It was a muggy July day, somewhere between fog and rain, even at the beach. James felt he was swimming through a haze of water droplets, and all he could see was the moist sand stretching out towards the sea, somewhere under the blanket of mist.
The sand squelched as he walked, seawater tricking into his sandals. He enjoyed walking along the beach, even in this sauna-like weather. It was lucky that he knew his way about, with the quicksand and –
Something darted, on the edge of his vision. A small shape. A dog? No, too big and too slow. A child? Out on the quicksand?
Then, the screaming started. ‘Help, help!’ A ragged hysterical voice that cut into his spine and made his stomach lurch. He walked carefully towards the sea, in the direction of the voice.
It seemed to come from all around, the mist closing in on all sides. His foot sunk into the sand. Need to be careful. His leg plunged in to his knee. Fuck! Sweat beaded his forehead, mingling with the droplets of mist.
He couldn’t hear the screaming anymore, but he carried on anyway. After a couple of knee deep steps, he slid in down to mid-thigh.
‘Help!’ The fog muffled his voice. No use shouting, no one will hear me. No idiots are out in this weather anyway.
He turned around gradually, heart pounding in his chest, expecting the next movement to suck him in to his waist, fighting to retain his balance. If I fall in, I’m a dead man.
But he managed it. After wading around in a circle, he was facing the way he had come.
He could see a rock ahead and pulled his leg out of the quicksand, with a loud sucking noise. After a few staggering steps, the watery mush was up to his knees again.
James was nearly at the rock when he stumbled. At first he lay there in the knee-deep, quicksand, in shock, as his chest and elbows slowly sunk beneath the sand.
Then he felt it again. Hands, around his ankle. Small hands, childlike hands.
The hands pulled viciously, and dragged him towards the sea. He managed to scream once, arms flailing in panic, before the quicksand engulfed him and filled his lungs. The watery sand closed over his head, the mist closed in above, and all was quiet.
Does what it says on the tin! I hate those sorts of days by the seaside, when it is muggy and foggy and constant drizzle. Also saw some kids ankle-deep in quicksand a few months ago, and pulled them to dry land on a boogie board!
Sunday 25 July 2010
Susie
Sarah sipped her cup of chamomile tea, feet up on the sofa. ER was on, and the children were being quiet, a blessed moment of respite. Not that the girls were bad, but they were boisterous in the way that a two year old and a four year old could be when they delighted in each other’s company and mischief.
Things were difficult enough anyway since the separation and, like her ex-husband, she had just moved into a small flat. The area was nice enough, a flat in a Victorian villa as opposed to her ex’s new build apartment, but just not the same as the four bedroom house and garden they had relinquished. She had the children most of the time, as well as working part time, but she still enjoyed Friday afternoons with them, after picking them up from their father. It broke her heart sometimes when they parted each Friday lunchtime, but the continual arguments and bitterness had been too much to bear.
Sarah padded through to the bedroom to see what they were doing.
‘Playing with Susie.’ The oldest girl Hannah smiled and her eyes shone with amusement.
‘Susie our fwend,’ beamed the younger Amy.
‘Well, as long as you’re having fun,’ laughed Sarah. ‘Does your friend Susie want a cup of tea?’
‘Don’t be silly, Mummy,’ said Hannah. ‘She’s not alive.’
Well, that’s me told, thought Sarah as she slinked back to the living room.
Bath night was always fun. They would splash in bubbles, usually making a mess of the bathroom. Afterwards, Susie would wrap them in fluffy dressing gowns and leave them to choose story books, while she went into the kitchen to prepare supper, usually half a doughnut each with a glass of milk.
She was cutting the doughnut with a bread knife when she heard the conspiring whispers.
‘Susie says to do it like this…at the same time.’
Then, a loud thump and throaty gurgling from the bedroom. Sarah ran through, catching one of the milk glasses with her elbow. It shattered on the floor, splashing milk everywhere.
The girls dangled from the dressing gown cords, wrapped around their necks and tied to the bunk bed. Their eyes bulged desperately from red-blue faces, hands clawing at the constricting nooses and feet scrabbling desperately at the ground.
Sobbing in horror, Sarah slashed the cords and the girls collapsed to the ground. She pulled frantically at their necks and loosened the nooses.
‘Why did you do that! Why, oh why, oh why!’ She screamed as she hugged the girls close. Thankfully they were screaming as well, floods of tears, which meant they were unhurt.
They huddled together for some time until all three had calmed down.
Sarah sat the girls together and looked sternly at them.
‘Now girls,’ she asked, ‘why did you do that? That was a really really bad thing.’
‘Susie told us to do it,’ said Hannah.
‘Susie say do,’ said Amy, not wanting to be left out.
‘Don’t be silly, girls,’ said Sarah. ‘There’s no Susie here.’
‘Yes there is, Mummy,’ said Hannah. ‘Her name’s Susie Side. She said she did it years ago, and if we did it then we could play with her forever.’
