Luke King
New Member
This is a short-story I wrote some time back:
Lucky to be Alive
‘We’re sinking.’
‘Sinking?’
‘There’s a hole in the boat.’
I looked at the kid. Was he crazy?
‘Where?’ I said.
‘Right there. In between your feet.’
I looked. A sudden spray of water hit me in the face. A fine tiny spray. Suddenly it exploded. It burst. It shot up my nose, gushed into my eyes, my mouth. Cold, salty water. I jumped up, fighting the spout with my hands.
And then I turned to face the kid.
What a weirdo! How did he do that? I wondered. Was this some sort of joke? Who was this guy.
————
I’d only just met him. Half an hour ago. On the wharf.
He came up to me. I was fishing.
‘You want to take a boat out?’ he said.
I stared at him. The sun was in my eyes. His face looked sort of greyish-green. But I couldn’t really see it properly.
‘A boat?’ I said. ‘What boat?’ All I could think about was the boat. The offer of a boat. The chance of a boat.
All I ever wanted was a boat.
‘My boat,’ the boy said. He pointed behind me.
I turned. And there was the boat. A wooden rowboat. Tied to the wharf.
Where did that come from? I wondered. It hadn’t been there a moment ago.
‘I’m Albert,’ he said, and thrust out his hand.
‘Damien.’
We shook hands.
He smiled.
‘So. You want to take the boat out?’
‘Sure,’ I said, shrugging, wincing in the sunlight. ‘Why not?’
We climbed into the boat. And suddenly, I felt a bit funny. Who was this kid? I’d never seen him round here before.
He looked really sick. Like he had a disease. The skin on his hands, his arms, it was yellowy-green, and waxy in the sunlight. And he was really dressed up — wearing trousers and a shirt. White trousers. White shirt. It was odd stuff to be wearing on such a hot day — sort of old-fashioned.
‘Aren’t you hot?’ I said to him.
But he just ignored me, untied the rope.
I stared for a moment, then sat down to row.
‘I do the rowing,’ he said, turning around.
Fine. Great. Who wanted to row anyway?
He tossed the rope into the boat and pushed us off.
I got a sick feeling then — a sick, sinking feeling in the guts. It was like something had gone terribly wrong. I shook my head. What could be wrong?
It was a perfect day. Blue sky. Sunshine. Cool, gentle breeze.
I lay down on the seat and put my hat over my eyes. What could be wrong?
Swish. Swish. Swish.
He was a good rower.
Swish. Swish. Swish.
Steady and strong.
Swish. Swish. Swish.
I started to doze. Sleepy.
And then he splashed a paddle full of water into my face. I jumped up and almost fell out of the boat.
‘What did you do that for?’ I said.
‘You’re not to sleep yet,’ he said.
Yet? What did that mean? I wasn’t planning on sleeping at all. We were going fishing — right? Yeah, we were going fishing.
‘Hey! Where’s your fishing gear?’ There was nothing but my rod and my bucket in the bottom of the boat.
‘Fishing gear?’
‘Aren’t we going fishing?’
‘No. We’ve come out for a row, don’t you see?’
A row! Yeah, right. He wouldn’t even let me.
I stared at him. And he…well, he sort of stared past me, like he was looking at something behind me. I turned around to see what he was looking at. There was nothing. Nothing! No other boat. No land for miles.
‘Hey! How did we get so far out?’ I asked, still staring behind me. I must have gone to sleep. The land was a low, dark line in the distance, and everywhere, all around us, was the calm blue water of the wide, wide bay.
‘Don’t you think we’re a bit far out?’ I said.
‘Almost there now.’
‘Almost where?’
I breathed a little deeper. Looked around. This was getting really weird.
He stopped rowing. Turned the oars into the boat. He sighed. And then he said it.
‘We’re sinking.’
————
The cold, salty water surged under my feet. I tried to think… ‘The bucket!’
I grabbed it and started to bail.
‘Help!’ I screamed at him.
But he just sat there.
Already, the water was over my ankles. It tickled my skin, climbed to my knees.
‘Help!’ I screamed again.
But the kid just sat there, with his head turned down, hypnotised by the swirling surge of water in the boat.
‘Do you want to die?’ I screamed.
He lifted his head and shrugged, but tears were rolling down his face.
‘Come on. We’ll have to swim.’ I ripped my T-shirt off, grabbed his wrist and tried to pull him backwards. He didn’t seem to care. And his skin was cold. Really cold.
Ice cold.
Dead cold.
I slipped and fell. Cold water gushed over my head and chest as the boat slipped beneath the surface.
And the boy just sat there. Perfectly still. His head slipped under. And a moment later…he was gone.
And me? I was on my own. In the centre of the bay. Treading water.
The bucket bobbed beside me. I turned it over, tipped the water out and held it upside down against my chest. I used it like a floatie; and kicked my way to land.
I don’t know how I made it. It must have taken hours. And when I dragged myself onto the beach beside the wharf, I was exhausted. I lay face down in the sand, crying silent tears of fright…of relief.
I heard footsteps.
‘What a lovely place…’ A woman’s voice.
‘…climb up on the wharf.’ A man’s. They must have been tourists.
Closer.
‘It’s sort of creepy, isn’t it?’ she said.
‘They say it’s haunted.’
‘Haunted?’
‘The ghost of a small boy. He drowned here.’
‘Who told you that?’
‘The lady at the hotel.’
They scrambled onto the wharf. Couldn’t they see me? I had almost died out there.
‘Look!’
‘What?’ he said.
‘Look at that boy.’ She pointed at me. I was just too tired to move. ‘You think he’d know better than to lie in the sun. He could get skin cancer.’
Skin cancer!
She shouted at me. ‘Hey kid! Do you want to die?’
