The Club

A short story

Sam stood at the end of the pool. The water lapped at the bulging waistband on his ill fitting trunks. Heart pounding, gasping for air, the burn of chlorine causing his eyes to weep and nose to run, he frantically checked his surroundings for help.

If only I had learned how to swim underwater then it would have been OK, he thought desperately.

He wouldn’t have heard that bizarre conversation, or got involved in what happened after and, more importantly, would be safely on his way home by now.

Unfortunately, that just wasn’t possible. Not after the nightmares that had plagued him for so many years.

The local sports complex where he had learned how to swim had been built in the late sixties, and was already looking weary by the time he took his first tentative paddles in the early eighties.

There was a small pool for the toddlers to merrily splash about in, but then, when it was time for lessons, you had to move up to the ominous looking full sized behemoth. It was bad enough that you’re feet could barely touch the bottom in the shallow end, but the sadistic instructor, Mr Byers, didn’t want anyone cheating so you were taught in the middle to make sure you had to swim to the other side. It was truly terrifying. Or, as it was known back in the day, character building.

With water wings, the fear was manageable. Sam remembered when he had to give them up and just keep afloat under his own strength and volition. It was going well enough. He had made it across one breadth of the pool and was heading back, doing a unique mix of doggy paddle and breast stroke, when he noticed his parents in the viewing gallery above. Smiling and raising his arm to wave, he only realised his mistake when it was too late.

His head dipped under the surface, sending water rushing up his nose so he opened his mouth to try and catch a breath making him swallow even more. Choking with panic his limbs froze for just a second, but it was enough to make him begin to sink. Suddenly realising what was happening, he flapped his arms and legs which only briefly slowed his descent. As the water closed over him, he tried to claw his way back up but it was no use. Blackness took him.

He came to lying at the side of the pool next to a puddle of watery sick with the instructor, his parents and the other kids huddled round.

“See, he’s fine,” Mr Byers huffed before stalking off.

And that was that. He got taken home, made himself a SodaStream, had a Creme Egg and was back at lessons the next week. Being traumatised certainly wasn’t enough of an excuse to stop learning how to swim, so he just had to get on with it.

However, the following week was when the nightmares started.

The viewing gallery where his parents had sat watching him nearly drown, was a few rows of uncomfortable, hard wooden seats, with various unrepeatable words scored into the wood by bored school pupils who had lucked out on not having lessons because of a verruca or some such fortuitous affliction, propped on a platform that jutted out about ten feet above the pool. Running along the front of this stone extrusion was a thick glass wall to stop said pupils tumbling to their deaths or, at the very least, serious injury.

In Sam’s nightmares, he always found himself standing on that glass wall and then diving into the pool below. In reality, there was no way the water was deep enough for such a dive but, in these dreams, that was never a problem. He would hit the surface, swim down deep and then come back up for air. But, that was the problem, he couldn’t come back up. There was some invisible cover over the top of the pool that he couldn’t penetrate no matter how hard he punched or pushed. And, as he began to black out due to lack of air, he had to wake himself screaming or he would die in his sleep.

That was the same dream he’d been having for the last forty years, even long after he learned how to swim, and because of it, he never swam under water. Of course, it was completely irrational, but weren’t all fears. It hadn’t put him off swimming, and it was one of the few exercises he had genuinely enjoyed but, on holiday, when the kids were all goggled up and mucking about underwater, or asking him to slide down the flumes with them and go flying into the plunge pool below, he politely declined to get involved. His wife, knowing the story had understood and the two boys eventually just treated it as “dad’s weird way of swimming.”

Not that he’d been doing too much of any kind of exercise recently and that was what had prompted his wife signing them up for the local health club. The kids had flew the nest a few years back and they had used the extra time to themselves by enjoying meals out and spending it on the finer things in life.

Unfortunately, that brought the usual middle aged issues and, as his waist size began to grow, so did his wife’s concern. He’d never been the fittest and when the slow down came, it gathered around his belly like a deflated beach ball full of sand. Reluctantly, he agreed to do something about it. Not that he didn’t want to. It was just that he didn’t like the whole idea of going to a gym and people gawping at his shocking lack of fitness, so getting back to swimming seemed the lesser of two evils. A place where he could hide his shame under the water if he went at hours that were quiet enough to avoid unwanted scrutiny.