Fear gripped Sarah’s spine. ‘What – ‘
The bedroom door slammed shut. The light bulb flared briefly and died. A cold wind rattled through the curtains.
Sarah grabbed the children and ran out of the bedroom, out of the flat, downstairs and out onto the wet pavement in her bare feet. She opened the car door and bundled them into their car seats.
‘Where are we going, Mummy?’ asked Hannah.
‘Where we go, Mama?’ asked Amy.
‘We’re going to see Daddy,’ said Susan, as she buckled the seatbelt. I’m not setting foot in that flat again.
She turned the ignition key and selected the reverse gear, glancing into the rear view mirror –
A swollen-purple face filled the mirror, eyes staring wildly, rictus grin gasping for air. A thrashing hand clawed at her hair.
She screamed.
This is just horrible! No redeeming features at all.
Things were difficult enough anyway since the separation and, like her ex-husband, she had just moved into a small flat. The area was nice enough, a flat in a Victorian villa as opposed to her ex’s new build apartment, but just not the same as the four bedroom house and garden they had relinquished. She had the children most of the time, as well as working part time, but she still enjoyed Friday afternoons with them, after picking them up from their father. It broke her heart sometimes when they parted each Friday lunchtime, but the continual arguments and bitterness had been too much to bear.
Sarah padded through to the bedroom to see what they were doing.
‘Playing with Susie.’ The oldest girl Hannah smiled and her eyes shone with amusement.
‘Susie our fwend,’ beamed the younger Amy.
‘Well, as long as you’re having fun,’ laughed Sarah. ‘Does your friend Susie want a cup of tea?’
‘Don’t be silly, Mummy,’ said Hannah. ‘She’s not alive.’
Well, that’s me told, thought Sarah as she slinked back to the living room.
Bath night was always fun. They would splash in bubbles, usually making a mess of the bathroom. Afterwards, Susie would wrap them in fluffy dressing gowns and leave them to choose story books, while she went into the kitchen to prepare supper, usually half a doughnut each with a glass of milk.
She was cutting the doughnut with a bread knife when she heard the conspiring whispers.
‘Susie says to do it like this…at the same time.’
Then, a loud thump and throaty gurgling from the bedroom. Sarah ran through, catching one of the milk glasses with her elbow. It shattered on the floor, splashing milk everywhere.
The girls dangled from the dressing gown cords, wrapped around their necks and tied to the bunk bed. Their eyes bulged desperately from red-blue faces, hands clawing at the constricting nooses and feet scrabbling desperately at the ground.
Sobbing in horror, Sarah slashed the cords and the girls collapsed to the ground. She pulled frantically at their necks and loosened the nooses.
‘Why did you do that! Why, oh why, oh why!’ She screamed as she hugged the girls close. Thankfully they were screaming as well, floods of tears, which meant they were unhurt.
They huddled together for some time until all three had calmed down.
Sarah sat the girls together and looked sternly at them.
‘Now girls,’ she asked, ‘why did you do that? That was a really really bad thing.’
‘Susie told us to do it,’ said Hannah.
‘Susie say do,’ said Amy, not wanting to be left out.
‘Don’t be silly, girls,’ said Sarah. ‘There’s no Susie here.’
‘Yes there is, Mummy,’ said Hannah. ‘Her name’s Susie Side. She said she did it years ago, and if we did it then we could play with her forever.’
Fear gripped Sarah’s spine. ‘What – ‘
The bedroom door slammed shut. The light bulb flared briefly and died. A cold wind rattled through the curtains.
Sarah grabbed the children and ran out of the bedroom, out of the flat, downstairs and out onto the wet pavement in her bare feet. She opened the car door and bundled them into their car seats.
‘Where are we going, Mummy?’ asked Hannah.
‘Where we go, Mama?’ asked Amy.
‘We’re going to see Daddy,’ said Susan, as she buckled the seatbelt. I’m not setting foot in that flat again.
She turned the ignition key and selected the reverse gear, glancing into the rear view mirror –
A swollen-purple face filled the mirror, eyes staring wildly, rictus grin gasping for air. A thrashing hand clawed at her hair.
She screamed.
This is just horrible! No redeeming features at all.
Mutant
A birth, of sorts.
The mother splits into siblings, deep within the moist stronghold of raw red caverns which no daylight has penetrated.
A series of slow convulsions shatter their sanctuary. Propelled upwards, borne into alien daylight just as the birthing cycle begins again. Both siblings split, disappearing into what should be two perfect copies of each parent, grandparent and earlier generations beyond numbering.
But this time is different. Perhaps a photon of light, or the violent wave action of ultra violet. The reconstituted genome is imperfectly paired, the double helix spirals linked in one location by adenine and thymine instead of cytosine and guanine. Consequently, one cell’s membrane has a different structure of proteins and phospholipids to its ancestors. It is stickier. Such a change, beyond microscopic, will change the world. In time, it will be discovered, but not until it has claimed the lives of ninety per cent of the human population.
