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Ellie met her father at the side entrance to the museum. He unlocked the door, checked no one else was hanging around in the alleyway, and let her in. They crossed the room where the large exotic mammals were displayed: apes, bears, big cats, an elephant. The exhibits were forlorn without the daytime crowds, and the taxidermy was showing its age. At the lift, Arnold Bower punched the down button. Ellie knew then he was taking her to the biological science research collection housed in the museum’s lower ground floors.
From the lift, Ellie followed him down a corridor, past steel cabinets and freezer units. She’d been here many times before. The rooms to either side contained cupboards and shelves crammed with fauna: birds, reptiles, mammals, marine life, insects and amphibians, all preserved in various forms. Most of the specimens were contained in ethanol filled jars, everything from dingo heads to tiny lizards. Cured pelts of mammals hung in cupboards, the smell of camphor wafting off them; shallow drawers held bones—all meticulously numbered and nested in tissue paper. Jammed into every conceivable space were filing cabinets loaded with boxes of invertebrate exoskeletons, dried and stabbed with pins. Glass-doored fridges held tissue specimens and freezers overflowed with recent roadkill. The public liked to contribute to the assembly of dead.
For most of Ellie’s childhood, the labyrinth beneath the South Australian Museum of Natural History had been her backyard, on account of Arnold holding the most senior position within the research department. Instead of spending weekends at the pool or on a netball court, she’d rollerbladed through the vast underground complex exploring every corner in the place. By the time Ellie finished university she was so used to being around dead things, it didn’t bother her anymore. She wasn’t a fan of the room with the jars of parasites, coiled tapeworms and the like. They made her squeamish. She’d rather not know about anything that could reside in a stomach or burrow under the skin. But as hideous as they were, they didn’t frighten her. Which was why, racing to keep up with her father, Ellie wondered what on earth all the fuss was about. What was so important he’d asked her to meet at the museum in the middle of the night? And why was he so nervous? The man was sweating buckets.
They entered a stairwell and descended another floor. At the bottom Arnold swiped a security card and opened the door to the underground loading dock. He was out of breath.
“Has something new arrived?” Ellie asked, breaking their silence.
Arnold shook his head.
“Then what?”
“Something is going out.”
“At this time of night?” There was nothing unusual about sending out parts of the collection to other museums. It happened all the time. So why all the secrecy?
“I want you to see it before it goes,” said Arnold.
Ellie frowned. Was there something in the collection she hadn’t seen? She didn’t think so. All through university, she’d done volunteer work at the research centre. Anything she’d missed growing up she was soon privy to, mainly because she’d been assigned to implementing the new barcoding system. The job was slow and tedious, but after four years of adding records into the computer, Ellie knew where every bone and body part was stored. Or thought she did.
Together they crossed the vast concrete bunker. At the far end was a sliding steel gate, large enough for a truck to get through. Beyond the gate was a ramp that spiralled up and out of the museum building to the western exit. Before he reached the gate, Arnold veered off between stacks of packing crates piled in front of a roller door. He keyed in a code and the door rattled opened. Inside was a shipping container.
“Okay, I never knew about this,” said Ellie, curious.
“No one does.” Arnold checked his watch. “We’ve got a little over two hours before they get here.”
“Who?” asked Ellie.
“You have to promise me not to tell another soul.”
“Of course.”
Arnold rubbed his brow. “Two officials from the Pentagon.”
“The Pentagon?” Ellie studied her father’s face. He looked ill, his ruddy complexion now pale as soap. “Are you serious?”
“It’ll make more sense once I open this up.” He unlocked the container and pulled back a tarp to reveal a crate. It took up most of the space and was anchored by thick ropes tied to metal rings welded to the walls. Stencilled on the front of the crate were the numbers 986.
Ellie raised an eyebrow. “How long has this been here?”
“A while.”
“I’m guessing the crate isn’t empty.”
“It’s not,” said Arnold.
“None of the specimens are supposed to be held down here, not in the transit area. Who else knows about it?”