And this was why he had found himself trying to do his twenty lengths at half past nine on a Tuesday night in the middle of January.

It had started out fine. The pool was just about empty. Even the cordoned off lanes had none of the usual cap and nose clip wearing speedsters in them tearing through the water like Flipper on steroids. Only the main swimming area had three older women, who were just walking up and down, chatting away about this and that, to disturb the near perfect silence. They glanced around as Sam entered through the changing room door, but then quickly looked away again. However, did Sam hear a titter of amusement coming from them? He sighed. Probably just his paranoia.

He jumped into the slow lane which was the one closest to the unrestricted part of the pool and began doing his ungainly version of the breast stroke.

The first few lengths went as expected so, with his muscles tightening up, on every return leg, he tried to focus on one of the globe lights hanging from the ceiling that was reflected in the sauna room door like a full moon in a cloudless sky, just to distract himself from the burning in his lungs with the effort of just moving through the water.

However, by the fifth length he had found his rhythm, the potential cramp had gone, and he was beginning to enjoy it.

Up until then, he hadn’t paid the women in the main part of the pool any mind. Their conversation had been a low buzz under his gasping breath and thundering heartbeat echoing in his ears.

But now that his cardio was under control, he began to pick up snippets as he swam past them.

“Some are quite strong …. with the drugs ……a struggle.” And then he was past.

Sam shrugged it off and smiled. Bizarre, he thought briefly and focussed on his strokes. He’d another fifteen of these to go.

“ ….knife in, just below the heart ….clean cut ….perfect ….sacrifice. He welcomes them.”

He felt his breath catch. Unlike last time, those words couldn’t really be mistaken for anything else. Could they?

Staring straight ahead, he continued down his lane but he felt himself tighten up again and decided that maybe ten lengths would be enough. There was probably nothing in the conversation he was over hearing. They were three old women for God’s sake and, anyway, it was none of his business to be eavesdropping on other people.

Turning around to begin his next length, he had a quick look to see if anyone else had came into the pool, but it was just still just the four of them. He also noticed that the machines in the gym above, that he could see through large glass windows, stood empty and unmoving. Becoming more and more unsettled he realised he was closing on the chattering trio and tried not to pay any attention.

However, this time, they weren’t walking or talking. This time, they were stood perfectly still and staring directly at him. Three grandmothers by their look, with tight white curls over wrinkled faces that were probably kind and comforting most days, but under the bright pool lights looked harsh and cruel with eyes like black pebbles. Their mouths were drawn down in thin disapproving lines.

Just as he had forty years ago, so again Sam stopped swimming and felt himself briefly dip under the water. His mouth and nose filled with the harsh smell and taste of chlorine and once more, he began to slip under the water. This time, however, he could recover and propelled himself back to the surface with a loud cry.

As he stood up in the middle of the pool, he looked back to where the women had been. He wasn’t sure why he had got such a fright. There was just something about the way they looked that had chilled him to his core. They had gone. The pool was empty. How was that possible? He’d only been under for a second. Yet, he was completely alone.

Swimming slowly back to the end of the pool, he continued to glance from side to side. The water and silence were all around, only broken by his slow, cautious movement. But he noticed there was another smell beginning to permeate the air. A dank, rotting odour like dampness and waste. As if the sanitation pipe was backed up with years of shit.

Sam decided it was time to go.

He put his arms on the edge to lift himself out when a hand suddenly pressed down on his head and shoved him fully back under and, as Sam struggled to shake it off and get above the surface, he opened his eyes to see who was doing this, and watched in horror as something dark and twisting snaked through the water towards him. With a final surge he pushed up and broke free of the force. Gasping for air he frantically looked in the water and all around but, once more, there was nothing to be seen.

The smell of sileage was getting worse and Sam decided he’d had enough. Jumping from the pool and not caring that his shorts slid down to show the crack of his ass, he scrambled to the door of the changing room, slammed it open and scurried inside.

