Serpentine

by Napier, Barry

  His crew – himself, Decker, Mags and Piers – had filmed the Great Lakes, been down to the Bayou, explored the icy wastes of Alaska. They'd only come home because their money ran out. Despondent, Paul had thought that was the end of their adventures and that this could very well be their last hurrah. He'd worried it might be somewhat anticlimactic after a year of chasing the legendary monsters that haunted the lakes of America. He'd fretted that outside of Nessie, the Highlands wouldn't have much to give, which just went to show what he knew. Turned out, Scotland did more than hold its own; it was a serious contender to the crown, which was typical, really. You went halfway around the world looking for something special when, in truth, it had been near enough on your front doorstep all along.

  “So – where is it?” The question broke through Paul's musing. He bit back a retort. Typical Piers. Here they were, in one of the most gorgeous spots they'd visited yet, and he sounded bored.

  “I don't know. Just wait. Decker won't be long.”

  They continued to admire the scenery until Decker and Yolanda finished filming. The question duly repeated, Decker pointed out over the water. “Look over there. From here it’s a bit hard to spot, but it's there.”

  They all squinted, following his finger. Paul was the first to let out a low whistle. Mags looked stunned, mouthing another 'wow'. Even Piers looked impressed. After a few seconds, Yolanda shook her head and fished her glasses out of her pocket. He allowed the camera to linger on her, to see how she fared. She was the new girl, brought in more as a favour to a friend than anything else, and Paul still had his reservations about her presence. She said she wanted to be a news anchor (didn't they all?) and being allowed to host their little adventure vlog would look good on her CV. Thank God she wasn't expecting to get paid; the work experience alone was enough.

  “My God, Decker. You weren’t kidding, were you?” Mags said.

  “Why? You think I was lying?” Decker said.

  “No… just over exaggerating.” She smiled. “Glad to see you weren't.”

  The angle of the late-afternoon sun made it difficult to pick out against the glittering backdrop of the water, but once you got your eye in, it stood out, as clear as day.

  A church spire.

  “No one knows the exact date the church was first built, but judging by its structure, they reckon it was around the fifteenth or early sixteenth century,” Decker said, answering their unspoken question. “As far as I know, by the time the valley was earmarked for the reservoir, it was half-flooded already following an earlier landslide further up the valley. Still, it’s pretty amazing, huh?”

  “God, yeah,” Mags said. “And we have permission to dive down there?”

  “Of course we have,” Paul said, a little too quickly. He tried not to wince as Mags' attention flickered from the spire and over to him. He contrived to look the picture of innocence, but Decker ratted him out with a single, incredulous glance. Mags frowned, and Yolanda's eyes widened.

  “Excellent.” Piers rubbed his hands together. Whether he was truly oblivious or chose to ignore the others silent reservation, Paul wasn't sure. “So, what's the plan, chief? Set up now, scope it out?”

  “We’re going up to the town first,” said Paul. “I thought we might interview a few locals, get the whole legend down from their point of view. Deck says there’s a guesthouse, so we can check in and make ourselves comfortable.” His gaze slid towards Decker, who resolutely refused to meet it. Paul held in the desire to roll his eyes at him. Not this again. “Anyway,” he continued, “we’ll go there, savour the local colour, see what we can dig up. Then we can set up some cameras to see what we can see.”

  “So… you really think there’s something in there?” Mags asked. “In the loch?”

  Paul nudged Decker, who shrugged.

  “I dunno,” he said. “I mean, whether there’s anything in it all. I grew up with tales of the loch… nothing too detailed, just that the church was haunted by something. Mam didn’t like us talking about it and I haven’t been here since I was a kid.” He folded his arms over his chest and turned away, making it clear he didn't want to answer any more questions. Paul sighed inwardly. He hated it when he did this.

  “That's why I figured it best to ask the locals,” Paul said. “Get their versions. Plus, no one can call bullshit on us if it’s townsfolk doing the telling.”

