‘Mr Michaels is still over there,’ said Georgia. ‘He’ll catch you.’

‘Not if Jasmine flashes her boobs.’

Cierra began filming.

‘We’re here, at the Western Bluff campsite,’ said Madison to the camera. ‘This is the only place any trace was found of the girls who went missing in 1985. Both of Rose Cahil’s shoes, laces neatly tied, sitting side by side at the edge of the cliff just behind us . . . and a torn scrap of her jeans inside the Trapper’s Hut. They say her ghost still haunts the hut.’ Cierra swung the camera around towards it. ‘Everyone knows to never go inside at night.’

Carmen shuddered. ‘I would like to be able to sleep tonight, Maddy. My tent is right next to it.’

‘The Hungry Man Abductions. Five girls, all disappearing within two months of each other,’ continued Madison. ‘Mallory Andrew, fourteen, last seen walking along the school track. Yolanda Swift, sixteen, taken while walking through Devils Gullet: her parents were only metres away but didn’t see a thing. Victoria Compton, sixteen, while —’

‘Stop,’ squealed Carmen, hands over her ears.

Madison continued listing the details of each disappearance, finishing with, ‘And, one survivor . . . little Dorrie Dossett, fourteen years old. Who told us all about him, the bushman who took them.’ She paused. ‘The Hungry Man.’

‘What’s happening over here, girls?’ said Jack, approaching from the other side of the fire.

‘We’re just telling ghost stories, Mr Michaels,’ said Jasmine.

Cierra had quickly hidden the phone in the front of her jacket, but the camera was still visible, and still recording.

‘The Hungry Man is tall: freakishly tall,’ said Madison, ignoring Jack.

‘Hey, Madison, you know you’re not supposed to talk about that stuff,’ he said.

‘He wears a bushman’s hat, and his face is long and ghostly white. He hides in the bush beside you and, if you listen carefully, you can hear his footsteps matching pace with yours. If you call out, he won’t reply: but you’ll hear his breathing. If you make eye contact with him . . .’

‘Alright, that’s enough, Madison.’

‘What’s wrong, Mr Michaels?’ said Cierra, surreptitiously training the camera on him. ‘Scared of a ghost story?’

‘Even before 1985, there had been rumours for years that a hermit bushman lived in these woods,’ continued Madison, pursing her lips seriously, her hair creating a dramatic frame for her face. ‘Sometimes you could see the smoke of his campfire. Sometimes you heard gunshots as he hunted game. And once . . . they found the bones of a woman, who he’d eaten clean, and her shoes, the laces neatly tied.’

‘That never happened.’

‘Then who took those girls, Mr Michaels?’ said Madison. ‘What happened to them? Little Dorrie Dossett saw the Hungry Man. He kidnapped her from her own backyard.’

‘Dorrie Dossett had Down’s syndrome.’

‘Doesn’t mean she’s a liar,’ countered Madison.

‘Theodore Barclay was —’