The Islands of Mindanao

 

Chapter 1

 

The crew were the elite of the world; every one a marksman and a seasoned hunter of all manner of beast, and yet none of them had ever paid witness to one such as the creature that lay before us. Surrounding it in a circle, we stood there in silence, our mouths agape in disbelief. Illuminated to minute detail by the flaring sunspot in the middle of the clearing, it was a ghastly, memorable sight.   It had what we would recognise as arms and legs, though solidified by ‘amorphory’.  Its outline was human at first glance. But if the thing had once been a man, what you might call it now would not fit into any known category.  Its eyes were phantom. Unlike a mans, each one acted as it were a single entity, one ticking at random directions furiously, and the other rolling drunkenly in its unblinking socket. Most jarringly was the mouth, from which sprouted twisting, thread-like structures that were tendrils or feelers, hosting on their exterior bulbuous orbs of rot-coloured flesh. The writhing and squirming mass moved agitatedly in the air as if in attempt to divorce itself from the body, and with such force that the head they sprouted from would jerk and be propelled upwards in union with each spasm of effort. Utterly repulsed, I hurriedly ordered the thing burned to ashes. Scientific analysists could wait for another to come along.

 

I remember clearly, how it had crawled out from under the ferns in front of me it along the path on the first day on the island. In abject terror I had screamed as my revolver came out and and I had begun blasting towards its skull.  The bullets had little effect as they thudded into its bloodless body, and even after I had emptied the entire chamber, it kept coming, and was damn near upon me when Rodriguez stepped in it with the machete and cast it down.

 

We had come from many lands for the safari, and had only planned on collecting provisions and swiftly moving on.  Papua New Guinea had been where I had purposefully eluded most of the safari and together with my wealthier and arguably more foolish clientele, had moved onto the Phillipines. Our target was premeditated, Crocodylus porosus, or The Estuarine Crocodile.  Not only the most enormous, hulking reptile on the face of the planet, but also an elusive master of camouflage, and tremendously dangerous to those unaccustomed to its deceptive habits.  Were the hide not of such value I would prefer shooting rhino instead- as even for modern weaponry, it is questionable as to who is the predator and who is the prey when looming near the inhabitance of such a vicious creature. Last summer we had poached twenty, including two rare and exquisitely scaled 19 footers.  But we had also lost 3 men, each of whom I had personally witnessed being torn apart.  Other hunters had queried as to where I had found such fine large specimens when the hides had been marketed, as beings of that size tended to breed and group in proximity. Climate, food consumption and even incubation temperature go hand-in-hand in producing creatures of hide quality and good length.  It was my knowledge of their breeding grounds; the price the dealers had paid me to aid their own hunters; and more secretly him that had diverted me to here once again. To Mindanao Island.

 

Where had all the native guides gone? Our focus had been entirely preoccupied on the thing before we noticed that they had crept away. Deep in the timeless forest of the island, we had a well-founded doubt as to how accurately we could retrace our steps towards the ship.  With that in mind, I and most of the crew proceeded ahead in search of humanity, whilst the others expended their energies in navigating us a trail back.  I calculated that if we were to adventure to the high summits of the occupying land, perhaps then it would be feasibly easier to plot a clear path to return by. And so we began the trek towards the top, hacking away at the neverending jungle undergrowth as we went.

 

A few hours later,  and roughly 1000 metres higher the the beacon fire of our comrades was visible uncomfortably far in the distance.  When we broke through the thickest of the foliage it was later in the day than I had expected. And whether the other members of the crew were situated on the beach or not we couldn’t ascertain, but at any rate, the distance apart was long now, and I was reticent to command the men to head back with less than the estimated daylight left it would take.  Thus, I ordered camp, and the crew set about their preparations as I and Rodriguez advanced a little higher in order to satisfy my wandering curiousity about the unusual coloring of the limestone above, near the peak. It wasn’t limestone, but pale sand as it turned out, and Rodriguez and I were both perplexed by its presence at such an elevation.

 

“Is there someone up here? Who brought all the sand?” we asked ourselves.

“I’ll check for life.” uttered Rodriguez, curtly exiting beneath some boughs.

“Don’t go out of earshot.”

 

Sand, in soft dry clumps, bleached by the sun, but how did it ever get this far from the coast?

I traced my hands over it and felt its radiating warmth. Then, digging deeper I was taken aback when the tips of my fingers came upon something buried in there that was solid.  I cleared away at the dusty earth until I uncovered what was a leather satchel bag, fashionably antique. 

Looking inside I found personal articles, amongst which was a diary and a blossomed flower of the most peculiar construction.  After examining it for a short while, I placed it beside the satchel and opened the diary.  Passages of untidy writing recounted the everyday events of what appeared to be a man of wealth. His words were mostly traced with little emotion and devoid of fine detail, and since the lions share of the pages were blank,  gave little hint to his history or identity.  Towards the books end, I came across a more random style of writing, and following it back to its origin, discovered it was a letter of some kind, not a diary entry like the rest.

 

Chapter 2

 

“Dear Sir/Madam,

 

– you are who has come across these papers, and If you would consider taking a few kind minutes of your time to listen to my story, I assure you, you will not regret it.  Present circumstance of mine are far removed from those of any ordinary man, and for my words I have only to say I have no doubt they will grasp your attention should you allow me to offer them to you. 

 

So if you should honour me further, I shall start by introducing myself.  My name is Jules ST. ALEXANDRE.  An American by birth, though very European in my upbringing.  I am thirty-four years old at this time of writing, on the date which I know to be the 26th July, of the year 1905. Let me start by declaring that for a number of reasons, it is impossible for me to believe that I shall live much longer.  Hence with this in mind I beg your patience for the absence of passage clarity due to the haste with which I write.  Patience indeed, is an attribute I should ask of you to explore, for I leave these words here not only for gainful eyes, but also as a sentimental tribute to those who I have loved, and lost.

 

To escape from here –alas- even if such a thing were possible, I doubt I should expect ever be able to return to being the same person that I once was.  In the course of the single few days since I have arrived to this place I have been victim tot such visceral terror and magnitudes of madness that I am, in earnest, loathe to live longer by choice.  Never could I, or perhaps any fellow member of humanity, speculate that such shivering terrors, such beings that are as unknown or as rabidly hostile as only imaginable in ones most vivid and disturbing of dreams, have been existing for perhaps longer than ourselves beside us on this very Earth that we tread. 

Creatures of the pit, empty of thought, unnamable, live here in this place, on this island.  They soldier to torture any that would dare to pass, as they do now to me just meters from my feet. And most horrifyingly I have discovered, nothing brings to them more rapture than the taste of our human flesh, and the warmth of our blood.

 

Yes, I have been one to cast a merry fiction for the enjoyment of others, and I must confess, if I had not seen what I have seen here with my own capability of sight, I know that too, that I would be a disbeliever. Yet, it is the truth, though I swear it is so by Christ’s name, I wish it were not so. These are not lies.

.

.

Let me tell you about my father, for he was a great man.  I shall start with my family, because though I am not one who will be missed by those who should follow me, this narrative may be of great value to those who could count themselves as their loved ones. Be kind and patient, dear sir, to let me narrate the tales of those far more distinguished than I.

 

Father had made his mark in the late 1870’s, when we were just children.  The war between the north and the south had been horrific, he used tell us when we were boys. Nothing civil about the Civil War, he would jest. Not knowing if your neighbour was your enemy.  The dead, everywhere. Towns ransacked, razed to the ground.  Childhood friends, gone. So many things had vanished amidst the screams of lost souls and the racket of gunfire . Even the churches didn’t make for safe havens against the Northern army as they assaulted the South and massacred their brothers. They prevailed, and brought the war to an end.  But it had also brought great cost to both sides.  Governors needed funding, and territory went for low prices. Father had been young then.  He had crossed over from France to Louisiana to live with relatives just a few years earlier. He said he would’ve rowed his way back over if only he’d known what he was getting into when he decided to fight. His family had pleaded with him to return to France.  Fortunately, he knew only minor skirmishes, and after the war he was free, a new American, hungry for adventure and profit. He had been born into priviledge in his native lands - his family having gained a measure of wealth with their businesses, and so, seeing growth and opportunity, he sent for funds and began to purchase land everywhere he could, including some the purchase of land said to be worthless.  Of course, as he has always said, there is no such thing as worthless land. And in that era of expansion, never a truer statement was made.  Soon his lands were sold for ample, exciting profits that gave him room to buy bigger and more attractive ground, and by the 1880’s he had become a rich and enviable man indeed.

 He is aged now, of course. Silver hair sprouting from beneath a silk hat. A man who had once stood tall and dignified amongst his peers now walks with rounded shoulders and the assistance of a cane.  He remained for most of his days in our ancient mansion, the gentry full of dreams of escape.  He was yet to fulfill those dreams but it will happen one day, he is prone to saying, but the gulf between his enthusiasm and his stamina was wide.

