The Bungalow

The bridge swayed gently as the wind wound around the deep ravine.  Tufts of untidy sun-bleached grass sprung from the crudely knotted handrails, like a little girl’s wild pigtails at the end of a busy play day.

 “D’you think it’s safe to cross this old thing?"  Ariel asked anxiously, still unnerved from the turbulent flight and the equally chaotic journey from the island's small airport to this desolate canyon, brought here by an old hippie-looking native driving a dilapidated Jeep with missing seats and ominous cracks in the chassis.

 The suspension bridge creaked a little louder and sullen grey clouds lumbered across the sky.  The air was heavy, dull, a precursor to the impending storm.

  “C’mon girl, it’s still a long way to the bungalow and that cold beer.  Git!.”   Paul gave her a gentle shove, but kept his hand on her shoulder for a moment.   It felt good to touch her, albeit briefly.   The next two days would either make or break them, as a couple.      

 Ariel gingerly stepped on the bridge, trying not to look down, where ageless, steaming thermal mud pots were scattered, each sending out their skeletal misty fingers into the air, hoping to find an unsuspecting victim.  They beckoned, and lured anyone to enter into their dark, mysterious ruptures and to perish among their steamy, molten rocks.  

“The storm’s coming” Paul urged, "Hurry up, will you?"

Ariel shook her head to free herself of the hypnotic influence of the watery wisps and concentrated on crossing the bridge without falling into their deadly embrace.

 At last, she stepped onto firm ground on the other side and watched as Paul made his way across the bridge, as sure footed as a young leopard.   

 A few moments later they reached the fragrant blue ocean and the bungalow they had rented for the weekend.

 The verandah looked cool and inviting and they dropped their tote bags on an old fashioned rattan lounger which was strewn with overstuffed cushions upholstered in bold reds and oranges and slashed with zigzags of pinks and whites.

 “Isn’t this great?” Paul hugged Ariel tightly.   He was hopeful that they could sort through their problems and not get divorced as Ariel was now threatening. 

 They ran to the water’s edge, feeling the warm ocean washing over their sandaled feet, and they breathed in the fresh and tangy salt air. 

 Two small fishing boats bobbed around on the ocean.  A seagull overhead screamed a warning and flew off.  The wind picked up and the fishing vessels bobbed crazily, like two plastic ducks in a bath tub.

 They watched as the two frantic fishermen began rowing back to shore.  The wind howled hungrily, and the sky darkened more.    Unable to fight the waves, the fishermen dragged their oars onto the boats and waited for a wave to bring them to shore.  As soon as they reached the beach, they jumped out and dragged their boats onto dry sand.  They looked alike, brothers, both tanned to a walnut color, bodies lean and stringy.

 “Doesn’t look as though they had a successful day, does it?” Paul said flippantly, but Ariel didn’t hear him as the wind began howling in earnest and whipped her hair across her face.  

 Behind them, the old bungalow let out a gut-wrenching shriek and a jagged piece of its corrugated iron roof flew off in the direction of the ocean.

 The airborne sheet of metal flew directly into the fishermen and cleanly decapitated them.  The two men stumbled around for a moment, as though unsure what to do next, and then crumpled into a misshapen heap.   Bright red blood gushed from their headless torsos.  The golden sands turned deep crimson.

 As if in slow motion, the two decapitated heads rolled towards the broiling ocean and were quickly swallowed up by the heaving waters.  The white froth turned a soft shade of pink and then reverted to white.

 “Where are their heads?” Ariel asked.  “Where are their goddamned heads?”

 “They’ll come back with the tide,” Paul replied stupidly, unable to comprehend what he'd just witnessed. 

 Screeching seagulls landed on the inert bodies, and snacked greedily on the warm flesh.  The wind died down.  An eerie yellow light pervaded the area.  

 “Oh, God, I can’t watch this, can’t we do something?”

 Spurred into action, Paul ran forward, waving his arms and shouting loudly.  The seagulls flew up a few feet, screeched angrily, then swooped back down again missing his head by a few inches, and then they flew away again and hovered and waited…

 “Get some blankets,” Paul shouted, “whatever you can find.  Hurry!”

 A few moments later, Ariel stumbled back carrying an armful of blankets, sheets and towels.

 “This can’t be happening,” she thought, “we’re supposed to be the only people on this side of the island!”

 She avoided looking at the grotesque bodies as Paul carefully covered the lifeless forms.  The disappointed birds flew off. 

 “Nothing we can do till morning," Paul said, "Let’s get inside, it’s wet out here.”

Ariel felt sour bile flooding her mouth.  “I’m going to be sick,” she muttered.

 “Gonna join you!” he replied. 

 Later on that evening, they stood on the verandah and looked out into the darkness, stunned by what had happened.  The crashing of the surf against the large boulders was comforting and felt normal, something they could understand.     

 When dawn broke Paul and Ariel went down to the water's edge, wondering what they were going to do with the two bodies.  The stretch of beach sparkled and glittered softly in the morning light.  The row boats rested quietly on the sands - it was a pure Kodak moment.  Not a single headless body to mar the perfect picture.

 Ariel stared at the waves as they softly lapped against the pristine sands. 

 "Not a shred of evidence left behind," she whispered in awe, wondering if perhaps she had suffered some kind of delusional seizure the previous evening.   

 The tides had done their job and removed whatever shouldn't have been on their property.

 Paul held out his hand.   Without hesitation she took it and smiled at him.   They walked back to the bungalow. 

 "I'm starving," she cried, "whats for breakfast?"