Alan Baxter - The Gulp - Five Tales of Horror

A noticeboard stood at the corner of the park, weathered wood with scratched Perspex in front. It had a variety of community notices, flyers for yoga classes, local produce, Man And A Van For Hire. But one entire side was dedicated to posters about missing people. The Have you seen Daniel? poster was there again, along with about a dozen others. Mostly young people, but not all, with bold headings like MISSING and HELP US FIND STACEY . Ciara stood staring at them and Patrick looked over her shoulder. He opened his mouth to say something, but Torsten interrupted his thoughts.

“It’s volcanic.”

Patrick turned. “What is?”

“The sand. Well, the whole area, I suppose. Lots of white sand beaches and wide-open bays along the coast of Australia, but this rough black stuff has to be volcanic.”

“Danke, nerd,” Simone said.

“Let’s go back for lunch,” Ciara said. “I’m getting hungry again.”

“Two bacon rolls weren’t enough?” Patrick asked.

“I only had one!”

They went back to the fish and chip shop and stared at the menu board. Eventually they picked a combination of blue grenadier, chips, a seafood basket and four cans of soda. The woman behind the counter seemed entirely uninterested as she took the order, almost as though she were annoyed they were there at all. Patrick took out his credit card and she said, “Cash only,” in a tired, put-upon voice.

“In this day and age?”

She pointed to a small A4 sheet of paper with CASH ONLY typed on it that had been taped to the bottom of the menu. “It’s right there.”

Patrick turned to the others. “We have any cash?”

Between them they came up with enough for about half the order and adjusted it accordingly.

“You must lose a lot of business this way,” Patrick said as he paid.

The woman ignored him, put the cash in the till, and turned away to start preparing the food.

“Jesus, between the rudeness and the cash only thing, I’m amazed this place is still in business.”

“Maybe it’s a front for organised crime,” Torsten said with a grin.

“Let’s draw some cash out on the way back,” Ciara said. “In case other places are like this.”

There were tables and chairs out the front that overlooked the water, the harbour to their left, open ocean to the right. After about ten minutes, Patrick went back inside to check on the order and there were several wrapped parcels on the counter.

“Is that ours?” he asked.

The woman looked around theatrically. “You see anyone else here?”

“Were you going to call us or just leave it there to go cold?”

The woman rolled her eyes and went back into the kitchen area behind the counter. She scowled at him through the long hatch until he turned away.

He gathered up the food and, unable to help himself, turned back. “You’re fucking rude, you know that? Maybe you’d be better suited to a different job.”

The woman stared at him, face blank, until he shook his head and took the food back outside.

For all the terrible service, the meal wasn’t too bad, but far from the best they’d had. Regardless, the extra grease seemed to chase away the last of the previous night’s over-indulgence. Even Simone looked more or less back to normal as they walked back around the town, idly browsing shops.

Patrick chose not to say anything, he didn’t want to seem judgemental, but there were a number of odd-looking people in The Gulp. One fellow he saw walking a dog had no nose, which he found strangely disturbing. Maybe cancer had eaten it off? Others seemed overly pale, or strangely long of limb. Still others, the majority he supposed, were entirely normal-looking folks. But there was an edge of oddness to the town he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Maybe it was simply isolation.

As he stood outside a bookshop while his friends browsed the shelves, he looked out towards the north. The houses climbed the hill, lots of them in undulating geological waves, leading up to thick bush in the distance. The cliff of the northernmost head was just visible, crowded with vegetation right up to the edge. Given what they’d driven through, he assumed the south side of town was largely the same. A weird little pocket of civilisation in what Torsten had called unusually old forest. He was fascinated by the place but would be happy to drive on the next day.

It was a little after five and beginning to get dark as they trudged up the steep hill on the western edge of town, back to The Manor. The band were there, all in their makeup like before. Patrick was getting used to it but thought their commitment to it was a little bit try-hard. He’d like to see them without it, see the real people beneath the façade. He mentioned as much to Torsten as they sat with a beer in the large lounge room, night darkening the windows.

“Maybe it’s like Batman,” Torsten said.

“What?”

“Is Bruce Wayne the real person, and Batman his alter ego. Or is Batman real and Bruce Wayne the fake mask he wears?”

“Well, it’s obviously…” Patrick didn’t finish as the thought took root in his mind. “Actually, now you mention it.” He laughed.

“You see. So maybe the band is real, yes?”

Edgar stuck his head in the door. “Grub up!”

They followed him to the back of the house into a big kitchen. It had a massive iron range cooker, copper pots and pans hanging from a cradle over a wide marble work surface. At the far end was an old oak table, scored and stained, but solid as the day it was made. Which must have been a long time ago, Patrick thought. It easily seated twelve given the dozen chairs around it, so the eight of them had plenty of room.

Howard put plates down and then a metal pot of steaming rice. They served themselves as Howard went back to the stove, then came back with two more oversized saucepans, one in each hand. Patrick marvelled at the man’s grip strength, carrying them easily. He put them on the table and pointed.

“That one is chicken masala. That one is beef vindaloo. I hope you like it spicy.”

“How spicy?” Ciara asked with a wince.

“You’re not into hot food?” Howard said. “Hmm. Better stick to the chicken then.”

The food was incredible. The vindaloo blisteringly hot, but so full of flavour, the masala smooth and creamy. They all had second helpings, Patrick and his friends repeatedly telling Howard how good it all was. He smiled and nodded but said nothing. Once they were full, they retired back to the lounge room. Shirley put a DVD into the player under the huge TV and John Carpenter’s The Thing , started up.

“Oh, this is one of the best horror films ever made!” Torsten said happily.

“Oh no. Not for me,” Simone said.

“You don’t like horror films?” Shirley asked.

“Not really. But is okay, I am tired. I go to bed. Maybe read. I don’t want more…” She glanced at Torsten. “ Der Albtraum .”

He nodded. “Nightmares. We both had bad dreams last night.”

“Nightmares, yes. Thank you for lovely dinner.” Simone smiled and left the room, headed upstairs.

“I had terrible dreams last night too,” Patrick said. “I’d forgotten, but she just reminded me.”

“Did you dream of the fall?” Edgar asked.

“The fall?”

“When the creatures fell to the sea, off what’s now Carlton Beach.”

“How do you know that?”

Edgar laughed. “Everyone who sleeps in The Gulp dreams of the fall.”

Patrick looked at Torsten, then Ciara. They both nodded, eyes concerned.

“How can we have all dreamed the same thing?” Patrick asked.

“Just one of the many strange things about this cursed town, my friend.” Edgar turned back to the movie, slumping down in the couch. The other band members all kept their eyes on the screen.