by Kim Foster
He grasped at the couch, but the eel pulled him towards the flat screen. He felt the glass scraping his back as he was dragged across the rug. A second eel smashed through the television and grabbed his other leg. He lunged for a coffee table leg, tried to scream for his mother who sat at the kitchen table typing into her laptop, oblivious.
Why didn’t she answer? Or look up? Couldn’t she hear him?
It was too late anyway. His feet were already through the TV, his body halfway hanging out. His blood streaked the floor behind him, hot oily streaks of black eel sludge covered him and the floor. His locked his elbows against the frame of the TV, holding his body fast, so he wouldn't be dragged through the hole in the flat screen. But he knew he couldn't hold himself there for long. The beasts pulled him in.
Finally, his arms failed him. And he was sucked through the TV into water, a place he knew, just below the rocks at Tamarama. He had snorkeled and dived there when he was younger. But this time was different. He was under-water. He was drowning.
He tried to keep from panicking, held his breath, looked for the light, the surface. He searched for something to hold onto to propel himself upward. But there was nothing. No rocks. No edges to step off. Everything alive had scattered. Every sea creature had already been eaten or scared off. It was just him and the thing.
Bangkok.
That was its name. He was sure of it.
He couldn't make out exactly what it was, but it had maybe 30 tentacles, possibly 50, each with the head of a moray eel. It looked at first like an octopus, or a squid, or maybe both jammed together into some kind of creature. But he figured the eels were just the brawn. Bangkok was the brain.
Josie kicked through the water, propelled himself toward a small patch of light above. He was running out of air. His chest was tight, small, caving in on him. He swam hard and kicked until he hit the surface of the water, and sucked in a huge gulp of air. Then he was under again, something grabbing his legs, yanking him down deep.
An eel wrapped around his leg, slapped him through the water and drove him to the bottom. The light went dimmer and dimmer, and the water more shadowy, cold and evil.
He kicked hard, struggled, but it was no use.
The beast had him. He fought with everything he had, tried to pull himself free, burning quickly through his air. Even if he could get free, he doubted he would get to the surface.
So, he gave up. He let go. He let the last remaining breath out into the water. He watched the bubbles, the last alive part of him, drift up in front of him. He let the eel pull him closer to the monster, let the others fold in around him, twist their bodies, start to squeeze.
Josie prepared to die.
And that’s when he saw her.
The red curls, the pale face, the terrified eyes of a tiny child laying in the mouth of one of the eels. She too was about to lose her breath. But she saw him, and saw one last chance.
He was her last hope.
She threw her arms out for Josie to grab her. She begged him to scoop her up and save her, the way her mother had scooped her up on the street.
Josie lunged for her, his chest heaving, feeling light-headed, and nearly gone. It took more energy than he knew he had, but he shot toward her. He pushed himself out of the grasp of the eels, his hands reaching out, Bangkok slamming itself into the water in protest.
He felt her hand, her little fingers twining around his. He felt, for a moment, that he could save them both. Like they might get out together.
But Bangkok reared up violently toward the surface, breaking them apart, like cheap plastic toys. Josie watched as an eel opened its mouth and swallowed Trinket whole.
She was gone.
Josie Brown shot up in his bed, naked, soaked, sucking air into his hurting, aching lungs, his bed wet, his sheets covered in black slime.
Another nightmare.
But he knew one thing for sure, either Trinket Parsnips was already dead or she would be very soon.
three
HERRING
“Bangkok!...Bangkok!...Bangkok!”
Someone was squawking that name. He realized it was his own voice. His whole body was vomiting that name, an involuntary spasm, as if he was trying to cough the monster out of his body.
He tried to quiet himself, breathe deep, center his breathing, calm, calm. He was in his bed, covered in black slime. There was a splotch of seaweed in his bed. He stunk like the sea had gone rotten.
It was morning.
The dream wasn’t vague. It was as real to him as anything. The monster, whatever it was, was coming for Trinket. Or had come for her. He had to tell someone.
