In his haste, Steve hadn’t the foresight to transport to a bathroom where he could clean his appearance, after all he barely had time to register what had happened and still didn’t fully understand the complexities of Thai culture. He had found himself in one of Moscow’s famed subway stations. One that looked more like a palace than a hub for public transport. Good old Soviet Russia, where subway stations enter you… and leave a lasting impression in your mind at just how spectacular they are. Needless to say, the site of a teenage boy trapesing through the grandiose station covered in blood and wearing nothing but jeans and a t-shirt in a somewhat brisk climate did draw some attention from the pedestrians, but as with any major city, especially capital cities, everybody was far more interested in getting to work to earn just enough money to scrape by and pay the extortionate rent/mortgage… adult life sucks. Therefore aside from the perplexed glances Steve was receiving, nobody considered helping the lad.
It dawned on Steve that he should probably take a shower and a change of clothes. The first place that came to mind was not his mother’s home, but the hotel suite in Morocco. He did love the idea of the corner bath if not the actual purpose of it. The shower, however, was a thing of beauty – A wide central shower head with additional jets on each side, space large enough to do lunges and perfectly scented shower gels. In an instant he was there and stripping his clothes off. Steve felt like he could stay in that shower for days, unfortunately that was not possible given that the room’s main door was opening.
Unbeknownst to Steve, the cleaner and the security guard had formed a wonderful relationship after that night. Truly a tale that they would tell their grandkids. It was a mysterious night, your grandmother was trying to enter one of the luxury suites to carry out the routine inspection before the guests arrived. But oh no! The door was locked. The guests weren’t scheduled to arrive for another day, how could this be? She pushed and pushed with all of her might but could not break into the chamber. So she came to your dashing grandfather, I was a guard at the time, guarding the hotel against all evil and ne’er-do-wells, to help with this impossible door. So I heeded the call and forced the door free with all of my might. In the gloom, we could hear the rumblings of a foul beast lurking in the bathroom and speaking in tongues. But when we opened the door, there was nothing. Probably fled the scene at the very thought of me vanquishing it. Alas, for in this tale of glory and love, there is a tale of woe. I went home that night and told my tale at the dinner table. For my sins, I was banished from the house, doomed to live a life of sadness at the hotel that became my prison. That was when I found your grandmother, the very same woman who saw me vanquish the beast of the suite. The security guard was a drama major. Obviously he would have to leave out the part where the cleaner and the security guard would frequently go back to that room and have rampant intercourse to keep the demon from ever returning, it was likely that their grandkids’ parents were conceived on that bed. It was for that reason that the two hotel employees were entering the room and paused when hearing that the shower was in use.
“Get behind me, my love. The beast has returned” The guard said to his sweetheart.
Steve had washed the blood from his face and was finishing up in the shower.
“My love, I am so scared, how will you defeat the beast?”
“I will defeat him as I did last time, my love” Considering the cleaner was present the last time the beast appeared, it was puzzling why she went along with this as the security guard had done literally bugger all.
The towels had turned a rather exuberant shade of red after Steve had wiped himself down, there was also a little streak of brown but Steve chose to ignore that and proceed to use a different towel for the remainder of the drying. When the guard kicked the door down, Steve was bent over drying his feet, surrounded by red towels (with little brown streaks) and an expression of shock. The guard covered the cleaner’s eyes to save her from the hideous sight. Then Steve vanished.
“He has gone, my love. I have defeated him once and for all” The guard removed his palm from her eyes.
“It’s horrible, HORRIBLE! What foul creature could do such a thing?” The cleaner could see the remnants of what looked like a bloody medieval battle full of gore.
“We must make love, right now, to make sure that it never comes back” So that’s what the pair did, right there on the bed in the suite at the hotel where they were formally employed. Pretty sure there’s probably a rule against that somewhere in the employee handbook, but there could also be a clause that states that in the event of a strange supernatural beast appearing in the room, it is expected, nay, demanded that whomsoever witnesses the foul creature must make love at that instant to ward it’s evilness away and continue to do so at predetermined intervals to prevent it ever returning full stop. That clause could be in the employee handbook, but then again, I haven’t read it.
The bin full of tissues was a pleasant reminder that Steve was home. Back in his room. Having travelled from place to place for so long, he had no concept of when or even what day it was. In reality, it had been days, long enough for Steve’s mother to grow concerned and declare him missing after exhausting all other options. The pairing of the divorce and a son going missing had caused Steve’s mother more emotional pain in the past few days than she deserved. She was at her breaking point. Steve was not aware of any of this, he had been going all over the world and to him it only felt like hours, a day at most, his only concern at that time was getting some clothes on as he was regrettably naked.
