buried alive

I was watching a television program about an abduction case. It was horrific, although the victim, a young woman, possibly still in her teens, had survived to tell the tale. The program flicked between interviews with the victim, reconstructed 'footage' of the happenings and interviews with the police who had investigated the crime. The perpetrator, a man of about sixty or older, had abducted the girl, and buried her alive in a vault beneath his house that was fitted with a bed, sparse furniture and even some decoration. In the interview, the young woman recollected how, sitting on the bed, which ran parallel to a wall under the low ceiling, with her back to the wall, she looked to her right and saw the cut-out pages of fairytales, particularly Red Riding Hood. The man had selected the most frightening of images of wolves and nightmarish characters to line the walls. She remembered how, in the dim light, she looked around, slowly realising by the strangeness of the air - its gradual depletion - that she had, indeed, been buried. The police talked of how they later found the skins of various reptiles in the man's possession as the camera panned over skin after skin of snakes and lizards. They mentioned that his mind had been affected by drug-use in the sixties. The program also showed a reconstruction of the man's wife and daughter arriving home on the day of the abduction, unaware of his harrowing deeds. They both went into his study, the room from which the underground chamber could be reached. I, somehow, went into the scene and slowly drank a glass of water in their kitchen, waiting for them to come out, knowing that they were about to discover that something was horribly wrong. They walked out of the study and into the kitchen area, stunned, and looked to me for help. I went with them, back into the study, to see the man lurching about. He had a bleeding cut on his forehead from where his wife had hit him with something, and he was ranting about spitting, saying that it was wrong to spit. He staggered toward me and, although frightened and repulsed, I grabbed his hands to steady him, hoping to calm him and sit him back down. He was clearly out of his mind. The worst and most sickening thing about it was that I recognised the man, though now he was disturbingly changed.

old woman, trespassers and snake

I was at once visiting an old woman and I was the woman. She/I lived in a terrace house in the suburbs. We were lying down, sleeping, on an enclosed verandah that jutted out into the front garden. From there, with eyes half-closed, we could see the passers by. Drowsily I noticed that someone was walking down the driveway and going through the garage to the back yard. A few more people, all carrying things, followed. At first I assumed that they were coming to tend the yard, but as more and more people arrived, I began to grow anxious. With difficulty, I roused myself from slumber and asked a few of the young people what they were doing. Were they using my property as a short-cut to somewhere else? No, they answered. They were here to have a party and, it seemed, that they had a party in my yard on a regular basis. I realised that the old woman had lacked the energy to prevent it. She was far too tired, far too old to protect herself. Now that I was awake, I became angry. I marched through the garage and into the backyard, to see a horde of people setting up speakers, making fires, putting bottles on ice. I scanned the crowd and could see that there was one young woman who appeared to have the most authority among them. She was setting up a table at the entrance to the yard. I confronted her, telling her that they were no longer welcome here, that they were not to party here any longer. I had moved in and now owned the house. She seemed to care very little and I could see that it was going to take more than my word to evict the trespassers from our home. For this night, we resigned ourselves to the circumstances and went upstairs. I looked around the rooms, as though I had never been there before, though I now lived there. The house needed work. The walls, the furniture, everything needed some care. I sat with the woman and toyed with a few things that were lying on the table; among them, a sock stuffed with something, and, sewn onto the sock, a face. I stroked the sock for a moment, as though it was a pet. The thing inside the sock moved and hissed. The woman off-handedly remarked that perhaps I should not have done that as inside the sock was a snake. Sure enough, a short, purple snake emerged from the sock and eyed me, hissing. It slid over and tucked itself in the crook of my arm. I told the woman I was not particularly good with snakes and asked her to remove it. She did, and the snake disappeared under the table. I was edgy, thinking that the snake would dart out from somewhere and bite me. Instead, the snake appeared, pushing a branch bearing flowers, which it left at my feet. It looked up at me, retreated, and again came back with another gift. I was still tentative and the snake left to get something else. When it returned, it had transformed into a creature, still purple, that was more similar in shape and size to a goanna. I was somewhat relieved.

unprepared

I visited a friend who was starring in a theatre production, staged by a national theatre company. There was a very minor role that needed filling for the matinee performance the following day. My friend asked me if I would mind doing it, as it required no speaking or rehearsal, just a brief appearance on stage, following her, like a lost child. I was wary, but wanted to help her. The next day, I arrived at the theatre well before the opening time. I donned my costume in the dressing room and then waited for my friend to arrive. No one told me when I would be required, but I trusted that my friend would arrive soon and would tell me what to do. The show started and still she didn't arrive. I paced the floor backstage, growing increasingly anxious. As the huge crowd applauded - the curtains closing, marking the end of the first act - my friend arrived. I saw her walking, self-assured, around the rear of the building to the backstage area. Once there, she set about readying herself - makeup, hair and costume. I asked her what I would need to do in my minor role. She handed over a script and, suddenly, I was frightened. Where yesterday she had told me there was no speaking required, I now realised this was indeed a speaking role, with far more acting needed. I had not rehearsed, I had never seen the show and I had not acted in years. She continued to remain frustratingly nonchalant. I tried to wrestle information from her. Where were the props I was to use, how was the stage set, what was I to do? The script informed me that I was a young boy, pressed to make a choice between remaining loyal to someone, or signing a cheque that somehow sealed the fate of another actor. I was to sign the cheque, have a conversation, appeal to the audience and then leave the stage. I did not know where the cheque was or how I could possibly learn the script in the few minutes before we were due on stage. I was furious with my friend for misleading me and now failing to properly prepare me for the role. I considered walking out, but didn't want to let down the rest of the cast and crew. I realised I had to go on stage and entirely improvise the part, in front of an audience of a thousand or more.

home

B and I were sleeping in the bedroom of what seemed to be a spacious caravan or a boat. In any case, I had the feeling that our home was relocatable, that our current situation was temporary. I woke and looked through the window directly behind our bed head. I could see that we were parked on a road leading to the beach, only about one hundred metres away. The tide was high and giant turquoise waves rose and curled toward the shore. I watched as a surfer braved the mammoth waves, and then saw an enormous shadow riding the wave behind him. It was so vast, dwarfing the man on the board, that I knew it could only be a blue whale, the largest animal on our planet. I woke B to show her as yet another wave rose high above the sea bed, another titanic shadow revealed in the curl of the wave. The waves towered above us, crashing closer and closer until our home was carried by the water, rocking back and forth and butting against the rocks. We were at the mercy of the ocean and cowered under the massive shadows of the whales, which endangered our very lives.