Tales of the Extraordinary

by Gerrard Wllson

sun’s rays on the aggressors, burning them. Then, feeling terribly guilty, he promised never to do it again.

  The wonderful countryside that Luke was fortunate to have so close to his home had an air of yesteryear about it. It was a lazy backwater, where nothing much ever seemed to happen. Although this meant Luke had a safe and carefree childhood, he sometimes yearned, longed for something exciting to happen. He would oftentimes lay awake at night, imagining he was setting out on a fantastic adventure, exploring new lands, fighting dangerous foes. He so admired the children in the story ‘The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe’ who found a doorway to a secret world in the back of their wardrobe. “Oh, why can’t something like that happen to me?” he frequently whispered, as he drifted off to sleep in his bed.

  The local river was one of Luke’s favourite locations; he loved to spend hours sitting on its grassy banks, dangling his feet over the side, with a hook into the lazy waters. It was on one such sunny summer’s afternoon his adventure began…

  Feeling a tug on the line, Luke sat to attention and began reeling it in. The line tugged again, showing the fish’s annoyance that he had hooked it. Concentrating on his impending catch, Luke slowly, tentatively reeled in the line. The fish tugged on it, much harder this time. Gritting his teeth, Luke concentrated on landing his catch, for it was surely going to be a big fish.

  Drops of perspiration trickled down Luke’s forehead and dripped of his chin, but he held on tightly to his fishing rod. After fifteen minutes of struggling, trying so hard to land the fish, Luke was no closer to actually doing it. “Come on, will you,” he said, “I want to eat you for my supper.”

  As if in response to his words, the fish tugged even harder on the line. Luke feared it might snap at any moment.

  “Come on, easy does it,” he whispered, “then I will see what you look like.”

  The line suddenly went slack. Luke feared it had broken, and his catch escaped.

  Then he saw it; Luke saw the creature’s huge face, staring out from the murky waters, directly in front of him. It was ugly; it was so incredibly ugly he pulled back his feet, fearing the fish might at any moment bite them off.

  Despite his fears, Luke reeled in the line. He had no sooner begun turning the handle, when a tremendous splash signalled his catch did not intend to give up that easily, not without giving him the fight of his life.

  It was another fifteen minutes before Luke saw the fish’s face again, and when he did it was tantalisingly close to the water’s edge. At this point Luke was so tired he wanted to have it over and finished. With one huge effort, he reeled in the line, hoping to land his catch and take a well-earned rest.

  The fish, however, saw things quite differently, and although it gave the impression that Luke was winning the battle, allowing him to reel it closer towards him, the war was still far from won.

  With his landing net ready to scoop up the prized catch, Luke pulled hard on the line, struggling to land it. “Just a few more inches and I will have you,” he whispered.

  Then he saw it, Luke saw the full ugly head of the creature as it finally emerged from the dark murky waters. Gasping in surprise, he realised that it was not a fish at all!

  Having almost dropping his rod, Luke struggled to regain control of the situation, staring wildly at the thing emerging from the water in front of him. “It’s an eel!” he cried out. “The biggest, meanest one I have ever seen!”

  It was an eel; an eel so large a good portion of its body was still in the water while three feet of it was set firmly upon dry land.

  If Luke had thought the battle to land the eel was almost over, he was in for a rude awakening, for the slippery creature had plans of its own.

  Holding on tightly to his fishing rod, Luke struggled against the aquatic abomination that had fixed its staring, unblinking eyes doggedly upon him. He felt a shiver run down his spine.

  All of a sudden, the eel began winding itself around the long grasses growing alongside the river. Rolling its body around and around these grasses, the eel used them to advantage, as a lever to gain control of the situation. Now that it had an anchorage point, a position of strength from which it could act, it wasted no time in doing just that. Using its enormous strength to pull against the fishing line, the eel put on the fight of its life.

  “Oh no you don’t!” said Luke, struggling with an equal determination. “I’ve tried too hard, to be losing you now.”

  However, possessing as much determination as the eel was simply no match against its sheer brute strength. Now that the eel had a firm foothold, it pulled on the line with such force, Luke thought it would most definitely snap – but it did not.

