The One Horse Town.
This story is loosely based on fact. It came from a real experience a girlfriend, Collette, had one day on the Sunshine Coast when she went to the movies with her husband. The amenities block for the building was down a long laneway at the side of the theatre.
o0o
A thin band of perspiration trickled from between Collette’s pendulous breasts and slid down her torso. Sighing, she reached over, picked up the plastic covered menu from the table and fanned herself. Somewhere above, Collette couldn’t be bothered looking, the motor in the lone fan whirred away in the old café, any cooling effect it might have had was beaten by the size of the room and the heat of the day.
They were the only customers there and the table was still cluttered with the remains of their lunch. Collette’s gaze flicked over to the two men at the table with her. Trevor, her husband and her brother Patrick were huddled over a sketch Patrick had drawn on a paper serviette in front of him. Neither man seemed to be feeling the heat, Collette thought enviously as she continued fanning herself.
She yawned and stretched. If she didn’t make a move soon, she’d fall asleep. "Okay, guys," she said to her two companions. "I’m going to stretch my legs. I won't be long.” Half listening the men nodded their attention focused on the diagram.
Collette wandered over to the counter and paused, watching the plump woman attendant there struggling to squeeze multi coloured marble sized lollies into a small glass container. Beads of perspiration dotted her upper lip and wisps of damp hair clung to the sides of her round face. Even the locals are feeling the heat today, Collette thought as she waited for the woman to finish her task.
“There! Got them all in” the woman muttered and satisfied, discarded the now empty cardboard container under the bench. Smiling, she looked up. “Can I help you, dear?” she asked.
“Sort of” Collette replied. “We’re just passing through, but I’m intrigued by the name of your town. How did it get the unusual name of ‘Hopetown’?”
The woman laughed. “Truth is, it should have been named ‘Hopeless Town’, but nobody wanted it called that.”
Collette smiled, encouraging the woman to continue.
“You mightn’t believe it now, but in the 1860’s this was a boom town of 50,000 people. You can still see some of its past history in the lovely big old buildings in our main street”. She sighed. “But, once the gold ran out, so did the prospectors. ”
“Was Hope the name of a big nugget?” Collette asked.
The woman chuckled. “No, the name of a cantankerous black horse - old Hopeless he was called. Belonged to an old prospector named Charlie Evans. The story goes that Charlie’s horse was tied up to a tree while Charlie went in to get some supplies in the general store. Now Old Hopeless wasn’t used to being tied up and to show his displeasure, he pawed at the ground with his black hooves. It was then he uncovered the gold nugget that set off the gold rush here.”
Collette laughed. “You’re having me on,” she said.
“‘S’ true. You can read all about it on the plaque at the base of Old Hopeless’ life-sized statue down at the end of Main Street.”
“Okay! I will. But first, where will I find the ‘Ladies’?”
“The nearest is behind the picture theatre." The woman gestured. "Turn left; continue past the theatre to the alleyway at the side. Turn there, and it's at the end. You can't miss it if you go down the alleyway."
Collette stood for a moment outside and glanced along the deserted main street, the shops now closed for a midday break. At the junction down the end of the main street, she could just see a dark blob she guessed was the statue of Old Hopeless. A real one-horse town, Collette thought.
A few utes and old Holdens were parked outside the local hotel, diagonally across from her. The Royal George was printed in faded red lettering over the doorway of the double-story, brown brick structure. A cream-coloured fibro-clad verandah ran the length of its top floor, shading the lower level where stunted bushes grew out of wooden casks sitting on the pavement.
Glancing to her right she looked at the empty shops there. Most had faded 'To Lease’ signs propped behind their vacant, dusty glass fronts. Nearby, a blue heeler dog sprawled asleep on the shaded footpath and Collette sauntered over and knelt down beside him. Her long, thick brown hair fell forward and she pushed it back from her face. She stroked her hand along the dog's side and a smell of farm manure wafted up from his dusty fur.
"Where's your master, feller?" she whispered. "Did he go without you?"The dog lifted his tail a fraction off the footpath and let it flop. "Oh, is that the best you can manage in this heat?" she asked.
The dog's eyelids fluttered as it made a feeble effort to open them but the exertion was too much and they stayed shut.
Collette patted the dog and strolled toward the old fibro picture theatre. In its recess, near the deserted ticket booth, a man in dusty jeans and a black T-shirt lounged against the wall watching her. His dark shoulder length hair hung in dull locks around his face.
Collette smiled and nodded. "Bit warm today,” she said.
He didn't answer and surprised, she stopped, watching him. His gaze slowly moved up and down her slim frame, lingering at her well-formed breasts. She felt his eyes on her body, undressing her and shuddered.
Slowly, he slid the tip of his tongue past his lips and moved it in and out suggestively before sliding it back into his mouth. Collette gasped and his lips twisted into a sneer at her reaction, giving him a sinister appearance and the venom in his stare startled her.
