“Well, why didn’t the poisoned frogs kill the bunyip?” said Geraldine, thinking aloud.

“Maybe it knew we had poisoned them?” suggested Garbarla.   He remembered his feeling of being watched three days ago.

“Possibly, but not necessarily,” said Geraldine.   “It might be simply that with this damn frog-plague going on, there are so many frogs about that it hasn’t got to the poisoned ones yet.”

“But three dogs and one dingo found them?” pointed out Garbarla.

“Yes, but there are hundreds of dogs and dozens of dingoes in this area.   To the best of our knowledge there’s only one bunyip.”

“So what are you saying?” asked Garbarla.   “That we have to just trust to luck that eventually it stumbles across the poisoned frogs?”   ‘Please God, don’t let her say that we have to paint every frog in the forest with poison!’ he thought.   He envisaged the two of them spending days or even weeks trapping and painting wild frogs.   “And then hope it doesn’t kill too many other people in the meantime?”

“No,” said Geraldine, pretending to have missed the sarcasm.   “I’m saying we have to poison a second lot of frogs.   But this time we have to make sure the bunyip eats them.”

“How?”

“By taking them back to my flat, of course.”

“So that it will come after us again for stealing its frogs,” Garbarla finished for her.

“Exactly,” she said.   She did her best to smile, but looked as scared as Garbarla felt, at the idea of using themselves as bait to kill the bunyip.

“All right, here we go again,” said Garbarla, as they set out to catch a dozen wild frogs.

*      *      *

By nightfall they had captured twelve frogs, taken them back to Geraldine’s flat and painted the frogs with the green-black poison.

“So what’re we do now?” asked Garbarla.

“Now we wait,” Geraldine said.

Realising they were both ravenous, they devoured a large microwaved pizza, and then headed for the bedroom to make love.

*      *      *

It was nearly dawn when Garbarla suddenly awakened.

“What the…?” he said.   For a second he wondered where he was.   Then seeing the dark-haired figure of Geraldine he started to snuggle against her.   Until he remembered why he had spent the night at her flat.

He shook Geraldine awake roughly.   “We’re supposed to be waiting for the bunyip,” he reminded her.

“Oh God, yes,” she said, leaping out of bed.

They hurriedly dressed.   Then carrying the two canisters of six frogs each, they returned to the lounge room.

They had only just reached the lounge and clicked on the light, when the bunyip crashed through the window again.   And landed on Geraldine’s sofa, which smashed to kindling beneath it.

“Stand still, it’s less likely to attack if you’re not moving,” Geraldine said.   “At least that’s the case with normal wild animals.   God alone knows with alternative reality creatures!”

For agonising seconds the bunyip stood on the ruins of the sofa, swishing its reptilian tail angrily out through the smashed window.   Its Tasmanian tiger head glared in their direction, its great eagle wings flapping slowly as thought it was about to take off again.

Although, seeing its steel-coil emu-legs, Garbarla was more concerned that it would charge them.   ‘Pooh!’ he thought, almost gagging on the smell of the creature.   In the forest it had smelt like a wet dog, but up close indoors it smelt more like rotting Hessian bags.

The bunyip took a small, almost kangaroo-leap forward a metre or so in front of the sofa.

Its swinging tail now thump-thump-thumped into the ruined sofa, occasionally crashing against the small coffee table on the left side of the sofa, quickly reducing it to kindling.

Nervously taking the lid off her canister of six frogs, Geraldine said, “Let’s hope this works, before it smashes me out of flat and home.”

Holding up the canister, she gently tossed the frogs in the direction of the bunyip.

For a moment the creature ignored the frogs and continued to glare toward Geraldine and Garbarla.   Its swishing tail had completely demolished the coffee table and began thump-thump-thumping against the ruins of Geraldine’s hi-fi unit, which it had wrecked on its previous visit.

‘Oh my God, it’s ignoring the frogs this time!’ thought Garbarla.