 

Still, the man with the old brown eyes came alive when I suggested the journey. 

 

“A world trip. What a magnificent idea!” he beamed with optimism.  His face creased and suddenly alive with the promise of high-adventure, “The dust on my linen has been gathering for far too long.” 

 

Chapter 3

 

Yes, you could say we were in good spirits that decade.  The world was ever more accessible, and we were amongst those fortunate ones with the means and finances to purchase our way around it.

 

We had set sail en route to the northern tip of Australia that summer from New York aboard our magnificent carrier, The Orientalist.  By contract, some of the finest shipbuilders in London were to build her, and the English made us proud.  At 17,000 tons, a sleek hull with a sharp bow, iron-framed with 5 mighty steel masts with a masterful complexity of rigging that ascended like vertical cobwebs, decks of cedar plank solid as stone with not a single misjoin or aft nail. She rose over 226 feet and by God, she was an astonishment.  Father, a man of many words in  all but few situations sat silent and mystified by the sight of it as it approached us on Hudson Pier with it’s fresh, snow white sails billowing, their magnificence stretched across the turquoise ocean and our family crest upon the the main topsail yard flag.

“There’s inspiration in the air today Jules..” he told me as he sat there stirred by The Orientalist, and taking in a deep breath of the sea mist.

Yet what brought him more joy than any other was not the ship, but the familiar face of my long-absent brother Pascal, who had resided in Paris with the European side of our family for many years. It truly rejoiced his heart to see the young man striding confidently down the deck towards us waving like the fool he was, and later, to recognise the assured changes that self-dependancy had brought out in him.  A man he had become, and sternly balanced in character – not so the reckless youth of days gone by.  Life in the mother country had done that to him.  Father had always been hopeful that the impulsive decision he made to go to France to live would not last, and now that  he would be back, he was nothing but delighted.  Pascal had endured mostly modest and squallid accommodation, something that always made Father aghast. Asking him why he had never too funds, Pascal simply shrugged.  He had always stoically taken on a challenge, and absorbed himself within the middle and lower-classes, believing the family riches to be nothing but an invitation to an idle life and an early grave.

He made it no secret that he loathed my manner of existence.  Yielding to drink far too often;  lazying my days with women or cards.  Father never cared.  In fact, I often wondered if he would have rather he had had it that both of his sons were vacuous drunks – their finances solely dependant on his patrimony. If I had been a clumsy or voilent imbiber instead of a fairly jejune one, matters may have flown another course. But he never was one to judge his own.  Only Pascal and the women I had loved and left knew the depths of how the drink truly possessed me. Father would say something in my defence usually, on the occasions when words were raised.  He loved us as equals, though we were not.

Yes, I was jealous of Pascal, I can admit that now. His life, his righteous scorn, and that my once propriatal relationship with him that had long since shifted in its polarity.  I am a fool, and I know now how I had mistaken his actions for malice.

 

Pascal, if only I had listened to you more...

 

Father and I took him to visit our mothers grave the day before we were set to leave.  It was a touching moment for him, the four of us together in spirit, if not in body. I imagine he should have liked to remember that image last, when the angels came.  The next day, we began the first leg of our journey, across many oceans to China.

 

Our closest family friend was Berkeley Henderson.  He’d been a mischevious neighborhood farm boy, though my best friend throughout childhood in South Carolina, and most of my adult life. His family had been simple in their nature and had wanted nothing more than Berkeley to grow and inherit the farm, but he had not been lured by all that golden corn and the call of the pasture, having had somewhat higher aspirations. He had uncovered a passion for travel and politics at the local library and Father, whom he had shared many talks with over dinner,  had admired his streetwise intellect and ambition.  He was under the impression that Berkeley was somehow destined for more than that little farm, and, taking him under his wing, candidly ensured that boy was given as good an education as any ambitious boy could have ever wished for.

 

Berkeley outdid even his own ambition, and one day grew to take a position on as an American envoy for the President of the United States,  Theodore Roosevelt.  You may even have read of him in the newspapers.  Roosevelt had been mediator between Russia and Japan at the Treaty of Portsmouth that year, and had been awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for it. Berkeley, of the American Embassy of Tokyo, had been greatly involved in everything from translation of the recapitulatory paperwork alleviations back and forth from Tokyo and Washington, to personally escorting the man himself on his visits, and after completion of his excellently-served duties, was granted 3 months paid-leave from the company and a promotion upon his return to the United States.  We had been delighted when he announced he would thus be able to join us on our journey, and taken aback in the most charming way to be acquainted with his recently wed Japanese bride whom he referred to as Ms.Kaneko at an agreed meeting place, the junk port in Hong Kong bay.  As a reward for recognition of his efforts it seemed; the daughter of a distinguished samurai (warrior)  family.  

 

“Not only is she perfectly beautiful, but she’s practically a member of royalty in Edo”, he whispered to us in rare, excited tones when she was out of earshot.  She spoke little English, a frail-looking woman with a petite figure, yet with a manner about her that commanded your attention when you were in her presence.  It was as if her movements were all as carefully delicate as the embroidery on a silk cuff.

They were an unlikely pair it could be said, he; the indefatigable, deeply religious Southern Boy with his straw-colored hair, a charming and convivial leader of men, and she; a tranquil water type, serene and ageless with her ivory complexion and an obliging smile that revealed nothing of its secrets. Yet aesthetic disparities aside, they were quite the appropriate match as a couple.  He seemed to me to be as taken as a man could be, and we had certainly never seen him as gentle and as inseperable before with a woman as he was with her. She remained by his side constantly as we talked, almost -to me I thought- as if she had always been there. Timid, unforgettably beautiful Ms.Kaneko.  To our delight, we were able to convince her over dinner that night to join the party instead of a planned return to Tokyo.  Father was especially pleased to recieve such  an unusual conversation-partner on the long weeks at sea to come,  “Viva la difference!” He bellowed over the tinkle of glass at a toast to her acquiescense.

 

Chapter 4

 

The crew were a respectful and merry bunch, and more than a little skilled at removing me of my wealth during our poker games.  As rough as the sea around us they were, and masters of it. With great success, they coursed us safely through South China and into the Phillipines, landing on Mindanao Island.  America was engaged in a colonial struggle with the islands at the time, and the Fillipino’s despised even the most opulent visitors. Yet it was there that we had reason to take pause, for stock replenishment and memorable sightseeing were to be had.

 

After some negotiation we succeeded in recruiting a guide from the islanders, a young man named Tifa. They had assured us that he had both Spanish and English, though he communicated with little more than gestures for the most part. We had a mid-day breakfast, and then asked the crew to fetch us a rowing boat from the ship. They brought us a woodstrip amber lifeboat made from the same cedar as the planks of the Orientalist, more designed for the purpose of a leisurely row  than for its namesake. Drifting fragily away, we watched the towering Mount Apo being devoured by the horizon.

 

Ms.Kaneko sat beside Father, who was lying lacsadaiscally on his back beneath the shades of a parasol. He derived much pleasure in having someone prepared to listen so enduringly to the stories of life as an early 19th century bon vivant. Behind them, Pascal, who was rowing, would make frequent humourous comments amd remarks regarding Fathers mostly embellished tales, and Berkeley observed that it was laughable Father had no reservations about talking to someone who could hardly understand a word he said. I was a little saddened that Father had become so senile, but hastily reminded myself how fortunate it was that we were there, together, in the midst of adventure, at a period that marked for what I knew was the approach of our last years....Alas indeed, that was a precious memory; the five of us below the cobalt sky and on the heart of the ocean. It seems ironic now that for all the riches we had; the enviable fashions we wore; the gilted China on our table; and the days of nothing but sailing and polo,  that none were as equally pristine a match as that complete serenity we enjoyed together on the seabed together that day.

 

As noon and a drop of bourbon for myself approached, Pascal, perhaps feeling somewhat inspired by the calm surroundings, discarded a cigar he had been smoking into the sea, and reached from underneath his seat to produce a considerably expensive-looking varnished walnut and velvet case, and from within its womb a tattered voilin, on its bottom-corner the faded unreadable inscriptions of its maker.

“Are you still playing that cheap old thing I bought for you, when you were a child?” enquired Father, with a curious manner of astonishment.

Berkeley, who I had thought until then had been asleep under his hat, raised his gleeful eyes from below.

“I sure hope he can play it half as good as he used to.”

 

If Pascal had been aware of their voices it did not register on his face, which expressed nothing. He instead brought the violin to his shoulder as slowly and carefully as if it were a child, and began to play.