“Just me . . . and now you.” He gave her a weak smile. “As far as I know, my predecessor was the only other person who knew about the delivery, and clearly his idea to hide the container in plain sight worked. In the forty years I’ve been in this place, not one person has ever asked me what was behind the roller doors. Not even you.”
“Sorry I let you down.” Ellie returned his smile. “I assumed it was full of old packing boxes. It’s a cardboard graveyard down here.”
“What’s the golden rule?”
Ellie groaned. “Yeah, I know. Never assume.”
His smile broadened for a second then winked out. “Are you ready?”
“I suppose so.” Ellie had no idea what was in the crate. A shiver ran the length of her spine, and what should have been excitement started to feel a lot more like dread. Did she really want to know what her father had kept hidden from her all these years? The man was a scientist, it was not in his DNA to bury a research opportunity–much less conceal a body unless he had a very good reason.
Arnold slid back a series of bolts and the front of the crate popped open. Secured within a framework of timber was a giant glass tank. He handed her a torch. “Get up inside, so you can have a good look.”
Ellie stepped into the container and up to the crate. It was twice as tall as she was. She shone a beam of light into the tank. A dark mass floated in it. Her eyes widened. Whatever the creature was, it was huge. Ellie stepped closer. She took in the thick matt of black hair, the high forehead and hairless face, the wide flat nose, the puckered mouth showing an incisor the length of her arm. Where the neck should have been was a tangle of ragged skin. Her breath caught in her throat. The tank held the severed head of a giant ape.
Ellie stared at her father in disbelief. “Is that what I think it is?”
“A cryptid?”
“A bloody gorilla!”
“It is.”
She didn’t know what shocked her more. The sight of the impossible thing, or her father’s acceptance of it.
“They don’t grow to this size. Ever,” said Ellie, her voice tiny.
“Tell that to old Winston here,” said Arnold.
Ellie couldn’t take her eyes away from the magnificent beast. There was something sorrowful about the face despite its terrifying proportions. She rested her head against the glass. For a moment she wondered what it would have been like to be this close when it was alive. Feeling its hot breath on her body, hearing the beat of its heart, looking into its eyes, brown and deep, and seeing her fear reflected there. “You call him Winston?”
Arnold shrugged. “I thought it suited him.”
“Where did he come from?”
“Originally? An island off Indonesia, I believe. We acquired him through the Smithsonian.”
Her jaw dropped. “The Smithsonian? Do they have the rest of him?”
“I couldn’t say, but I doubt it.”
Ellie’s mind struggled with the improbability of the situation. “How is it that the scientific community doesn’t know about this? How does the entire world not know about this?”
“It’s been a well-guarded secret. Think of the implications if word got out a real King Kong had been found. It’d be open season on every island between here and China.”
“How does Merian C. Cooper figure into the equation?”
“He doesn’t. The man had a great imagination though, I’ll give him that. In a way he did Winston here a favour. Cooper created a monster so believable, the truth got lost in it. A lot of legends are like that.”
“If you tell me you have Bigfoot down here as well, I’ll scream.”
Arnold laughed and it was good to see his mood brighten.
“Aside from the fact I’m looking at the remains of one freaking ginormous animal, what’s hardest to get my head around is why the Smithsonian would part with something so incredibly important.”
“They didn’t have a choice. During the cold war they had to move him to keep him safe.”
“And they chose Adelaide?”
“Few people could stick a pin in a map to say where we are.”
“You may have a point, Dad,” Ellie agreed. “When did the museum get him?”
“Nineteen sixty-one. Stanley passed the secret on to me when he retired.”
“In all that time, did the Smithsonian keep in contact with either you or Stanley?”
“No, not a word. To be honest, I thought my friend here had been forgotten. Then out of the blue, I get a phone call.”
“From the Pentagon.” Ellie thought on this for a while. “I understand the whole high security aspect, but it doesn’t feel right. Why would the military want to get their hands on a giant gorilla?”
Arnold took off his glasses, wiped them, and placed them back on the tip of his nose. “That’s the bit that worries me too.”
