So, what happened last fall was me and my mates went to Wangaroo station for a camping trip. Just the six of us, friends since school; Ollie, Hamish, Lucas, Dom, Banjo, and Jay (me). We go somewhere every year, at a place supposed to be haunted, because my kid brother, Ollie, believes in ghosts, and wants to see one.

Ollie picked Wangaroo because it's got a billabong, called Lost Sheep Billabong, supposed to be haunted by the ghost of a swagman who traveled from station to station shearing sheep. The legend says that over a hundred years ago, the Swagman worked Wangaroo one season, got paid off, and waltzed on to the next station. He never arrived. A search found his remains, and his Matilda by the billabong where we were to camp.

Ollie was sure we'd see a ghost this time. Ollie is ever hopeful. I don't believe in ghosts, and don't want to find out I'm wrong. I asked Ollie, "Aren't you afraid of ghosts?"

"Jay," He said, "Australia has 170 snakes; a hundred of them are poisonous. Poison spiders lurking in trees and little holes in the ground, and possibly, your shoes. Swim in the ocean and avoid box jellyfish, if the poisonous sea snakes don't get you first. Or the Saltwater crocs. Or the Sharks. What can a ghost do you?" That May we found out what a ghost can do you.

Bruce, the resident manager and one of the owners, told us the story before we drove to the outstation near the billabong. There actually was a swagman buried there. "The legends say the swagman was welcome for news and stories, and his amazing way with sheep. He was often offered permanent work, but refused to settle down. He probably died of old age or illness, for a body was found at the billabong and buried there. Or the Swagman wandered to the next station and out of history. Funny thing, the pond is called Lost Sheep Billabong because when we lose a sheep we usually find it there."

Wangaroo was so vast it had an outstation where Bruce left us with directions to the billabong. He double-checked we had directions, supplies, and our cell phones were charged. "You're alone out here. The outstation may not have anyone there every day. Use your phones if you need help." He told us if we heard talking at the billabong, no worries. Ollie's eyes gleamed. "It's not a ghost. We had a blue budgie named Bluey that talked a streak, huge vocabulary. Sang 'Waltzing Matilda.' Learned new words quick like. Bird escaped one day and joined the budgies living in that billabong. He taught the budgies to talk and sing. Some visitors tell us a blue budgie comes to camp, talking a blue streak, and begs for food. You can hear the other budgies talking in the trees. Here's a bag of seed you can give them." Ollie's face fell.

We drove the truck to the billabong, a pleasant spot with trees and grass. A few sheep wandered in the distance. Tiny green flashes were budgies flying to and fro. We pitched our tents where we could just see the billabong through the trees.

It was near sunset, so Ollie, a chef, fixed a fine meal. Budgerigars returned to roost in the trees. The sky darkened, and the moon rose behind the billabong. We turned in for the night.

"Waltzing Matilda" sung by small shrill voices woke me up just after dawn. I left the tent to see several green budgies and a blue one on the ground. They continued singing as we got up and started the day. They flew away when we got near, landing farther away.

"'You'll come a waltzing, Matilda, with me,'" the birds twittered. They began pecking about for seeds. I got the bag of birdseed and tossed a handful at them. They rushed the spot and began gobbling. The blue budgie looked at me, and asked, "Where's Ewenice? I miss you, Ewenice. Ewenice!" The birds flew to the pasture where jumbucks grazed, and disappeared.

"Who's Eunice?" Ollie asked.

"Dunno," I said. "Let's get breakfast and take a hike."

After a busy day, hiking, playing footy, and watching sheep do whatever sheep do, we settled down and Ollie prepared another fine dinner. We got beers from the cooler and drank them as the budgies returned. A small flock, led by the blue budgie, settled near us. Ollie threw them a handful of seed. The birds ate and began talking.

"Where's Ewenice? Come back, Ewenice, I'm so lonely without you." The birds chattered. The sun set; the sky darkened, and the birds flew away.

"There's that Eunice again," said Ollie. "We'll have to ask Bruce if he knows anything about her when we go back to the station house."

"Right enough. I need to wash up," I said. I looked for the plastic tub we used for water. It had overturned somehow and was empty. "We need water. We can get it from the billabong."

"I'll go," said Ollie. He picked up two buckets and disappeared among the trees around the  billabong. A few minutes passed.

