I grew up on the Isle of Wight. I wasn’t born there, but I moved there when I was about ten years old. I remember I went on an “adventure” with two of my friends. We had walked to a beach that was miles from our home town. It was starting to get late in the afternoon and they wanted to walk back home along the base of a huge chalk cliff but I strongly advised against it. I pointed out that it was getting late and that the tide would be coming in and we would get stranded out there. It was a good mile or two of ragged rocks with nowhere to go but forward. They didn’t listen to me. I didn’t listen to me. Stupidly I followed. It got dark and as I had foretold the tide did come in. We did get stranded. It was pitch black. My friend, the one who came up with the idea, he said we had to go into the water, that it was the only way. We couldn’t turn back as the tide had blocked that way as well and we would be further from civilisation if we turned back and went the way we came. I started to panic because I thought I was going to drown. No one knew we were there. I kept imagining the news headlines: “Three teenage boys go missing on Island”, “Witnesses say they may be lost at sea”, “Body washes up on so an so beach, weeks after boys go missing”. I remember thinking we could have been dragged out to sea and never seen again. My friend, he had to slap me around the face for me to calm down, I was hyperventilating. We had to wade into the freezing, black sea water up to our necks, all three of us clinging to the side of the cliff. I remember being able to see the lights of the hotel that was on the other side of the bay. I remember thinking that I was so close to safety to die, that it felt like some sick joke if I did. We did eventually reach dry land, clamoring our way up the smooth pebbled beach of Freshwater Bay. I told my friend I thought he was a dick, that this was the last time I was going on any of his stupid “adventures”. I was soaked to the bone, the water in my shoes was squelching as I stormed off home. I was shaking and hugging myself, rubbing my arms to warm myself up.
Looking back, I actually rate it as a pretty exciting experience. I wouldn’t want to do it again though.
I don’t exactly know how I got to be looking out of the window in the middle of the night but I was. Something had woken me up, a bad dream, a nightmare I think, I don’t remember what it was about. The light was off in the flat but there was a glow coming in from the street lamps outside. I peered through a tiny gap between the curtains that I held open with my two fingers.
Across the street, in the umbrella glow of one of the street lamps a man in a suit was standing there staring up at me. He wore an old style hat that wrapped his face in shadow so I couldn’t see what he looked like. I watched him for a while until I got real thirsty so I went and got a drink of water from the kitchen, by the time I’d gotten back to looking out of the window the man in the suit was gone. I checked up and down the street but couldn’t see anyone.
I took a sip of the water but drank it to fast, it went down the wrong hole and I coughed, choking on the water in my lungs. After a while the feeling went away and I sat in the recliner and rested my head against the back.
I couldn’t sleep so I turned on the television, I wasn’t watching any channel in particular. I kept flicking between channels creating a juxtaposition of imagery made up of snippets of advertisements and fragments of late night movies and documentaries and shows.
I stayed up until I couldn’t hold my eye lids open any longer. Keeping them open was to much of a struggle so I remember giving in and switching off the television and making my way to the bedroom. The bedroom was dark, no lights from outside illuminated anything in there.
I switched on the light and to my horror the man in the suit was sitting at the end of my bed, his back turned towards me, his hands resting on his knees. I couldn’t move, my hand was still hovering beside the light switch, every nerve in my body had frozen. The man turned his head slightly but I still couldn’t see his face from the shadow cast by the rim of his hat. The turn of his head was an acknowledgement of my presence.The man’s cracked lips parted, revealing crooked yellow teeth…
[Not sure where to go with this, I just liked creating the creepiness and unease of the situation ]
Gerald’s tie gently floated in front of his face with the movement of the current, he mistook it for a fish. The light of his torch carved a jittery path through the dark and murky waters as he juggled to keep hold of the torch which he held outstretched in one hand, his briefcase and a shovel in the other. With every step he kicked up clouds of sand. A solitary eel ribboned close by, for a second he mistook it for his tie. He moved quickly, otherwise the crabs would soon be drawn to him, as they always were. He’d been walking for hours. All of this is of course was purely metaphorical. He desperately needed to bury the secret as deep as he could. He decided that where he came to be standing at that moment seemed to be as good a place as any. He rested his briefcase down beside him and positioned the torch so that he and his close surroundings were illuminated. He stabbed the shovel into the sea floor, creating a small cloud of sand. He pressed his foot on the blade of the shovel and leaned his whole weight forward onto it, making it disappear beneath. The spider crabs had moved closer since he had started digging. He could see their long, thin, pale legs moving slowly through the dark towards him from the corner of his eye. His glasses had slipped to the tip of his nose, he pushed them back to his brow with his finger and continued digging. Soon, a cloud of disturbed sand enveloped him. Low, deep, bass tones and high pitched squeaks that had travelled from far away and possibly from near the surface vibrated through the waters as he dug deeper and deeper. When Gerald had stopped digging and the sand had begun to settle, he found himself standing just over knee level in a hole he had dug at the bottom of his subconscious. He opened his briefcase with two muffled clicks. He took out the little wooden box that was bound up with electrical tape. He carefully placed the box into the hole. The crabs had swarmed around him now in a frenzy, more eels had arrived too and were fluttering above him like hungry ties. Gerald hurried to pile sand atop the box in the hole, creating another cloud that engulfed him. Once the box had been buried and was out of sight he grabbed up his briefcase, the torch and the shovel, pointing the torch in the direction he had came, he started his long walk home. He passed the rusted shipwrecks of half forgotten memories and sunken shopping trolleys that symbolised who knows what, all the while being followed by a convoy of curious cretaceans. His secret was safe.