Into the Light- Lost in Translation

by Michael White

  On the day however after he had watched her almost glide across the canteen and leave through the door he went to return the scrupulously clean plate to the serving hatch he noticed a small scarf on the table. He picked it up. He thought that this was odd as he was sure that she had not been wearing a scarf either today or at any other time. Yet it was still warm. He had not even seen her take it off. Pushing the chair back loudly he shot across the room and entered the corridor outside.

  This work corridor was the main exit way to the car park, and so all of the offices were on the other side of the building, the canteen being isolated from the general office space. That meant that although the corridor was about one hundred yards long there were no exits other than that to the car park which doubled up at the end with another corridor that entered the offices themselves directly opposite the exit.

  As Paul skidded around the corner, the still warm scarf in his hand he looked along the corridor which today was unusually empty. Completely empty in fact. He stood there dumbfounded, searching for any sign of her somewhat distinctive features but she was nowhere to be seen. There was no possible way that she could have reached the car park in such a short space of time, and yet the corridor was completely empty. She had just vanished!

  Reluctantly Paul stuffed the scarf into his pocket. He would give it back to her tomorrow. Frowning, he turned on his heels and returned to the canteen, his head full of stories of rabbits, strange scarves and a woman who was turning out to be quite impossible to fathom out! Still, he had promised himself that every lunch hour he would always be ready with a cheese sandwich for her, and so far, he had always done that. He smiled at the thought of her. If nothing else, he was always a man who kept his promises.

  ***

  The next day lunchtime arrived and Paul took his now usual seat to await Aoife’s arrival. He had by now got into the routine of buying his own food and her sandwich before she arrived as she seemed to arrive at different points in the lunchtime every day, though it had been over the last few weeks a rare occurrence for her not to spend less than half of an hour eating with him, and sometimes it was almost the full hour. Yet this day an ominous foreboding seemed to grip him.

  He had a definite feeling almost as if he knew that she was not going to arrive. Not this day. Maybe not ever. Lunch hour concluded with his football obsessed work colleagues asking him if he had been stood up, at which Paul just smiled, but inside he felt devastated, not romantically, but he had grown accustomed to her presence and looked forward to meeting up with her every day. He enjoyed her company. It had been nearly a month now and she had not missed a single day to date. The rest of the day dragged, as did the next morning, but again at lunchtime she failed to show once again.

  He allowed this to continue for the best part of a week until his curiosity sufficiently aroused he finally found himself in the staff office attempting to get some information out of one of the Human resources women who worked there.

  “Aoife.” he said, as the plain middle aged woman looked over her glasses at him in what could only be construed as a sense of annoyance or disappointment.

  “How do you spell that?” she frowned.

  “Well she pronounced it EE - FAH but I have no idea how you spell it.”

  The woman sniffed loudly and ran her finger down the register once again.

  “I think it is spelt A-O-I-F-E” Came a voice from the back office.

  “You know her?” asked Paul expectantly.

  “Not at all.” replied the voice. “Character in a story book I read when I was a kid.” there was a small pause, “kind of sticks with you.”

  “Nobody with that name works here.” said the Human Resources woman without any real sense of disappointment.

  “Can I look?” asked Paul, “It may have been mis-spelled or something.” It was a rhetorical question for he already had the register and was spinning it round so that it was the right way up for him. Minutes passed, but eventually he was forced to give up. Aoife quite simply was not in the register, mis-spelled or not.

  “Quite an impossible woman then.” said the woman behind the counter haughtily, retrieving the register snappily from his grasp. Having to admit defeat Paul left the office and sulked his way back up the long empty corridor. He left the scarf there with them, asking if they could put it into lost property for him. He had a strange feeling that he was wasting his time however, and that it would never been claimed by her, if it was actually hers in the first place, of course.

  He paused later on, closing his eyes at his desk, and a feeling of sun on his face brought him back to his senses. Was he dreaming or remembering? He moved his arm and something creaked ominously behind him. He slipped forward slightly and what could only be leaves or foliage of some sort tried to shove itself up his nose.

  He opened his eyes and looked about him, startled. He was not at his desk of course. He was… well... somewhere else. The very last thing he remembered was a sudden ball of blue flame exploding all around him at the top of the lighthouse.

  He didn’t seem to be in the lighthouse any more though. In fact, he seemed to be stuck in the branches of a large tree. As he looked about he saw that he was about halfway up the trunk of a tall tree, his eyes blinking furiously as he became accustomed to the sunlight again. Below him was the ground, above more branches rising high into the blue sky overhead.

  “Morning.” he groaned to himself as seemingly all at once every bone in his body seemed to start aching simultaneously. He looked down at his waterproofs only to notice with dismay that they were scorched and shredded, several holes blackened through the cloth as if burnt away. He looked up at his hands and saw that they seemed untouched, if not a little soot covered. Looking down he also noticed that at least both his legs seemed to be there. As did his boots. His backpack seemed to have vanished though, he noted with dismay. He gave an experimental wiggle of each leg and although they were both stiff he could actually move them. He patted his pockets, searching for his cigarettes but he was filled with disappointment as he realised that they were gone. The pocket he had placed them in to keep them safe from the rain was empty apart from his lighter which he looked at in a slowly simmering rage. Great, he thought, no cigarettes now either. Things just kept going from bad to worse! Sighing with anger he began to take stock of his surroundings.

