by David Scott
“Here we go!” A final declaration.
Parker resolved that these tempting sirens would not win him over, and managed to avoid going on any rides. He started to relax as the night drew to a close; he even found himself smiling, as the girls were clearly having so much fun on their current amusement, the Helter Skelter. Down they came, spiralling around the conical structure on their straw mats, with a bump and a giggle at the end.
They looked onwards for their next adventure; and delighted when they saw the Chair-o-Planes nearby. They all walked up towards the ticket booth.
“Sorry folks,” the moustachioed ticket attendant said, “These two little ones cannot go on without an adult.”
“I think we’re a bit too old for that ride.” Parker’s dad said. Aunt Anne and Uncle John nodded their agreement.
“What about you?” The ticket attendant asked, looking directly at Parker.
“What? Me? Oh no, I couldn’t possibly …” Parker protested vehemently.
The salesman was well experienced in coaxing reluctant riders, and interrupted, “Girls, wouldn’t you want him to go on with you?”
“Oh yes! Yes! Please, please, please Parker!” The girls chorused.
“You’re not scared, are you?” The attendant added in for good measure.
“No, of course I’m not scared.” Parker immediately replied, keen to maintain his dignity, “Well, I guess I could …”
“Yes!” The girls cried out, and ran forward to find the best seats on the ride before Parker could even think about changing his mind.
Parker followed them, looking over his shoulder as he walked, scowling at his family, who had paid for the tickets, and were moving to a prime viewing position.
Sitting in an overly-small swing, Parker regretted his decision, as he looked at the flimsy steel chain suspending his seat above the ground. It surely was not right to risk his life on a ride which had just been constructed by some unskilled labourers. He contemplated his fate.
The girls sat aside him, to his left and right, with him in the middle. They were trying to swing their chairs backwards and forwards, before the ride had even started. They laughed in glee as they noticed Parker’s obvious fear.
And then it started, the chairs lurched forward and started a steady, momentum, taking them around and around. Slowly at first but then the speed built up, and they were spinning around at quite a pace.
Parker’s knuckles went white from holding on too hard to the chain. He closed his eyes tightly, as the tears streamed out them from the wind whipped-up by the motion. And then the pedestal rose up into the air, and the whole structure from which the swings hung down, tilted about 45 degrees.
Now Parker had to cope not only with the rotations but also with the upward heaves and downward surges. It was too much, and he screamed out loud. The girls thought this was hilarious.
Down below, a crowd had gathered around the ride to see what all of the fuss and commotion was about. The operator delighted in the attention, already imagining the profit he would make from the next go. Nothing brought in the punters like a good screamer. He let the ride continue longer than it ought to, to obtain the maximum draw.
When it stopped, Parker got off as quickly as he could. His head was still spinning, and his legs felt like jelly. It took all his concentration to manage to get down the steps and back on to the field, rather than falling over from the persistent dizziness. Once on the ground, he fell to his knees. His face was pale, tinged with green. He started to shake, and then he vomited. He heaved again. Passers-by looked at him sympathetically but they were all smiling, realising this was not a serious ailment but rather an amusing consequence of a delicate constitution. It did not help that Parker saw the girl he liked from school watching nearby.
“Again! Again!” The girls chimed to their parents.
“Absolutely not,” Parker said defiantly, standing up and brushing himself down, “I have to go home now. That’s it.” He paused for a moment, “Please everyone. I’ve really had enough.”
“Ok, son.” His dad said, realising Parker’s genuine distress, “We have been on all the rides, and should probably be getting back now anyway, as the last ferry is coming soon.”
The girls complained about the unfairness of it all but, eventually, acquiesced after promises of pizza at the weekend. They were also tired, and it was well past their normal bedtime. They trudged together back to the ferry port, and waited in line to be called on. The ferry was late in arriving, by which time the girls were being carried by Aunty Anne and Uncle John; one with each parent, both trying different games to keep them entertained. Parker sat at the edge of the lake on his own, watching the ferry lights draw closer, as his father simply waited patiently.
Quite a mixture of people boarded the boat. Parker and his family immediately headed downstairs, taking a family table by the window. The children lay down on the padded seats; Aunt Anne and Uncle John sat alongside them, allowing them to use their laps as makeshift pillows. With the girls asleep, Aunt Anne rested her head on Uncle John’s shoulder, as he stared wistfully out into the shimmering lake waters. Parker cupped his head in his hands, sitting quietly.
“Come on, son.” Parker’s dad said tenderly, “It wasn’t that bad. No one really saw very much. It will all be forgotten in a day or so.”
Parker continued staring down in silence. He felt utterly humiliated, and ashamed. Going to school tomorrow was not an option. The ferry chugged on, its mechanical melody trying to calm Parker’s rage. Parker’s temperament was not helped by the guilt he felt that he might have somehow spoiled the evening, or brought down the mood in some way; his hormonal spiked emotions battled with one another inside the caverns of his head.
Another young man sat nearby, with heavier preoccupations on his mind than the transient ones faced by Parker. He had just come out to his mum and aunt as being gay. He took out his pad and pen, and decided to write a piece of flash-fiction, using the time on the ferry for something useful. He read it back to himself:
“The front door slams shut.