He burst out his door into the hallway, putting on socks, underpants and jeans while he did, nearly tripping over himself to tell his parents. But they were gone.
There were frozen waffles on the kitchen table with a note telling him to eat and that they would be late tonight, very late, in a “don’t wait up for us” kind of way.
His heart sunk.
He went to the living room window, pulled back the curtain and looked over at Trinket’s house. He saw her, her Mum putting her into the back seat of the car. They were going to kindergarten. But Trinket didn’t want to go, because her little arms and legs were swinging at Gerty, hitting, slapping. She was wailing, demanding that she not be put in the car, that her mother not leave her.
She was alive.
Thank God. He was still breathing hard, panting like a dog, but knowing she was alive calmed him.
“It was just a dream,” he said out loud, and stumbled to his knees, holding himself until his breath stabilized.
Yet he knew it wasn’t just a dream. He had felt the monster’s hunger for Trinket.
He knew the monster was coming for her. He would not stop until he had her. And it would happen soon.
It was not in Josie’s nature to get involved. It was the last thing he wanted to do. He would rather slip in his ear buds, crank up Steve Smyth, and let the music fill his head. Stay to himself. Keep his own company.
But he knew he had to tell someone. If not his parents, then maybe a teacher. Wasn’t that what grown-ups were always saying? That if you have a problem tell an adult? Don’t try to handle it on your own...
Then it occurred to him. He knew who he had to talk to. She would help Trinket. He was sure of it.
✽✽✽
Miss Dorin Hanes was Josie’s science teacher.
She was bone-thin, a skeleton with a skin rug over the top. She had wild, wiry porcupine hair that shook when she walked, and a large bulbous nose sticking out of her face like a cliff off a mountain. She was nervous, bit her nails to stubs, talked ten times faster than normal human beings, and used more words than necessary. When he talked to her, Josie felt his brain could explode from synapse overload.
But she was also Trinket’s aunt. She visited his neighborhood almost every weekend, chatted with her sister, Gerty, out on the lawn and chased balls with Trinket. Then, she searched the Tamarama rock pools for sea creatures she could bring into class.
“She understands sea creatures,” he thought.
“Maybe even sea monsters...Miss Hanes might even have heard of Bangkok.”
He found her in the science classroom, standing at the black board writing.
“Miss Hanes?”
“Ack!” She jumped and grabbed her chest.
“You scared me, Josie! You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.” She said it like he was a stalker or something.
“Sorry,” he said and shuffled his feet.
There was a moment of silence where Miss Hanes looked at Josie, wondering if he might say something, like the reason he was standing there.
“Can I help you?”
“Um...It’s about Trinket...”
“My niece?”
“Yes.”
“What about her?” Josie attempted to speak, but he noticed a new addition, a huge aquarium spanning the entire wall, and filled with herring. A whole school of herri
ng in a tank that went floor to ceiling and the entire length of the wall.
She saw him looking at it.
“That’s our new tank. The new girl’s dad is a famous marine biologist. You’ve probably heard about him, Dr. Howard Phan, Emerald’s Dad?”
Josie remembered the moving van, the girl, the man that was with her.
“He caught them off the coast of Vietnam. That’s where they’re from. He gave us the aquarium and the herring to study.” She clapped her hands together, as if it were the best Christmas present ever.
“We’re going to have the best term studying sea life...I’ve planned whole lessons on herring, what they eat, how they mate, the way the school operates, we’ll even try to spawn some babies.” Miss Hanes squealed when she talked about herring.
“But, oh yes, silly me, back to what you were saying. And, oh right, of course, you live across the street from Trinket. Has her crying been bothering you?”
She didn’t wait for an answer. “Gerty says Trinket’s going through a clingy stage. She’s constantly pitching fits. Crying non-stop. Won’t let Gerty leave her side.”
“I haven’t heard her crying,” Josie said, but he remembered the car that morning, and how hard Trinket fought to stay close to her Mum.