With the door closed and his breath steadying, Sam felt a little bit better.

He was tired. That’s all it was. Too much stress at work, followed by trying to push himself too far too fast with this new exercise regime. How Rachel would laugh at him when he got home. Always coming up with dramatic excuses not to exercise, he could hear her joke. Smiling, he hurried past the shower cubicles and decided he would get washed at home.

As he was nearing his locker, the lights began to flicker. Not the quick flash of a power surge, but the slow, methodical off and on as if someone was moving the switch up and down.

Sam stopped walking and with bulging eyes, fearfully scanned the changing room as the remaining water from the pool turned to ice all on his skin. He pulled the towel over his shoulders, trying to stop the shakes that were now wracking his body.

“What the hell is going on?” he muttered and didn’t like the quaver in his voice one bit.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, as brightness briefly returned, he noticed someone else next to him in the room and sighed with relief. At least he could share whatever craziness was going on, and hopefully get some answers.

But, as he turned to speak, he noticed that the man was naked and pale with thin water wrinkled limbs and deep, angry red gouges punctured through his flesh as though he had been stabbed multiple times. A large wound, weeping puss, gaped raggedly in his chest. The eyes were flapping holes of rotting skin and, as he shuffled towards Sam, he opened his mouth and black oily gunk oozed between his lips and splattered onto the cold stone floor.

Sam turned away in revulsion from this abomination, but then watched with mounting dread as more of these shambling zombies appeared from every corner of the room. Each of them holding out their emaciated arms in supplication with grasping hands reaching out for him to ease their suffering. Backing away, barely able to breath in terror, he felt the metal of the lockers behind him and slid down until he was hunched in a ball with his towel over his head. Lying there shaking, he could hear the bare feet getting ever nearer as he closed his eyes and waited for their clammy hands to start tearing at his flesh.

After a few minutes that seemed like hours, he realised that the lights were fully back on as their safe, harsh brightness filtered through the thin cotton. He threw off the towel and blinked. The room was empty once more.

Not wasting any more time thinking about what he had or hadn’t seen, Sam flung open his locker, quickly pulled on his clothes, and headed for the exit.

He would be seriously considering his membership after this.

As he hurried between all the motionless machines that, without anyone using them, looked more and more like medieval torture devices, it occurred to Sam that even for this time on a mid week evening, there should be more people around. Come to think of it, had there been someone on the desk when he had swiped his card to get through the barrier? He didn’t think so. There was something very wrong here, never mind all the other spooky shit he had just seen, even if most of it could be his imagination.

Yup, he didn’t think he would be back here any time soon.

Sam realised how ridiculous these thoughts were, even as he was having them, but he needed to keep his mind calm, away from what had happened, otherwise he would lose it altogether.

Turning past the long reception area, he could see the main doors and, beyond them, freedom. He grasped the car keys in his pocket and let out a long sigh.

That was when he saw two of the old women step out from the entrance to the spa. They wore black cloaks with the hoods thrown back. In their hands they each carried a long, curved knife with, what seemed, an elaborate ivory handle. They smiled wickedly as they moved towards him. Backing away, Sam noticed giddily that the water from their swimming costumes was still dripping on the floor as their feet squelched through it in multi coloured flip flops.

He only had a moment to ponder where the third member of their party was, before he felt a sharp sting on the back of his neck. As his legs gave out and he collapsed, the last thing he saw was the three hooded figures closing in.

How much did I have to drink last night?

That was the first thought that came to mind as he struggled out from the fug of sleep. It must have been a heavy one as his tongue felt twice its size and stapled to the top of his mouth. Rachel would not be best pleased.

But then he felt dampness around his waist and strange, echoing voices coming from somewhere close by. With a huge effort, he opened his eyes and the sharp brightness of the light pierced into his skull and caused him to groan.

“He’s awake,” a voice whispered. “Begin the calling.”