 

Spirits should be so lucky to be carried to heaven on the wind of such a tune. Even our voiceless guide seemed lost in it, his attention drawn deep into a distant place.  The notes rang out across the unbridled waves with us caught in the slipstream, their motions echoing the rhythm of the soft melody, stirring our memories, an invitation to love or sadness lost and once long forgotten.  The voice of the instrument, its careful, plucked and drawn out notes as deftly fashioned as only a master could produce, brought with it an obscure power that captured us all.

 

And when he had finished he put the instrument back into his case with a contented grin and laid back to rest on his seat, his arms spread behind his head.

 

Berkeley chuckled at his audacity.

 

“Well, what do you call that one then?”

“Sonnet 18” Pascal replied.

“Ah..Shall I compare thee to a summers day..Most appropriate. A grand gesture.  Wasted perhaps, since the only female to entrance here is already spoken for.”

 

“The sea is my lady, Berkeley.”　Pascal said with a trace of sarcasm.

 

“Ah, one to rival my own indeed, I confess.”, Berkley simpered.

 

Pascal soundly slept after that. I sat there, watching him, my mind emptier than the air.  Father was staring at me, with an unexplainable, tragic smile.

 

Chapter 5

 

”What ever is the matter?”, demanded Berkeley, witnessing the pronounced confusion on the guides face, “Are you lost?”

 

Tifa had looked bewildered when the island first came into our visibility through the sea mists.

 

“Not lost. I been here many time, but...”, he said, shaking his head.

“But...I never see...this place.”

 

“So he is lost.” I sighed.

 

“Well.  That is just dandy!” Berkley stood, his discontent clear.

“-A guide who doesn’t even know his own backyard! Xavier...Xavier!!!” he cried, and Father was woken. *This damn fool doesn’t know where we are!”

 

“Oh. I’m sure he does. “, Father hissed ”Did you honestly have to wake me Berkeley? I was having a most moving dream.”

 

“Never seen this island, he says.” Berkeley croaked.

 

Father raised himself up against the sides of the boat.

 

Berkeley was now talking to the guide in slow, patronising English. “Can-you-get-us-back? Well, yes or no?”

 

“Tifa, isn’t this the way we came?” Pascal intervened, more amicably. The guide nodded.

“This way.” The islander continued, pointing ahead.

 

“I too cannot recall seeing that land, though there is a familiarity in some of the atolls here. I’m worried that the Orientalist even knows where to find us”

“See?” Father sighed ambivalently, his desire to return to his nap clear. “I’m sure that it will be fine.”

 

“Those atolls look the same? They all look the same!” Berkeley roared.

“I have a good memory for these things.”

 

“I pray that you have.” Berkeley said, and then chose to sit back quietly next to Ms.Kaneko, suddenly aware his outburts were making her nervous. “I’m glad that you can remain calm being that we’re likely drifting into nowhere, Xavier. “ Berkeley grumbled, trailing off.

 

“I’m too old for worry. That and most other things. ” sniggered Father, shifting himself down again into a comfortable position.

“Sure.’Cept pretty girls.” Berkeley retorted.

 

I was, myself, a little uncomfortable at the idea of straying through unknown waters, but I had more faith, knowing that Pascals memory was quite astonishing on occasion.

“We had best continue on, try to get back as soon as we can. Let the guide do his job.” 

 

We set out for the island, and within no time it had stretched in front of us to fill most of the horizon. 

 

Chapter 6

 

“Those rock formations are odd aren’t they?” Father commented as we drifted along by the  coast of the island.“- almost as if the cliffs have a peculiar moss.. growing out of them.”

 

Pascal brought out some binoculars out from beneath his seat.

“Not moss, Father”, he said.“- crabs”

“Crabs?” Father repeated the words in surprise.

“Yes, take a good look.”

 

Up close through the magnification of the lense, the black rocks were startling, as they were not rocks at all.  The furry moss that was presumed to have been the natural hue of the ragged juts was in fact not stone but crabs.  And so vast in their population were they that out of focal clarity, their shells blurred to a single concentration of vermillion. The physical ground beneath them was hardly there beneath their bestrewed, clicking bodies.

“Merde! What vile creatures!” exclaimed Father, rising into seated position with the binoculars. His knuckles were white and rigid as they tightened around the scopes

 

Pascal was somewhat nonplussed and asked Tifa about the crabs.  Tifa was silent and stared at the scene from afar as if he were alone.

 

“Well, will ya just look at that!” shrieked Berkeley at his turn, discarding his hat and rising in the boat.“The size of those damn claws! I’ve never seen anything like it!”

 

“I know this is going to sound like I’m making it up, but they are swimming.” Pascal said, taking the binoculars and passing them to me.

“That’s nonsense.  Crabs don’t swim.” I said.

“Some can.”  he told me “-they may be one of the breeds that have swimmerets.”

 

“Never true.” I accused. But at inspection, it was apparent that Pascal had been correct. Great clumps of them were unclipping themselves from the cliff face and indeed, were able to propel themselves by some means from beneath the waves.  They were an awesome looking species; carapaces at least a foot wide each and their exoskeletons lined with ragged serrations.  The claws were a sight, being that they were outlandishly proportioned to the body of greater dimension than a lobsters. Witnessing them, I calculated that the pincers were likely capable of grotesque strength.   

 

“What on earth is a swimmer-et?” questioned Father curiously.

“Never mind that.”, Berkeley said, “ Where are they swimming to Jules, round in circles?”

“No.” I said, as a shocking revelation suddenly came to me.

“Then where?”

“Looks like it’s towards... us”

 

Chapter 7

 

Kaneko had remained calm until she caught my words, but now it was clear that the beasts had her unsettled.  The myriads of crabs were floating across the ocean like dense ribbons, bobbing up and down the waves.  She shifted positions and clinged to Berkeleys side, speaking to him anxiously in her language.

 “Yes.” Berkeley replied, drawing the word out “ – say, what would you fellas think about calling it a day and heading on back for some poker? Ms.Kaneko says she’s had quite enough for today”

 

“The waves now is too strong.  Not enough men. No can go back same way.”

 

“I think what he’s saying is the current around the circumference of this island is too strong. We’ll not get far with the oars we have.” Pascal said

 

“This gents ineptness landed us into this mess into the first place, and you expect me to listen to him, Pascal?  Look, let’ s just humour the good lady, shall we..” Berkeley ticked, though it was obvious he was expressing his own self-desire in the words. ” I’m sure we’ll make it back in no time if we put our backs into it.”

“Come on useless,” he said, thrusting an oar into Tifas hands “, show us you can at least row.”

Tifa shrugged defeatedly and began to row with Berkeley.

Try as they did, they made little progess.  The back of Berkeleys shirt soon became moist, but for all his effort, the waves lunged and dragged us as if in a storm,  and we only found ourselves slowly closing in on the growing island.   Pascal and I took the oars, when they were tired.  His work on farms and ships had given him vigour, and for a long time we strained until we were both breathing heavily. It was as though we had barely moved, and the crabs had narrowed their distance on us.

 

“I need to rest a minute.” I told them, my endurance finished.

 

“What can crabs do to us?” Father asked weakly, mocking an indifferent tone. The look in his eyes however, betrayed his bold statement, and did not waver their focus from the ever oncoming horde.

Pascal shook his head.

“We can’t rest.  I’ve never seen anything like the size of those crabs.  And there are hundreds of those things coming. I don’t know about you, but I would not want to see what the bastards can do with those claws.”

 

“Right.“ came a voice behind me, and turning, I saw Berkeley taking his Winchester repeater from out of a suitcase, and loading.  “This will see them off.” He said, flicking the safety catch and taking aim. “Ears closed, everyone.” 

 

He fired a shot thick into the midst of the crabs, cascading the water 3 foot high and blowing a dozen of the creatures to pieces. Another six shots he emptied sporadically into the shadow, reloaded, and fired another full chamber.  

Ultimately, it did little to stop them from proceeding. There was still some distance between us and them, yet we could see they were still rapidly closing it. Berkeley went to reload once more, but Pascal stopped him.

“Wasting ammo.”

Berkeley knew that he was right, and rested the gun on the butt.

“Well John Brown of the Winchester Company,” he spoke, examining the smoke from the barrel ”your guns might have stopped Indians, but they’re useless against a few small crabs.”  

 

 “Curse them..” I said, wishing we were back on the Orientalist.

 

There was a pause, and then Pascal pointed towards an opening along the cliff face of the island. “That cave.  It could be a tunnel with an opening on the other side.  If so, we could traverse it and on the island we could rest a while. At least get our feet on the ground and get us some distance from those things. Then come back when the tide is weaker.”

  

 “The current seems to be pulling us in that direction anyway.” Berkeley shrugged.  “What have we got to lose?”

