Tinker’s Creek
by Imogen Hale
Pure, sweltering Australian summer. CHERRY (17) and BUCKLE (18) pick their way barefoot along a shallow creek that shimmers in the midday sun, all cutoff shorts and tan skin. Around them, there is nothing but dry bush for miles. Cherry is lithe and vulnerable in a bikini top, cloth bag slung over her shoulder. Buckle - tall, sun-blonde and sullen - observes her closely.
BUCKLE
Watch out for leeches.
CHERRY
(rolling her eyes)
Leeches had better watch out for me.
The creek glistens and disappears into eucalypt scraggle up ahead. All around, the bush hums with life; bird trills and kookaburra calls and the slither of blue-tongues in the leaves. Cherry surges ahead, a dark form nimbly stepping over sharp rocks and slippery moss. Buckle calls ahead to her, trying to keep up.
BUCKLE
You really think we're gonna find her? You really think you're gonna cover ground that all the helicopters, and the search parties, and the fucking – ow – sniffer dogs, or whatever, didn't?
CHERRY
I have to try, Buckle.
BUCKLE
You don't. It's been a month. The cops think she ran, so she probably ran.
CHERRY
Since when do you listen to cops?
BUCKLE
Since they started making more sense than you.
2.
Cherry slips a little, but rights herself. The sun is relentless, and so is she.
CHERRY
She didn't run. I know her. She's my best friend, and she didn't run. Something happened.
BUCKLE
Yeah, well. I knew her too.
CHERRY
It's not the same.
Buckle sighs, and wipes sweat off his brow. He manages to fall into step beside her, steadying himself on her arm.
BUCKLE
She was a bitch anyway, Cherry. Let it go.
Cherry shakes him off.
CHERRY
No.
BUCKLE
It's stupid. You're being stupid.
CHERRY
I'm not.
BUCKLE
You are. It's – the whole Tinker's Creek curse thing? That's a myth. You know it's a myth. Creeks can't kill people. The creek didn't kill Macie.
CHERRY
It's only a myth if it isn't true.
BUCKLE
Okay, so it's a myth.
CHERRY
It could be a person, and people just say it's the creek. Maybe there's a serial killer.
BUCKLE
3.
Pretty sure it was a thing before you were even born. Before your parents were born. A serial killer'd have to be immortal.
CHERRY
Could be more than one person, then. Could be a bunch of people, and everyone just lumped 'em all together into one big folktale.
Buckle overtakes Cherry, standing in front of her and blocking her way. He gives her a look.
BUCKLE
Or. It could be nothing at all.
CHERRY
(disbelieving)
You think all the missing people near this river ran away?
BUCKLE
I think we live in a shitty area.
Cherry tries to move past him, pushing him a little, but Buckle stays put.
BUCKLE (CONT’D)
I think you need to stop trying to find a reason, and start facing the truth. Macie's gone. She's not
coming back.
CHERRY
No. Fuck you.
She shoves at his shoulder again. Buckle grabs her arm.
BUCKLE
(warning)
Cherry.
Cherry strikes out at him, angry and unpracticed. She swipes her nails over his face. Buckle twists the arm in his grasp and Cherry cries out.
CHERRY
Hey!
She gets more vicious, pushing against him with all her strength. Buckle pushes back, angry now, until SMACK –
4.
Cherry slips. As she falls, she grasps at Buckle, trying to hang onto him – to no avail. She lands in the creek, and her head lands on a rock. Crimson slips in to join the steady trickle of the water.
CLOSE UP on Buckle. His face is unreadable – shock, or maybe resignation? He sighs and crouches down, pushing back the wet hair from Cherry's face, before moving her bag off her arm and onto his, then manoeuvring her body until he can pick her up. She hangs limply from his arms, and he staggers a little under her weight but begins to make his way back up the creek, in the opposite direction. The cicadas chirp. Birds screech. Tinker's Creek flows on until everything is washed away – until everything looks untouched once more.
Imogen Hale is an artist across multiple forms, originally from regional New South Wales, Australia. When she isn’t reading or writing, she can be found making and selling her clothing and artworks, taking photos, or seam ripping something. In this coming year, Imogen is commencing a degree in design for performance, working to combine her love for storytelling and visual art forms across theatre and film.