  That was the truth. It had taken a hell of a lot of defending their corner the last time they'd forgone the interviews. People liked local colour. Without local colour, people were quick to shout ‘fix’. No point going to a lake or a reservoir or whatever and trying to pin some kind of legend on it – people wanted proof in the form of seventy year old town patriarchs declarin’ that yup, this is the place where the monster lives, my grandpappy knew, he’d see’d it once, and that kid Billy got too close to the water and he weren’t never seen again…

  Well, they weren't going to make the same mistake twice. Revenue had fallen off a cliff after their last broadcast, and all talk of getting them their own cable series had dried up. This was their last chance to show that they were serious – and that they knew what they were doing.

  Paul was a little ticked off that Decker hadn't told him about this place before things had become this desperate, but that didn't mean he didn't understand. He knew his father had died a long time ago and maybe he didn’t want this particular circus to somehow sully that memory, but times were tough and audiences were fickle… Paul just hoped that sullying the memory of Decker’s dearly departed Dad was going to be worth it in the end.

  They all spent a little while longer admiring the scenery before they clambered up the track back to their vehicles: one beat-up Astra and a VW Camper in dire need of a tune-up that towed their small motor boat. The road up to Dùisg a' Pheacaich was winding and more pot holes than tarmac, and Paul was convinced it was only their collective will that kept both vehicles from crapping out on them completely.

  Paul allowed Decker to drive in silence, sensing his trepidation. Of course he had known about Decker’s childhood: that his father had died when he was a young boy and had subsequently been raised by his mother, but he’d never really offered any more detail – and Paul had never pushed him. After he'd told him about the Beast, though, he hadn't really had a choice. It had taken Decker a full day to summon the courage to tell him. Even then, he hadn't said much about it: his father had told him about the Beast of the Hollow when he was a boy whilst they watched the water together, and it hadn’t been so much a story as a warning, which is why he hadn’t said anything.

  Until now.

  He said his father had told him never to swim in the loch on account of the Beast, which kind of sounded more like something a good father might tell his inquisitive son in an attempt at keeping him out of trouble, at least for a few years. But he insisted the legend was true, that it wasn’t just his father’s invention – everyone in the village knew about the Beast, knew about the shadow in the water and the rumours of its taste for human flesh, and that despite their close proximity to a large body of water and potential to make money from fishing, no one in town owned a fishing rod, let alone a boat. Paul had pressed him, hoping for more details as a plan formed in his mind, but Decker said he couldn't remember anything else. As bad as it made him feel, Paul couldn't help but wonder if what he actually meant was 'wouldn't'.

  Paul swiped his thumb across the screen of his mobile phone. It sparked to life, greeting him with pictures of happier times: of them smiling by the Grand Canyon, of them sipping cocktails together in Florida, of Decker kissing his cheek whilst he laughed in New Orleans. He sighed. Not that he was unhappy now… no… not that…never that, but... He let his attention slide again to Decker. His jaw was tight, his hands on the wheel, rigid.

  Maybe they shouldn’t do this. Maybe they should just cut their losses and leave. He couldn’t stand what all of this was doing to Decker now, let alone once they actually arrived. But they were here, ready to go. This was th
eir last chance. Giving this up meant giving up the dream, their dream, and surely that was worse than Decker potentially bumping into family members he hadn’t seen in twenty-five years?

  Damn. No reception. Paul cranked the window open in the vain hope it might coax a signal out of thin air. There was a tantalising moment when it looked like it might have picked up something resembling a wifi connection, but it didn't hold. His mobile reverted back to an expensive plastic Filofax, stuffed full of memories Paul treasured more than anything else.

  Well, nearly anything else.

  “Brandon…”

  Decker’s eyes flickered towards him. Paul caught his look of concern and knew why. No one called him Brandon apart from his mother, and Paul knew this. It was his way of warning him the following conversation might be considered... difficult.

  “Yeah?” he said.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  Decker paused, his knuckles momentarily bleaching white as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

  “Yeah. Of course I do. This is what it’s all about, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know… I mean, usually, yes, but this is a big thing for you.”