The consequences are yet to unfold as the mutant splits into two deviant copies, blind to the sparkling dust motes that dance in the swirling air. Caught by a vortex, the twins are sucked into a gaping maw, embraced by fleshy darkness. They are grains of sand on an alveolar beach amongst their half-siblings, but they alone stick as the tide recedes and their fellows are expelled on a rainbow spray.
They stick to the surface of the lungs. They multiply, two, four, eight, sixteen times and more, spreading into the new frontier of the bloodstream. Nutrients abound in their new home, which they absorb, convert and subvert like living creatures everywhere, chemical reactions leaving by-products in their scythe-like wake.
One of these by-products is a three-protein toxin which acts as an enzyme, a cellular catalyst, interfering with the complex mechanisms which regulate water uptake into the host human cells and form the very basis of their function. It also kills the macrophages which are the footsoldiers of the immune system. Rapid cell death follows as the invaders sweep through arteries, veins and capillaries, splitting and splitting all the time.
The man coughs, spraying microscopic droplets throughout the train compartment. He has a low-grade chest infection anyway, the common cold virus allowing bacterial proliferation, making it even easier for the new invader to set up camp. Soon, at work, he shivers and sweats, chest convulsing in a rasping series of coughs. He returns home and retires to bed, sipping a hot lemon and paracetamol drink. Within twenty four hours, he is dead, surrounded by mask-wearing medical staff and other patients close to death, as the sweat chills on his wracked and wasted body. The masks offer little protection against the tiny microbes, whose malign ancestor was borne into daylight just over a day previously. Within another couple of days, fetid winds will gently lift their distant cousins from the bloody foam congealing around corpse-mouths, blown around the litter-strewn and silent streets, emperors making their triumphal procession amongst the newly-conquered kingdom of the dead.
This short story came to mind on the train last week, when someone sneezed. I thought about a pandemic from the microbe's point of view. The science is loosely based on the mutation of a bacterium leading to an effect similar to that of anthrax, which is extremely toxic but not very infectious.
The mother splits into siblings, deep within the moist stronghold of raw red caverns which no daylight has penetrated.
A series of slow convulsions shatter their sanctuary. Propelled upwards, borne into alien daylight just as the birthing cycle begins again. Both siblings split, disappearing into what should be two perfect copies of each parent, grandparent and earlier generations beyond numbering.
But this time is different. Perhaps a photon of light, or the violent wave action of ultra violet. The reconstituted genome is imperfectly paired, the double helix spirals linked in one location by adenine and thymine instead of cytosine and guanine. Consequently, one cell’s membrane has a different structure of proteins and phospholipids to its ancestors. It is stickier. Such a change, beyond microscopic, will change the world. In time, it will be discovered, but not until it has claimed the lives of ninety per cent of the human population.
The consequences are yet to unfold as the mutant splits into two deviant copies, blind to the sparkling dust motes that dance in the swirling air. Caught by a vortex, the twins are sucked into a gaping maw, embraced by fleshy darkness. They are grains of sand on an alveolar beach amongst their half-siblings, but they alone stick as the tide recedes and their fellows are expelled on a rainbow spray.
They stick to the surface of the lungs. They multiply, two, four, eight, sixteen times and more, spreading into the new frontier of the bloodstream. Nutrients abound in their new home, which they absorb, convert and subvert like living creatures everywhere, chemical reactions leaving by-products in their scythe-like wake.
One of these by-products is a three-protein toxin which acts as an enzyme, a cellular catalyst, interfering with the complex mechanisms which regulate water uptake into the host human cells and form the very basis of their function. It also kills the macrophages which are the footsoldiers of the immune system. Rapid cell death follows as the invaders sweep through arteries, veins and capillaries, splitting and splitting all the time.
The man coughs, spraying microscopic droplets throughout the train compartment. He has a low-grade chest infection anyway, the common cold virus allowing bacterial proliferation, making it even easier for the new invader to set up camp. Soon, at work, he shivers and sweats, chest convulsing in a rasping series of coughs. He returns home and retires to bed, sipping a hot lemon and paracetamol drink. Within twenty four hours, he is dead, surrounded by mask-wearing medical staff and other patients close to death, as the sweat chills on his wracked and wasted body. The masks offer little protection against the tiny microbes, whose malign ancestor was borne into daylight just over a day previously. Within another couple of days, fetid winds will gently lift their distant cousins from the bloody foam congealing around corpse-mouths, blown around the litter-strewn and silent streets, emperors making their triumphal procession amongst the newly-conquered kingdom of the dead.
This short story came to mind on the train last week, when someone sneezed. I thought about a pandemic from the microbe's point of view. The science is loosely based on the mutation of a bacterium leading to an effect similar to that of anthrax, which is extremely toxic but not very infectious.
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