I'm not too sure where to begin so I guess the start would
The story takes place about four years ago when I was in my early thirties. I'm a professional photographer
and this story takes place in the Western Plains of NSW.
I was with another friend as I always work with someone else.
To cut a long story short we found an old ghost town with
buildings like a pub with no beer (I was disappointed in
that), old houses that housed nothing but snakes, spiders
and god knows what else, and a cemetery with headstones
dating to 1890. Neil, my mate, and I decided to camp the
night here so we spent a few hours taking photos of the old
houses and the headstones then we made ourselves
comfortable in the local hotel.
I had my swag in a room that had a skeleton bed
frame and an old wardrobe, warped I should add. After
tucker we had a yarn, a smoke and decided to head to bed
for we had an early start the next morning. As we started
to our rooms, Neil suddenly stopped. "Hear that?" He asked
in a whisper.
"Hear what?" I answered, wondering why I was
So I did.
First I heard nothing then I thought I heard
chanting. Like a group of people chanting followed by
clapping of sticks and a strange droning sound. It went on
all night then it finished with sounds of gunfire and
screaming. Neil and I ran out into the darkness with our
torches but we were alone in that town. We looked
everywhere but there was no sign of any other humans. All
night we kept hearing sticks clapping and that droning then
the screaming and gunfire.
As soon as day came, we were gone in our car. No looking behind us.
We found a town and after a few beers we told our experience to the local barman. He
looked at us and shook his head.
"yeah, mate, you just heard the massacre."
"Yeah, mate, a group of Abos were slaughtered there
back in 1920 something by the local white settlers and
since then the ghosts return. Fair dinkum, mate, you're not
the only ones who heard that. I've heard it myself...wanna