The Island

“The children who explored the brook and found | An […] island with a sandy cove | […] When the familiar scene is suddenly strange | Or the well known is what we have yet to learn | And two worlds meet, and intersect, and change.” …. From T S Elliot, To Walter de la Mare

…

Had I known what the fog portended, I never would have gone with them.

The grown-ups, who always knew everything, knew nothing. It wanted only the children. The terror started with an innocent boat ride and descended with the creeping fingers of fog. Evil hid in the unseasonal mist and thrived while we suffocated by slow degrees on mounting fear and horror and utter disbelief.

No premonitions or forebodings accompanied the dawn, only the absence of birdsong and summer’s warming yellow glow. A wet, heavy blanket of grey wrapped the world and made everything as quiet as it gets after a new fall of snow. Not a single one of us had a clue. So, deceived by the calm, when Danny dared us, we crowded into Ben’s dad’s little row boat without a qualm. Small-town bored older teens looking for a lark and hanging with younger kids for want of something better to do. I remember how the water sucked greedily as we launched the small craft and splashed and clambered aboard. Being the biggest of us all, not just the girls, I grabbed one oar while Paul took the other. We worked well together … always had, and soon, we fell into an easy rhythm with the gentle lap and splash of the lake keeping time.

Ten of us squeezed into that tiny boat. How we didn’t capsize, I’ll never know. It might have been better if we had. Two of us came home. Twenty years on, I stand and gaze across the mist-shrouded water and wonder if it’s over, really and truly. If it ever can be finished. And whether or not I have the courage to go back to the island. Will it make any difference? The rub, though, is that I can’t ignore the rumours. And he wouldn’t have rang if it were nothing. How—why—did he stay? Nobody believed us when they rescued us from the island and discovered the horrors there. For all these years, we’ve lived under the shadow of suspicion and distrust. But they could never prove we did anything wrong, other than taking Ben’s dad’s boat. While he stayed, I fled as soon as I reached my majority and vowed to never return. Duty, however, has a habit of ignoring a child’s declarations made in haste, no matter how many times I cross my heart and hope not to die.

I’m an adult now, but that childhood terror still trembles my limbs and dries my mouth. As fresh as on that terrible day, the memories flood my mind, and I stagger beneath their horrific, crushing weight. As if he knows I need the nudge, my phone vibrates in my pocket. He promised to come and get me, after, but though I trusted him then, I’m not sure I can now. We’re both so much older, changed and distant. A chasm lies between us that I’ve never dared try to bridge. Surely, now, it’s far too late.

“You can do this.”

Short and to the point, his text says so much. Holds so much angst and echoes of things best forgotten. As I slip the phone back into my pocket, those last desperate hours cloak my shoulders and settle like a lead weight onto my heart. I have to go back before I can go forward …

… In the beginning, it played with us. Treated us like toys to be used and discarded. Little Emmy died first. Just like a coward, the monster took the smallest and most vulnerable of our rag-tag group. It crept up from behind. By the time I heard her screams, she’d gone. All we ever found was the blood. So much gore and horror. And, oh God, the stench. Ben upchucked his breakfast first, and after that it was like a volcanic eruption. We all spewed and spewed and spewed until we had nothing but bile and sour breath to hurl up. In a blind panic, we raced through the trees and back to the shore, where we’d tied the boat. If it hadn’t been there, we could have convinced ourselves that we hadn’t secured it properly. That our only way off this demon island had come unmoored and drifted away. But it was there, all right. Well, the splintered and smashed remains were, anyway. The message couldn’t have been clearer.

After that, we blundered around uselessly, trying to quell the overwhelming fear and come up with a plan. Then Paul suggested we should find some kind of shelter and have something solid we could keep at our backs. Unnoticed until then, the hours had sprinted past and the mist had soaked us all to the skin. By the time dusk fell, our ten had dwindled to seven. Mark and Johnny had joined poor little Emmy. The thing had developed an appetite.

When it came for Sarah, the monster got creative. The cave masqueraded as our prayers answered. Cold, wet, and sick with grief and fear, we huddled against the rough stone walls. We settled far enough in to be out of reach of anything that might lurk at the entrance but close enough that the meagre forest-filtered light kept the devastating darkness at bay. Paul had a lighter, the cheap plastic kind, but none of us volunteered to venture outside to collect wood. It was all damp, anyhow, and would have smoked us out of our shelter. Miserable though we were, we stayed put and kept together.