Then as the frogs began to hop toward the smashed window and freedom, the bunyip lurched sideways and began pecking them up like a chicken pecking up seeds.

“Here,” said Geraldine handing the second canister to Garbarla.   “Throw these when it’s finished the first lot.”

“Where are you going?” Garbarla asked as she headed toward her lab.

“I’ve got one last ace up my sleeve.”

“One last ace?” asked Garbarla, but she had already disappeared inside the lab.   Realising the bunyip had gone strangely quiet; Garbarla turned back and saw it glaring toward him.

The bunyip took one step toward him, and then Garbarla opened the second canister of frogs.

“Here you go boy, din-din time,” said Garbarla.   He shook out the frogs, trying to toss them back past the bunyip, so it would retreat to the other end of the room.   However, it adroitly snapped up three of the frogs in mid air and darted about, “pecking” up the other three in only seconds.

Then it turned back to glare at Garbarla again.

“How long will that poison take to kill it?” called Garbarla.

“Lord knows,” called back Geraldine, pushing a small metal trolley toward him.   “Anything from two minutes to two hours, depending upon its metabolic rate.   And frankly I don’t know too much about the metabolism of bunyips.”

“I was afraid you were going to say that,” said Garbarla.   He started to ease toward the bedroom door.   The bunyip followed him with its eyes, crying “Nelp!   Nelp!   Nelp!”

“Stand still, dammit!” ordered Geraldine.   “You don’t want to be trapped in the bedroom do you?”

“It depends on who’s trapped me,” joked Garbarla.   “If I was trapped by you, I probably wouldn’t mind.”

Geraldine laughed, and then said; “Now turn off the light and let’s hope this works.”

“Turn off the lights?” echoed Garbarla.   He stared, surprised as she pushed the trolley with a slide-projector on it into the laboratory doorway.

“Do as I say!” she ordered.

Reluctantly Garbarla did as instructed, reducing the room to darkness.   Except for the fluorescent glow of the bunyip’s eyes staring toward them.

There was a click, then humming as Geraldine turned on the projector.   Then a white square appeared on the lounge room wall.   She clicked in the first slide and a fuzzy greyish object filled the square.

Geraldine fiddled with the controls of the projector for a moment.   Finally the image of a giant black kangaroo came into focus.

“Nelp!   Nelp!   Nelp!” shrieked the bunyip, startled.

There was a crashing of ornaments as the creature’s crocodilian tail sent bric-a-brac flying as it turned hurriedly.   Then it went racing toward the shattered window.

“Nelp!   Nelp!   Nelp!” cried the bunyip, leaping out the window.

“There it goes!” cried Geraldine.

They raced across to the window to watch as the creature flew out over Glen Hartwell.

“Look at it go!” cried Garbarla.   Despite himself he was impressed by the speed and grace of the flying monster.

The bunyip covered the small country town in only a couple of minutes.   It had almost reached the start of the surrounding forest, before it let out a last shrill shriek of “Nelp!   Nelp!   Nelp!” then suddenly plummeted out of the sky.

“My God, it worked?” said Garbarla.   “The poison really killed it!”

“Yes,” said Geraldine.   She sounded a little sad.

“Surely you don’t feel sorry for that monster?” asked Garbarla.   But he knew even without being told that she half-regretted what they had had to do.   To change the subject, he asked, “Wherever did you get that slide?”

“I got Suzanna Hoffman to paint Kuperee for me, then photographed her painting and drove over to Bob Montgomery’s general store in Harpertown to get Bob to do a priority printing job for me.”

“What did he ask for payment?” teased Garbarla.

“For God’s sake, he’s an eighty-year-old man.”

“That wouldn’t have stopped me,” teased Garbarla.

“I bet it wouldn’t,” conceded Geraldine, allowing him to lead her across to the bedroom.

THE END

(c) Copyright 2011

Philip Roberts, Melbourne, Australia