 

Chapter 8

 

It took us less than a five minutes to reach the dark cavity.  Its walls were moist and slimy inside, and they glistened and sparkled as their black surfaces picked up the specularity from the rough waves below the lifeboat. We were making steady progress through the cave, and the current drift was strong enough that Berkeley and an exausted Pascal need not to row and could lay back to rest. I kept watch for the pursuing crabs with the binoculars.  Some came into view, but as I watched they paused before the shadows of the cave and seemed loathe to approach further.

“Well, the good news is those damn creatures have decided we’re not for lunch after all. They’re stalling for some reason.”

“Thank the Lord”, Father muttered, breathing out a sigh of trapped anxiety.

“Ah,” said Pascal, regaining his breath and slapping Father on the back “,they wouldn’t eat a tasteless old piece’o’meat like you anyway, pop.”

“I wonder why they didn’t follow us into the cave?” I said, almost to myself. Nobody proposed an answer.

    

Chapter 9

 

I thought perhaps I was hearing things but then as I watched my brothers face suddenly register something I could see that he had heard it too.

“What it that?” he asked me, “some kind of a bell?”

It was extremely subtle. As I pricked my ears to listen, a sweet scent entered my nostrils.   I could not recognise it with anything I knew, though I thought it resembled something like sandalwood and musk. It increased in its strength as we furthered up the tunnel, and soon became almost overpowering.  Ms.Kaneko noticed something and began to point.  Sprouting from the walls ahead were minute clumps of maroon flowers with pitchers that hung low under the base of the plant. They were gently pulled to-and-fro by the rthymn of the wind that passed through the tunnel, and as they swayed they eminated the high-pitched but only vaguely audible tone.

 

“What are these, I wonder?...” said Father.

“I’ve not seen a plant quite like it in all my visits around Asia.” Berkeley commented.

 

I tore one from the wall as we passed.  It was quite heavy. The petals left a golden glitter on the tips of my fingers. The scent originated from the pitcher, and I lifted it to my face and inhaled deeply. 

 

Chapter 10

 

It seemed as if the freedom I had desired for decades had finally arrived.  My body was below me now, and I could clearly see Berkeley, Pascal, Ms.Kaneko, and Father, shaking it, their voices raised in panic and denial. I wanted to tell them it was fine, that I felt fine, that I was glad my life was over, my burden on them fully diminished .  Berkeley slapped my face, and Pascal rushed away, only to come back seconds later.

 

And just then, I was back in my body, laying on a beach.  Behind my eyelids all I saw was a burning red. I was awake. Opening my eyes, I could see above me a  sparkling halo of sun, shining viciously down on my cheek. The others were above me, terrified.  My muscles convulsed, and my lungs suddenly heaved, expelling a surge of seawater I must have swallowed.

I rolled over onto my hands, coughing violently.   

 “Bless the Lord” Berkeley whispered, his hands tight around Ms.Kanekos which were clamped together in a fist.

Pascal was on his knees in the sand, next to my face. 

“Jules, we pulled you from the water, head down. By Christ we thought you were gone!”

“Why did you save me?” I sneered below my voice with tears in my eyes, the memories of my joy in bodily exile slipping quickly away.

“What?”

“Why.....why did it have to be you, who..”

Pascal stood and turned his back to me. ”He’s delirious!”

 Berkeley suddenly laughed, and, grasping my head in his hands, kissed my forehead with aplomb.

“You’re alive you fool! Be merry, for us if not yourself!”

“My son!”, Father cried, his hand on my shoulder, “is still alive!”

 

“For a little longer, at least.” I replied under my breath, brushing sand off of my hands.

 

 “Where are we?” I heard myself saying calmly.   

 

“The guide is nowhere to be seen.” Pascal said, staring across the ocean, “though fortunately, neither are the crabs.”

 

It struck me to be probably quite late in the afternoon, and something triggered a  suspicion that we had been incapacitated not for minutes, but hours.

Berkeley told me his account of what had happened.

“You were first, Jules. You were sitting there, inspecting the plant, and bam“, he clicked his fingers, “you were out. We were trying to make head or tails of that when little Ms.Kaneko went limp, and the rest of us not long after. The last thing was us all waking up here. On the island.”

 

My satchel bag was near my feet, and from within I found the tunnel plant I had taken.  I took a sniff of the petal and immediately was overcome by a sensation of near paralysis, and an intoxicating desire for sleep.  My limbs were going, and seeing I was becoming limp, Berkeley quickly steadied me with his arm.

 

 “So,” he said, patting my back “that was the culprit.” 

 

He stared at it in my hands. “A paralyser.”

I pondered about this and placed it back into the bag.

 

The beach stretched out further than my eyes could survey, and along the surf not far from us, were several active blowholes – the musical instruments of the sea, that channelled the wind and turned it into an orchestra, an eerie accompanyment to our new surroundings.

 

 I brought out my diary. As the others finished eating, I wrote in it a  passage, a description of the place we had found ourselves in.  

 

 “A mysterious and tranquil Island with limestone cliffs and almond shores. One single summit, dormant, volcanic, dominates an opulance of forests, coconut palms, and fields of amber reeds and grasses.”

 

“That current is showing no signs of change, and the sea is worse than before.I think we’re stuck here. “ Berkeley muttered, ringing his shirt of sea-water. “For a while at least.”

 

“We’ve got bigger issues than that at hand.” Pascal came with the oars he had recovered from the shore under his arms, “Come take a look at the boat.”

 

From our initial position, it had seemed the boat was fine, but walking around to the port side, we could see that the hold had taken some extensive damage, with several planks missing.

 

“We must have struck a rock while we were under that plants spell.” Pascal speculated.

“And we’re not going anywhere until we get that fixed.” Berkeley said with distraught strain of  resignation in his voice.

 

Chapter 11

 

“Oh. I’m famished.” Said father.

 

“I think everybody is, after that little episode.” Pascal replied “, but our lunch went with the guide.”

  

“Yes, well it’s not often a village boy encounters the opportunity to enjoy a meal like that. ” Father joked, ”Who could blame him..?”

 

His fresh footprints - their shape clear- recessed into the sand, and continued from the beach to the entrance of a forest.

 

“So. What do you propose we do now, Berkeley?” I said, “You’re the Asia expert.”

 

“Well.  I say this island looks as if unoccupied, but like most of the Solomon Isles they are likely colonised.  I should think that if we were to walk around a bit, we’d probably come across some civilised folk who might take something in trade in turn to mend the boat. You all take a pocketfull of sand and we’ll take turns using it to make a trail back“

“Civilised..” I questioned, measuring the word.“And if they happen to be not of a civil-nature?”

“Then that’s when Mr.Winchester here’ll do the talking for us.” Berkeley declared, tapping the barrel of his gun.

 

“And he’s mighty persuasive. When it comes to people, not crustaceans, that is.” He continued, giving me an assuring nudge to my ribs.

  

It looked as though everybody was in agreement, and so we gathered what things we had, and began to move off the beach, careful in our minds to remember the location.

 

“Who knows?” Father tapped my leg with his cane as he came up behind.

“Perhaps if you and Pascal are lucky you could get thick with some native girls this evening.” Pascal raised his eyebrows  “Now that would be a fine prospect. “

Berkeley broke in.“Priorities fellas.  The Orientalist or might not be able to guess where we are right now.”

“That’s a troublesome imagination you have there Berkeley!” Father exclaimed.

“Oh don’t worry Xavier.”, said Berkeley. “They won’t go anywhere without the ones financing this little adventure . We’ll see what the next few hours turns up, and if all fails we’ll draw their attention with a fire in the evening.”

“Well,” Father replied, “if we’re going to be playing boyscouts with a campfire then we best be setting off for the village now.  I for one at least need a little local music and a flask of whatever passes as the local moonshine around here.”

“Your wisdom befits your age!” Berkeley beamed.

“I may be able to make one of your wishes true, Father..” I grinned, producing a tungsten cannister full of scotch that I had been carrying in my jacket pocket.

“Ah Jules, prepared as always.” Father spoke merrily as I passed him the drink.

“Village girls.” I caught my brothers narrowed eyes. “Or the drink. One wonders which one entices you more, Jules.”

 

Chapter 12

 

In the joyous heat of the summer-time, the air was warm with some humidity, I don’t think that any of us ever felt threatened to be stranded on that island at that time. We knew we could not have been incarcerated in a more decorative prison. The plant kingdom was thriving in this home. We were all fatigued, yet infected with the motivation to explore the the natural splendor that was expounded with every step. I lack the vocabulary to describe the wonder of the mysterious foliage that our eyes had never seen and yet grew about us in abundance, its boughs and ferns, shrubs, tinted corolla, umble, spadix, spores, seeds and roots stemmed from the earth, geared with a mystifying plethora of shades and complexions.   Pods that shot high above our heads from marsh with stem leaves flattening out four feet wide, the flowers that sprouted from them more than that in height. Tree barks sprouted litterings of indigo honey fungus, their gills an almost fictional, luminous green, and alongside them could be found germinating badiospores that were clothed in fractal patterns. Adorning the earth floor were bright flowers that caught the heart, and in the air was spread a warm vanilla perfume. The wind was rife with weightless spores that would fall gently like drizzle, only to be whisked around by the low breeze just as they were settled by our feet.