“Where do you think they’ll take him?”
“At a guess, Pine Gap. After that, no idea.”
“Has anyone from our government spoken to you?”
“No.”
“Do you think they know what’s going on?”
“I’d like to think so. But then why didn’t someone from our end, pick up a phone and talk to me?”
“And you’re sure the person you spoke to is who they say they are?”
“Oh, yes. They knew too many details. The crate number, for instance. The date Winston arrived. Some things about Stanley. Plus, I googled the man I spoke to and couldn’t find a thing about him. A sure sign he’s legit.”
Ellie gave him a nudge. “Look at you, my father the master spy.”
She returned her attention to the creature in the tank. The task of preserving the animal would have been precarious. “If the head has been fixed with formalin, the DNA will be damaged,” she considered. “He’s in an ethanol mix?”
“One hundred percent pure ethanol. I tested it.”
“Bloody hell, they didn’t skimp on the alcohol when they filled the tank. How did you get access?”
“There’s a small hatch up top. It’s enough to get a hand through.”
“Have you taken any other samples?”
“Some hair and skin tissue from the scalp. And you’re right, he hasn’t been fixed with formalin. The DNA is still retrievable. Whoever preserved him did a good job.”
Ellie sighed. “I can’t believe you kept this to yourself. Did Mum know?”
“Your mother never could keep a secret. I loved her, but how she liked to talk. So, no, I never told her.”
“And you think I can keep a secret?”
“I’m counting on it. Although it makes no difference now. By tomorrow morning Winston will be gone, and no one will be any the wiser.”
“I get the feeling you’re going to miss him.”
“I will. I often come down here with a coffee and sit and talk to the old boy, after everyone has clocked off.”
“Talk about what?”
“Life. You know, the ups and downs of the everyday. How the world has changed . . . and how it hasn’t.”
This surprised Ellie. Her father wasn’t much of a conversationalist. When he did have something to say, it was more often than not about work.
“I also chat a lot about you.”
“Me?”
“Why not? Winston knows all the stories. He knows about the day you fell off the swing at school and broke your arm. How we both cried at the airport when you left to go study in Japan for a year. I read him the emails you sent while you were away. I told him about your wedding and how beautiful you looked. He knows about the little farmhouse you bought with Ava and all the rescue animals you’ve taken in. I even told him about your stubborn streak and how I let you win every argument we have.”
Ellie laughed. “Is that right, Dad? I never knew you were so generous . . . or sentimental.”
“Winston has taught me a lot. Learned some things about myself too. The least I could do in return was give him some company while he was down here in the dark.”
Ellie stepped up to the tank again and ran her hand down the glass. Once, this creature had been an apex predator. But no more. A thought niggled at her. “The US wouldn’t try to weaponize him, would they? Clone him, or do a Frankenstein number with the head, somehow?”
Arnold shrugged. “I’d like to say it couldn’t be done, but . . .”
Ellie paced the length of the crate and back again. “He’s been resting here for decades, why can’t they leave him be?”
Arnold didn’t answer.
“It doesn’t matter how big or fierce an animal is, humans will fuck them over. Every. Single. Time.” Ellie folded her arms across her chest. She had a fire in her belly. “Well, I say they can’t have him. He shouldn’t have been taken in the first place.”
“Ellie, I understand, but I’m afraid there is nothing to be done,” said Arnold.
“You didn’t raise me to be a quitter, Dad. You’re not one either.”
“The two of us can’t go up against the US military!”
“Why not? What can they do? I mean, c’mon. At the end of the day, they’re a bureaucracy like any other. Their wheels turn slowly, let’s take advantage of that.”
“I could lose my job.”
“How? The board loves you, and who’s going to kick up a stink if nobody else around here knows about this crate except you and Stanley–and he’s been dead thirty years? Here’s a thought. Maybe Stanley never told you a damn thing. Maybe the crate disappeared on his watch. Was there ever any paperwork?”
“No. It was only ever word of mouth.”
