Confessions logo

The Redheaded Devil from Japan

The Sound of one-hundred cameras clicking

By David GrebowPublished 3 years ago Updated 2 years ago 9 min read
Like
The Redheaded Devil from Japan
Photo by Matt Artz on Unsplash

Another chapter in the soon-to-be-published novel “Comfort Thomas”.

There were lots of chances for F. Red’s to prove he was as fearless – and cool – as Jacques-O. One night drinking beer at Tripp's Restaurant, F.Red listened closely to Jacques-O talking with his friend Tom about how they had been the last two teenagers to successfully run the Bar Harbor High School Senior Year Devil’s Hole Challenge before whatshisname got stuck and was crippled for life

“It was that third wave that got him.” said Tom sadly, “It was killer powerful way bigger than most. He had no idea it was coming.”

Jacques-O raised his glass “To whatshisname wherever he is.”

F. Red perked up at the idea wondering what it was all about.

“Jacques-O what’s the big deal?”

“Just something dumb we did. It’s the Devil’s Hole. It’s a cave with an opening at the end. You run it before the big wave comes in and spouts out the top. It was like a rite of passage.”

“Man,” added Tom, “we were so cool after we did it. Chicks were all over us. Especially you.”

Jacques-O just grinned and took a deep slug of his beer.

F. Red asked Jacques-O how he did it, how he ran the hole, got out ahead of the wave, and carefully listened as Jacques-O’s explained what he remembered.

“But I was a kid. It was the dumbest thing to do,” Jacques-O said quietly with a huge shit-eating grin that made F.Red all the more jealous. “But I beat the hole” he proudly added.

That was when F. Red was determined to repeat his best friend's “dumbest thing”.

The next day F. Red went into Acadia Park to check it out. He sat on one of the wooden benches made from old fallen tree parts placed there for the senior bused-in tourists, and carefully timed the waves. It was a hot summer’s day, and he imagined the water would be a welcome relief. F.Red counted a set of three waves passing the rock outcrop in front of the cave. They rolled by about every 15 seconds. The strongest wave always seemed to be the third. That was the one that exploded with varying degrees of force forming the much-photographed Devil’s Hole geyser.

The surf-rounded rocks made ominous rumbling bowling ball noises as the cold waves rushed in and filled the cave. That sound added the scary magic to the Devil’s Hole but that was not the real show. When the sea turned for the third time filling the cave, the water would shoot straight up from a 3-foot hole in the top of the cave. If the incoming wave was large and strong enough it would sometimes push the water almost fifty feet into the air. That was the beauty shot.

The day F. Red picked for his reconnoiter a Japanese tour bus with the motor still running was parked in the grey gravel lot above the hole. Each day, May to August, buses of Japanese tourists would stop at the side of the road to watch and wait. The Japanese tour guides leading these bus trips had the timing down to the second. They would wait for the third wave and yell out “ICHI” – Now – to make sure the tourists did not miss the show. A busload of cameras started clicking in unison to save and share the moment for the folks back in Japan. The people who arrived by car would take their cue from the tour guides and start shooting at the same time. The sound of several hundred cameras clicking reminded F.Red of a flock of small, excited birds.

After the bus and cars left, F. Red climbed over the rope barrier and walked down the rocky slope scoured by glaciers that had created the park. He wanted a closer look at the hole.

He stared out across the sea, filled with seagulls and a few sailboats. Usually, it brought a great sense of peace. Today the feeling was uneasy, almost threatening. F. Red tried to imagine the steps Jacques-O had run to beat the Devil’s Hole rite of passage. He estimated if he entered the cave at a full run as the first wave pulled back out of the cave, he would probably get wet, but be able to get to the hole at the end by the second wave and scoot up and out before the third crushed him. He was still skinny enough to fit through the opening. He was fast and wiry. And he was wearing his best Nike runners for insurance.

He ran through the timing five times. It was now or never. He scooted down the slope and climbed over the rocks at the bottom to get to the pebbly shoreline and the larger surf-rounded stones at the mouth of the cave.

Seagulls and a few seals sang a background chorus to the crash of the waves. He focused and began to count. His heart was beating faster, his mouth dry, it was becoming harder to get a deep breath he would need for the run.