He opened the wardrobe door, causing it to slightly creek, Steve’s mother was downstairs but she was just staring at the wall, a shell of her former self. When she heard the creak she didn’t shout, she didn’t rush to the sound, over the past few days she had leapt at any sound she thought she heard coming from Steve’s room only to be disappointed at the lack of her son within and then grow more upset for getting her hopes up. By now, she had no energy but she couldn’t let go of the glimmer of hope, maybe this time, despite all of the other maybe this times she had had, maybe this time he was truly there. Steve took a fresh t-shirt by the hanger and stared at the image. It was of a wolf howling at the moon with a large moon in the background. A gift from his grandmother who thought that it was ‘cool’. Steve had never worn it and had no intention of doing so but he couldn’t help but think of the moon in the image. The t-shirt began to float out of Steve’s grasp into infinite blackness.
“Steve?”
HAZEL
The sun set over the golden beaches of Phuket, Hazel watched as it slipped beneath the horizon. Calming were the waves softly lapping at the fine sand before ebbing back towards the distant vista. The last slithers of sunlight faded and were replaced by the soft glow of the moon. It had been the perfect holiday for Hazel, she reflected, filled with long swims in the ocean, new flavours and picturesque scenery. If only it didn’t have to end.
Going on vacation alone is not for everyone, Hazel relished it, it was an opportunity to truly discover and be at peace with oneself, to throw oneself into the deep end and build character. She had taken other solo holidays before but none quite like her Thailand adventure. The moon was particularly bright that evening, its glow mirrored off the ocean and illuminated the water, it was too inviting for Hazel. She was lured into the water and at once felt at ease.
Swimming had been her passion since she first knew of the concept. Her towel growing up was covered in badges for 5m, 10m, 25m and all the way up to 100m. There was no doubt that she could swim greater distances, however, the awarding body’s highest honour was the 100m. Few received it, not because there weren’t many people with the required prowess but because said awarding body had gotten out of the swimming business and decided to rely on the manufacture of cereal instead. Hazel also had an arsenal of swimming trophies from her youth, she had been somewhat of a prodigy but it was never her career aspiration to be a professional swimmer. Suffice to say, the lack of sunlight was not going to det
er Hazel from one last swim in the ocean, besides, the moon provided ample illumination alongside the red blinkers of the buoys marking the safe zone.
Hazel’s arms penetrated the gentle ocean waves as her legs kicked softly behind her leaving tender ripples in her wake. She dove into the tide and emerged moments later, breaching the surface. Her hair clung to her skin as she dipped under the waves once more. It was too dark to see the fish that were nibbling at her feet, they were the kind one might find in foot massage parlours and so Hazel was not concerned about being eaten by them. It would likely take an army of the little blighters a millennium to devour her completely.
She trod water and gazed out to the horizon. Stars were visible in the sky, stars that one would wish upon to make the vacation never end. She had reached the boundary marked by the buoys by then and decided to return to the sea shore where a woman was gathering sea shells, most likely to sell from said location to passers-by. On her return, Hazel immersed herself in the water for extended distances, there was something about being fully immersed in the ocean that was soothing and mildly arousing to her. Hazel resurfaced after an extended dive under water to find that she struggled to breathe.
Frantically, she gasped and wheezed while trying to maintain her head above the waves. Her mind instantly turned to a bottle cap being the source of the pain but alas, she could feel nothing lodged in her throat. Arms flailed wildly in the ocean but could not be seen in the moonlight nor heard over the music in the bars. Her arm splashed into the water one last time. Hazel sank beneath the waves.
Much to her parent’s annoyance, Hazel had blue eyes. Her parents had hoped that she would be born with hazel eyes and therefore they could say that it was fated for her to be called Hazel when in actuality the name Hazel was decided long before she was born. Her blue eyes had annoyed her parents at first but they soon got over themselves, it was these blue eyes that shot open after a few moments of Hazel’s supposed drowning.
Not only did her eyes open, her lungs felt as though they could breathe again. Hazel filled her lungs by inhaling and exhaling with ease despite being underwater. Her body had sunken to the murky depths of the seafloor when she reached out and clenched a fistful of sand. Fish darted around her and the plant life swayed gently with the current. Perhaps she had drowned, Hazel thought. Hazel had dreamt of being a mermaid before, she had even wished to become one, once upon a time, after she had seen an animated film about a red headed mermaid who had something to do with crabs. It could’ve even be said that the film and consequent dreams of being a mermaid were the catalysts for Hazel’s strong affinity for swimming. It could also be said that it was her parents’ forceful nature in training Hazel to be an elite swimmer and vicariously living their dreams through her that was the catalyst. Whatever the back story, Hazel was in her element, albeit of the belief that she had drowned. She glided through the ocean and was dazzled by the array of fish, but the sun was waning and the moon could only illuminate so much.