“So, how can anyone point a finger at you? All you have to do is put on your stuffy professor act and tell them, you’re very sorry, but there’s no computer record for a crate nine eight six. Our barcoding system is second to none, and nothing slips through the cracks here. But of course, if they want to go through every one of the five million archive records we’ve got stored somewhere, that’s fine. They will, however, need to go through formal protocols first.”
“What you’re saying is bury them in admin.”
Ellie grinned. “It works for everything else around here. I’m still trying to chase a research grant I lodged three years ago.”
By the look on Arnold’s face, Ellie knew he was entertaining the idea. He skipped ahead to the logistics. “Hypothetically then, if we do decide to give the middle finger to the most powerful nation on earth, how do you suggest we move Winston?”
Ellie tapped a finger on her lips. “How much does the crate weigh?”
“A lot. Let’s see if we can figure it out. A silverback weighs around two hundred and twenty kilos, correct?”
“Yes.” Working in a zoo for the better part of a decade, Ellie knew her primates.
Arnold stood back, hands on hips. “The movie monster version was about eighteen times the size of a male gorilla. Winston would be around that mark.”
“We only have his head to consider, so let’s keep it simple and say it weighs about a third of the body mass.” Ellie did a mental calculation.
“Don’t forget to factor in the Ethanol.”
“Ethanol weighs less than water. How many litres do you think he’s swimming in?”
They settled on a maximum weight of four tonnes for the crate and its contents.
“We need a truck with a crane,” said Ellie.
“Hang on.” Arnold pulled his phone out and punched in a number. It rang out and he called again. “Hi Griff. The whale carcass you brought in last week, how much did it weigh?” There was a pause. “Yeah, I know it’s the middle of the night.” He waited then held a thumb up. “Twelve tonne, heh.”
Ellie punched the air. Too easy.
“I know I’m stretching the friendship, but how soon can you get your truck over to the museum?” Arnold nodded and hung up. “He’ll be here in forty minutes.”
Ellie checked her watch. “Cutting it a bit fine, but it should work.”
Beads of sweat dotted Arnold’s receding hairline. “All we have to do now is figure out where the hell we are going to put him.”
Ellie tapped her forehead. “Up here for thinking, down there for dancing.” She shuffled her feet. The ideal location had already come to her.
***
Thirty kilometres north of Adelaide was the museum’s second research facility. The huge warehouses at Dry Creek housed tanks of water kept at body temperature, their sole purpose to strip the meat off the bone. Other tanks held colonies of slaters or dermestids that provided a similar service. Ellie was eight when her father had taken her out for her first visit. Observing life forms decomposing wasn’t for everybody and the smell took a while to get used to. Although she’d gagged at the whales rotting in the water tanks, Ellie’s fascination held. She still took the occasional trip out there when she could.
Griff Anders provided transport for the Dry Creek operations and was used to putting all sorts of strange things on the back of his truck. Ellie liked him. He was one of the good guys, got on with the job, and didn’t ask questions. For his efforts, all he requested was that the standard after-hours fee of two cartons of pale ale be upped to three, given the early callout. Ellie had a request of her own—Griff put his cigarette out. They didn’t need his nicotine addiction anywhere near a tank with a few thousand litres of ethanol in it.
They got the crate onto the back of the truck and out of the museum basement with fifteen minutes to spare. Security was not an issue. The surveillance camera in the loading area hadn’t worked in weeks—God bless funding cutbacks—and the guard on duty at that hour of the morning was on the other side of the complex, doing his rounds in the museum’s exhibition halls. Ellie went with Griff. Arnold remained behind, armed with a treasury of weasel words to buy enough time for them to get the precious cargo as far away from the Pentagon goons as possible.
On the South Eastern freeway, Griff’s truck joined the other overnight long-haulers. The journey was slow. On the way, Ellie got her phone out. The call she made involved a delicate negotiation. More personal than business. There was a lot at stake, and she couldn’t afford to stuff it up.