Die? No. I was lucky to be alive.
Lucky to be Alive
‘We’re sinking.’
‘Sinking?’
‘There’s a hole in the boat.’
I looked at the kid. Was he crazy?
‘Where?’ I said.
‘Right there. In between your feet.’
I looked. A sudden spray of water hit me in the face. A fine tiny spray. Suddenly it exploded. It burst. It shot up my nose, gushed into my eyes, my mouth. Cold, salty water. I jumped up, fighting the spout with my hands.
And then I turned to face the kid.
What a weirdo! How did he do that? I wondered. Was this some sort of joke? Who was this guy.
————
I’d only just met him. Half an hour ago. On the wharf.
He came up to me. I was fishing.
‘You want to take a boat out?’ he said.
I stared at him. The sun was in my eyes. His face looked sort of greyish-green. But I couldn’t really see it properly.
‘A boat?’ I said. ‘What boat?’ All I could think about was the boat. The offer of a boat. The chance of a boat.
All I ever wanted was a boat.
‘My boat,’ the boy said. He pointed behind me.
I turned. And there was the boat. A wooden rowboat. Tied to the wharf.
Where did that come from? I wondered. It hadn’t been there a moment ago.
‘I’m Albert,’ he said, and thrust out his hand.
‘Damien.’
We shook hands.
He smiled.
‘So. You want to take the boat out?’
‘Sure,’ I said, shrugging, wincing in the sunlight. ‘Why not?’
We climbed into the boat. And suddenly, I felt a bit funny. Who was this kid? I’d never seen him round here before.
He looked really sick. Like he had a disease. The skin on his hands, his arms, it was yellowy-green, and waxy in the sunlight. And he was really dressed up — wearing trousers and a shirt. White trousers. White shirt. It was odd stuff to be wearing on such a hot day — sort of old-fashioned.
‘Aren’t you hot?’ I said to him.
But he just ignored me, untied the rope.
I stared for a moment, then sat down to row.
‘I do the rowing,’ he said, turning around.
Fine. Great. Who wanted to row anyway?
He tossed the rope into the boat and pushed us off.
I got a sick feeling then — a sick, sinking feeling in the guts. It was like something had gone terribly wrong. I shook my head. What could be wrong?
It was a perfect day. Blue sky. Sunshine. Cool, gentle breeze.
I lay down on the seat and put my hat over my eyes. What could be wrong?
Swish. Swish. Swish.
He was a good rower.
Swish. Swish. Swish.
Steady and strong.
Swish. Swish. Swish.
I started to doze. Sleepy.
And then he splashed a paddle full of water into my face. I jumped up and almost fell out of the boat.
‘What did you do that for?’ I said.
‘You’re not to sleep yet,’ he said.
Yet? What did that mean? I wasn’t planning on sleeping at all. We were going fishing — right? Yeah, we were going fishing.
‘Hey! Where’s your fishing gear?’ There was nothing but my rod and my bucket in the bottom of the boat.
‘Fishing gear?’
‘Aren’t we going fishing?’
‘No. We’ve come out for a row, don’t you see?’
A row! Yeah, right. He wouldn’t even let me.
I stared at him. And he…well, he sort of stared past me, like he was looking at something behind me. I turned around to see what he was looking at. There was nothing. Nothing! No other boat. No land for miles.
‘Hey! How did we get so far out?’ I asked, still staring behind me. I must have gone to sleep. The land was a low, dark line in the distance, and everywhere, all around us, was the calm blue water of the wide, wide bay.
‘Don’t you think we’re a bit far out?’ I said.
‘Almost there now.’
‘Almost where?’
I breathed a little deeper. Looked around. This was getting really weird.
He stopped rowing. Turned the oars into the boat. He sighed. And then he said it.
‘We’re sinking.’
————
The cold, salty water surged under my feet. I tried to think… ‘The bucket!’
I grabbed it and started to bail.
‘Help!’ I screamed at him.
But he just sat there.
Already, the water was over my ankles. It tickled my skin, climbed to my knees.
‘Help!’ I screamed again.
But the kid just sat there, with his head turned down, hypnotised by the swirling surge of water in the boat.
‘Do you want to die?’ I screamed.
He lifted his head and shrugged, but tears were rolling down his face.
‘Come on. We’ll have to swim.’ I ripped my T-shirt off, grabbed his wrist and tried to pull him backwards. He didn’t seem to care. And his skin was cold. Really cold.
Ice cold.
Dead cold.
I slipped and fell. Cold water gushed over my head and chest as the boat slipped beneath the surface.
And the boy just sat there. Perfectly still. His head slipped under. And a moment later…he was gone.
And me? I was on my own. In the centre of the bay. Treading water.
The bucket bobbed beside me. I turned it over, tipped the water out and held it upside down against my chest. I used it like a floatie; and kicked my way to land.
I don’t know how I made it. It must have taken hours. And when I dragged myself onto the beach beside the wharf, I was exhausted. I lay face down in the sand, crying silent tears of fright…of relief.
I heard footsteps.
‘What a lovely place…’ A woman’s voice.
‘…climb up on the wharf.’ A man’s. They must have been tourists.
Closer.
‘It’s sort of creepy, isn’t it?’ she said.
‘They say it’s haunted.’
‘Haunted?’
‘The ghost of a small boy. He drowned here.’
‘Who told you that?’
‘The lady at the hotel.’
They scrambled onto the wharf. Couldn’t they see me? I had almost died out there.
‘Look!’
‘What?’ he said.
‘Look at that boy.’ She pointed at me. I was just too tired to move. ‘You think he’d know better than to lie in the sun. He could get skin cancer.’
Skin cancer!
She shouted at me. ‘Hey kid! Do you want to die?’
Die? No. I was lucky to be alive.