  He seemed to be caught in the entwined branches about half way up a large tree. He tried moving slightly and as he did so the branch dipped and creaked ominously. Instantly he held his breath and stopped moving. His head was reeling. This could not be real. He had half expected when he fell to sleep earlier that when he woke he would be back on the Cumbrian fells. Yet here he still was. Wherever “here” actually was. Leaning forward carefully he reached out and pushed the leaves from his face so that he could see beyond the tree. As he did so he saw the base of the lighthouse across a small field and looking up to the top of it his heart sank.

  Both the crystal and the room at the top of the tower had vanished altogether, the rock at the peak of the lighthouse burning with a bright blue flame from which thick black clouds of smoke rolled and blew out to sea in the early morning breeze. Paul thought that it resembled slightly a massive extinguished match. He gulped as he realised that he had been the one who had destroyed it. Groaning loudly, he turned his attention out to sea and his heart dipped even more. It was quite a distance, and the headland obscured his view just a little, but as he looked he saw that a large wooden hull was jutting from the sea and being crushed across the rocks. The ship had obviously been grounded on the treacherous stone needles some time recently. The hull looked as if it had only recently been caught on the rocks, the crushed wood clean and showing no signs of water damage or moss.

  Feeling sick to his stomach Paul knew that it could only have been the remnants of the vessel from the night before. Unwittingly he had caused this destruction to both the lighthouse and the boat yes, but he did not want to have to try and explain that to whoever had been
on the ship that it had been just an accident.

  Finally, he looked around the beach and although he could not be completely sure he thought he could make out several small distant figures milling about the sand. There was a leap of excitement and anticipation at the thought of finally finding someone here who could presumably show him how to find his way home, if not tell him how he got here in the first place. Then he looked at the lighthouse and then the wrecked hull being crushed against the rocks, and then finally the wreckage of the lighthouse once again. Quickly he began to get himself into motion.

  “Time to scarper.” he said out loud to himself and he began to shimmy along the branch towards the trunk of the tree. From there he began to tentatively lower himself branch by branch downwards until at last about ten feet from the ground he was forced to launch himself at the nearest bush that did not look as if it contained any prickly branches. He gave a small squeak as he rolled into the bush and finally found himself on the ground, which felt as real underfoot as the boards of the lighthouse had. He reached down and tussled a few small tufts of grass with his hand and they came away soaked in dew. If this was indeed a dream, he thought, the attention to detail was amazingly intricate.

  He shook life back into his arms and legs and although he found himself more than a little bruised he was he knew perfectly capable of a good high speed jog in any direction other than that of the beach and the crushed ship. He looked away toward the mountains and saw a small meandering path that seemed to head off towards the horizon. Lamenting and cursing equally at the loss of his backpack he removed what remained of his tattered waterproofs, the charred and hole riddled cloth falling to the green grass underfoot. As he did this he noticed the field between him and the lighthouse was littered with chunks of stone, wood and the crystal that had been mounted in the lighthouse. Ignoring them as if they were not there and gulping down a feeling of what may have been panic or possibly guilt he took a step forward and begin to jog along the path in the direction of the mountains. Anywhere really other than the lighthouse and the ship, both of which he knew he had destroyed.

  As he more or less ran along the path the plains ahead opened up before him. The mountains, the lush green fields and the rolling hills that seemed to roll down towards the horizon seemed to call him in, pulling him forward and he never felt as alive before as he did right then. He did not get very far however, and he reasoned later that he was revelling in his flight away from the lighthouse, perhaps just a little bit too much and had become careless, for suddenly a small bush to the right of the path just ahead of him shook violently and a small figure stepped out in front of him to block his path. He came to a dead stop, almost skidding to a halt as another figure of about the same height stepped out in front of him as well.

  Paul was for some strange reason that he could not quite put a finger on overly concerned with the fact that both figures seemed to be carrying swords that were obviously very real, or indeed the fact that they were both obviously blocking his path. No. He was far more concerned with their appearance.

  Dressed in what looked like heavily studded leather jerkins and leggings, they both wore long brown boots rising up their legs forming tough looking armour that covered most of their figures. They wore no helmets or gloves though, but Paul did notice that from the wide and metal buckled belts of both of the creatures there jutted several nasty looking daggers and he thought he saw arrows sticking up behind their backs from what was obviously some sort of quiver. the two figures gave the definite impression that not only were the swords they carried deadly, but that also that they knew exactly what they were doing with them too. Yet that was not the thing that concerned him either

  What did concern him was that they were approximately four-foot-tall, their skin a dark green colour, two huge long ears jutting from their heads that held two large eyes with evil looking yellow pupils and a small, leering mouth. Paul decided that this was not a dream. It was beginning to be much more like a nightmare!

