by Russell Waldron

Created on: July 15, 2009

The ghost of Mary Martin:

One dark moonlit evening gathered around a campfire, six teenagers huddled around the glowing embers of the fire while their scout leader created an atmosphere of incredible suspense. Campfire ghost stories bring such an element of profound fright yet a touch of excitement as well. Cory, Luke, Wayne, Daniel, Ricky and Joel, sixteen year old lads from the small town of Jimboomba, Queensland Australia sat totally mesmerized while Grahame Masters told the story of Mary Martin's Ghost.

Mary Martin was a witch with one blue eye one brown. It's said that she could freeze a rabbit in its track just by staring at it. Masters said, enjoying having the limelight as per usual. Gosh Mister Masters, cheeky Luke Bubb butted in, My mum can freeze me and my dad in our tracks just by raising her voice, that's no great feat! Masters guffawed loudly and the others boys laughed heartily, Luke's mother Janette had a reputation for getting into a host of heated verbal disputes around the town. She was well know for packing a good right hook as well.

Swatting at a mosquito which had landed on his hairy muscled arm, Masters continued. It's said that the story of Mary Martin is true Luke, allow me to continue. Luke rolled his eyes and the other boys chuckled, their scout leader certainly loved the sound of his own voice. But the boys loved him, he was somewhat a surrogate father to these boys considering they all came from dysfunctional homes. Come one Mister Masters we've all heard that story before, tell us a different story please, piped up Cory Martins. Masters scratched his head, Hmm a different story, oh well ok, have you heard the story of the Demon Creek Ghosts? The boys shook their heads and urged him to continue, this sounded much better than the boring old story of Mary Martin's Ghost. They'd heard that one a million times.

One night way back in 1826 a group of men were camped on the western side of Heatherdale Creek. They'd been droving cattle for weeks, they were exhausted, sunburned, saddle sore and fed up with the unpredictable weather. One day the rain would lash at them relentlessly, the next day the sun would be scorching their chafed tanned faces. There were only three days of mustering left and then they would be back at the homestead, warm, comfortable and eating thick steaks and corn on the corn laden with butter.

As the scruffy unshaven bunch of cattlemen sat around their campfire telling jokes, Ramn Latimer the cook, put

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