Alan Baxter - The Gulp - Five Tales of Horror

“Coffee,” Shirley said, putting a large metal jug on the same dresser as the booze that had caused all their problems.

Well, maybe not all of it, Patrick reflected. The green moonshine Edgar had shared around was nowhere to be seen. He hadn’t seen where that came from.

The bacon roll was amazing, greasy and salty enough to start counteracting his hangover. As he chewed, he went and fetched himself and Ciara a coffee. Torsten and Simone had woken when he came back, so he turned right around and got them one each too.

When he came back, Howard offered him another bacon roll. “Plenty to go around.”

Shirley put some music on, but turned down low. Patrick recognised it but couldn’t place it. Nineties grunge of some kind. The few remaining revellers drifted off over the next half hour or so, thanking the band for the hospitality. The last one to leave spoke quietly to Edgar for a moment and kept glancing back at Patrick as he did so. Edgar squeezed the guy’s shoulder, said something with a reassuring face. The guy nodded and left and Edgar came to sit next to Patrick. The rest of the band joined them, all eight sat in a loose circle on two couches and three armchairs.

“Had enough to eat?” Edgar asked.

They nodded, smiled.

“You’re very kind,” Patrick said. “It’s good of you to do this, something for your real fans after a gig, yeah?”

Edgar smiled. “Something like that. Some of these people have followed us for a while.”

Patrick realised all four band members still had the dark makeup, the crimson contacts. It hadn’t registered at first, and that surprised him. He nodded at Edgar’s face. “You’re really committed to your bit, huh?”

“It’s just who we are, man.”

“Must be tiring. Don’t you feel like some days you just can’t be bothered?”

“How do you know we don’t?”

Patrick nodded. “I guess you keep it up while people are around or when you go out, but that’s all?”

“Maybe.”

“I feel strange,” Simone said quietly.

They all turned to look at her. Torsten said something in German and the two had a quiet conversation for a moment.

“Everything okay?” Patrick asked.

“Probably the drink, that’s all,” Torsten said.

Edgar laughed, but good-naturedly. “Our moonshine can have a lasting effect, especially if you’re not used to it.”

“What is that stuff exactly?”

“Exactly, Patrick? I can’t tell you. Secrets! It’s just a homebrew spirit, that’s all.”

“If I’m honest, I feel a little weird too,” Ciara said. “I’m wiped out.”

“Everyone drank a lot,” Clarke said. “And we were up all night. It’s barely noon now. You don’t have to be anywhere, do you?”

Ciara shook her head. “We were going to stay in Monkton last night and tonight. Find a motel bed instead of cramped together in the campervan. Then head on towards Sydney.”

“Ended up cramped on couches and armchairs instead,” Torsten said with a rueful laugh.

“Well, you’re here now,” Edgar said. “You want to stay with us tonight as well? We’ve plenty of rooms, you can have a proper bed tonight, showers, all that stuff. Better than a Monkton fucking motel, that’s for sure. Have a look around The Gulp today. There’s really nowhere else like it.”

“Thankfully,” Shirley said quietly.

The other band members chuckled softly.

Edgar stood up. “You want to? Come on, I’ll show you your rooms. All your stuff is in your camper outside, right?”

They looked at each other and Ciara and Torsten nodded. Simone looked uncertain, but she also looked a little more sick and pale.

“Sure, why not,” Patrick said.

Edgar gave them rooms side by side. There was even a door inside, joining the two. Each room had a large bed of dark wood, a small sink in the corner, a set of drawers and a dressing table. They were like nicely appointed rooms in an old-fashioned hotel. Across the hall was a huge bathroom with a shower cubicle and a claw-foot bath, which was theirs alone to use. The band apparently had other rooms and bathrooms, at the opposite end of the sprawling upper storey.

“People usually crash on the couches like last night,” Edgar said. “But we often have people stay for a while, so we keep the guest rooms nice. Pretty good, eh? Anyway, we have to practice, so make yourselves at home. Head off into town whenever you like, and if you’re back by about seven you can eat with us. Howard is whipping up one of his famous curries tonight. You’ll like it, I promise.” Without waiting for a response, he turned and strolled away.

“Great local hospitality,” Torsten said. “This is the beauty of travelling with no agenda. Cool things happen.”

“Shall we take a look around The Gulp?” Patrick said.

Simone groaned. “Shower and change first.” She went through the adjoining door to the room she was sharing with her brother. Edgar had offered them each a room, but Simone had said she wanted to stay with Torsten.

“See you downstairs in half an hour?” Torsten said.

“Perfect.” Patrick fancied a shower and change himself.

They walked downthe hill and came to the main street leading into town, turned right towards the harbour. A park with a decent sized playground on one side, shops and a few cafes on the other. They found the museum, an old sandstone building, but it was closed up, with no opening hours displayed anywhere. A tattered poster had been pinned to the door, faded with time and rain. It asked, Have you seen Daniel? and featured a grainy photo of a lank-haired youth.

On the far side of the park, a road led back up to the north side of town, more houses of varying age spreading out. Then a path ran around the harbour. The water glittered in a large half circle and on the far side was the harbour proper, with breakwater walls and a variety of boats moored up. Most were fishing boats, but a few leisure vessels bobbed among them. On the far side of the harbour was a row of buildings that ended with a large fish and chip shop.

“Back here for lunch?” Ciara said.

They walked out along the headland beyond the harbour, all the way to the lighthouse that marked the end point. It was tall, stark white against the sky. Patrick imagined it half-built, Governor Gulpepper standing on the cliff edge with his arms raised. He vaguely remembered blood red clouds and things falling but had no idea why that image was in his mind. A cold wind blew across and he shivered.

“I can’t get used to it being winter in the middle of the year,” Patrick said. “Nearly July and it’s cold.”

“Hardly cold compared to our winters,” Torsten said.

“Well, no, but you know what I mean. I’m glad I have a sweater on.”

“I like it,” Simone said. “Clear and sun but not hot. Remember you the last trip?” she asked Torsten.

He laughed. “Yeah, that was hot! We came to Australia once before, and we started in Darwin, but it was January. So hot and humid, it was awful.”

“There’s a beach down there,” Ciara said, pointing over the south side of the head.

They walked down that way, taking their time to enjoy the views, and found the beach was quite small, but it had a nice aspect and was low between the head and the next rise of land, so it was sheltered. Behind the gravelly black sand was another park, another set of bright plastic play equipment. Four people sat at one of the picnic tables, the only others there. They were a strange bunch, Patrick thought. A young woman, a middle aged woman and man, and an elderly man. Maybe a family group? But they didn’t look alike other than they were all incredibly pale. They just sat there, staring at nothing, not talking. They gave Patrick the creeps.