part0028

The island rose up from the shadows like some unnameable thing from Lovecraftian lore, a colossal sea creature from the very depths of the ocean.

‘That’s it,’ said Chakrit, nudging Paul awake.

‘That’s what?’ said Paul, rubbing the sleep from his bleary eyes and following Chakrit’s unwavering gaze.

‘Koh Wai. The forgotten island.’

Paul snapped to attention and sat up. He squinted out to sea. There it was alright, through the murk and gloom, shrouded in fog. The island.

The wind picked up, and soon torrents of rain lashed down, the droplets bouncing as they struck the deck. Paul gripped a rail with one hand to steady himself as the sea became choppier, waves crashing against the little fishing boat. He tried to ignore the inclement weather, instead focusing on the island. He didn’t like the look of the place. Oh sure, during the day it was probably some exotic paradise, but right now, in the late evening, it took on a sinister characteristic. The old man piloting the boat called down in Thai, his voice almost lost in the wind. Chakrit shouted back at him then turned to Paul.

‘This is as far as we go.’

‘Why? Is the sea too dangerous?’

Chakrit averted his eyes. ‘Something like that. We take dinghy.’

‘What? With those waves?’

‘Don’t worry. It has a motor.’

A six foot wave ploughed into the side of the boat, tilting them at an obscene angle. Paul’s feet slid out from under him and he gripped the rail harder.

‘A motor,’ he snarled, as the boat temporarily righted itself. ‘I didn’t come out here to die, Chakrit.’

Chakrit replied, the elements drowning out his voice. It sounded like, ‘You may not have a choice.’ Paul didn’t ask him to repeat himself. Using the handrail, the pair worked their way around the boat to the dinghy, which floated alongside them, a heavy rope holding it in place. Chakrit held it tight as Paul climbed the railing and lowered himself into the dinghy, gripping onto the handles for dear life, the ocean spray drenching him with salt water. Chakrit untied the rope and leapt overboard, landing next to Paul. He gunned the engine and nothing happened.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Paul. Chakrit didn’t answer. He yanked the cord again. This time the motor briefly whirred into life then promptly gave up the ghost.

‘Nothing,’ said the young Thai man, as he pulled the cord a third time, the engine roaring and, this time, not stopping. ‘Hold on,’ he said.

Paul did just that as they motored off towards the island, leaving the fishing boat and Chakrit’s uncle behind.

‘It gets rough now.’

‘Don’t worry about that,’ grimaced Paul as water splashed into the dinghy. There was at least three inches of water in the boat already.

This better be worth it , he thought.

He looked back and saw the old man standing on the prow of the boat watching them through the downpour. There was something eerie about the way he stood there in the lashing rain, like he didn’t expect to see them again.