Stephen King: Six Scary Stories

From: porpoise1swimit@gmail.com

To: barflysuse@gmail.com

Date: 29 May 2015, 20:03

Dude!

Can you believe this place has Wi-Fi! Finally back in contact . . . How are you?

I’m in Vaiduoklis, this tiny little place next to a massive reservoir, a couple of hours’ train ride from Vilnius. The capital was very pretty, in a John Lewis, biscuit tin kind of way, all cobbled streets, pastel colours and gilded spires. Great market selling just about EVERYTHING amber you can think of – not just necklaces and jewellery etc., but cutlery, key rings, doorstops (!) the lot. Only downer was somebody in the crowd nicked my phone, hence the lack of messages, sorry. It’s insured so can get another, but going a bit crazy not being able to chat to anyone.

Anyway, Felix has been delayed by a few days (problem with the new flat he says, but I think problem with his new boyfriend is more likely . . .) so I decided to explore a bit on my own. Not much point to a wild swimming trip with no swimming! We’re due to go to Lake Lusai, so I thought it would be good to put in a couple of days somewhere different. The guy at the tourist office suggested this place, not much to do, but very unspoiled. In fact, there’s only one place to stay near the water, a guest house run by an old lady called Asta Jakovleva. It’s not going to make it into the boutique listings any time soon – the amount of linen doilies is amazing (in a bad way) – but it’s just a short walk to the edge of the lake, so perfect from that point of view. And the Wi-Fi is a bonus!

If I’m honest, the reservoir isn’t the prettiest I’ve seen. Not much like the photo on the tourist office leaflet. For a start, although it’s huge, the level’s quite low, so you’ve got this ring of mud round the edge, which will make getting in and out a bit tricky, and it certainly spoils the look of things. And the landscape is flat, like a dull day on the Norfolk Broads, only with lots of fir trees.

Then there’s Mrs Jakovleva. Given I’m her only guest, you’d think she’d be a bit friendlier. Things weren’t too bad until I started asking her if she got many swimmers staying here, any advice about the water, safer spots etc.

‘You can’t swim here!’ she barked, as if I’d just threatened to murder her budgie. (Yes, she really does have a budgie, a green one. It lives in the breakfast room, and is watching me right now as I type this on her ancient PC.)

I tried to explain about wild swimming, that the whole point is to pick open water that most people don’t swim in, that I’m fully qualified and experienced, but she cut me off with what looked like a rude hand gesture.

‘No swim,’ she said. ‘Shows disrespect. Dangerous.’

Then she walked off which was . . . helpful. So I don’t know if it’s just the idea of a twenty-something cavorting in a bikini that outrages her, or if there’s anything about the reservoir I should know.

I guess it will all be clear tomorrow when I go for my first swim! Perhaps the sight of a wetsuit will mollify her. Though I doubt it.

Loads of love Chrissy xxxxxxx

From: porpoise1swimit@gmail.com

To: barflysuse@gmail.com

Date: 30 May 2015, 16:57

So good to hear from you!

Particularly nice after the weird day I’ve had. Really glad the new job’s going well and John is behaving himself. We’ll all have to meet up at that new place when I’m back, sounds fab.

Still here in Vaiduoklis . . . Well, maybe I should have kicked my heels in Vilnius till Felix arrived. It’s not awful, just odd. Will try and explain.

This morning, I got up really early for a swim, hoping to sneak past our scowling landlady. But she must have heard me creaking down the stairs, as she shot out into the hallway.

‘Breakfast,’ she said. It was more a statement than a question.

I didn’t like to be rude so followed her into the dining room. She had laid out a monster amount of food. All that stuff they do on the Continent: boiled eggs, salami, ham, yoghurt, plastic packets of toast bread. And she was smiling away. Very different from last night.

There was no way I could eat all that – the last thing I wanted was to load up on carbs and get cramp in the lake, so I decided I would have to delay the swim for a while. You can’t just ignore somebody making all that effort.

She poured us both coffee and sat down opposite.

‘So, no swim today,’ she said.

I didn’t want to argue so hedged a bit. ‘What’s wrong with the water here?’

‘Water fine, is what’s beneath.’

‘Was it a quarry then? I’m used to that, I know they can be deep.’

‘Not industry. The old village. Still down there.’

‘They flooded it? We’ve got a few of those in the UK, like at Haweswater. They don’t really do that now.’

‘Vaiduoklis not like anywhere else,’ Mrs Jakovleva said, shaking her head. ‘All still there.’

I’ve always been a bit intrigued by these sorts of stories. Like that whole village sunk off the Suffolk coast, Dunwich, where legend has it you can hear the old church bell ringing when the tide’s low.

‘How old is it? Do you get divers going to explore?’

Mrs Jakovleva looked at me as if I were mad. ‘No diving! Worse than swimming. Terrible disrespect.’ She had her sucking lemons face on again, and the green budgie was twittering.

‘Well, I’m not a diver,’ I said, sipping some of her coffee, which was far too strong. She looked a little reassured, so I pressed on. ‘And what about the new village here? Is there much to see?’

The smile came out again at that. ‘All modern,’ she said proudly. ‘Restored. You should see the church, beautiful glass.’

And that, I’m afraid, marked the start of a long, tedious monologue about the new village, to which I had to nod along with a fixed smile. When she finally ran out of steam I headed back to my room, to wait a bit before sneaking out again for a swim. I can’t pretend that she hadn’t made me feel a little uneasy, but having trudged all the way from Vilnius to Boringville, I couldn’t face the thought of not getting in the water.

I started to trot out towards the lake, a coat over my wetsuit. She must have heard me, because the next thing I knew, there was a thump, thump, thump and she was banging on the glass of the kitchen window, waving frantically for me to stop. I pretended not to understand and waved cheerily back, then made it as fast as I could to the fir trees without actually running.

The reservoir is a serious challenge to get into. It seemed to be even lower than it looked yesterday. I found a place where some tree roots helped me in (and more importantly would help me out) and slithered down the side, holding on to clumps of reeds as I went. By the time I hit the water I was caked in mud. But then, the joy. I know you’re not a fan, Suse, but there’s nothing like the adrenalin rush of hitting ice-cold water.

Even at the edge, the reservoir is really deep, metres of black below. I cut out sideways, not making for the middle, to make sure my body acclimatised. The place is vast, but, oddly, it doesn’t give you that sense of empty space and wide horizons you normally get in a big lake. Maybe it’s the steep sides, hemming you in, but with the flatness and the firs it felt a bit claustrophobic, like I was a fly swimming in a giant’s soup bowl.

I headed into the middle to see if that would give me a better view. There’s nothing like seeing Helm Crag reflected in the water from the middle of Grasmere, and although this place is flat, I thought distance might lend it a little majesty. It did look prettier further in, the wavering green and black lines of the trees matching their sturdy frames above, so I trod water for a bit, absorbing it all.