  “Aravanthag vas eron!” shouted the first figure on his right and Paul held his hands up.

  “Erm sorry about the ship… and the lighthouse.” he began to explain, but the two small figures begin to advance slowly towards him. “It was a complete accident. I did not know the torch would ignite the powder, or whatever it was.”

  The figures ignored him however, though he did catch the one on the left glancing slightly to Paul’s right and behind him. Instinctively he turned in that direction and was just in time to see another small figure lunge from a bush behind him, brandishing what very much looked like a big frying pan with spikes all around it. He had just enough time to cry out before the pan descended and everything went black.

  Chapter Four

  On The Beach

  “It’s an island you see, Paul?” she had said, and her green eyes and long red hair seemed to float out of focus just before his eyes. “The way in.” she said patiently, and then obviously seeing that she had confused him she continued playing with one of her many rings and placing her hands on the table. She seemed to grow more out of focus, darkness creeping in at the edge of his sight and her voice grew heavy; indistinct, fading in and out, then gone already like a breath exhaled in a strong wind, and all that was left was the darkness and a feeling of dizziness.

  He tried to focus and a rushing, roaring sound seemed to rise from all around him, both loud and urgent but also soft and fading at the same time.

  “Not just a normal island…” Came the words she had said to him, “it is purple the island you see.” Then the voice drifted away too. He tried to move but he could not. As he struggled to rise the darkness before his eyes swam around him, threatening to send him back to the floor. He tried to flex his arms and realised that his hands were bound. He slumped back to the ground and the dizziness began to fade. He screwed his eyes together and bit by bit he was able to focus, thin pricks of bright white light sparkling through from above. There was the sound of movement from nearby and then he realised that he was looking at the stars above wherever it was he lay.

  He gasped. He had never seen a sky at night quite like it. Well, rarely, anyway. He knew he had to travel far and wide to escape the light pollution that obscured the majesty of what he was looking at now. There always seemed to be a streetlight nearby or house lights obscuring the heavens. He looked to see if he could recognise any constellations that he knew, but he drew a complete blank. There was a light breeze blowing around where he lay and he could smell and taste salt in the air. Now he could recognise the sound of the sea breaking upon the shore. The waves pounded at the beach loudly, but it was the only sound from that direction. There was nothing else.

  Still nothing seemed to be as he remembered it; as it should be. The stars were not familiar, the whole geography was wrong. The small green creatures were downright bloody unreal. If this was a dream. Or, as he was beginning to think of it, a nightmare, then when would it end? If it was a dream, then it certainly seemed to be dragging on a bit. Perhaps he could do something to wake himself? He tried to twist his arms so he could pinch himself but he could not seem to move them.

  Panicking, he looked at his hands and noticed the thick rope knotted there, and flexing his legs he could not see clearly but the starlight seemed to indicate that it was the same with his legs too. He groaned as pain began to begin to come back to him, his head sore no doubt where the strangely dressed creature had hit him. Groaning quietly, he shuffled his body around and saw to his right a small orange glow of light. Perhaps it was a fire of some sorts. Slowly rocking his entire body to face that way he saw a bright orange flame with what could only be several of the strange creatures gathered about the fire, some eating and drinking, others just gazing into the flames. Low grumbling voices rose from that direction but he could not make out a single word of phrase of what it was they were saying.

  He looked back to the sky and sighed. That he was in a strange situation was probably the greatest understatement he had ever made, and he
looked once again at the camp fire and wondered if he could escape. He tugged at the ropes, testing them, but it seemed highly unlikely that he could escape. Besides, where would he go? Shuffling his feet into a potentially less painful position he tried to get as comfortable as he could manage, given the circumstances. The thought popped into his head that he would quite possibly commit murder for a cigarette, but he managed to dull his craving for the time being.

  As he was doing so he noticed one of the small figures suddenly stand from the fire and muttering loudly to itself began to approach where he was lying on the sand. He could not make out a word but the creature’s intent was plain. Judging by the way it was stamping towards him its intentions were obviously not entirely friendly.

  “Look. I apologise about the lighthouse and the ship. Again. But I can’t help but feel that you are somewhat over-reacting…” Paul stopped with a grunt as upon reaching him the small creature kicked him hard in the stomach. He doubled up grunting, but the creature was not done yet. It reached down and grabbed him by the hair, raising his face up to its own. Paul gulped as he saw up close the wide yellow eyes, green skin and long ears that were now twitching furiously.

  “Ganak ab ath Garank!” It shouted and then head butted him. The world swum around him as he was released, falling back to the sandy ground. There was a final kick and the creature stomped away again, heading back towards the fire.

  “Absolutely no need for that!” called Paul feebly after the departing small figure, and he was answered by another set of guttural shouts from the fire followed by what could only be laughter.

  Paul tried to rub his nose where the creature had struck him but his bonds stopped him from being able to reach. His nose throbbed. The creature certainly could pack a good punch despite its size!