My god! When did he last see a woman, she thought as she hurried on. What a creep, she added, running her hands up and down her arms, trying to cleanse herself of his stare and the dirty feeling it gave her.
Pausing at the entrance of the alleyway, Collette glanced back. No way was she going down there if he was watching her. She couldn't see him so she hurried down the long lane to the back of the building and into the door marked
'Ladies.'
Collette opened the door and looked in. There was one lone hand basin and three cubicles in the small, cream painted brick room and the room appeared to be empty. Not taking any chances, Collette stood as close to the entrance door as she could and kicked at the door to the first cubicle and leaped back. The door banged open against the divider. It was empty. She edged toward the next cubicle, kicked it open jumped back – and again with the third. They were all empty.
Suddenly aware that she'd been holding her breath, Collette exhaled. It's okay, she told herself, and entered the middle cubicle.
Collette had just slipped the bolt into its lock and unzipped her jeans when she heard the main door open and someone quietly enter. She froze, listening. Whoever it was had gone into the first cubicle and Collette held her breath, waiting for the sound of a zipper, movement of clothing, anything. She heard nothing.
Slowly bending down and leaning forward she looked under the partition dividing the cubicles. A pair of large, dirty sneakers pointed toward the toilet bowl. They're facing the wrong way, Collette thought, surprised. Why! she wondered as she leaned over further to get a better look.
Oh, no! She clamped her hands over her mouth to stop from screaming. It's him! He followed me. Terror surged like electric currents up her spine as she stared at the frail partition separating them. He's going to get me! I've got to get out of here. Hysteria threatened to overwhelm her and she fought to control it before it engulfed her.
Her glance slid to the door, then back to the divider. He's between the main door and me she reasoned, and I didn't hear him slip the bolt to that cubicle. That means he can get out any time he wants.
Very quietly, Collette eased her jeans back over her hips and, with trembling hands, fastened the button at her waist.
She guessed he was listening to any sound from her. Stealthily she bent down and peered under the partition again -
there was only one dirty sneaker on the floor. Her gaze flicked to the closed door and then to the top of the dividing partition. Collette gasped! His two large hands were already there, ready to pounce. Self-preservation took over and, before he could grab her, Collette lunged forward, slid the bolt, flung the door open and rushed as fast as she could along the alley.
Instinct told her even before she heard the door bang that he was behind her. To get this far was a miracle, she thought, as her legs raced, speeding her up the long alleyway.
Faster, faster, faster, the word raced through her mind like a mantra. The quick slap, slap, slap of her sandals and his heavy breathing were the only sounds in the alley but Collette heard nothing. Focused, she was running for her life.
Collette's breathing came in short, sharp gasps and her lungs felt on fire. She could sense, feel his fingers grasping for her from his outstretched arms.
"Haaahhh!" It was half hiss, half satisfaction as, nearing the end of the alley, the stranger put every last effort into catching Collette and his taloned fingers hooked onto her T-shirt.
"No!" It came out as a terrified sob. Using the last vestige of strength she had left, Collette twisted her body, pulling the fabric from his fingers and catapulted out of the alley where she lay sprawled in the main street, unable to move, her energy spent.
She felt the stranger’s fingers dig into her ankles as he started to drag her back into the alley – then everything became confused. Collette heard the sound of a horse galloping, felt the stranger slacken his grip and heard him yelling. She
tried to see what was happening but the sun’s rays blinded her and all she saw were rearing black hooves flaying over her.
Terrified of being trampled, Collette quickly rolled into a ball, her arms pulled tight over her head while she lay there too frightened to move. She could hear the stranger screaming and beating at the horse, struggling to escape the slashing hooves – then everything went quiet.
The dust had settled when Collette cautiously opened her eyes. She knew she owed her life to the black horse and his rider and, getting to her feet, turned to offer her profuse thanks to them. But where are they Collette wondered as she looked up and down the street. How could they disappear like that?
She looked to where she had heard her attacker screaming. Collette had mixed feelings about seeing his mangled body
- but he was gone too. This is spooky, Collette thought shuddering. People don’t just disappear into thin air. She looked up and down the street again, but apart from her and the dog still asleep on the pavement, the street was empty.
Everything looks – so normal, she thought in amazement, but, I couldn’t have hallucinated it all – or, could I? No, Collette was emphatic. I don’t know what just happened, but these marks on my ankles are real enough.
A bright flash of sunlight reflected off something at the end of Main Street and caught Collette’s attention. “No, it couldn’t be” she whispered, staring at the black life-sized statue of the old horse the township of Hope was named after. And, as Collette watched, the sun’s rays shifted, intensified and illuminated the statue, turning it from black to gold.
Collette was accosted and nearly raped by a stranger but did manage to escape. Two weeks later she heard on the news that another woman had experienced the same thing at the same place but had not been as fortunate in escaping.
Collette still carries remorse that she never reported the incident. She feels if she had she may have saved the other woman from this traumatic experience.
The idea for the horse came from a true story of how gold was found in a small town, I visited. I think the town was somewhere in South Australia.
