Melvin Burgess Stuff

Dan spotted the monster as he drove along the side of the Kent estuary into Arnside.

It was as big as a bus – two buses, perhaps.

Vast, ancient and impossible, it floundered in the mud, rolled its pallid eye and gasped at the cold air.

Pulling up by the roadside, he got out and joined the crowd standing watching it as it lay gasping in the shallow tidal water.

“What is it?” he said excitedly. “A plesiosaur? Something like that?”

It stank of fish and shit.

“But it has gills,” someone said. It was true. There were the flippers and the long neck, the fanged jaws – but all along the neck were rows of red-frilled gill openings.

The monster flopped weakly in the mud. The crowd watched in silence. "It's dying, isn't it?" someone asked.

Gary felt sick. For years, he’d wanted to see a monster. Here at last there was one – and it was at death’s door.

“There must be more of them,” he said.

A tall man standing nearby shook his head. “No,” he said firmly. “This is the last one.”

Gary turned to look at him. “How can you know that?” he asked.

The man laughed nervously, a high pitched giggle followed by a splutter, as if caught by surprise.

“What was that?” he asked, and laughed some more, carefully this time, as if tasting a flavour he was unused to.

“I asked you how you knew it was the last one,” said Gary.

“Right!” said the man. He shrugged, as if the answer was obvious. Down below on the mud, the monster flailed and gaped.

“Not long now,” said someone in the crowd.

“She’s just confused,” said the tall man. He waved at the creature “Go back” he yelled. “Back in the water! It’s your only chance.”

“And what makes you think it’s female?” asked Gary, unsure if the man was an expert, mad, or just a know-all.

The man shook his head. “It looks female,” he said. “Narrow bones above the eyes. Lipstick. You know the sort of thing.”

Suddenly the man grabbed at himself through his trousers and smiled. “Wow,” he said, and he beamed as if he’d just found jewels hidden in his pockets.

The monster had raised its head and was staring at the man like a lost pet, opening and closing its dumb mouth.

“It’s too late,” yelled the man. “It happened. Just – go.”

“She lives in the deep trenches, you know,” he told Gary, in response to a curious look.

“Down there in the dark depths – imagine it! Feeding on whale corpses for millions of years.”

He laughed. “You’d do anything to get out out, eh?”

He flapped his arms at his sides excitedly and paused when his hand found something in his pocket.

He fumbled at his trousers for a few seconds before he found his way inside and fished out a packet of Malborough Lights and car keys.

“Car keys,” he said slowly. He looked behind him suddenly at a car parked nearby. “My car,” he exclaimed.

He stared blankly at Garry for a moment, then he said, “My name's Alan Hendrick. I’m a marine biologist.

“I like roast chicken and mash and tomato sauce. I can’t bear fish skin,” he added, and shook his head in disbelief.

“Doesn’t like fish skin,” he said to Gary, as if it defied all expectation.

“I’m married,” he added. “Married,” he repeated. He turned again to look up at the parked car.

He began to walk away. Behind him the monster opened it’s mouth and failed to bellow. It beat its head and neck in the mud.

“Get into the water,” yelled the tall man. “You can breathe in the water.”

The monster turned and looked at the muddy tide.

Impulsively it plunged its head under water. At once, water began to pump through the red frilled openings in its neck.

“Good.” The tall man walked away, flexing his shoulders and swinging his arms and legs as if he didn’t fit his own body.

He got to the car, opened the boot and climbed in, scrambling through to the driver’s seat. After a few false starts, he got it going.

Behind him, the monster lifted its head to cast him a final lingering look. Then it turned away and slowly began to enter the water.

The man wound down the window.

“Back to the deeps and the dead whales,” he yelled, and laughed raucously. Then he drove off.