A Word in the Breeze

Plunged In The Dark

. . . In every light, there is the echo of darkness driven away . . .

They called it the Dark Stretch. South of the crescent shaped island of Bulan, the shadowy waters along its convex cliffside were forever deathly still and silent. There were no crashing waves here, no rising and falling tides. Just an endless glassy surface, where birds seldom flew.

Some said that in the thick shadow of night, ships would suddenly plunge deep below the surface, never to be seen again.

All that was left was the silence – and sometimes, a faint circular ripple, fading fast. . .

It was a forbidden zone, as everyone who lived in Bulan knew very well. The only waters deadlier than the Dark Stretch was the Bermuda Triangle, and if you kept moving south, that wasn't far-off either.

Basically, the only way to go from Bulan was north. All the interesting countries lay in the north – Indonesia, the Philippines, Sri Lanka. . . Only an idiot would choose to go south, where there was no salvation for miles and miles. And even if you tried, you wouldn't last longer than midnight.

Well, Yaxley Lax was going south. And it was nearly midnight.

To be fair, he had fallen asleep on his boat, after an evening of heavy drinking with his mates.

They had met up at a bar on the fair side of Bulan to celebrate the graduation of his daughter, Zephyr. They had gone boating afterwards, as an after party – a tradition that was common in Bulan – but his boat got separated by the current. No doubt his friends were too confused and overexcited to look for him, and he had felt his eyes droop close before long . . .

It was only when the current had slowed to a standstill, so that the boat was drifting on a stagnant pool, that Yaxley opened his eyes.

There were dark clouds above him, closer than he'd ever seen them before. The darkness was like an oppressive curtain, sinister and absolute. He couldn't even see his hands.

He pulled at his grey hair and closed his eyes. No. Not the Dark Stretch! He knew the stories. The darkness was the last thing he would ever see.

He flailed around for the oars, but he could only find one, and the sounds of his movements blared loud and wide in the thick silence. He looked around, unseeing, desperate for help but afraid to speak.

He didn't know who could be listening.

He opened his mouth uncertainly, but his world slipped away – his head slammed against the boat and his feet were drenched with cold water. He gagged, and the boat bobbed back to surface level.

Something had tugged it four feet deep and, at once, let go.

He felt hot blood drip from his forehead, and a dizziness blurred his consciousness for a moment, but he pulled himself together.

He didn't deserve to be treated like that.

Clearing his breath defiantly, he called out – “Who is it?! Who dares touch my boat?”

Silence.

“I never did anything to hurt you, you know! My. . . my daughter just graduated, she did. First class! All I wanted was a good time out, and to get home before she finds out I've been drinking. She won't like that. . . But my friends, you know what they're like. . .”

Silence.

“That was a mighty blow you gave me on my head, though. I might even need stitches!”

He laughed, a laugh that was magnified by the silence which it had to fill in. Yaxley vaguely remembered that he was talking to the Darkness, and abruptly stopped.

The silence continued. He listened to it for a while before mumbling:

“I just want to go home, that's all.”

And, as if in response, there was a huge tug, like an anvil being dropped right in the centre, and the air was blown out of Yaxkey’s lungs.

There was no scream. There was no struggle.

Just a faint circular ripple, and some blood darkening the surface.

~

“I'm telling you, Ash, something's happened to him!”

“And I'm telling you, he's probably fine! He just went out with his friends and forgot to mention it,” Ash said, tickling his pet tortoise, Tilla. He had been feeding him when Zephyr had come over with her worries.

Zephyr pulled her short hair, something she always did when anxious, and sat down on the sofa.

“Mr Dale isn't home either. His wife said they were probably out drinking . . .”

“You see? He's fine.”

“No, Ash! It's not fine! Papa is very absent minded when he drinks, he could get himself hurt! I have a bad feeling about tonight. . .”

Ash looked up at her, biting his lip. He was a bit more concerned than he let on, but she was already so worried. He ran his fingers through his blond hair and went to sit closer to her.

“Let's go and look for him, then.” She turned towards him, on the brink of tears. “Together.”

~

The neighbours offered no consolation. Nobody had seen Yaxley since his morning rounds, when he delivered milk and other dairy products house to house. After that, there were various ideas, ranging from him going towards the woods, the bar, or the ocean.

Heart pounding, Zephyr paused in the middle of the street, staring towards the water and the moonless sky.

It was nearly one o'clock.

She always felt like she could sense where her father was. She knew when he was going to be late, she knew when he'd been drinking, and she felt a shock when he was hurt, even from miles away.

This searing heartburn, the subconscious pull towards the ocean, it could mean only one thing . . .

She fell to her knees. She refused to believe it.

Vaguely, she heard Ash stop a staggering passerby.

“Mr Dale! Hello! It's me, Ash. I live next to the Laxes? Um. Have you seen Mr Yaxley Lax?”

“Yaxley?” The man stopped and sorted through a kaleidoscope of memories for a moment. “Oh yeah, Milkman Lax. Hah. He was drinking with us, wasn't he? He went boating with us, didn't he. No idea where he is now.”

Ash’s eyes were huge and he gripped Mr Dale by the shoulders, and Zephyr already knew what he was going to say.

“Mr Dale, which direction were you boating? And this is very important. Which way?!”

And the drunk man pointed.

He pointed to the very edge of the fair side.

He pointed to the very mouth of the Dark Stretch.

And the pain seared through her soul worse than ever.