The Island : The Escape
The frayed rope dangled just inside the door
How long since the bell was last pulled
To let the bell sound ring out
Across this island of the monks
He pulled
Half expecting the rope to break and fall
Covering him with gathered dust
The sound surprised him
The hammer strike sending a message
He sat in a pew and waited
After a few moments she appeared
Still in her worn woollen cloak
They had agreed her hope for salvation
Had to lie in the faith she believed
She sought a sign to say she could leave
He remained patient
Having become more familiar with the island
Knowing where the fresh springs were
Where to find berries and roots to eat
He could lie on a bed of bracken at night
Looking up at the stars
Or across the waters
Where he believed he could make out
Flickering lights from a harbour on the mainland
If you look hard enough
You begin to see what you believe
Ottilie had told him that
They knelt on the prayer mats together
Facing where an altar once stood
Heads bowed and hands clasped
Each hoping for some sign
A great crash came from behind
The church doors swung open
They felt the rushing of a wind
Then a descending darkness
Flying through the open doors
Ghost monks swarmed in like wasps
Half-burned candles came alight
They could feel the pew vibrating
The noise of became deafening
As they sought shelter beneath pews
Fending off these flying forms
Then as quickly as events had begun
The ghost monks vanished
The church light again
With daylight streaming in at the doors
‘That is the sign’
He could not fully understand her
Part of him wanted to know why
But really he just wanted to get off the island
‘The boat is tied up on the beach’
He led her down to the rusting iron post
The post was still there
With the rope looped around
But the boat was gone
They were stranded
What had the sign meant?
Were the ghosts angry and the curse invoked
To keep them trapped
Would he become like her
Trapped forever on this deserted isle
Beneath him the earth started to shake
He looked back at the village
Huts starting to collapse
A rock slide from the hill
Covering the cave
An explosion
As the mouth of the cave opens again
Spewing lava down the hillside
Pouring into the sea
Another vent opens
In the sea beyond the island
A wave building towards the shore
Rising ever higher
Rushing towards him
Blackness
There is a face looking down on him
A bright light in the background
Voices that he does not recognize
‘Can you hear me?’
The face seems to be clearer
Why are they wearing a mask?
‘Are you awake’
He is able to nod his head
But it hurts
Other figures are appearing in the background
‘You are in hospital’
He understands
A thousand questions come rushing
How did he get here
What has happened
Then
‘Can you tell us your name’
Hesitation
Then a moment when everything stopped
Something was missing
He had no idea what his name was
How does he respond
‘I don’t know’
How silly that sounded but it was true
Nothing would surface
What was his past
Why didn’t he have memory
But then
Memories were surfacing
He started telling them of the island
The church and dusted pew
The figure in the cave
The ghost monks
All was flooding back
He babbled on and on
Before he saw that the faces were confused
Where was the island
When did all this happen
Then they began to tell him
He was in a hospital in Arizona
A first responder had found him
Lying injured by the side of a road
They assumed he had been hit by a passing vehicle
He had been unconscious for almost a month
They put out his picture on a local news channel
Nobody had responded
They were asking about Ottilie
Where did she live
Could they inform her where he was
Assuming she was real
A part of his past
That his memory could still connect with
Soon afterwards came the release
His identity still a mystery
He became more confused as the days went by
Why was the island memory so clear
But there was nothing before the island
How much of any memory was real
Was anything he remembered actually real
Fear began to creep in
Was this some sort of madness
If he really was mad
Than what next?
Copyright: David Hopcroft February 2022
Park Bench Tales and other writings 