 We knew ourselves not to be in the afterlife, but the gates of heaven should be as splendid.   A kaleidoscope of light-rays passed through the forest-roof and lit our way into the new world.

 

Beyond some prairy-like plots lay the entrance to a forest.  Though there was never what could be called a path available, simple areas where the bamboo and trees thinned allowed our pass. Beneath the shadowy boughs of willows, we continued, and as we went, Berkeley spilled sand from his pocket to mark a path.

 

Chapter 13

 

“Look! That bush! Fruit!” Father yelled, suddenly drawing our attention to a number of orbs that hung  above our heads. 

“Go on Berkeley,” he continued, “fetch one down for me.”

 

Berkeley chose the one that was more prominantly exposed from the bunch, closest to our heads.  Using the butt of his rifle, he struck one clear off the branch.

 

Father was right, it was a fruit, though what fruit it was none of us could assert.  They were like hedge apples, with the same dimpling and shape and mass, but they had talcum white skins that recessed easily with the pressure of a thumb.

Father seemed oblivious to all caution as he broke one apart and took a deep bite from the fleshy core.

“Christ Father!” Pascal stammered “They could be poisonous for all you know.”

 

 “Ridiculous.”, Father scoffed, eating voraciously  “it tastes just like an melon. In fact, that’s probably exactly what it is, some Phillipine variety.”

 

“Is it good?” I smiled.  I enjoyed Fathers mindless zest for eating, his absense of caution when we still had no idead where we were..

“It’s not bad.  A little bitter and perhaps not as ripe as it needs to be.”

“Well, you wont catch me eating any.” Pascal responded with a resigned half-smile.

“Me either,” I added, “I think I’ll save my appetite for the village feast.  Who knows what kind of subtropical micro..micro-things  live in that melon.”

“I raised two cowards.” Father quipped, eating as we walked.

 

Chapter 14

 

We passed a clearing, and rested for a minute.  Continuing on, the undergrowth thicket thinned out and we entered what I thought would have resembled the pattening of a field of wheat except for that the stalks that grew in tight proximity were extraordinarily tall and thick, rising perhaps a metre above above us, and casting comb-like shadows along the valley we as we trod. Had they been in a tighter clump, they would have blocked out the sun that guided us.

 

“Have you noticed anything unusual about this place?” Pascal said to me. “ Except for the vegetation, I mean.”
”It’s about as unusual as one would expect of a tropical island.” I replied. “From what I remember of our high-school geography texts.”

“No. Something else.” He said.

He was right. There was a silence between us then, and we walked slower, our minds focusing each on isolating the source of our confoundment. After some mental searching, it dawned on me as to what it was.

“No animals.”

 

“That’s right.” agreed Pascal, as if he had also just reached the same conclusion. I slowed my pace even more, pondering over the thought.

 

 “Rarely an insect in sight. Not one that you can hear, at least.It’s too quiet here.”

We paused and I took in my surroundings afresh, if I having just entered them.  No signs of life.  No birds. No bullfrogs, no mosquitos.  Just the sounds of the leaves, and the steady dripping of rainwater that ran from them and soaked into the earth. Nothing but the clacking of branches caused by the breeze.  “That is remarkably bizarre, isn’t it...” I whispered, sensitive to my own voice and the implausible stillness.

 

Pascal began to talk.

 “Rivers. Good clean soil. Warm, humid temperature.  The climate is ideal for plants and they thrive here, yet we hardly see any insects supporting the pollen-spread, so these plants must be cross-polynating by some other means.” 

As we continued, the ground become soft and swampy, and we had to be careful with our footing in order not to sink. 

 

“Disease, or...” I said.

“Disease, yes. That’s not what I was thinking though.”

“What were you thinking..?”

“Natural predators?” he suggested.

“Predators.” The idea seemed unpleasant and I felt a surge of fear in my heart. “Well, there’d have to be thousands of them to cleanse an entire island of insect and animal life, wouldn’t there? And if so, where are they?“

 

In fact, it wouldn’t have suprised me if we had been the first humans ever to have set foot on the place. There were no traces of homo erectus anywhere.  The further we delved into the land the more it felt as though we were at natures designated mercy.  No man-made paths, just areas where the trees were in low concentration and allowed us small margin to pass.  Clearings with no evidence of camp. Swamps that smelled of mist. Berkeley reassured us that we were likely not within the vicinity of the locals yet, but something told me that we never would be. 

 

We worked our way around the base of a mountain, which was formed by a deep crevice that contained a natural gulf that only grasses and shrubs grew in, and made for an accessible pass. Yet there was barely enough space for a man, and as such we were forced to walk in single-fashion with myself in lead. However adverse I was to lingering, the others treated the affair as if it were a slow Sunday ponder in the country.  Father became tired when the path lost its even footing, and we rested and drank by a small waterfall that trickled from the higher slopes above.   I let them rest and told them I was going to scout a little further up the path.  The truth was that I was I wanted to experience the island alone for a time with a manner of solitude to accompany my troubled thoughts

I suppose that I had been busy with such ruminations when it occured to me that I had been gone for longer than I had planned. I was contemplating my return when I encountered something that froze me in my steps. Passing underneath some obscuring branches I came to an open glade, and on a side opposite emerged a plant drastically foreign in its exterior and size in comparison to the other vegetation on the island. Through a thick spore mist.   Arranged like an enormous wall, one would guess by the looks as  whether to verbalise such a thing as a plant, or an extraterrestrial manifestation. Waxen veneer.

An array of thousands of animal bones.  My eyes followed their intricate, interlocking designs, until I saw the skull of a human.

Leaves like a magnolia,

?????

Organic flue pipes taller than the jungle roof rose from behind, and adorned it with the grand and ominious appearance of a portative organ.

 

It had vines like grey-steel, that stretched around the perimeter of the clearing, almost reaching my ankles. 

 

Something caught my eye, and I thought I saw a shudder from close to my feet.  And looking down I saw leaves had been stirred.  I could not deduce if it had been from the plant, .  But something raised alarm-bells in my mind and I hastily ran from the clearing, back to the Pascal, who had been .   

 

I was about to tell him about my discovery, when we were startled to hear a shattering cry come from Kaneko ahead.

 

 

Chapter 15

 

“What in the hell?”  Pascal  worded to me as we sprinted towards those in front.

 

When we reached them, we were immediately set upon by  a most disturbing and morbid sight.  Spread-eagled In what I took to be a pool of effervescent marsh mucus, was the half-decayed bones of a man.  The stench was sickening. A clean rib-cage protuded out of the rotting flesh of his chest, and the decay that had attracted families of yet unseen insects and was still attached to most parts of the skull, and spine. The carcass that was underneath the water-level looked free of skin or muscle, and yet flowed to the rhythm of the pool, the bones connected by undamaged joints. At closer proximity, the stench combined with the shock gripped me, and I dashed behind some ferns to retch.

 

“It’s the guide.” Berkeley said when I came back, passing me a wiping cloth from his bag.

 

“What on earth is this place?” Father cried.   Poor Ms.Kaneko was in tears in Berkeleys arms.

 

“Look at him.” I said, exasperated.”I must be seeing things. What in Christ happened to him?!”

 

Berkeley shook his head. “He’s decaying. That liquid or whatever it is, ..is rancid.”

 

“We have a responsibility to let the authorities know about this man.” I said.

 

Pascal intervened.

 “I’d rather expend my energies rowing us off this damned place. We can tell the law about all this when we get back to the Orientalist. ”  

 

“The village could be within the next one hundred meters for all we know!”

“Yes but we’ve come this far and not seen a soul, Berkeley.”

 

“What do you think Father?” I asked.
”I’d rather be getting back.  I’m not feeling well.” I examined him and his face-looked puffed, his hands swollen.

“Are you alright?”

“My hands feel tight.”

 

We were unsure of what to do next. 

 

“I’m not going into any more of this bloody mangrove.” Pascal declared.”Probably teeming with starving crocodiles”

 

“And what about the boat?” Berkeley stated, “it has a fracture.”

”We’ll find some way to repair it ourselves. Rather that situation than remain in this awful place, frankly.”

 

 

 

Chapter 16

 

Evening was born.  A crescent moon was visible in the smooth and cloudless maroon above us. All that existed of noise in the air was the blowholes from the ocean, now far away, and the cracking of the forest mattress beneath our feet where we walked.