When Sarah whimpered, I didn’t respond. None of us did. She’d been sniffling and snivelling for hours. By the time I glanced at her, the rock had hold of her already. Even as we watched, and her screams increased in pitch and horror, the once solid rock melted over her shoulders and … and … oh, God, it just swallowed her. No blood or torn open intestines this time, just her awful screams and screeches and pleas for help long after the walls had solidified again. Panicked and terrified, we scrambled from the cave and ran into the trees, directionless. An unknown time later, bent double and nursing stitches and gasping for air, we looked at the leaf-strewn floor rather than at each other. I was the only one to put it into words. “Did you see that?” Nobody spoke. They didn’t have to. Tentatively, we regained some semblance of equilibrium—apparently, full-blown panic has a short shelf life—and began to glance at one another in short, furtive peeks.

After the craziness of the cave, we lingered near the shoreline, trapped on a narrow ledge of sand between lake and trees. We must have stayed on our feet for hours and walked miles going around and around the circumference of the small land mass. Finally, desperate to get off the island, Angela waded into the water. Within moments, the fog had engulfed her. I cried out a warning and stood watching her with my arms wrapped around my torso as if I could hold myself together by force of will. A freak wave pulled her under. She didn’t even have time to yell. Angela … there one second and gone the next. The ten were now down to five. We broke then. It took me years to realise that fear makes us selfish. None of us gave a thought to anyone else at that point. We each fought to survive. …

… Though Paul and I got out, I’m not sure we did … not really. I’m still trapped. Only now, on my knees with hot tears falling down my cheeks, do I remember what I’ve sought all these years. How we got out and, possibly, why the thing is still here. When Paul called me, I tried to deny his words. Tried to stay deaf to his warning that it had started again. Two kids, out on a boat for some early-morning fishing, had disappeared. Authorities had searched the island and dredged the lake but found no sign. So, I came back. Came to finish what we’d left undone. Came to try and remember …

… Sometime near midnight only Paul and I remained. The others were all dead. Exhausted, we held hands, stumbled deep into the forest, and laid at the foot of a huge old oak. Numb and despairing, we curled around one another and talked just for the sake of talking. Random at first, and then rediscovering memories that made us laugh and brought a small bit of joy. Then one of my chuckles hiccuped into a sob, which threatened to morph into something wild and dangerous and irrevocable. Paul gripped me by the shoulders and pulled my face to his. He planted his lips on mine and kissed me. Then his tongue found mine. We clung to each other as though our lives depended upon the embrace. We lost our virginity that night and, somehow, forgot to fear. Later, spent in every way a body and soul can be, we fell into a deep sleep. Only when the first adults arrived, come in search of the missing kids, did we rouse. I can’t begin to imagine the sight we must have made when we stumbled out of the trees and onto the beach. They never believed us, the grown ups. Folks put our stories down to hallucinations, due either to dehydration and panic or from illicit drug use. Either way, the community exiled us—in spirit and camaraderie if not physically. I wish I had Paul’s strength. He’s lived on the outside all these years, keeping watch despite not belonging.

And now I’m here too. Come to right the wrong left alive twenty years past. I have my answer now. The monster feeds on fear. Paul and I banished the beast with love and joy and laughter. With companionship. So why has it survived? With a shrug, I struggle to my feet and brush sand and pebbles from the knees of my jeans. A stiff breeze raises goosebumps. Resolved, I trudge to the moored row boat, which bobs on the gentle swell. A hundred metres along the shore, Paul’s motor boat sits tied to a jetty, which pokes out into the fog-shrouded lake. He’ll come for me when I call him. When I’ve put my demons to rest.

