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Blood from Black Wattle

Stories abound of Black Wattle Station, bunyip aristocracy grown fat on stolen blessings. The homestead with its strange high tower dominates an ancient valley set silent midst blue-grey mountains. The town of Buckenbowra squats below: less blessed, half-ruined, timid and resentful. The mountain blacks have gone now, the gold diggings lie abandoned, and a full generation of young men are lost to the Great War.

The mountain wind whispers of past atrocity; tales of outrage and harsh dealing. Life and death here are ever uncertain.

The letter says that something terrible walks the mountain. Something that took a girl. The letter says you can still hear her calls in the night.

An Australian tale of the 1920s, set in the High Clyde east of Braidwood, eternal and unceded country of the Yuin Nation.

Together, we conjure a tale of sorcery and dark secrets, of family and tribe and all that blood tears asunder. We scream in the face of monstrous reality. We suffer the cosmic loneliness of love. We partake of a dreadful communion.

A touch of Cthulhu Gothic. Terrible. Wanton. Holy. Please roll SAN.

Blood from Black Wattle, An Australian story from John and Pip Hughes