 

We had progressed back the way we had came, arriving once more at the stalk fields.  A devil of a gale was beating around us, and above our heads the bulbs of the stalks were swayed by its strength.  At least, that was what I had thought at first, but as I watched them something struck me as unnatural about the randomness of their movement.  It almost seemed as if they were moving by the force of their own will. 

 

As we watched, we could see that the ribbed bulbs of some of the stalks were somehow stretching, in the process discarding the an outer layer of skin.  Then, the ribs were separating down the center spine like a ?zip, opening apart to form thousands of botanical teeth. 

At their peaks, the heads of the stalks were now quivering terribly, and as they shook, they made a fierce noise like the rattling of a snake. As unlikely as it was, it felt certain that we were in danger, as if the plants were gearing themselves for an attack.

 

Ms.Kaneko screamed.

 

 “Let’s get the hell out of here!” Berkeley roared at the top of his voice, tugging her by the hand her hand. We ran with the fear of our lives. Pascal and I took fathers arms on the shoulders. Berkeley and Ms.Kaneko shot ahead, but as I watched she could not keep up with his pace, and trapped her  foot under her a root.  We overtook, and passed through the small field into the safety of a clearing. Leaving father on the ground, Pascal and I ran back to help. But it was too late.  With paralysing horror, we witnessed Kaneko come upon by the once quiet stalks, which were now animated like attacking pirahna.

 

The teeth were vicious.  Like fishbone razors, they cut and bit effortlessly through any flesh they could lodge themselves into.   Berkeley fired into them with rage using his rifle, and Pascal with his Colt, forcing their recoil , but for only seconds, just quick enough for us to drag her out onto the clearing, past the plants.

 

Large parts of her shoulder, her midriff, and her shin had been shorn. The flesh that wasn’t missing was riddled now by a canvas of tiny circular needle holes that penetrated through her entire body.  What remains in my mind of those last moments of her life was her face, quivering in a voiceless grimace of agony, arteries exposed, and her lolling eyes, rolling back into her head.   In Berkeleys arms she died hurriedly, her limbs flopping like a dolls, with scarlet blood ebbing from every pore. And Berkeley howled like a terrified child, as paralysis melded over us and none could comfort him. He repeated her name over and over, and cradled her body in his arms, her blood seeping into his clothes. 

 

The stalks writhing came to a slow halt, now that their quarry were at a distance, and looking at them, one would never have guessed they were anything other than reeds.

 

My brother and I stared at each-other in a shocked daze.   

 

Chapter 17

 

None of us could sleep that night.  We were too afraid. Pascal and I had done the best that we could with Kaneko’s body without shovels, burying her below a deep mound of twigs and branches. It all seemed too unreal.  Berkeley had sat on a rock facing away from the event, and remained quiet throughout.  He had not said a word for hours, and I suppose the bereavement had been too much for him to bear.

We built a fire and, during this time, Father had become so ill all of a sudden that he hardly sustained the ability to speak.  Pascal had been applying a wetted hankerchief to his forehead, and kept him close to the fire, though little of it had been of any aid. His face grew red, taut and moist. The only time he moved was to retch, but having completely emptied the contents of his stomach, he was now only capable of dry-heaving.

 

“I think we found out what lies at the top of the food-tree here.” Pascal said.

“Plants. ”

 

“What is this place...? Ms.Kaneko.  Now Father, whatever is wrong with him?” I said, panic-stricken. Rain danced upon the fire, but it stayed alight.

 

Pascal stroked his chin, “It must have been that fruit. What else could it have been...?”

 

Father rolled onto his side, and crumpled up.  Pascal wiped his forehead again with the cloth.

“I think he’s in a grave state, ” Pascal whispered to me out of fathers earshot. “we need to get him to a physician as soon as possible.”

 

“Oh my God...Oh my God...” Berkeley began.  He kept whimpering through his hands to himself. Then he turned to us.

“Did you see what they did to her. Those things. Spawn of the Devil himself! What in Christs name is happening?”

“I don’t know”, I commiserated.

 “...my darling....my angel” He said as he sobbed, “..I couldn’t protect you?...could I?...we’re all lost...”

For another hour this continued, until it began to work at my nerves and the fear in my stomach.  Father groaned and was obviously being kept from his rest by Berkeleys noisy ramblings.  Eventually, I knew I had to do something about it.

 

“Berkeley, “ I said as gently as I could, resting my arm on his shoulder. “let it rest now.  I know what happened to Kaneko is ...beyond words, but we’re all trying to keep some sanity here. Please let it rest.”

 

He looked at me, his eyes wide, and then he quietened down for a few minutes as I sat opposite, my head lowered.  Then, quicker than my reflexes were he had grasped the lapels of my shirt with both hands, and pulling me close to his face and spoke with throttled menace.

“They’re going to kill us!! We’ve been abandoned by Him.  Lord, have mercy on us!”

“Be quiet! Control yourself damn it!” shouted Pascal from behind, as I tore myself away, his tolerance quickly vanishing. “We’re all in this together.”

“You don’t understand.  Our lives are at their end! We are all meat –“

“Shut up!” Pascal screamed, taking Berkeley by the shoulders and furiously shaking him.

 

But Berkeley’s eyes showed no sign of normality, he was clearly having some sort of a psychotic episode.

 

“Fetch the rope from Fathers bag!” Pascal barked at me.

 

 “No!”, screamed Berkeley, a drawn-out cry. “you can’t keep me tied here to die!”

He visciously pushed Pascals away and backhanded me as I approached.  It was a solid hit that knocked me onto the floor, and the rope fell from my hands. Berkeley was advancing towards me with feral rage in his eyes, with who knows what intention.  As I landed my back hit something hard.  It was the Winchester. I took it, and for one fearful moment I thought he would force me to shoot him, when Pascal came from behind and swang the butt of his Colt into his neck.  Berkeley went down onto his hands.  We thought he was subdued, but as we approached him he suddenly dove out of the glade and into the coppice, dissapearing behind some bushes. We could hear his shrill screams echoe through the trees.  I rose to pursue, but Pascal grabbed my arm.

“Don’t!”

“But Jules, he’s our friend!” I cried, but his grip was unshakeable.
”I know, but those plants could be anywhere! I’m not going to lose you both.  Let him go!” 

 

Chapter 18

 

Pascal held me by my elbows.

“You know, and I know, that if we leave him out there to die, we will never forgive ourselves.” I  said, cold-staring Pascal.

How could we desert him when there was a chance he might be alive?  Nothing could be more dishonorable. He could see I was right.

“I know.  But I don’t want to lose you Jules.” He said with emotion in his voice.

 

“Stay with him.” Said Pascal, motioning to father.  Neither of us were sure he was even conscious.  “I’m faster than you or Berkeley.  I’ll be back soon.”

I protested, but he was already in a run. He didn’t look back as he buckled his Colt and hurtled out of the clearing.

 

Chapter 19

 

Berkeley was psychotic.  Running, desperately running on legs that were seized with fear in his heart and mind incontrollably lost to terror.  Whatever substance of a man that he was had departed and now he was an animal, fleeing for his life as his imaginations took their reign over his sanity.  Without light he ran blindly into the trees, until he came to a pond.

 

The puddle was far deeper than he had thought, and in fact, was not a puddle at all.  As he steeped through it, he began to feel a tingling sensation on the surface of his legs. The irritance soon turned quickly to a sharp sting of such effect it forced Berkeley to gasp. With panic, he swung around and waded his way out of the pool.  Not seconds longer than he was out, from within the pool, a tendril shot out around his leg with digging thorns.  He screamed.

 

Pascal came through from outside the square as he heard Berkeleys cry, and his eyes widened when he saw him frantically struggling to escape from the tendril that had knotted itself around his shin. 

“Berkeley!”

“Help me Pascal!”

Aiming his Colt, he fired the entire chamber into the fluid, but instead of producing the desired effect of damaging the creature and forcing its release, the bullets sank fruitlessly beneath the surface.  He discarded the weapon and wrapped his arms around Berkeleys chest from under his armpits, and used his feet to concentrate his full strength into levering Berkeley away.  Berkeley screamed in agony as the sharp tendril tightened and cut into his leg.  Blood spilled from the thousands of cuts in his flesh.  Pascal pulled until he saw stars before his eyes, and bellowed with the effort.  The tendril seemed to be retracting its grip for a second, and then suddenly, with a yank of alien strength, the thing tugged Berkeley violently into the midst of the soup, sending Pascal flying in the process.

From where he had landed, Pascal watched Berkeley vanish, his fingers extending in a rigor-mortis grip as they sank down into the digestive juices of the plant.

 

Chapter 20

 

It had been an hour.  My mind was numb with the fractions of madness that it had suffered that night. I had attended Father as best as I could, but he was quivering as if a voltage had been applied to his skin. 

 

I could not watch, and stalked around in circles, beset by the chaos of my circumstance. 

