Alan Baxter - The Gulp - Five Tales of Horror

Donny dug in a desk drawer, then came up with a bunch of keys and unlocked the office door.

“How are ya?”

Rich smiled. “Pretty good, thanks. Donny is it? I’m Rich. Chrissy at the pub said you’d be able to fix me up with a room for the night?”

“You’re rich? Maybe I should charge ya double, hey?” Donny hyucked a laugh.

Why was everyone making the same joke, had they never met a Rich before? “It’s Richard, and I only have a card to pay with. No cash.”

“That’s all right, we’re not entirely medieval here.” Donny leaned out the door and looked left and right, sizing up his motel. “Number six, hey?”

Rich shrugged. “Sure, I’m easy.”

Donny gestured inside and went back to his desk. He pulled out a large book and opened it. “Sign-in details here, please.”

The page was otherwise blank, so Rich filled in the top line with his name, address and mobile number. He chose not to include his email address. He pointed at what he’d written. “My phone gets no service here.” He pulled it out to check again and it still had no signal. “Yep, not a thing.”

Donny grinned, pulling the book back across the desk. “Only a couple of providers get any signal in The Gulp. The cliffs either side put the whole town in a kind of bowl. Don’t worry about it, just a formality. I won’t be calling you for a date or anything. What brings you here then? No bags?”

“Unexpected stopover. Truck broke down, waiting for a repair in the morning.”

“Right. Pain in the arse, hey?”

“Yeah, I guess. Still, it’s given me a chance to check out Gulpepper. I’ve never been before.”

Donny looked up from under the rolled over wool of his beanie, eyes narrowed. He licked his lips and nodded once, then turned his attention back to the book. What was he looking at for so long? There were only ten or so words written there. Donny sniffed suddenly and put the book away, then rummaged in the drawer. He pulled out a key on a ridiculously large wooden tag, shaped like a dolphin. It had SIX 6 burned into both sides.

“Eighty-five bucks a night and we put a deposit of another hundred bucks on your card. That’ll get credited back right away assuming there’s no damage when you leave. Just one night?”

“Yes, thanks.”

Rich tapped his card, waited for the beep, then Donny handed him a receipt and his giant key fob.

“No car?”

“No, I walked up here. Truck broke down?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

Donny sat, smiling up at Rich. His two front teeth crossed ever so slightly, making a slight ridge that pushed his top lip forward under his weirdly large nose.

“Okay,” Rich said. “Thanks very much. I’ll, errr…” He gestured back over his shoulder.

“Right-o,” Donny said.

Rich turned away and was halfway out the door when Donny said, “How hot is Chrissy, hey?”

Rich looked back. “She’s really good-looking, yeah.”

“Good-looking? She’s a fucken cracker, that one. I’d love to…” Donny rocked in his chair, like he was trying to thrust his hips while sitting down. The chair creaked.

“Ha. Yeah, I get that. Night then.” Rich hurried out and closed the door before Donny could share any other thoughts of what he’d like to do.

The room smelled of dust and damp when he opened the door, a slightly off, briny smell no doubt from being so close to the sea. But it was clean enough, simply furnished. A double bed, desk and chair, small bar fridge in one corner with a microwave, kettle, tea and coffee stuff on it. A wardrobe with sliding mirror doors in one corner reflected Rich back at himself. He looked into the bathroom at the back. It had a sink, toilet and glassed-in shower cubicle. Simple and clean enough.

“This’ll do fine,” he muttered and went back to close the unit door. He locked it and hung the chain up inside. An immense sense of relief fell over him once he felt enclosed and safe in his own space. George had been right, this was a weird town. But it was only isolated country people, nothing more than that. He went to the big front window and drew the curtains across. A large white van drove slowly up the hill outside, exhaust sputtering dark and smoky behind it.

A small TV was mounted on the wall above the desk. He turned it on and was pleased to see it did get reception, albeit it grainy with a slight hiss to the sound. He tried other channels, but only the one working was ABC2, showing a British cosy mystery.

“Good enough,” he said.

He kicked his shoes off and sat on the bed. He opened the chips and a beer, leaning back against piled pillows that were ever so slightly damp to the touch, and watched the village drama unfold on the small screen.

Five out of six beers and a couple more shows later and Rich was pleasantly drunk and overcome with fatigue. He staggered to use the bathroom, wishing he could brush his teeth. His breath would fell cattle in the morning. He stripped down to his boxer shorts and t-shirt and climbed into the bed. When he turned out the light, the room plunged into pitch darkness, the heavy curtains almost entirely blocking the watery glow of the streetlight and motel sign outside. It was wholly quiet. Alcohol helped sleep overcome him in no time.

He walked along a dark street, gentle rain misting the air. Shadows moved across a green area where a swing set creaked, the seats penduluming with no one on them. A dog barked and a man with no nose leaned in close and whispered something. His breath reeked of fish but his words were unclear.

“What did you say?”

The noseless man spoke again, his voice a stinking hiss, the words still unintelligible.

“I don’t understand!”

A dog barked again, something cold and slippery pressed up into his palm. Why was the dog slimy? He looked down but there was no dog. The noseless man had gone. No one at all shared the street with him, all the buildings along one side were dark, the park on the other side empty. The swings went back and forth, back and forth, creaking. The rain became heavier, it hissed like the noseless man’s voice. A bell rang, repeatedly like a ship rocking on a rough sea, its brass clanging against the mast. He slipped and looked down to see slick seaweed underfoot, black and greasy. It smelled like rotten flesh and stuck to his shoes. The rain became heavier, soaking him, plastering his hair flat. He looked up and saw the ocean roiling, waves tumbling over each other, spray carried on a strong wind that blew the rain into his face. He turned and there was nothing but ocean and beach, littered with rotten weed, and seemingly endless bush behind. Tall gum trees, twisted banksia, thick undergrowth. He tried to move along the beach but slipped and slid on the fetid weed. He went down, landing heavily on his hands and knees. The stink of rotten flesh grew stronger as wetness splashed up into his face. He cried out, staggered to his feet, hands slicked with foul blackness that dripped from his fingertips. The smell made him gag and he turned, saw something huge rise and shift far back in the trees. It seemed to unfurl, arching up above the tree line like a whale’s back in the ocean, then sank away again out of sight. He turned a full circle, nothing but a rocky beach rising into high cliffs at either end, the impenetrable bush behind. “Where am I?” he yelled, but his voice came out like a seal’s bark, whipped away by the wind, lost in the rain and sea spray. Thick black clouds hung low and pendulous over the water, a deep crimson glow across the far distance like a giant wound in the sky. Things with wavering limbs tumbled from clouds, splashing into the waves, from nearby to far away on the horizon.

“Got to be home,” a voice said. The noseless man stood there, looking up at him from under the brim of his trilby hat. His dog ran and jumped in the waves, barking at the falling creatures. “Got to be home!” the man said again, urgency in his voice. “I want to go home!” he suddenly yelled up at the night sky.