Until this second, I didn’t understand the damage I’ve done by running. By staying and facing his fear, Paul deprived the beast of its lifeblood. I’m the only one still feeding the monster, and only I can stop this before it sinks its teeth into any more kids. It’s a mercy, of sorts, that both those teenaged boys died. Had one of them lived, his fear would have ensured that nobody could defeat the evil. While I blame myself for this latest carnage, a part of me knows I couldn’t have faced this as long as nothing else happened and no one else got hurt. This fresh tragedy has forced my hand. I sigh, untie the rope, and settle the oars into the rowlocks. Immediately, the swell lifts the boat, and I brace myself for the first stroke.

The fog tricks me into believing I’m getting nowhere, and the island seems to remain the same distance away as half an hour ago. Gradually, with each glance over my shoulders, the trees loom larger, and then, at long last, I hear the soft susurration of surf on sand. The boat grounds with a jarring crunch, and I splash into the water and drag the small craft ashore. Recalling what befell the last boat, I don’t bother to secure it this time. If all goes according to plan, I won’t need to row myself out of here.

Paul wanted to come with me, but I have to face my fears on my own. And what if I’m wrong? If we both came, I would be putting my only true love in needless danger. Also, I need someone off-island to come and rescue me should I survive this. For certain, the monster will destroy my boat to prevent me from leaving. And then there’s our daughter. Although she’s an adult now, she’ll need someone to explain. My biggest regret is that I never let her get to know her father. Paul would have been so good with her. As it was, the shame of my unwedded pregnancy threatened to cripple my family, and Mum and Dad pretended they’d adopted Kia after keeping me locked away for the final three months, once I’d started showing. I’m thankful I was so skinny, or my imprisonment would have been for much longer. Paul never did work it out, and the shock and dismay on his face when I finally confessed made me feel about an inch big.

With a last, forlorn look back over the water and to the land, I stride into the forest. Overgrown trees interlock and steal the daylight that escapes the fog. I stiffen my spine and keep going—if I could survive a home birth without pain relief, I can damn well survive this. I escaped the island once, and I can do it again. I will do it again.

As if it knows it’s under threat, the monster wastes no time. Behind, from the shore, a rending and crashing lets me know I’m stuck here. Hurriedly, I make my way to the tree that sheltered Paul and I that night, and I pray with all I have to whatever powers might be that I can find my way. That haven is the one place that will anchor me to happiness and joy rather than terror and horror and weakness. A sudden gale erupts and thrashes the branches and leaves all around. To keep my feet, I have to lean forward and fight my way ahead. Screams and snarls and growls threaten my sanity, and I break into a run. Suddenly, there it is. In the daylight, I see that the big old oak sits in a small, sunlit glade. The sight makes me smile for the first time since I set foot in this godforsaken place.

I set my lips in a determined line and ease into a squat and then sit on the damp ground with my back against the reassuring bark. The memory of rock swallowing Sarah fills my mind’s eye, and I have to focus on inhaling and exhaling before I can master the instinctive horror that will mean certain death here. With a deep inhale and final glance up at the sun poking through a small hole in the mist, I close my eyes and concentrate.

The sheer effort of will it takes to merely remember astounds me. For a moment, I falter, and the fog coalesces around me, then I redouble my efforts and press on. In my pocket, my phone vibrates, and I don’t need to look at it to know that Paul’s telling me he’s got my back. True or not, the thought renews my resolve and reminds me of what we once shared. I calm my heart and respiration and anchor onto the happy. Around me, all hell breaks loose, but as long as I refuse to acknowledge it, I weaken the power the monstrosity has over me. If only we’d realised this as kids. Quickly, I shake my head to clear the regret and the path down which such sad remorse will surely lead me.

Because I keep my eyes closed, the evil can’t freak me out with illusions, and I overlay the awful cacophony it throws at me with recollected sounds of love making and youthful exploration. Deeper and deeper I focus until there’s nothing on this island but myself and my good memories. I lose track of time, and darkness falls. A fierce roar of rage rends the air, and I force my suddenly tense body to relax, muscle by muscle, and hold on to my hard won peace. All at once, the wind drops, and silence descends. Slowly, cautiously, I open my eyes. The fog has lifted, and a new moon smiles down at me from amongst the scattering of stars.

To make certain, I stand up and return to the shore. My boat is nowhere to be found. I walk a slow circuit around the island’s circumference, once, twice, then a third time. Only now do I take out my phone and make the call. “It’s done,” I tell Paul. “Come and get me.”