“Well, that’s good. She used to be such a calm child. Whatever is happening to her now, she’s constantly freaking out,” she said. “I love the kid, don’t get me wrong, but, well, she’s totally become this neurotic child, no idea where she gets that from.”
“I-I-I think she’s in danger...”
“What! What do ya mean, Josie? She’s fine. Toddlers are cray-cray, right?” Ms. Hanes said, wagging her finger in circles at her temple.
“I’ve been having dreams about her...that I...that she is hurt...and I try to stop it...but I can’t...she gets taken, killed...” Josie saw the puzzled look on Ms. Hanes face, then watched it turn to horror. Finally, an adult was grasping the magnitude of the situation.
“Did you dream you hurt Trinket?”
“No, No...not me, the monster, the monster named Bangkok...he has tentacles like eels, uh moray eels....” he was trying to describe the monster, waving his hands up above his head, but when he saw Ms Hanes’ face, her panicked, shocked face, he knew he’d made a terrible mistake.
“She saw the monster, I think...Bangkok...”
Silence.
“It’s name is...Bangkok?” she slowly asked, trying to absorb what he was saying.
“Wait, let me hear you...” she put her hand up in the air and closed her eyes. “...a monster with eel tentacles is what’s scaring her, making her not want to go to kindergarten?”
Miss Hanes put the chalk on the desk and scratched her head.
“And the eel monster...”
“Well, more a squid, but with tentacles like an octopus, but the tentacles aren't tentacles, they're moray...eels....” Josie continued, nervously, jabbing his fingers in the air, simulating tentacles.
“Right.”
Josie was unsure whether he should continue, but he had gone this far.
“He wants to take her. He’s tracking her. And she knows it. She told me, but I also saw it in a dream...and it’s somehow connected to the Organic Food Shop next door to my house, but I-I-I don't know why, or how.”
“Let me see if I have this...The monster, named Bangkok, squid monster with big eel tentacles...” Miss Hanes fluttered her fingers, making them into tentacles.
“...wants to eat her and you think the grocery shop across the street from her house is involved in some way?”
It sounded insane even to Josie.
“That’s what’s been bothering her lately?”
He was about to continue when a spitball went whizzing by and landed smack on the blackboard with a thwunk, an inch from Miss Hanes head.
The force of it pushed her backwards and her hair shook hard.
“Okay, Mr. Umple,” Miss Hanes said, trying to compose herself, but still whirling from the attack, “I saw you do that, Gregory. One more and you’re in detention.”
The first period kids were streaming into science now. Josie saw Rasha in his peripheral vision, but looked quickly away from her.
Ms. Hanes focused on Greg Umple, class idiot, blower of spitballs, with the body of a tree stump and the face of a pancake. His skin was the color of glue, as if his skin never saw the sun, ever. He was known to the entire school as “Grotty Greg.”
He was possibly Josie’s least favorite person in the world.
Grotty Greg slammed down his book, and gestured to the class to all look at him.
“I'm doing my impression of the Freak,” he said, pointing at Josie.
The whole class looked at him. Josie cringed with embarrassment, although he did his best not to show it, and a small pilot light of hate for Grotty Greg re-lit inside him.
“I heard the Freak farting his heart out in the Boys’ toilet today,” Grotty lied.
Some of the kids were laughing.
“Guess he didn't take any of his father's diarrhea pills!”
Josie looked at Rasha out of the corner of his eye. She was looking at her phone, texting someone. Oblivious to Grotty. Josie imagined her above all this, hovering somewhere in a cool cloud of maturity.
The thought made him feel better.
Grotty scrunched up his face, held his breath, and stuck out his bum. “The Freak has a secret, smelly talent,” Grotty said.
And Grotty farted, almost to perfection, as if he had been collecting gas in his bum for hours, to the tune of Jingle Bells.
The kids erupted in hysterics.
He heard a couple kids say, “Freak” under their breaths. That was their name for Josie, when they noticed him at all.
