Write... Edit... Publish... October 2022 : Thriller

 

Time to get back to Write…Edit…Publish… for the funnest of the challenges – the Halloween fearfest. This year we are writing to musical prompts and MJ's Thriller is the one for the Halloween month. Do please note however, that WEP welcomes all genres apart from the creepy and spooky too (except erotica).

My October has been insane, super-mixed -  family visiting from the US, a power outage, an evacuation and two main festivals - head's spinning. Rather a lot of people I know who're going through stressful situations, that's been worrying too. Keeping them all in my thoughts and wishing them well and able to cope with their respective challenges. 

So - a serious crunch in writing time, let alone editing. I’ve chopped as ruthlessly as I could but am a tad over the word count still, the original was 1700+ and I got whittle fatigue and gave up. My apologies.

A Different Route to Return

 

There was a rickety pier, just off the port, opposite the Lequana island. One could get a boat there and leave all one’s troubles behind. The waves always rocked Eddy to peace. He used to sail out on one of his own in another lifetime. Now he had to hire one. He smiled a crooked smile. 

But he would do it all over if it could bring her back. She used to quote Kafka at him, everything that you love, you will eventually lose, but in the end, love will return in a different form. He never wanted any other form. He touched the mother-of-pearl crucifix around his neck, as if by touching it he could touch her. Something that had been constantly next to her skin was now next to his.

 

There were only two boats at the pier, with an old boatman. He was taken aback by the request to go out alone. But something in Eddy’s face stopped questions.

 

As Eddy stepped off, the beam from the lantern fell on the hull. Thriller, in plain letters, flashed and faded from view with the motion of the light, wind and waves. An odd name for this tiny craft, but no doubt it went down well with the tourists.

 

The engine took on the second try. He guided the boat out, beyond Lequana’s shoreline, out where there was no one. No city noises, no fisherfolk, no birds, not even a fish breaking through the water, only the phut-phut-phut of the engine. He switched that off too and half-reclined, his back against the wood. The tide was moving. The waves lapped against the hull. The sky had darkened, the city was just a smudge of lights on the horizon.

 

***

 

Life is like the tides, rising and ebbing on a preset schedule that brooks no interference. They lift and snatch away unmoored things, washing them out to sea like so much driftwood. They fling around mammoth size logs as though they were matchsticks. The shores receive them and are changed forever, infinitesimally and yet, monumentally.  

 

Opeli had come to him like that, brought to him like a ship brought in to harbour on a sure tide. She was just eighteen. He had his mind made up in that one split second.

 

There was a deluge of objections – different communities, religious denominations, social status, the gaping difference in age. He dealt patiently with them.

 

He defeated the whole choreography of prejudice and fear, the cruelty, the pettiness in the name of traditions, the narrow definitions of what was permissible and forbidden. He fought the zombies that danced outside and he won.

 

But he could not fight those that took hold internally, the ones that danced in her blood, in her very bones. Even so, he had tried his utmost. Sold off whatever had any value to take her abroad for treatment. But who can wrestle the tides? They had come in a tsunami. Her life seeped out with the ebbing tide.

 

***

It had gone quite dark. There were a million stars but no moon. Eddy sat up and blinked at his phone. No signal, obviously. It was later than he had expected, he must have dozed off and drifted out. The smudgy city lights had vanished.

 

He pulled on the starter cord. Nothing. Again. Third time. Fourth. Still nothing. He leant over and gave the engine a few hard raps. As he straightened up there was painful tug at his neck, the chain caught,  snapped and fell with a tiny but catastrophic plop into the water. Eddy was dumbfounded. A flutter of horrified panic bloomed in his chest – Opeli’s crucifix was gone! He beat the panic down, yanked one last time with all he had. No, nothing. This engine wasn’t starting. He slumped back, disoriented, utterly disheartened, at a loss.

 

It wouldn’t do. He found the oars. A long time since he had rowed but it was calm and he was strong.  He turned and steadied the tiny boat, plotting a course by the stars. Once the city shoreline came into view it would be easy. The old boatman must be freaking out. How could he lose the crucifix? How had he been so stupid? Why couldn’t he see Lequana’s outline, how far had he strayed?

 

He pulled through the waves, half  his mind revelling in the challenge of this journey, the other half lamenting the crucifix. His senses adjusted to the rinse of the starlight, attuned to the steady, rhythmic rise and fall of the oars. By and by, he became aware of something else on the waters, just beyond the range of his rowing. His heart raced.

 

But it was not a hostile creature, it was a human shape. Calling for help.  Eddy stopped and allowed it to climb aboard - a young man, dripping and drawn with exhaustion.

“Too far out for swimming practice, no?” Eddy said after he had got his breath back.

“No, not swimmi…I got pranked. We’d come to Lequana for the day, my friends left me behind.”

“So you thought you’d swim back?! In the dark?!”

“No, actually I wanted to find another boat and hitch a ride. But everyone had left. So…”

“Lucky I saw you then…you were totally off course..”

 

***

 

The stranger offered to row. Eddy didn’t demur. He was surprised at how quickly the lights came into view once the job was shared. Within minutes the port lights were on the horizon and next instant they were headed straight for the pier - magic speed! They docked in silence. A small stab of unease prodded Eddy, but he could not pin down the reason.

 

The old man was livid. Was Eddy aware of the time? It was nearly ten. Wiser not to take a boat out alone, especially at sunset. Eddy pointed out he could handle boats and besides, he hadn’t been alone for the return.

“This guy helped me row back.”

Eddy turned around. His rowing partner had vanished. There was no-one. Just the darkness and the vastness of the ocean.

“Don’t see anyone,” the boatman grumbled. “You'll pay for late hours and extra time.”

Eddy’s unease ballooned into his throat. How had the fellow known precisely where Eddy had started from? Who had rescued whom?

As he reached for his wallet, he felt something puddled next to it. He hooked a finger and drew it out. The chain fell to its full length and the mother-of-pearl crucifix glowed softly in the starlight, warm and dry against his forearm. As though the tides had never taken it. As though it had been on him all through, guiding him home.

WC - 1111

FCA

Tagline : In the end, everything returns via a different route and in different forms.

 

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