Legend of Golden River

   Sparkling water and tall palm trees filled the view from the full-length windows and bestowed upon Sandy a feeling of contentment. The light from the full moon illuminated the canal, and evenly-placed spotlights lit up each tree producing a regal yet slightly eerie landscape. The breeze drifted gently through the open door of the rented Gold Coast townhouse, brushing Sandy’s auburn hair away from her young face and making her close her eyes for a moment. It had been a hectic week at the advertising agency where she worked and now that it was Friday, she was grateful for her weekend away. It was the first time in months she’d had time to truly unwind. 

   Analysing her empty wine glass, Sandy deduced that one more drink before bed would be enough to help her relax and enjoy both an early night and a long overdue sleep-in. Heading toward the kitchen she glanced at the counter top, her eyes lingering on the small piece of paper she had discarded there earlier. She picked it up, smoothed out the crumpled edges and read the name and number written on its surface. She recalled the conversation she’d had with its writer earlier that afternoon. A woman, slightly more advanced in years had introduced herself to Sandy whilst she waited to check in at the reception. “Where are you from?” she’d questioned. 

   “The city” Sandy replied, “and you?” 

   “The Sunshine Coast, I come here same time every year”. 

   Sandy gave rise to her curiosity, asking “Is it that good here?”

   “Oh, it’s not the place, it’s the story” she gushed, eyes wide with excitement. 

   Sandy was intrigued as to what kind of story would attract her to an ordinary holiday apartment complex on a canal, year after year. A childish tale of buried treasure perhaps, where x marks the spot? She laughed to herself at the prospect but asked politely “Story?”

   “You don’t know about the story?” the women leaned in closer “you don’t know about the legend of Golden River?” both times emphasising the word ‘don’t.’ 

   “No, never heard of it” Sandy giggled at the woman’s eagerness.   

   “Well” she went on “according to the legend, that canal…” she pointed out the windows behind the reception desk toward the canal that stretched the length of the entire property “was a river, and a young woman lived in a hut by its edge. One night she went out walking and was murdered by a mad man. People say that they have seen the ghosts of the woman and the mad man, coming back each year to re-enact the murder.”

   Sandy laughed in amusement, recalling the story and it’s obvious fictionality. She was aghast that people still fell for such fantasies, designed as marketing ploys to generate more business, no doubt. She’d told the woman she put no stock in the belief of Ghosts nor legends, being convinced especially, when the woman abashedly admitted to not having seen them yet, despite visiting 5 times already. She had scribbled her name and phone number on the paper and shoved it into Sandy’s hand, begging her to call straight away if she witnessed anything. Sandy had assured her that she would not be in touch as apparition hunting was not on her weekend schedule, but she put the note in her pocket to be courteous.

   Sandy tossed the note back on the kitchen counter and returned her gaze out the window to the glistening canal. It was a warm January evening and the night looked cool and inviting so Sandy decided to take a walk. She slipped through the sliding glass door and descended the two wooden steps onto the dewy wet grass. The air smelt of salt from the nearby ocean and there was a temperate breeze. It was a perfect night for a relaxing stroll.

   She chose to meander to the right along the canal, the grassy bank lit up by small evenly placed garden lights and passed three other units before she stopped abruptly. Her ears subtly caught wind of a sound that caused her heart to leap over one of its life-giving beats and her feet to transform into stone. Despite the warm summer air, she felt a chill that swept past her face and made her shiver from her scalp to the souls of her feet. The sound was faint, but she knew what it was. It was unmistakable. It was a woman screaming. Then she saw it! 

   She stood inanimate, fear paralyzing her senses and gripping every part of her being. She wanted to run fiercely, run till she was home, safe, but it was as though her legs had been disconnected from her torso and she couldn’t move. She started to shake uncontrollably, and her heart thumped in her chest like a sledgehammer working its way through a concrete slab, as the white ghostly figure of a woman running desperately, appeared only metres before her. Could this be real? She queried herself on how much alcohol she’d consumed that night but was left perplexed, for she’d only had the one glass of wine. Not nearly a sufficient amount to produce this kind of visionary delusion. 

   She stretched open her mouth to liberate a scream but was imposed upon instead to gasp for air as the ghostly figure sprinted straight through her, and a second figure, that of an elderly man roughly dressed with a wild mess of hair and absent teeth, appeared only inches from her face. He stuck his hand directly through Sandy’s body to grab the arm of the woman he was pursuing. Sandy was weak with distress and perspiring heavily but succeeded in raising her trembling hands to cover her eyes. She could still hear the anguished screams of the woman and the maniacal cries of her tormenter and felt abruptly, an intense piercing pain in her belly. 

   She lowered her hands away from her perspiring face and realised the two ghostly figures had disappeared. Casting her eyes downward toward the pain in her stomach, she was stunned to see a ghostly white dagger, protruding from her abdomen. She was mystified. The dagger wasn’t real. But the blood pouring from her body and soaking her jeans was most definitely authentic. She tried again to scream, but no sound passed from her lips. 

   The heaviness lifted from her body as the knife too disappeared. Her legs transformed from stone to liquid and she fell as if in slow motion to the wet grass beneath her feet that had previously been anchored there. Staring up into the clear starry sky she thought about her life, what did she have to show for it? Slogging it out at work 6 days a week, living alone, spending her one day off visiting her parents at the lifestyle village they’d worked their whole lives to get into. What happened to the dreams that had consumed her young mind as a child? Dreams of travelling to Africa and other impoverished nations with the aspiration of offering some hope to a world overtaken with despair and pain. She’d traded a life of meaning for a life of practicality and comfort. Where was her courage to fight the good fight, to put her needs aside for the greater good? She’d lost it somewhere amidst the chaos, and now it was too late. 

   Weakness overwhelmed her and her eyelids became heavy. The stars blurred, and their light blended together and disappeared as her eyes closed and blackness encompassed her. 

   Seconds later, she heard birds chirping and the sound of a small boat engine, followed by what sounded like waves lapping at the bank. Her world began to brighten again and as she gradually opened her eyes, sunlight pierced her eyeballs like rays of pure gold. It felt glorious as she realised what it all meant. She opened her eyes wider to confirm what she hoped in her heart was reality. Looking around she breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the crisp white bedsheets enveloping her body. She glanced out the window through the open sheer curtains to the canal that was now glistening in the sunlight. Never had she seen a more beautiful sight. 

   She felt an unmitigated joy at the fact she was still alive and it was all obviously a horrendous nightmare. Or was it? She lifted her pyjama top and ran her finger over the spot where the knife had been. She felt something unfamiliar, a raised line, like a scar, but there was no scar. Puzzled, she fell back on the bed and lay there for the next hour thinking about what it all meant. Maybe it meant nothing, but she felt in her heart that there was something profound at work. 

   Something in her life had to change, and she had to find the courage to take a risk to make it happen. She picked up her phone from where it rested on the bedside table. Without hesitation she selected her bosses number from her list of contacts and made the phone call that would change the direction of her life forever.