"Ewenice? Ewenice? Is that ewe? Are ewe back?" A faint, happy cry came from the billabong.

Ollie shrieked. "Yaaaaaaa!" We ran towards the sound of his voice. He shot out of the trees as though he'd seen a ghost, ran to us and fell on his knees. His face was pale and ashen with fear.

"He's coming for me."

"Who?"

"The Swagman," Ollie gasped. "The one buried here. He wants company and he's coming for me." Ollie shuddered and put his face in his hands. He mumbled, "Don't let him take me."

Lucas and I hauled Ollie to his feet. He staggered, and Lucas put Ollie's arm around his shoulder and walked him to the tents. "No worries, mate. We'll protect you from the mean ghost." Lucas winked.

Ollie jumped away. "He's real. Real! The Swagman is coming for me to keep him company. I want to go back to the station house!"

Ollie was hysterical, so Dom offered to drive him back. We got him in the truck and Dom turned the key in the ignition. It ground over and stopped. Dom turned the key to the same grinding sound. The tank was almost full; we could find nothing wrong with the car, but it wouldn't start.

"Don't wear out the battery, Dom," I said.

Dom sighed. "How do we get him back? It's miles to walk in the dark, and we don't know the way. My phone can't get service.

We checked our phones. No service, although there had been service earlier.

"We'll have to walk in the morning," Banjo said.

"He'll come for me! He's so lonely without Ewenice!" Ollie wailed. He jumped out of the truck and ran off in a random direction. I ran after him and led him, shivering, back to the group.

"We'll take turns standing watch tonight," said Lucas. "One of us will stay in the tent with you."

The commotion roused the birds. "Is Ewenice back?" One of them twittered.

We put Ollie in his tent, and sat outside the flaps.

"Ollie's really frightened," Dom said. "I wonder what he saw."

"We'll check tomorrow," I said. "If something is there, no point in trying to see it in the dark."

"Right," said Hamish. "I'll take the first shift. Wake you up in three hours, Dom." We went to sleep. The night was quiet, no birds, no ghost looking for Eunice.

Just before dawn, a cacophony of screams and yells woke me up. I ran from the tent to see Ollie being dragged away by a pale, ghostly figure in clothes from a century ago. The ghost of the Swagman. Dom and Banjo were trying to pull Ollie away without success. Ollie shrieked and punched at the ghost, his fists going through the incorporeal form. I joined the blue with Hamish and Lucas, but the Swagman's specter held on to Ollie, forcing him to the trees while our hands slipped through his cold, cold form.

"I've been so lonely without you, Ewenice," a thin whisper gave me goosebumps. "I'll call you Shep. Shep, my friend, come with me to the billabong; we'll go waltzing Matilda. I'll never be lonely again."

We were almost to the woods when the sun began to rise. "Hurry," said the Swagman. "We've got to go before the sun." A sunbeam touched the Swagman and he disappeared. Ollie collapsed on the grass, moaning.

Hamish checked his wrist. "Pulse is slow. He's ice cold." Ollie's eyelids fluttered and he groaned.

We carried him to camp and settled him in his tent. I covered him with a blanket, but he was still cold and shivering. Ollie opened his eyes and grabbed my arm. "Jay," he whispered, "the Swagman is coming for me tonight." He closed his eyes, breathing hard, then opened them again. "He'll find me wherever I go." He slept then, but tossed and turned.

"Try the truck again," I said. It still wouldn't start.

Banjo and Lucas took water bottles and started walking to the substation. They could contact the main house from there.

Hamish and I sat by Ollie's tent. "Anyone hungry?" Hamish asked. "Maybe Ollie will eat something."

He fixed breakfast. I got Ollie to eat a little. We heard budgerigars. "Where's Ewenice? I'm so lonely." They sang "Waltzing Matilda." The flock, led by the blue male, which must have been Bluey, settled by us. "G'day," they chattered, "G'day, mate," and so on.

Bluey flitted over to the bag of birdseed and landed on it. He pecked at the plastic, but couldn't reach the seeds he could see inside. He looked at the bag, then at us. "Seed. Now."

"Smart bird," said Dom. He tossed seed on the ground. The flock began eating.

They had almost finished the seeds by the time the sun was up. On a whim, I asked, "Where's Ewenice?"

Bluey said, "Small billabong."