Keys clunk against a marked table.
Another drink is poured.
I slump over the sofa and close my eyes.
The world spins faster as my alcohol induced fairground ride reaches top speed.
A needle scratches vinyl to claw out a sad love song. It is played on repeat.
Two sisters hold onto one another tightly, swaying slowly in time to the painful music.
Black mascara tears plough down their powdered faces, leaving troughs of crushed fairy-tale promises.
My granny and grandad watch them dance, with eternal smiles, from behind the glass of a well dusted photo frame.
Any sadness seems immediately forgotten as they suck on selfish cigarettes, before smothering me with their enthusiastic kisses.
Kneeling, they gently pet their beautiful, bleach-haired boy; lulling me with purrs of devotion.
They wonder why I have never had a girlfriend and yet worship Madonna.
We all know the reason, but nothing is absolute until it is said aloud.
Persuasive promises. I can tell them anything and they will love me just the same.
They each take a hand in anticipation.
They press and press. I quiver, and confess.
We all cry together, before struggling upstairs, with heavy truths, for death-like sleep.
In the morning, stale smells and random recollections permeate our warm home.
Out of this rich compost, a well-nurtured seed germinates.
A loving son grows up.”
He is quietly pleased with this, and thinks about who he will tell next. Maybe he shouldn’t have waited this long. Then again, why should he have to tell people? Straight people don’t have to ‘come out’, so why should he? He thought on this some more, as the ship bobbed up and down gently in the water.
An elderly couple had boarded the ferry last. They walked hand-in-hand in comfortable silence. The barrier we
nt up as the departure alarm sounded, and an orange light flashed at the top of the ferry, announcing its imminent departure.
After sitting on some plastic seats by a window, the old man took a thermos flask out of his carrier bag and emptied its contents into the top, which helpfully doubled-up as a cup.
He passed it immediately to his wife, who took a small sip and passed it straight back, smiling. It was hot chocolate, with a little honey and chilli, to sweeten and excite. She loved the fact her husband was so thoughtful, and kept trying new ideas.
“Nice?” He asked, “I told you this recipe would work. Apparently, the Mayans liked it this way.”
“And how would you know that?” She teased, holding his attention with her pale green eyes. Albert tended to read one article and believe it unquestioningly. He knew what she was doing and didn’t answer.
“It has been such a nice evening.” Albert said, searching for a change of subject, “That steak was incredible. And the sauce was something else. Who would have thought a mushroom sauce could taste like that? Mind you, how long did Fred and Judy go on about their last cruise? I honestly thought it was never going to end. I feel like I have aged by about 10 years, which could be fatal at my age!”
Maud chuckled. Their dining companions really had gone on too much about their holiday, wanting to show them every one of the hundreds of photos they had taken. Maud had never seen so many pictures of food. What was it with the current obsession of capturing every moment with a camera? Maud didn’t bother with such vanities, preferring to be present in the moment, enjoying the experience, rather than taking a picture of it. Thank goodness they had the excuse of having to dash for the ferry, otherwise they would still be there now showing them the Pyramids from yet another angle, or looking at a picture of another salad.
“Well at least you have your own cruise now, Bertie.” Maud held his hand, “Albeit I don’t think it will be quite as eventful as Fred and Judy’s exotic adventures up the Nile.”
They had never been so close, despite having been together for the past 41 years. The slow creeping acknowledgment that they wouldn’t be together, at least in this life, for much longer renewed their passion for one another. They held on, not wanting to be parted.
Some noisy twenty-somethings disturbed their peace. They fell silent, watching and remembering when they were that age.
“You should definitely do it, Donny.” A young man in a grey suit, sat astride a chair and faced another. An alcohol fuelled inquisition.
“Just hand in your notice tomorrow, and go. Why not? You could make it big. You might not, but it would sure as hell beat the shit out of spending another day in that office, crunching numbers for some multi-millionaire bastard who doesn’t give a damn about anything other than saving yet another dollar off the back of your blood, sweat, and tears.”
“Well, Karl, there is this thing called a mortgage. You might have heard of it? Oh, no, I forgot. You prefer to spend every cent on Rolex watches and louche women. And my parents, who don’t want me to go anywhere further than a five-mile radius of them, just in case they need me. Or I need them, as they put it. Anyway, I am not sure I’m good enough. And how many people fail. I’ll tell you, 99.99 percent of them.”
“But Donny, if you don’t try, you will regret it and you should have no regrets in life. You only get one chance.”
Maud listened in. She didn’t know what this Donny was aspiring to, but it reminded her of the time when she thought of becoming a professional gymnast. The fear of failure and disappointment held her back, and she did regret it. Karl was right. Maybe she should say something. No, it was not for her to get involved.
In the corner of the room, Albert noticed three young women in short skirts and high heels. They noticed him looking, and he smiled. They said something to each other and laughed. Albert couldn’t hear what they said but looked away out to the lake, happy that he was at an age where he was no longer tormented by destructive lust.