Before long, Hazel was submerged in pitch blackness. There was no light from the sun, from the moon, from anything. To get any sense of direction, Hazel had to swim up. The difficulty was knowing which way was up. Hazel chose a direction and swam vigorously that way only to find her head crashing into the seabed. Luckily, she narrowly avoided the sharp coral and a particularly disappointed sea urchin. After little thought at all, Hazel deemed that the opposite direction would be more appropriate. She kicked her legs furiously and eventually found herself breaching the surface of the ocean. She looked around in a panic. The lights of the shore had gone, the resort, the boats, nothing was in sight. She couldn’t even hear any sounds coming from anywhere over the volume of the waves crashing around her. Before long, Hazel was clutching at her throat, unable to breathe. As she reached for her throat she could feel three jagged rows of flesh on her neck. It was a strange sensation to run her fingers over the ridges. Tickled slightly. But there was no time to ponder the strangeness of the new scars, Hazel couldn’t breathe. She had to dive under the waves in order to feel any relief from the asphyxiation.
Her puckered fingertips brushed over the wounds to examine and probe the new part of her anatomy. It felt like a banana fritter after being left in the sun for slightly too long and gone a little soggy around the middle while crusting on the edges, a strange comparison to make, however, one which Hazel had inexplicably experienced on more than one occasion for some reason and so deemed that that was the closest possible semblance to the sensation her fingers were feeling. Unlike the banana fritter, lightly brushing the new wounds on her neck gave Hazel a strange sensation that tickled slightly, tingled a little and aroused a lot. A thought entered her mind. She slipped a finger inside the opening in the hope that it would invoke a greater feeling of arousal. Unfortunately for Hazel, the penetrating finger had the effect of closing an air passage and resulted in Hazel once again feeling the sensation of asphyxiation. Some people may have found this to be the pinnacle of ecstasy, but such people prefer to be found dangling by the end of a rope with their trousers around their ankles and an expression of pure satisfaction on their faces as they sway gently with the breeze. Hazel was not of such ilk and immediately removed the offending finger at the very instant she felt as though she couldn’t breathe.
It was a sensible choice on Hazel’s part. She could breathe normally without the finger thrusting in and out of her gills. They had to be gills, Hazel reasoned, because how else could she logically breathe underwater? But the issue of the darkness remained. Hazel had to face possible asphyxiation once more in an effort to gain any sense of direction. She had to surface. This time, Hazel knew that she would have limited time to scope her location once surfacing, but as long as she submerged herself in the water from time to time she should be fine. Hazel kicked upwards and emerged from the depths. When she looked to her right she could see the vast expanse of ocean with no discernible landmarks on the horizon. On her left was more favourable as Hazel could spot a light in the distance. It couldn’t have been a star as it was too low on the horizon, dismissing the fact that the stars were phenomenal over the oceans. Logic dictated that there must be some form of civilization in the direction of the light and so she set forth in a swimming style reminiscent of a dolphin. She had learned that particular swimming stroke on her quest for the 25m badge on her towel. It was the optimal technique for diving in and out of the ocean to maintain a stable course.
The light was getting closer. A boat, anchored for the night on a strange and desolate meadow of water. There was a light on in the hull of the boat. The curtains were drawn but Hazel could make out silhouettes in the light. They were playing a card game it seemed. Hazel couldn’t make out any sounds from within the boat, they were certainly present, but muffled. Hazel wasn’t sure whether or not to reveal herself to the strangers, she wouldn’t know how they could help anyway. She had mustered enough courage to show herself to the card playing folk when the silhouettes changed and put on a display of aggression. The two silhouettes were clearly arguing about something, she could see their actions and the sounds had become louder. The silhouette on the left drew some kind of handgun and fired it into the silhouette on the right. A spray of blood plastered the window. Hazel hastily submerged herself into the water mere moments before the left silhouette opened the curtains to reveal a gaunt looking gentleman in a white shirt which was not the most sensible of fashion choices given that it was covered in blood. He took a quick look around and then shut the curtains. Hazel popped her head out of the water long enough to see the gentleman back out of the cabin and dragging a similar looking gentleman to the rear of the boat. Hazel had to dive to avoid being exposed. The gaunt gentleman kicked the similar gentleman overboard. The body plummeted beside Hazel with tremendous force. She watched as it sank beneath the waves, his expression was a study in peculiarity.
The boat had no other choice but to return to shore, therefore Hazel made to follow it. She could hear the engines starting and the feel the thrust fro
m the propellers. Hazel kicked her legs in vain, propelling herself forwards with each kick but was unable to keep up with the pace of the boat. Fortunately, the boat left a large wake due to its rapid acceleration that was relatively easy for Hazel to follow. Though she couldn’t see in the sheer darkness, she could feel where the water was flowing differently to the current. She followed the trail until the flow blended in with the tide and became indistinguishable from it. She was lost. But that’s not to say all was lost. The trail had taken Hazel closer to the nearest harbour. She emerged from the ocean and took a brief glance while holding her breath. There were lights, albeit far fewer than she had anticipated. There was also the familiar light from the boat where the gaunt gentleman was disembarking onto a small jetty. Hazel had to dive again to catch a breath, as soon as she had done so she emerged again to scope out the environment. The gaunt gentleman was heading towards the only cabin in sight, a small but humble affair from what Hazel could make out under the solitary streetlight. When the gaunt gentleman had entered his presumed domicile, Hazel submerged and swam in the general direction of land.
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