“Okay, okay class, Mr. Umple you’re with me for detention today. The rest of you, please open your books to page 37. We are studying mollusks.”
She looked at Josie. Her face was sad.
“Can we talk about your story later?” And then, without giving him a chance to answer, she turned her attention to her class.
Josie stared at the herring, moving in waves of togetherness around the tank, a school, a family and their friends, individuals but all moving together, moving with a single purpose. Alone, but not alone.
He wished he were a herring.
“It’s not a story,” he said back to Miss Hanes.
But Miss Hanes had moved on without him.
four
VANISHED
Josie couldn’t sleep.
And he didn’t want to. The nightmares were too much for him. He had no idea what he would see next, how it would change him, or from where the eels would come.
So he stayed awake, watching zombie movies in the living room, his feet hanging over the end of the couch, a bowl of popcorn in his lap. He drank Coke to stay awake.
His plan was to never fall asleep at night again. He imagined he’d find some quiet place in school, like the P.E. laundry room or the class they used for detention. No one went in those places, except jocks and delinquents, and only after school.
He would stay awake all night and sleep most of the day there. That was the plan.
But he didn't feel well. His head was killing him. His thoughts were murky. He felt sad, like a black shroud had been thrown over him, dragging him down, making him feel bleak and depressed.
Nothing helped.
And then, he heard a crash, a window breaking. It wasn't his room, he knew that. It was farther out, maybe the Organic Food Shop. Something was happening. He smelled the stink of seaweed. A hiss, like a snake, but he knew it was the sound of eels, moving toward their prey. He heard their jaws snapping open and closed.
They were near.
He tried to clear his mind.
“The nightmares,” he thought.
He was sure he must be asleep. Except he wasn’t. He pinched the skin on his arm until the pain seized him.
Yes, he was awake. He could see everything, feel everything. This w
as no dream.
Bangkok was near.
The monster was hungry. And not just hungry, but starving, willing to do anything to eat. Josie felt it as if it were his own hunger. He was overcome. He stumbled to the kitchen, threw open the freezer door and began tearing open boxes. He shoveled frozen food in his mouth. He didn’t care that the food was hard, cold, tasteless. He didn't care that half of what he was stuffing in his mouth was cardboard.
He had to feed the hunger.
After he cleaned out the freezer, he moved to the cupboards - cereal, chips, anything he could find and shovel them into his mouth. He had never been this hungry, ever. It was bigger than him. He grabbed a steak, raw from the fridge and tore at it with his teeth, pushing big chunks of it down his throat, biting, tearing, chewing, blood running down his face.
A small, faraway, muted piece of him knew something bad was happening, that he should try to stop himself, but the hunger was too powerful, his head was a murky ocean of nothing. All his logic was submerged there.
He found himself on the floor of his kitchen, his face smeared with steak blood, cupboard doors flung open, boxes and bottles torn open, eaten, the floor smeared in tomato sauce, mustard, pickles. His hair dripped with mayonnaise and strawberry jam. His face was smeared with Vegemite. There were carrots stuck into his t-shirt. He found a slab of raw pork in his lap.
Wasn’t that a roast his mother was marinating just yesterday for Sunday lunch?
Then, something changed. He felt his brain shift. Felt the murkiness leave him a little.
Bangkok.
The monster was on the move. Not close anymore, but moving off into the distance. He was relieved at first, happy to not feel the monster bearing down on him, taking over his body, forcing him, pushing him.
But then he felt it. Trinket. The monster was on his way to take her.
He jumped up, skidding on some mustard, fell face first and hard. He stood up again and ran for the door, food clinging to him, hanging off him like balls on a Christmas tree.
Part of him wanted to save her. But another part, a growing part – like an ember catching flame – wanted something else. He wanted to be there near Trinket, to touch her, to feel her skin, to bite his teeth into the small of her neck. To taste the muscle and bone and sinew. He wanted to feel her power run into him, through him.