  The eel continued to pull and pull. In stubborn defiance, Luke held on to his fishing rod with all off his might. He held his ground but he had no hope of winning against such brutal strength. With so much force going into this epic struggle, something just had to give – and it did.

  I have already made it abundantly clear that the line did not snap. So what did happen, then? I will tell you what happened, and, believe me, forty years on Luke recounts the tale with as much excitement as the day it actually happened…

  The eel pulled so hard on the line it straightened out the hook. It straightened it so much it was able to slip off it and make good its escape. Despite fishing in the same river for many more years, Luke never again saw that huge eel, but he kept the straightened out hook, as a souvenir.

  Suddenly Alone

  Suddenly I find myself alone on a strange beach. Not far out, directly in front of me, a huge oil tanker, one of ever so many that transport the lifeblood of our increasingly industrialised world, sluggishly passes. Watching it cut its way through the dark, murky waters, I do not see even one sign of life along its entire length.

  Taking note of my surroundings, the situation I find myself in, I cast my eyes left and then right. The beach I am on is flat, stretching away far into the distance. Looking down at my feet, at the cold, damp sand beneath them, I think of the warm, golden beaches of sunnier climes. This one – wherever it is – is certainly not one of them. It reminds me of Dollymount Strand, a few miles from the city of Dublin, a beach that, because of its huge size and splendid isolation, on first sight always energises my soul. However, it is a beach that on closer inspection of its grey, cold, compacted sand and abundance of litter, creates within my soul a sigh of pensive melancholy at how uncaring a large section of humanity truly is.

  Directly in front of my shoe, almost touching it, a green plastic bottle rests, waiting for eternity to erase its unwanted presence. I grab hold of the spade (I do not know where it came from) and begin digging a hole. Only a couple of inches down, and the sand has already changed dramatically. It is now a congealed sticky blackness. It turns my stomach that threatens to expel its last meal. With the help of the spade’s sharp blade, trying to ignore this imminent expulsion, I tap the offending article into the newly excavated hole. It has no sooner fallen into the hole, than the seawaters run in, covering it in a slimy mess of liquefied grunge.

  Watching the demise of the green plastic bottle, my senses are suddenly jolted. My heart skips a beat. Where is this water coming from? Only a moment earlier the waterline was several yards away. Now, with the hole well and truly consigned to the annals of oblivion, the lapping waters are surrounding my feet. It is lucky that I am wearing these Wellingtons –heaven knows where I got them! Why, I have not owned a pair off Wellingtons for years! However, here I am, on a strange beach, (is it really Dollymount Strand?) facing the imminent arrival of a new tide, wearing them!

  The tide and its rushing waters continue, relentlessly, waiting for neither man nor beast, as it has done for millennia. I cannot stay here. I turn around. Only then do I realise how far from shore I am. Wasting no time, walking with a brisk pace, I head for the safety of dry land. With large strides and equally large determination of mind, I splash through the encroaching waters, remembering days long ago when I was splashing through the p
uddles of my childhood. It is fun! Life should always be so. Why do we lose so much of the magic of youth in our journey through life? I am giddy.

  After a while, I find it harder to walk, the fast-moving waters having advanced several feet in front of me. The splashing about that I enjoyed so much only a few minutes earlier takes on an entirely different renown. My pace is too slow. I will have to speed up, to try and out run it. Breaking into a saunter, I soon catch up with the waters’ vanguard, and even outpace it. The promise of dry land, however, is still a long way off.

  Almost halfway across the huge, cold beach of my eternal winter, ahead of the incoming waters, I see a problem. Twenty or so yards in front of me, there is a dip in the land. It is only a couple of feet deep – three at most, but enough to pose a real danger.

  I quicken my pace. I try to outrun the fast-moving waters. I must cross the depression before the tide fills it in. As I race into the sunken area, I can feel the sand slipping, sliding beneath my feet. It is hard to keep my speed up. I try. It is so difficult. Afraid, I glance over my shoulder. I can see the waters tumbling down the slope, churning the sand, bubbling and boiling. I am still ahead of it, though. I still have a chance of outrunning it! Shifting my gaze to the far side of the dip, to the