 

I thought I heard a sound coming from him.  It sounded like words.

“What?” I asked, kneeling down next to him. He was awake, and his hands were shaking and tearing at his throat. 

 

“Can’t...breath...” he wheezed.

 

His eyes were bulging and his persistant rasping was like the choked sounds of a dying animal.   He began crawling in random directions, desperately clawing at the earth, and obviously in agony.  It was too painful for me to bear.  The swelling on his face and hands was surreal to behold, distorting his features beyond recognition.

 

I stood, watching him, unable to come to his aid. 

 

“What can I do? I don’t know what to do!” I cried in pathetic desperation.

 

For a second it seemed as if he had focused away from his suffering and touched the tip port of the rifle.   Our eyes met and I identified his desire.

 

“The Doctor...I know...”

“I’m glad I am to go before you, my son.”

 

“No, no no no no no...” I cried in disdain, shaking my head, and walking away from him with tears in my eyes.  From him then came a wheezing noise, and I felt it was my name he had tried to say.  Turning, I caught his pleading eyes once more, flickering in pain.  Another groan came from his throat. “Pleeeeaaaseee...”.   The sound pierced through me, and though my soul was torn by it, the realisation was there that I had the opportunity to spare his from his suffering.  I took the gun and aimed close towards him at his head, and in a desperate moment I turned my head, screaming, my eyes shut, and squeezed the trigger.

 

It clicked.  It hadn’t been loaded. My muscles failed me and I could not move. I ...with the weapon, but my hands were wet and it fell onto my feet. For all the benefits of a pricy education I had still never been taught to load a rifle.  It was all that I could do to fall beside him and support his head on my shoulder.  I cried as I listened to every painful whimper, the sounds of it ripping through me, his life fading.  Finally he expired with a gagging wheeze. 

 

Some people would have prayed, but I instead turned to another method of salvation, my whisky cannister. It went down hard and fast, though the burning did little to cleanse my spirit.  

Now that there was not a sound in the air,  I sat in self-loathing and shame, and moaned for Pascal.

 

 

From where I was, I could see that Kaneko’s body had not been fully obscured by the leaves and sticks we had used to cover it, and her foot was protuding from the base.  It was then that I noticed a strange irregularity. 

“What in God’s name..” I whispered to myself as I approached.

On her foot where there had once been the mark of the fishbone bite now grew thin, hair-like, layered strips of stalk.  Something compelled me to examine her closely..Within the larger wounds were the same layers of moss-stalk but sprouting from it were tiny flowerbuds.. Before me now was not Kaneko, but a grotesque vivisect of woman and plant.

 

Stepping back, my body trembled spasmodically.  It was then that I made up my mind to leave the insanity of the clearing.

 

Chapter 21

 

With the absence of good light it was not clear to me the directions Pascal and Berkeley had taken.  I took what I thought was the right path.  Though I had glimpsed at what I thought may have been mudprints of feet as I travelled, I was doing little more than serving my instincts as I crossed along random natural trails and alongside riverbanks, softly calling their names, always terrified of what other attention my voice might attract.

 

I ran cumbersome and as if blind into the thick of that dark, ominous wood, never knowing what danger each step may have been bringing me closer to. Though consumed with the thought of locating Pascal, beneath that focus lay my nightmarish imaginations of what might lay in the dark shadows of that place, and it was a mental battle to not simply withdraw into my fear, and fall to my knees in paralysis. Jagged thorns tore at my flesh, leaving trails of blood on my forearms and cheeks.  That all I could hear was the beat of my heart and the rustle of leaves did not lessen the fear.      

 

Eventually I reached a point where I could see two clear paths that divided off from each-other. I noticed a metallic gleam penetrate the darkness from under some dirt, and on closer inspection it became apparent I had found one of Pascals Single Shot rounds. That taste of encouragement pushed me further, though I had trouble deducing which path it was that he had followed. As yet there was still no evidence of footprints, broken branches, or a tell-tale sign of his movements. I yelled his name out once more, but only the whispering quiet of the trees came back as a reply. Wasting no further time, I instinctively proceeded along the south path.  A dark journey that lasted an hour before it broke out into a sudden opening. 

 

I was back on the beach! And there, clearly visible, was a trail of human-foot prints along the shore.

 

I strode along the surf, my fears somehow alleviated by the fact that I was now out of the forest and away from any potentially murderous plants.  Pascals footsteps were puddled with the rain of earlier, and I wondered how far ahead he could be, and if he even knew where he was going.

His adventurous spirit could only cause his death here, I thought.  

 

Chapter 22

 

It had been there all along in my waking vision, rising from my exhausted sleep, but at first I thought it was a wide atoll. Beneath the waves, a hulking, monstrous creature carting a girth of collosal expanse lay.  In the fragile visibility of a morning not yet broken, the features of the beast were markedly indistinct, though a brilliant water patina spilled from its stony scales as it rose beneath the early star Venus, it’s beastly outline traced by a dying moon.  

 

From within its mass, a fold split open and behind it was produced an odd transparent membrane that swept across the orb to fully expose a chilling red pigment that burned like a lamp and illuminated the waves about it.  In the center, the iris tightened into an oval, a reptilian evil, it was the eye of the beast.  /// membrane is transparent except for the leading edge which is pigmented and contains some cartilage.  it is used when the crocodile dives underwater. Although nobody is quite sure how well the crocodile can see underwater, the transparent membrane which covers the eye during diving ensures that light can reach the eye if the water is clear enough to see. It is possible that the membrane itself alters the refractive index of light entering the eye to possibly improve vision underwater slightly.//

One final thing to notice: it is the lower eyelid which moves when the eye opens and closes, contrary to the incorrect information you'll find in a few crocodile text books!-

 

 

Its mouth opened like a bridge, and though it made no sound, the sight was sinister enough to be etched into my mind forever. Juts off ragged teeth traced into the moon-lit sky like silhouttes, forming a maw unlike any other living creature. And for seconds, it simply did not move.  The eye of the creature glowered over the seas and for not the first time that night my body trembled and I felt my limbs quiver, for with horror I understood the direction of it’s gaze, and that it was upon me.  

 

And then, it abruptly came, thrashing through the waves.  I knew it to be futile but I ran with my heart pumping out of my chest, and the strains of my lungs around my ears.  Even as I broke into the forest, the monster came either over the tops of the trees or smashed through them- their thick barks of little resistance to its strength.  The animal crashed like thunder on the earth not far behind, and I contemplated how much longer it would be before I was swept up into its jaws and devoured.

 

I tore past the glade I recognised earlier that housed the alien plant I had encountered.

 

 From then on, I ran up towards the peak of the mountain and onto some sand. 

Lad didididiaaa..

 

And I thought for certain the end had come.  In my mind I was already visualising my skin split by the teeth of the beast, and the evisceration of my insides.  I did not turn to face it, but closed my eyes tightly, and waited for the inevitable.  Yet, as I lay arrested by paralysis, minutes passed with no turn of event.  My suspicions finally caused, I saw ..

But it did not come further than the glade.  Its stare was on me, but its attention was driven to something else inexplicable. Its mandibles grinded against its upper jaw-bone, occasionally opening before clacking shut seconds later with a force I could feel in my feet.   

But for some unknown reason, that was the limit of its actions, and it never proceeded to come and devour me.  Instead, it slowly crept away back away, dissapearing into the trees.

 

 

Chapter – Day 1

 

Had man spurned Nature so, that she had become spiteful?

 

It had been three days since I had escaped from the sea creature.  In the sand pinnacle where I had become trapped, I felt a measure of safety. Though I had not eaten anything except for some wild grasses that grew in the dirt, and I was starving, I discovered that the plateau was home to the the small waterfall we had refreshed ourselves below before, and so my thirst was a matter of little concern.

 

I had no hope.  No motivation to face the dangers outside the sand ring for the sake of freedom. Besides, freedom offered only the recommencement of suffering for myself. I awaited nothing.

The irony of it struck my thoughts throughout the hours of the day, as I sat watching the island.  The perseverence of my existence.  Surviving, as other more deserving of life had not.

 

One night, I woke below a crescent moon with a calm breeze that danced over the trees below. For a quiet moment, I forgot where I was and experienced a degree of peace. Somehow, I had managed a few hours of unbroken rest.

 

And then, my body physically lurched.

 

I realised with acute horror that at my ankle something had latched itself there, and was tugging at me.

Looking down I saw what I can only describe as Satan incarnate.  A monster consisting of flesh and plant.  It’s eyes were dark, rotten in their sockets, and lifeless, and yet it moved with purpose.  What purpose became obvious in seconds, to drag my body over the sands towards the plants which were now alive, writhing in silent mass, before the meal.

