Kehua ! Kehua ! Kehua ! by Jo Friday I had a beach-house once, he said, a bach or crib, or whatdoyoucallit, out Ahipara Beach. Used to go there weekends, me and my dog. Nice dog, sheep with a bit of gun-dog in him, just enough so that he wasn't gun-shy. Intelligent, too. Nice companion. Beauty weekends, they were. Swimming, hunting in the hills, along the tops, or up to the gumfields when the wind was blowing off the sea, picking up the gum uncovered from the sand. Funny country, that. Sand way up on top of the hills, making out to be snow, and weird shapes carved out by the wind, and blue-gray, pink-gray driftwood, leaning all shadowy, and skulls along the deserted beaches, and rifle-shots ringing round if you tried to pick them up. Beauty times, me and my dog had then. Miss them now, in a way. Why did I sell the house? It was a nice house, an ordinary house, you know. That's what makes you scared. An ordinary house, glad to be there, homely, fire in the grate, comfy and cosy. Dog by my knee, asleep and me with a good book, content that it's soon to bed. That's what makes you scared. Like any other house, it was. Enter happy as you please, with no chills down your back, no warning voices in your head. A quiet evening, this was, as long and dark and silent as the grave. One of those nights when you catch yourself listening for noises, because you can't believe it can be that quiet. But no sound but the uneasy whining and pacing of the dog, and the half-heard whisper of the sea, and when there is a sudden rustle and tap on the side of the house you jump a bit, you're that startled. It's funny how the rustle of a tree and tapping branch can startle you, when it's dark and still and silent of an evening, and there's an uneasy dog by your side. Tap, tap. It was a bit further along the wall this time. The dog whimpered, as he pressed himself hard against my knee. Tap. Further along still. Tap, tap … tap. Funny how your imagination works. It sounded almost like a hand being placed against the wall for support. Or asking to be let in. I stood up, and listened uneasily. The taps now sounded as if they had progressed round the corner, and were moving along the other wall. The dog was moaning, not angry, but real scared, real scared. Are dogs psychic? Tap, tap along the wall. And then silence, complete silence, with uneasiness and sneaking fear creeping through my mind and muscles. Shaking myself, I picked up a torch and went outside. The dog wouldn't come. Silently the torch beam flicked mistily over wall and stones and unrustling grass, bringing reassurance and fear because it showed nothing, no evil shadow in the shadows, but no cat or moving branches, either. ‘Nothing there, nothing there,’ I said, but