  “Look, I wouldn’t have told you if I didn’t want us to look into it,” Decker all but snapped. Paul recoiled a little, surprised. Decker never snapped. He was the laid back one, the nice one, the one everyone warmed to. He supposed that was what upset him the most about all of this. That it was doing this to him. That he was doing this to him. Before he could arrange a suitable response, Decker let out a long sigh and reached out with one hand to pat his knee, an endearing old-biddyish gesture that made Paul crack a smile.

  “Seriously – I’m fine. It’s sweet that you’re bothered, but this is something I probably should have done a long time ago. Okay, so doing it with a camera crew in tow probably isn’t the best way of going about it… but hey, beggars, choosers and all that jazz. Chances are, no one will remember me and we’ll all just have a nice few days enjoying some good old fashioned Highland hospitality, get shitfaced on single malt and have fun scaring ourselves stupid with tales of boggins and beasties. If I’m honest, I wish I'd told you about this place before. Y'know, got it out of my system earlier. But Mam was always so...” He stopped and gave a little shake of his head. “Doesn't matter. Thing is, we're here now. I'm sorry I kept it from you. Whatever happens, the documentary and my family problems are two separate things. I won’t let them affect the shoot. I promise.”

  A tight ball of shame clenched in Paul’s stomach. Is that what Decker thought? That he was worried he was going to ruin everything? He stared out of the window and watched the trees rush by. He hadn’t meant it that way. They could bail, even now. Okay, so they'd have to dig up something else, but the shoot wasn’t everything...

  His face flushed pink as treacherous memories winked in and out of existence, flashing back to arguments, to worries both shared and entirely his own, to selfish, bitter words exchanged that it was about the shoot, without the shoot they had nothing, without the shoot they were fucked…

  “The new girl,” Decker said. “You think she’ll be okay?”

  Paul looked back. He knew the game. Change the subject to avoid difficult things. For once, he was grateful for it and played along willingly.

  “I think she’ll be fine,” he said. “She’s a bit green, but her audition went well and she seemed comfortable enough up by the loch. Piers and Mags say she’s very keen and she's easy on the eyes. She might be just what we need. Okay, so she may not be a believer-”

  “But then, who is, right?” Decker grinned, and Paul couldn’t help but grin back. This was far more comfortable territory.

  “Hey, we might not have found anything yet, but that doesn’t mean there’s nothing out there.”

  “Oh man, you crack me up. How long are you going to keep searching, Paul? If the truth is out there, I don’t see it banging on your door any time soon.”

  “Hey! You're one to talk. This is your recommendation, remember? If it’s all made up bollocks, why are we here?”

  As soon as the words were released, Paul regretted them. He wanted to steer clear of this and there he was, plunging headlong back into it all. Idiot.

  Decker checked his mirrors and snapped the indicator on. Ahead of them hung a sign – not the warped, battered mess he had been expecting, but a neatly painted banner that proclaimed: Fàilte a Dùisg a' Pheacaich.

  Paul didn't have a clue what it meant, but guessed it was a welcome sign. Even with Decker's coaching, he still struggled to pronounce the name of the town – it sounded something like Dooshk uh fyechkeesch, but he wouldn't like to lay money on it – and so had asked him what it meant in English so he could talk about it without calling it 'the village' or 'that place'. Decker had looked uncomfortable, and for a split second Paul had feared he would shut him out again, which would then trigger another inevitable argument, but thankfully Decker had mumbled 'Sinner's Wake'.

  Sinner's Wake. An odd name for a town, and a quick Google search hadn't dug up much, but it still played on his mind. Sinner's Wake. Who has sinned? And how? And what did it mean by 'wake'? Had sinners been awoken? Or did they go there to die? Was it all tied to the legend? And if so, how?

  That thought sent a little shiver of traitorous excitement down his back.

  “We’re here because we need something special,” Decker continued. Paul gave himself a little mental shake and focused back on his partner. “Do I believe there is something in the loch? I don't know. Chances are it is all just a load of old rubbish. But the legend is creepy, the people here believe in it, and that loch is beautiful in the most eerie, sinister way possible, especially after dark. And I figure that short of footage of Nessie herself, this is about as good as it gets for people in our trade. So that's why we're here, Paul. That reason, and no other.”

  Paul wished he could believe him.

  Nine Eyes is available from Amazon here