FROM OUR CORRESPONDENT IN ALICE SPRINGS, NT

DUUL WAS A small town on the border of the Northern Territory and Western Australia. One dirt road led into town; and one dirt road led out. The next settlement was five hundred kilometers away. There were thirty five people in Duul, seventeen houses, and a small general store that doubled as a roadside pub. Until there wasn’t. Because in 1923, Duul disappeared. All of it. An unsolved mystery.

And so it remained until an old lawyer, who claimed he was over a hundred years old, walked into the offices of the Kookaburra Bugle. His name was Bruce Bruce and this is his story:

“The general consensus was that the ants had eaten the whole place. It was a huge story in its day because the whole town was just gone: buildings, animals, people, everything. All that was left was the desert and the wind, and a few twisted nails.

“Scientists and police concluded that a rare ant surge, something that might only happen in every ten thousand years – Aborigines have stories about such events – had descended on Duul.

“It’s called the Rightous Ant by the black fellas. They say it lives below ground and is the size of a man’s hand. Comes up only during extremely dry periods, or when the spirits are angry. They say it’s a magical creature. Well imagine billions of those magical blighters comin’ at you, like a tsunami. They could have consumed the whole of Duul in a single night, I’m told. Almost nothing would escape. Except maybe the odd nail. Anyway, Duul vanished, just like that and after many years it became forgotten.

“Except by me. Because, you see the Sydney law firm I worked for had represented Duul during the inquest into its disappearance. That file sat in my office for decades. Occasionally, I would read it and wonder. But over time, even I forgot about it. And so the story of the town consumed by ants was consumed by time.

“But that’s not the half of it. Bloody oath. I really don’t know if I should even be tellin’ youse this. Look, during the Covid lockdown, I was on a job out of town, and I got stuck on the north coast between Coffs Harbour and Byron Bay. In a small motel. Well, one day I broke the rules and I went for a walk. Down the coast. Damn it, I had to get out. I’m claustrophobic, you see, and so I went for that walk because I had to.

“Well I walked and I walked and I walked. I don’t know how long I walked for. And then the weather turned bad, really bad. Large black clouds, that looked almost solid, appeared suddenly, like someone had placed them there. I felt small, I’ll tell you. I don’t mind sayin’ I was scared – shitless. And then it just dumped on me. For an hour or more I was wandering around inside a washing machine. I thought I would die.

” And that’s when I found it.

“Duul. I recognized from the photographs in the file. It was exactly as it had been a century before. Right down to the sign saying ‘G’Day, it’s Duul’.

“It was sitting right by the coast, surrounded by woodland, just in front of the shoreline. A pretty little spot if it wasn’t for the storm. By this stage the wind was up to storm force, and the rain was falling in great sheets, cutting into me. The breakers had the beach and the whole mess made moving damn near impossible. I had to crawl everywhere.

“I went to the pub – the one that was also a store – but there was no one there. I knocked on doors but there were no answers. I eventually grabbed some shelter in a small shed. I was able to do so because one of the planks that made up its wooden walls was missing some nails. I managed to pull another nail out and that allowed me slide in to relative safety.

“When the storm finally stopped, I again tried to find someone, anyone. I tried to use my iPhone but there was no service. I filmed the place and took stills. I sent this to friends. I sent it to my law office in Sydney too. Eventually, I made my way back to the motel.

“I told the motel owner, I told local police, I told everyone I could what I had found, but when I tried to find the film of Duul, there was none, nor any stills, nor had my friends or office received anything from my phone. I tried to lead the police and emergency services to the spot but there was nothing there.

“I wound up in an institution. I took time off work. Finally, I resigned before I was pushed out. Law firms don’t like madmen on their staff. I did take the Duul file with me. They let me do that. They were glad to. Believe me, I thought I was mad too. Until, one day, sitting on a bench in Hyde Park, near the fountain, I found the nail in my pocket. The one I had taken from the plank – in Duul. Yeh!

“I asked police, I asked many Aborigines, I asked anyone I could, to explain to me what had happened. But I was considered doolally by everyone. Even the heavy-duty black fellas, the ones with the flags and the treaties they want signed, they would have nothing to do with me. I withdrew to the outback. Eventually, I drove back to the place where Duul had once been before the ants had consumed it.

“I was living in a Winebago and one evening as the sun was going down, an old Aborigine appeared at my fire. We shared some grog and we talked. I think I must have told him my whole life story. He just sat there and listened. And when I was finished he just stared at the stars.

“Imagine my face when he suddenly turned to me and said: ‘I’m from Duul, mate.’

“He told me it was all true. The ants had eaten Duul and that it now existed in the Everytime, appearing wherever it felt like doing so; that the people still existed but that they could not be seen by us unless they wanted to be; that they were happy by the ocean and that I should leave it alone.

“‘And you?’ I asked him after while.

“But he was gone.”

We have been unable to contact Mr Bruce since he gave this interview – ED