The truck reached the Monarto Zoological Park an hour before dawn. Ava, the head keeper at the park, met them at the western entrance. She was driving a backhoe. As soon as they entered through the gates, the chimpanzees in the primate enclosure started screaming. Lions paced their perimeter fence, their roars booming over 15000 hectares of safari park. Kangaroos bounded across the top paddocks, galahs shrieked, and the southern white rhino stamped its feet as they passed. Ellie shuddered. Somehow, the animals knew. One of their own was coming home.
In a large patch of dense scrub on the far side of the park, away from the tourist centre and viewing trails, Ava used the backhoe to scoop out a hole big enough to bury Winston. Ellie admired the way Ava got things done. No fuss, no dithering, no problem with making big decisions on the fly. She was smart and practical. Ellie would trust Ava with her life. That’s why she’d married her.
When Ava was done, Griff used the crane on the back of his truck to lower the crate into the grave.
“Thanks Griff. You are a legend,” said Ellie. “We owe you one.”
“No problem. Your dad has done more than a few favours for me over the years.”
“And if anyone grills you?”
“I delivered roadkill the museum didn’t have use for. Couple of big roos, couple of wombats. Frozen treats for the big cats.”
Ellie grinned. “Love your work, Griff.”
After Griff was gone, Ava rounded on Ellie. “Now tell me what you wouldn’t say over the phone. What’s in the crate?”
“If I said it was something from the large mammal collection, would you believe me?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“It makes no sense. Museums aren’t in the habit of dumping their research specimens or their exhibits.”
Ellie blew air through her lips. “How about this then. Remember when the Capri theatre was screening some of the old classics last year? We went and saw that black and white version of King Kong?”
“What the hell has that got to do with anything?”
“Humour me.”
“Alright, I’ll give you a free pass.” Ava narrowed her eyes, thinking. “The theatre had a man playing the Wurlitzer organ. It was your idea of a romantic night out.”
“That’s it. You teared up all the way through the movie.”
“It was sad. Of course, I cried. And I don’t care if it is all make-believe, no creature deserves to be treated like that.”
“You love your primates.”
“I love all animals. It’s why we do what we do, isn’t it?”
Ellie smiled. She knew how much Ava loved this park and would never leave—despite the long hours and the constant fight for funding. She was making a difference here. She’d worked hard to make a good home for the animals.
Ellie put her arms around Ava and kissed her. “Love you.”
“You’re not going to tell me what’s in the crate, are you?”
“Let’s just say, he’s someone special.”
“Nothing the palaeontologists will kick up a stink over?”
“No dinosaur bones, I promise,” said Ellie.
“Damn, I wanted it to be a monster lizard,” Ava joked.
Ellie licked her lips. “You got me, I stuffed Godzilla in a box.” She paused. “You can take a look if you want to.”
“No, it’s okay. As long as it’s not a shipment of drugs . . . or human remains, I’m good.” She smiled at Ellie and climbed back up into the backhoe.
Ellie stood at the edge of the hole, looking on as soil covered the crate. “Rest easy, big guy,” she whispered. The earth beneath her feet rumbled. For a brief moment she thought she heard a grunt, felt something sniff her face. A warm breath lifted her hair and then it was gone.
In the east the sun peeked above the flat horizon. A flock of corellas took flight. The lions paced the fence, and the giraffes and zebras grazed their pretend African plains. Behind a wall of glass, meerkats stood watch. In the primate enclosure, every chimpanzee bowed their head in silence, a tribute to the king resting among them.
Meanwhile, seventy kilometres away, Arnold handed a pen to a man in uniform, and watched him fill out an archive request form.
About the Author:
Chris Mason is a writer of short stories and novellas. She is a Shirley Jackson award finalist and has won several Aurealis awards and an Australian Shadows award for her work. Chris lives on Peramangk land in the Adelaide Hills of South Australia.
You can visit her at: facebook.com/chrismasonhorrorwriter or on twitter @Chris_A_Mason.
Once an isolated fishing community with dark secrets, Mandurah is now a thriving regional city with dark secrets.
