with my thoughts. Tonight, there was a full moon, stars scattered across the night sky, hovering over the dark canopy. I could hear the faint humming of the mixer in the night but other than that, it was just perfect. I wasn't bothered standing here, so I leaned against the car, bat next to me, feeling relaxed, and glad not to be working in the heat of the day. I just watched the land go into darkness, and just listened to the night sound, which I love. I knew the work crew were about three kilometers from where I was situated. And the TL, Billy was right... It was quiet.
It was coming onto 21:45 (11:45pm) I was bored as a batshiat when suddenly a pair of headlights appeared among the trees, looks like as if it was speeding. I was on stop and quickly 'woke' Robbo up.
"Got one for you, Robbo," I said, "looks like it's really coming in fast. Is it clear to send?"
No answer.
"Is it clear to return?"
Still nothing. "F**king hell, Robbo, not funny, mate. Got this d**k-head really coming in, I'm already on hold. Billy, you're the team leader, answer me? Is it clear to send through?"
My radio was on full charge. The distance is 17km and clear except for gullies and small hills. But there was no answer from any of them. Bugger it, I thought, not risking my life. I threw the bat down and stood aside. Everything went quiet. First, I heard sounded like a bus, really coming down that mountain, gears grinding loudly, like tearing the heart out of the rig or whatever, then what sounded like a screech, several screeches I should add as if something just tumbled over the edge. I saw no lights, nothing that told me where the rig or whatever went over then just silence. That was when I saw the boy. He was dressed like what a twelve year old boy would've dressed like, the greyish shorts, and woolen vest over a yellow shirt and a school cap twisted sideway. He was dressed from the 1930s. He looked dazed. I didn't move but called out: "hey, kid, you alright there, mate?"
He turned and looked at me then just turned and walked back into the darkness. I was already on my two-way which was f**king working but chased after the lad but... He was gone. I looked around for any burnt wreckages but found nothing. I made my way back feeling spooked and stressed about the matter of a child that have fallen to his death. Again, I tried my radio but, once again, no one was answering.
The radio came to life. No none heard anything but yet it was real. To me it was. The rest of the night/morning nothing else happened. We swapped shifts with our housemates who we don't get to see, and just fell asleep for a few hours. I sort of half forgotten about what I saw when the others came back.
We had a two dayer off so we normally sit around, have a few, then go somewhere 'exciting', which wasn't much.
This afternoon, three days before we get to leave (woo hoo) Denise, one of the other TCs, told us a story. She heard a bus going over, the screeches and all, and the boy. That was when I told everyone the exact same thing. One of us, wasn't me, confronted Billy, the local team leader. He came over to the campsite and told us a tragic story and the boy who stayed behind.
He was just a local boy who was killed among several other children from his school excursion back in 1935 whose bus tumbled over the edge taking out forty seven children and four teachers, plus a very drunk bus driver. Who knows who the child was, think he's trying to find his way home?
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