"Did that bird answer you?" Hamish gaped at the bird as he shelled a small seed and ate it.

"Yes," said the budgerigar.

"Where's Ewenice?" I asked again.

"Told. Small billabong."

"Nobody told us about a small billabong." I watched Bluey eating seeds one after another. He could talk but surely not understand what he said. His answers seemed logical, though.

"Dry now," said Bluey, searching among the hulls for seeds. When he couldn't find any, he flew to the tent stake. He lifted a small pink foot to his head and scratched. "Seed. More."

"Show us Eunice," I said.

"Ewenice," said Bluey. "Small billabong."

"Right, mate. Small billabong. Show us Eunice."

The budgie flew a few feet away and settled on a twig. He looked at us.

"Lucas, you stay with Ollie. Hamish and I will follow Bluey." About half a mile away was a copse, much smaller than our campsite. Bluey settled on a bush there and waited for us. His flock joined him. "Ewenice," they cheeped.

The billabong, dry but for a few puddles, was in a depression, and we walked down to it. There, grazing by the lakebed, was a sheep. Bluey landed on the sheep. "Ewenice."

Ewenice was a white merino about the size of a St. Bernard, mostly wool that enveloped it in a cumulous of white fleece. A small face and ears poked out of the mound.

"Ewenice hasn't been sheared in years," Dom said.

"The Swagman's been hiding her in the billabong, I reckon," I said. "Good on you, Bluey. Let's get her back."

Easier said than done. Ewenice couldn't make it up the incline to the pasture. Dom and I had to lift some of the weight of wool off her and urge her along, trying not to breathe in sheep smell. It took a while, but we got her back to our billabong. Bluey landed on the tent. "Ewenice," he said, "Ewenice," and was joined by his flock in a chorus of Ewenices. "Seed. All." I tossed the birds a huge handful.

Soon Bruce arrived with Lucas and Banjo. Another truck followed with a young woman. Bruce introduced us to his daughter, Lil, a district nurse.

She checked on Ollie. "He's dehydrated, Dad. I want to get him back to the station house."

"Right," said Bruce. He was inspecting Eunice. "This is Ewenice. She disappeared five years ago. So this is where she's been. Let's get her in the truck and take her home." With effort, we got the sheep in the truckbed. We all went back. I drove Lil's truck while she sat with Ollie. We talked, and something began between us that day.

At Wangaroo House, Ollie was put to bed. We told Bruce and Lil what happened.

"So that's why we couldn't find Ewenice." He spelled it e,w,e,n,i,c,e. "The swagman hid her. Ewenice is being inspected by our best herder. I'll shear her this afternoon and we can return her to the billabong, if she's well enough."

Ewenice was shorn of 37 pounds of wool, a record for the station. She was very old for a sheep, but in fair shape. Bruce, Lil and I drove her back and let her go.

"Ewenice is back! Ewenice!" budgies chirped. Some began singing bits of "Waltzing Matilda."

The house was quiet that night, no ghosts, and Ollie was better. He got up and ate dinner. The Swagman was apparently happy Ewenice was back, and the haunting was over.

We stayed at the house for the rest of our trip. A few days later a worker told us Ewenice was dead. Bruce and some workers buried her in the billabong, with her Swagman.

That was a year ago. This year my mates and I returned to Wangaroo for my wedding with Lil. That's in two days, then we're off to honeymoon at Bondi.

I drove out to the billabong, to see what was going on. It was peaceful and quiet, sheep doing sheep stuff in the pasture, budgies flying overhead. Bluey landed on the truck. "Seed," he said.

"I didn't bring any, mate. Thanks for helping with Ewenice. The Swagman must not be lonely with her here."

"Walkabout."

"What?"

"Gone. Walkabout. Bye-bye. Seed." Bluey cocked his little yellow head on one side and looked at me.

Were the Swagman and his Ewenice gone from the billabong? If I believed a small blue budgerigar, they'd gone waltzing Matilda.

"Thanks, again, Bluey. When I come this way again, I'll bring you seed." I got in the truck and started the engine.

"Seed." Bluey flew in the window and settled on the steering wheel. "Home. Seed."

"OK, mate. Home and seed." I drove off. Bluey settled on my shoulder, pecking at my hair and shirt. He talked a streak on the ride home, all nonsense. He talked often after that, but, except for "Seed. More." never said anything sensible again.