 

It’s back seemed to consist of a number of roughly adjoining plates of flesh, and in the crevices between them sprouted clusters of plants Poinsetta-like in appearance, with flowers vivid crimson in hue. Around their bases were myriads of pearl cotton-seed and tall, porcupine-needle stalks that were glossy and waxen under the moon.

 

The sight was disturbingly familiar for some reason, yet sickly unnatural. It could have made a feasibly radiant botanical display had it not been set upon the carcass of recognisable flesh that wormed beneath it. As I stared at the hellish visage that had once been a human head, I saw its mouth begin to open.  From there came not a human tongue, but a grotesque, leech-like probe as thick and as long as a childs arm. It was covered in a furs that were like the tiny legs of a millipeed. I screamed in hysteria. It moved with small but frantic jerks, as if it were desperately trying to extend itself from deep within the creatures gut, and accompanied with its movements came alarming choking-like noises of trapped air between the probe and the moist throat cavity.

The monsterous probe was inching forward rapidly, avoiding my lower body and aiming for my face.

I was so paralysed by dread at that time that for a second I became inclined -not for the first time in past days- to just close my eyes and let the beast have its way with me. But then it struck me that perhaps I would not simply perish, but in fact reanimate as such as a similar monster myself, that drove me to try to escape.

 

Struggle as I did, I could not break away from the grasp of the creature, but flailing, I sensed my fingertips suddenly touch upon warm steel, and knew at once that it was Berkeleys Winchester.  With the probes approach ever closer,  I aimed the octagon muzzle at the blackness that was the creatures head and prayed a blast was enough to kill it.       

 

 “Please forgive me, Kaneko.” I cried, as if whatever was left of the woman I once knew would react to her name, “Berkeley. I am so sorry.”

 

The blast from the rifle tore through it’s skull, and the creature instantly slumped at my feet. Terrified that it might somehow be still alive, I desperately kicked away at it and ran back to the center of the sands. It seemed to shudder, though thankfully only in the animation of death.   

 

In death. For some reason, I thought of Crocus, who had been separated from his sweetheart and committed suicide and how Flora, the goddess of spring and flowers, rewarded his suffering by  turning him into a beautiful flower.  

“Did Flora pity you, Ms.Kaneko?” I found myself saying.

 

The lack of time.   Is that what we were all to doomed to become? What of Berkeley? What of Pascal? Are they in the forest, roaming the night as one of those creatures?

 

It was too much for me.  The island.  My friends and family, their lives seized from them by horrific means.  And myself, imprisoned here where it seems I should eventually meet my death in one manner or another. That night, I screamed.  Screamed for my fear, for my hopelessness, for my anger, and for Pascal.                                     

 

Day 3

 

And then, I saw him.  A recognisable shape on the beach.  Pascal!.  He had not been killed!

I wondered why he had not waited for me, but then I remembered how I had left the clearing, and knew that he may have feared me gone.

 

And there was the lifeboat, the sides somehow fixed with twine and the planks he must have discovered on his way back to it.  He launched it into the water. 

 

“Pascal!” I screamed, “PASCAL!!”.

But there was nothing I could do.  The thing was there in front of him, yet he did not see it. He was too far to hear me, far out of reach. 

 

 

I took the rifle and fired off the shot I had intended for myself. I threw it down and picked up the binoculars, my eyes straining.  I could see his head turn.  Perhaps for a minute, he suspected it may have come from any random source, but then, a glance of recognition and with a familiar wave I saw his effort to row the boat back to shore.  The creature submerged.

With him at the shore, I thought perhaps I could devise some method to warn him of the beast.  Forget about me, you fool, I would translate.  Escape when the creature slumbers.

 

Just a little further Pascal!!

  

And then, just as I thought he would make it, I saw the beast submerge.  My heart sank.  Pascal was quick to see it coming, but for all his efforts there was no escaping the primordial speed of its bulk,  smashing into the lifeboat, crushing it into pieces, and leaving him adrift in the sea.  He swam with all the power he possessed, but  when the beast sank, the crushing razors in its mouth wrapped around my struggling brother, and silently dragged him down to his watery death.

 

“Pascal!” I cried, falling to my knees in despair.  “PASCAL!” 

A pool of blood rose, and that crushing moment, was the worst of my life. 

 

I lay there for hours on the sand and could feel my cheeks burning from the sun, but I did not care. 

 

Day 4

Weak now.

Pascals violin.

From the binoculars, I could see it, just below the limbs of the piranha stalks.  Last time we passed them, they didn’t awake until later on in the evening.  They don’t look harmful now. I think about it and little else most days.  The last vestige of his memory. I must take it back! ...

 

Day 5

 

From just below the surface of the waves, the beast is watching me with those liquid eyes of his. The guardian of the island. 

 

What do I have to live for anyway? I’m dying.  In case you hadn’t guessed.

 

Please convey my empathy to the families of poor unfortune Berkeley and his wife, if you can ever trace them.

 

My thanks for your time,

 

Jules Devroux

“

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

 

He stepped clumsily down the valley towards the vines and stalks of the carnivorous plants.  Hanging by its strap on a nearby tree was the violin, by the alien plant. His last and most precious memory of his brother. And it had become his mission that he should attain it. Something inside Jules told him that saving the last memory of his brother might somehow save him. 

 

And drunk, the alcohol in his pack all finished, he began a melodramatic announcement as he marched clumsily towards his target.

 

“Greetings to you all, my greatly indebted, my beloved and recently deceased! I sincerly hope that the afterlife is everything that you and I hope it would be, and that St.Peter has granted you the most exquisite reception you do indeed deserve. Bravo! Now, as audience members, you sit in your pearly clouds as cushions to view my little show, and as you’ll all be rejoiced to hear, I have a little something that I dare say may add a touch of class to the finale. I’d like to entertain you all with a tale about an intimate friend of mine the doctor recently introduced to me, with the grand title of cerebral meningitis.  He’s a persistant character, this old fella, an unwanted guest you might say, who keeps knocking at my door, promising to stay with me right to the grave.  I suppose I’ve learned to live with him now, and the company has certainly kept my mind occupied for the past few months.”

 

Jules changed his ... His eyes, rings of ..around them stared into the stars in the sky. 

 

“You see, I too am a dead man.  It’s malignant, and now incurable. The parasites from within grow to consume me. I take some small comfort in that it was something I never needed to account to your faces, however, I should rather have taken the brave steps to do so.”

 

He took his steps almost a whisper.

 

“I had hoped to die peacefully, an old man desiring release. But now I sacrifice myself.”

 

The reeds that had grown around the plant, sensed his approach, and began their familiar dance before the stars and the smalt universe, producing their serrated needle-teeth. From under them Jules could see the voilin. But his hands were shaking now, and despite the vast quantities of drink he had consumed, fear was bringing him sober. He took a shaky step forward, and watched

 

“I am a coward Pascal!!..” he cried pathetically ”..I’m sorry!! I...I.. can’t do it..!”

 

He turned quickly, his intention to run behind the sands and hide until his eventual death, but almost as soon as he had swung around he crashed full-force into the creature once known as Ms.Kaneko, whom had risen from her deathbed, a passive predator, waiting for her waryless prey. His shrill, terrified scream was quickly diminished as the probe from her mouth divided into finer tendrils that held his head and then voilently latched themselves down his throat and into his lung cavities, tearing at his flesh and causing asphyxiation as they took seed in the new host. His life was shortly over, his final memories not consisting of beloved circles of family, but of the writhing coils that slithered and inhabited his gut from within.

 

 

Chapter --

 

Christianson looked up to see the darkness of the sky, its approach seemingly slow, thinking how swiftly it can appear.  Regarding the manuscript in his hands, he thought over the accuracy of its words.

 

“Did you find anyone?”, he said to Rodriguez, taking her into his arms and stroking her hair.

“No. But I did find something unusual.”

 

In her hands he stroked now what was undoubtably Pascals violin, as mentioned in the journal. Rodriguez had found it embedded in some nearby tree branches. So the story did contain an element of truth. The guardian of the island, well, perhaps that could have been him. The strange eyelid that Jules spoke of was undoubtably the nictitating membrane, or third eyelid found in such animals. And there was the violin, after all. 

But man-eating plants? What dribble, he thought. On the island so far they had only seen mostly recognisable strains as often seen in these parts. 

 

He closed the diary, put it back into the satchel bag, which he then slung over his shoulder.  On the way back down to the encampment, he watched his footsteps break the earth and ruminated about Jules and what personal demons had driven him to dream such a story.

 

But then what about the creature they had burned to ashes back near the beach?  Jules. 

 

Then his mind to him. The reason that had brought Christianson here to this secreted spot near to Mindanao Island once again.

 

The hunt for the prehistoric crocodile that was twice as wide as a whale, and undoubtably in his mind the biggest on the planet. The Devil himself.

 

To be continued in Part 2: Sarcosus Hunter