“Calm down, you can do this,” he told himself in a voice that sounded less than certain. The first two small waves passed and 15-seconds later the third came by. As the third wave crested by him, he watched and counted as it rushed out the top hole for a small fountain display. Not very large, not very strong, still it filled the cave with water from one end to the other.

“That’s not so bad” he muttered to himself as the water sluiced back to the sea. He edged around the opening and, as the third wave completely emptied out he started his run.

“Let the games begin!” he yelled into the dark cavern as he entered, careful not to slip on the wet surf-rounded stones and break any bones.

The cave was longer than he estimated from walking on top. He was only halfway beyond the opening. Much further away than anticipated from the pale shaft of light raining down upon the water-soaked rocks. The second much bigger wave washed over him with water almost up to his waist. He knew the next wave would completely fill the cave rushing towards Devil’s Hole.

F. Red had badly misjudged the challenge.

There was no going back now. As the water from the second wave left the cave he was pushing with all his strength, slogging through the receding water, dragging his panicked legs forward toward the shaft of light. This was no longer a game. He was within a few feet when far behind him he heard a dull roar. “Oh shit,” he said, “oh-shit-o-shit,” he added faster. It was the third wave, sounding like a hungry unstoppable monster hungrily coming after him tossing aside countless smooth round rocks.

There were a collection of round almost polished black rocks as tall as his waist under the hole. Two giant waterlogged strides and he reached it, climbing up, thinking “Okay you got this,” when his foot slipped back with a loud splash. There was no time to even utter a curse. He stomped his left foot painfully down on the first rock to make sure it stayed put, stepped up with his other foot, scampered to the top, and reached both arms through the opening. Sucking in his stomach, he stood on his toes to get his shoulders into the base of the hole.

And that’s as far as he got.

He quickly realized he wasn’t as skinny as he imagined. Afraid to breathe out, urgently pushing higher, thighs screaming from the strain, scraping his neck on the sharp rocks, pulling for all he was worth, he got himself waist-high above the opening feeling like a cork that had been yanked halfway from a bottle of wine.

There was a loud collective gasp.

A busload of camera-toting Japanese tourists had stooped for the waterspout show, not expecting a bright red-headed human to appear. The tour guide was already well into the countdown in Japanese – past “GO” – and the cameras started clicking away – past “SHI” – and F.Red, smiling for the cameras, gave his wet self a final desperate push and wriggled completely out of the hole – past “SAN”, and past “NI” – and rolling got as far away as he could, ending up on his back, staring at the cloudless blue sky.

He heard it before anyone else.

The third wave finally filled the passageway and got ready to – “ICHI” – shoot almost thirty feet into the air. Maybe not one for the Devil’s Hole history book but large enough to completely drench him in icy cold seawater. He took a deep breath. There was only one thing left to do.

As the waters of Devil’s Hole subsided and the infamous fountain receded back into the mysterious cave, he crawled up to a standing position, swaying slightly as the adrenaline drained from his body. Standing as straight as he could, F. Red slowly and deeply bowed from the waterlogged waist to the tourists, waved a friendly goodbye, and took off at a run towards the harbor. Cameras kept on clicking. People started applauding. He had bested the Bar Harbor Challenge. He was forever memorialized as the Redheaded Devil who shot out of Devils Hole, seen in treasured photographs from Hokkaidō in the North to Kagoshima in the south. As he ran, F.Red decided it was one of the dumber things he had done since coming to Comfort Thomas. He had almost died. Jacques-O would never know unless he was visiting Japan and mentioned The Devil’s Hole.

Later that summer, F. Red and Jacques-O were in the Acadia Country Store in Bar Harbor shopping for dinner rolls when they overheard another shopper talking to the owner.

“It’s sad in a way but it’s also very funny. There are now busloads of Japanese tourists who heard about Redheaded Devil at Devil’s Hole, They just stand there and wait to see him appear once again.”

F. Red stifled a laugh. Jacques-O just rolled his eyes.

"Some people are so stupid," Jacques-O muttered under his breath.

And the poor Japanese tourists? They were always disappointed.

Most writers do not get paid to write novels. If you've enjoyed tales from "Comfort Thomas", a contribution to the arts would go far to help finish the book. Thanks in advance from F. Red.

Friendship
Like

About the Creator

David Grebow

My words move at lightspeed through your eyes, find a synaptic home in your mind, and hopefully touch your heart! Thanks for taking the time to let me in.

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments

There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.