Moon Hook I - 1
Part I, Chapter 1 of an ongoing fiction series by Maura McHugh, published every Thursday, for subscribers of Splinister
Part I
Chapter 1
‘Hook and Line’
Over two hundred islands hug the coastline of Ireland, and most of them are real.
One third are no more than grass-pelted pillars of rock, sanctuaries for squabbling birds and sonar landmarks for migrating whales. Perhaps twenty are large and hospitable enough to foster a community, but most of their inhabitants are either raised for the life, or longing to escape. The additional blow-ins who wash up on these isles are fixed by a siren call.
For to live on an island off an island is to seek separation and contact with raw nature.
The immense surrounding Atlantic Ocean batters these shores relentlessly, whittling cliffs, carving continents, churning with birth and death. Within its thrumming beat, a select few can discern a pulsing message:
Dive, within,
Deep, swim,
Down, below,
Secrets, grow,
Sink, entwined,
Weighty, time,
Witness, mine,
Sharktooth, crown,
Shipwreck, throne.
The headlights of Daria’s car swept over a billboard on the outskirts of Iscar. ‘Last fill-up before Moon Hook!’ it warned.
‘Thank fuck,’ she muttered, drowning out the opening section of the latest episode of ‘NecroPod’. Talking to herself was a habit of solitude she’d embraced, but swearing was her ideological right.
Uncharacteristically, she slowed down and scrutinised the small seaside village a bit more than usual as she rolled in. It was 6pm in mid-November in north Connemara with a light drizzle, so it was pitch black with poor visibility. Iscar seemed like a typical back water hamlet: a combination of GAA tribalism with dashes of cosmopolitan flair. An Italian chipper, an Indian takeaway, and a Burrito place were positioned along the main street with the Catholic Church and a number of dusty windows with ‘For Rent’ signs. A young, fit girl in a high viz jacket jogged with her Yorkshire terrier, who was also sporting a wee raincoat. Daria’s lips twitched into a smile, and she allowed it.
She’d made it through most of the town before she spotted the bright signage for DINN’S PROVISIONS & PETROL. She pulled into a deserted forecourt with four modern pumps, and stepped out of the car, unable to see anything through the darkness enclosing the square of light. Another poster blared, ‘No petrol station on the island!’
A young man leaned next to the entrance to the small supermarket attached to the petrol station. A plume of dark hair above his forehead indicated an advanced practitioner of the gel arts. As Daria drew closer she noticed the acne scars behind some light foundation; the fluorescent lights were traumatically unforgiving.
‘Awright?’ he asked. He was smoking a rollie. He blew the smoke out his nostrils and dropped his hand down to his skinny thigh in a relaxed fashion. It was a pretty cool move for a small-town kid. He had black nail polish and his name tag said ‘Phoenix’.
Daria did not roll her eyes, because that wasn’t the boy’s fault. She figured he was seventeen or eighteen and doing well for himself. She shifted out of her default grumpy mode and into casually nice.
‘I’m good, a bit tired. Long drive.’ She caught a whiff and realised he had something special in the mix.
‘Want a puff?’ He held it out with a slow, smooth movement.
‘Thanks, no.’ Phoenix shrugged, not offended. ‘Are you working?’
He nodded. ‘Ya-up. Stepped out for a breather.’
A gust rattled through the forecourt, flapping flags and swinging signs. It hit her then: the salt tang that zapped the back of the throat instantly. She was suddenly thirsty. After that came the faint aroma of seaweed, before the petrol stink overpowered it again.
‘I’ll fill up.’
He stayed put, taking languid, deep drags as Daria topped up the car. The breeze lifted curls off her jacket collar, and for a moment she could feel Carla’s fingers on her neck.
Always.
The numbers whirred in the pump and Daria gripped the handle tight, concentrating on that hard sensation rather than past mistakes. A crisp packet scuttled around her feet and scrabbled under her car. It scratched about in the shadow of her vehicle.
