The Town

He was drunk enough to make the fall painless.  The street met him softly and rolled him into a curled up position against the kerb.  A chill from the rain-damp street seeped through his clothes and made him more awake.  He staggered upright and set off down the hill. St. Mary’s Street leaned away from him and he grabbed at the old church wall to stop himself from running with the slope of the path.  He stood for a minute, fingering the rubbery weeds growing between the cracks in the wall’s surface.  A sprinkle of rain felt good on his face. 

He started downhill again and heard a quiet giggle as he moved.  He smiled and turned around, facing a gap in the wall.

‘Who’s there?’

There was no reply.  He frowned and turned back downhill.  Probably just kids messing around.  When he was young none of his friends would mess around on the grounds of the old church, but kids were different nowadays.  He kept moving.  Kids were likely to push him and knock him down the hill and he just wanted to get home. He moved faster.  The rain got heavier and woke him up some more.  He was nearly running again but the hill was starting to flatten out.  He heard the giggle behind him again.  It was closer this time, almost in his ear.  He yelped and ran the last few steps to the main street.  He stood looking at the shops, some showing blank corrugated shutters, others with lights left glowing inside.  It reminded him of walking around after dark when he was a child, looking through windows at other families sitting together, eating, laughing, fighting. 

He needed another drink.  He thought he had a couple of fingers of gin at home under the sink.  He went under the arch into Barron’s Lane.  At this hour on Saturday night, it smelled of wet rotten things.  He stumbled over a bag of rubbish and kicked at it.  Some foul wetness clung to his shoe.  He went on in the darkness, keeping his hand on the wall for balance until he came out onto the quay. 

The moon lent some fleeting light to the night before being covered by clouds. His hair was flattened to his skull and he realised that his cap was gone.  Must have fallen off when he fell outside the pub.  He ran his hand over his scalp, feeling the long straggles of hair and the wet bald patch. 

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He crossed the road and began walking beside the river.  The tide was high and lapping at the edge very close to him.  The sound made him want to pee so he stopped and fumbled at his trousers.  He had just started when he heard the giggle again.

‘I’m havin’ a slash,’ he mumbled.  ‘Leave me be.’

He watched the ripples in the still water made by stream of urine, the circles punctuated by the slow heavy drops of rain. 

Before he could zip up, something touched his neck.  He jerked and grabbed at the low railing to save himself from tipping over.  He turned around but there was no one behind him.  A low scraping noise came from behind the flower pots. 

Forgetting his open flies, he set off along the water’s edge as quickly as he could, throwing glances over his shoulder.  He heard another, louder scraping noise behind him and he broke into a shambling run.  Something heavy struck his shoulders and the weight threw him against the railing.  His momentum carried him over into the river. 

He plunged into the cold water and the weight on his back pushed him down further. He struggled and tore at the burden.  His scrabbling fingers sank into something thick that made his skin burn.  He screamed and the brackish water rushed into his mouth.  He hadn’t swum since he was little and never in the river, but muscle memory made his legs thrust and his arms claw for the surface. 

When he broke free of the water, the night was so dark that he wasn’t sure if he was still submerged, but the drops hitting his face convinced him.  He started for the quay, which seemed farther away than possible.  His shoes were weighing his legs down but he kept going slowly.  His fingertips were reaching for the wall of the quayside when he felt something grip his ankle.  He cried out but his cry was choked off as his face went under the water.  He grabbed at the wall and scrabbled his way back to the surface, trying to kick at whatever was holding him. 

Something bit into his flesh so hard that he felt his skin pop and his muscles tear.  This time when it pulled him under, he shrieked.

He was pulled around and turned upside down.  The moon had cleared the clouds again and he could see it through the murky veil of water above him.  The face of the moon seemed to change as he stared at it, his eyes blurred and full.  It laughed at him and the bright face came closer and closer until he saw its teeth.  He screamed one last time and the river rushed into his lungs, eager for his breath.

By dawn, his face was floating just below the surface, his feet caught in the trap made by broken fishing lines, shopping trolleys, dead things, the detritus of a town by a river.