By Anna Gaskell Part One of Two People had been disappearing for months now. At first, nobody minded much because it was just the crazies, and we thought they were lost already anyhow. And then the fishermen who went out by themselves, they started disappearing too. But in a way, they were like the crazies, always talking to themselves and fiercely solitary. We didn’t really need either, the funny ones or the drifting fishermen, because now we had TV for laughs and big boats with nets a thousand miles long. So nobody did anything. But then tonight someone we all knew burst into the bar where we were drinking. You could still see that his face had two eyes, a mouth, a nose, but they all seemed mixed up in a deep, deep fear. When Josef fell to the ground by the door, we saw blood stretching out into smooth dark pools around him. Drawing a slow breath between each word, he whispered with all his remaining strength, “It’s.” In. The. Water.” Although the words had formed in his mouth, we knew that Josef was not really with us anymore. His eyes were blank and his body limp, and the flow of blood from the gashes in his flesh had slowed to a trickle. Before anyone could crouch down over him and close the lids on those blank eyes, the most unusual thing happened. His body, red and wretched, disappeared right in front of our eyes. At the same moment we heard a splash outside. We all rushed out to see what it was. But the sea stretched out before us was calm; its smooth surface glimmered back at us, indifferent. We couldn’t ignore the disappearances after that. We looked on the sea with a new dread. Josef had been my friend after all; I had to find out what had happened to him. That same night, I started the walk down to the other end of the beach, where the oldest man on the island lived. Some people said he was over two hundred years old. The sand was still warm under my feet, but I was cold with fear. Even as children our mothers had told us, stay away from that place where the old man lives. We were told that so-and-so’s younger cousin had once gone into the hut, and she never came out again. I wanted to turn around and go back to the bar. Perhaps we could just pretend that Josef had never come in earlier, and that there had been no blood in the bar. We could sit in the same seats and carry on the conversations that we had been in the middle of. But, I knew the bar would be a sad silent place now. I kept walking ahead, a little slower now that I could see the dark shape of a hut in front of me. The wood of the hut looked so dark against the grey sand and the silvery sea. When I reached the thin wooden door, I stopped. I heard a deep, quiet murmuring inside. It could have been singing, but I must tell you, it didn’t sound like it came from this world. I knocked on the door. The murmuring inside stopped. It was quiet for a minute, and then I heard the sound of shuffling feet on a coarse wooden floor, getting louder. (To be continued”)