Phoenix carefully nipped out his rollie and opened the door for her as she approached. ‘You going to the island?’
‘Yes, and thanks’.
He slipped in front of her with the grace of a cat and slid under the counter. He grinned, confident in his body. ‘First time?’
‘Yes. I’ll pay cash.’
He gave a nod of approval. ‘Old School. That’s cool. Anything else?’
‘Is there a shop on the island?’
‘Oh yeah. Tullys. Post office and café as well. Top notch ice cream. I always get a cone when I visit. They stock basic stuff. It’ll keep you going, but you’ll pay extra.’ He snorted. ‘Island tax.’
He waved a hand to the back wall of the shop, near a rack of gaudy plastic buckets, footballs, and cheap flip-flops. ‘ATM’s back there. Make sure you bring cash. I mean, they’re got broadband, and 5G, but some shops claim they’ve got no connection.’ He scowled, and added, ‘Who are they kidding? Mommy Warbucks takes care of everything.‘
‘Who?’ She was impressed at the Annie reference, and guessed one of his parents was a musical fan. Or perhaps, the comics?
Phoenix looked around and lowered his voice. ‘Dr Doris Vallens of course. Billionaire. Recluse. Lives in the Big House.’
‘I didn’t know she was a resident…’
His look could have withered nettles. ‘C’mon. Do you live in this country?’
‘I’ve recently returned.’
That sparked his interest. ‘Where from?’
‘Oh, several places. So, Dr Vallens runs the island?’
‘Not obviously. She stays behind the green curtain, pulling strings. But that snazzy bridge … that’s her doing. And the renovated heritage centre… somehow the island got funding for that. And there’s the new plant. There are lots of new people coming and going at all hours. Scientists. I know, I work the late shift.’ He paused and narrowed his eyes. ‘Are you visiting or staying?’
She held out the notes: ‘Forty euros?’
He studied her with unnerving directness and glanced over at her car. She didn’t follow his regard, aware of the large black moulded suitcase occupying the back seat.
‘Could I get a receipt?’
He looked at her again and smiled, insincere. ‘Sure.’ He rang up the purchase and held out the receipt. ‘How does it feel?’ he asked. She took the paper, but he held onto it.
‘Working for that witch.’ He snarled the last word, his demeanour morphing into hostile. He let the receipt go, and Daria put it away, unflustered.
She flashed him a pleasant smile, ‘Thanks for the chat.’
‘We know!’ He bellowed at her back. Daria walked to her car, unhurried, and heard the door to the shop open. In the domed reflection of a trash cannister she watched him stand at the threshold, tall, with arms splayed out as if barring entry. ‘We’re watching!’
The slight heft of her mini stun in her jacket pocket reassured her, but she didn’t expect it would be used this time.
As she got into her car she noticed Phoenix lift his phone and take a photo. Once behind the wheel she cursed loudly and colourfully as she pulled out of the station and turned the car onto Island Road.
After a year living as a hermit, on her first excursion some arsewipe took her photo. Was Phoenix having a stoner paranoia moment, or was he a conspiracy freak? There were plenty of YouTube channels and Reddit forums dedicated to dissecting any information about Vallens.
‘Slow down for Bridge Crossing’ the large electronic sign stated before changing to ’50KPH’.
Despite the fury simmering in her gut, she reduced her speed, and glanced at the thick folder sitting on her passenger seat. ‘It better be worth it.’
The elegant shape of the cable swing bridge shimmered with a special phosphorescent paint said to emulate moonlight. Everyone referred to it as ‘The Line’, after the folktale about the how the sea god, Manannán mac Lir, was fishing one night with his magic hook and line, and caught a giant serpent, or the moon itself, and after three days and nights wrestling with his opponent finally landed his catch, thus creating the island.
While she drove over the bridge, its glittering railing swiping past rhythmically, all Daria could hear in her mind was Johnny Cash singing ‘Walk the Line’.
Loved this.
AHHHH I want more!