“See Janice, it isn’t hopeless for you. I reckon that old fella over there would be happy to be your sugar daddy. Although maybe he is a bit old even for you.” Lucy said over-animatedly, causing a sequin to fall from her red dress.
“Shut up Lucy!” Janice said sharply, folding her arms into a defensive pose and feeling guilt that they had clearly embarrassed the old man, “At least I don’t throw myself at anyone who will give me a smoke or buy me a drink. Who was that last guy you were rubbing up against anyway? I bet that you don’t even know his name.”
“Actually, he was called Ted. Or maybe Tom. Oh, ok, I don’t know, but he was nice. I think.” Lucy answered, as she rested against the wall to steady herself, standing unaided in her stilt-like stilettos proving too much of an act to keep up.
Lucy decided to change her line of questioning, seeing that Janice was ready for a fight, “Mandy, how’s things with Paul? Is he a keeper? You haven’t said much tonight.”
“Well, I am thinking he will have to do. I mean you saw how it went tonight. Not one guy spoke to me. Not even a passing glance. And I really do want to have kids, and the clock is ticking. I think he might be my only chance.”
“Oh, Mandy!” Janice exclaimed, “That is so last century. Really, sentences like that just depress me. How old fashioned are you? You don’t need a man in your life. If you want children, have them. There are other ways you know. You’ve got us. God, you annoy me.”
It seemed Janice didn’t mind what she said tonight. Alcohol had blocked her filter.
Nevertheless, these alcoholic amis enjoyed each other’s company, and would always be there to support each other, if needed. On nights like this, they would spar with one another but it was all in good humour, and would be forgotten tomorrow.
Similar conversations rang out across the two floors of the ship and from outside, where some had gone to smoke or to try to catch a glimpse of the stars, mainly hidden by the pollution filled skies. Dreams and regrets. Hopes and promises. Desires and disappointments. All underpinned by inaction and a lack of appreciation for the immediacy and preciousness of life.
Suddenly, the vessel stopped. It listed from side to side, sending a number of passengers flying to the ground. A chorus of short screams rang out, before an excited hubbub of chatter resumed, as people looked around to see what was going on.
Pulcinella had programmed all of the doors to lock at the same time as the ship stopped. The human herd penned in, with no escape.
“Quiet everyone. Listen!” Janice shouted out.
The lower deck fell silent as they listened to screams and floor thuds from above.
“What is going on here? Let us out!” Lucy hammered on the door. It did not move.
From the other end of the deck, a door opened, and a tall figure entered silently, wearing a grotesque mask with a hooked long nose, and a black raincoat cape.
The door closed firmly behind him.
A startled crowd. No one spoke.
Pulcinella moved over to the nearest person and extended his fingernail knife through the man’s temple. He fell to the floor.
Another thud, and then the screaming started.
Panic, fear and self-preservation preventing coordination to overcome the common foe. Worse, the crowd rushed to get away, trampling and crushing people without a second thought, as they surged towards the exits. Some people clambered together, believing protection may be found from being on the inside of a human huddle, like pack animals on the Savannah Plains; rather them than me in the alligator’s jaws, they thought, as they wept their crocodile tears for unknown victims, believing that they would be saved. Others just followed the majority, not being capable of thinking for themselves, or trusting blindly the survival strategies of the front runners. None would be spared; this predator’s appetite could not be sated until they were all dead.
Some of Pulcinella’s fingers and knuckles transformed silently into pistols. It sprayed the room generously, back and forth, for full coverage. Most of the room fell. Pulcinel
la moved to those who did not and began his murderous dance; spinning and slicing until nothing in the room moved.
The old couple held each other tight.
“At least we go together Maud. I love you my darling.”
“Please don’t do this.” Maud pleaded, believing mercy was available.
Pulcinella felt nothing. Slice, slice. Both gone.
A group of girlfriends silenced by steel.
Two buddies battered to death.
A boy speared through the heart, slumped over a pad with blood blotted words.
A family tired from attending the local fair fatally shot multiple times, the children failing to be saved by the parental human shield.
Another message left behind:
“Why waste today dreaming about tomorrow?
Lazily awaiting fate to fulfil your purpose?
Nurture your immortal souls.
Live each day as if it were your last.
Soon, it will be.”
Pulcinella
Pulcinella dived in to the lake, and propelled itself to shore. Cleansed of blood by the lake waters, until the end of the next month.
The ferry re-started, with bloody trails streaking down the hull, coffining her hushed passengers, slowly taking them to their final destination.
96 souls taken.
SIX
Dan and Luke had arrived at the crime scene as quickly as they could. The drive had lasted just over five hours, and nightfall was closing in when they first arrived at the ferry terminal. They were exhausted but any fatigue quickly faded when they were met with the horrors on the ferry. Adrenaline heightened their senses, as they took in the death and bloodshed that surrounded them.
That had been three nights ago, and they now sat on their respective beds in the motel room in quiet contemplation.
After the initial inspection, Dan and Luke drove into the local town and searched out a nearby motel. There was only one in the vicinity, and it was somewhat of a rundown affair with little by way of profits to refurbish its tired appearance.