As his vision began to adjust, he realised he was back in the swimming pool, half submerged with his arms and legs tied behind him on some sort of wooden pole. A burning sensation was coming from his stomach and when he glanced down he could see his shirt had been removed, and a strip of skin had been cut away leaving an oozing wound on his gut. Struggling to free himself only resulted in the rope around his neck pulling tighter and he felt himself begin to choke. He stopped and looked around at the three women.

Two of them were at the far end of the pool, chanting around a smoking brazier from which noxious fumes were rising, and the third was standing at the side watching him with the knife resting in her hand.

“Please,” Sam begged desperately. “I don’t know what you want, but I didn’t hear anything. I wont say anything.”

“Finish the summoning,” she said to her colleagues with scorn, ignoring his cries. “I don’t want to listen to this ones snivelling a moment longer.” Then finally turning, she pointed the knife at him and grinned. “The master wanted you unspoiled so I didn’t get my fun, but it’ll be worth it just to watch.” With that, she shouted. “Burn the flesh!”

Sam began to struggle again, trying at least to release one of his wrists, as a high sizzling noise told him what had happened to the patch of skin that had been cut away. He felt his gorge rise but ignored it as he wriggled one of the knots loose and pulled his left hand free.

Suddenly a loud rumbling noise came from the bottom of the pool and he watched almost unbelievingly as the floor began to slide back. The water started to drain slowly and then in a wild rush and Sam could feel the pole toppling backwards. With a final almighty yank, he pulled his right hand lose as well and took a deep breath, just as the world turned upside down.

He was spinning underwater. It was impossible to get his bearings and for a few seconds he just let himself be carried down. His legs were still tied together but the pole was gone. Gathering himself, trying to stay calm despite the first burning in his lungs, he frantically worked at the ropes around his ankles as he was buffeted him from side to side. It was strange but the water he had fallen into seemed clearer and, as far as he could tell, had washed away the chlorine from above. Why would there be another pool under the main one?!

Then, spotlights began to get switched on below and he saw he was in some sort of tank with windows all around. He could see figures gathering on the other side of the glass. They were all dressed in the same robes as the women and their arms were raised aloft. As the burn began to get a little tighter, he finally freed himself and kicked for the surface. It was then that he realised in horror that his nightmare was coming true. The floor/roof of the pool was sliding back into place and it was already nearly completely closed. Only a small gap remained. He swam up as he quick as he could, knowing he was never going to make it. As the last of the mechanism clicked into place, Sam hammered his shoulder off it and sobbed in despair.

But, as he looked back under the water for another means of escape, something else caught his eye.

In the far corner of the tank was an area that the spotlights never reached. It seemed to be getting bigger, spilling out. Infecting the water with murk and dark. Sam tried to swim back but was frozen in place, watching whatever was happening. The desperate need for air momentarily forgotten.

Then, out from that darkness, it came. An enormous sleek black creature of tentacles and claws with a vast octopus like head from which four opaque eyes swivelled and stared. It’s dark mouth was filled with razor teeth that twisted and snarled as it glided it’s way through the water towards Sam.

It was hypnotic. He couldn’t move. This monster was coming to kill him. There was no escape. And yet, he waited. Welcomed it.

As the creature came closer, blocking out all remaining light, it’s tentacles, almost in a sweet caress, wrapped around Sam, crushing the last of the air from his lungs, pulling him towards that ever ravenous maw, he came to the brutal realisation, just before screaming terror snapped his last tenuous link with sanity, that sometimes, in the long forgotten places full of pain and despair, there were worse things than your nightmares.

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This is the longest “short” story I’ve ever written, but, hopefully, not too long!

The recurring nightmare that Sam has is mine and it’s still going, forty odd years later. I had hoped to get this story out for Macabre Monday but ran out of time. Nightmares have always fascinated me, and I suppose having the same one for that long must mean something. Who knows? I’m curious to know if anyone else suffers from the same phenomenon or if it’s just crazy old me?

Anyway, thought this story would be aptly timed with lots of people making New Year resolutions and joining gyms etc. Maybe just make sure you go when there’s lots of other people about! And check they don’t have a giant monster under the pool. Or have wee old crazy grannies carrying really sharp sacrificial knives. In fact, just give the whole thing a miss and have another slice of cake. Probably better for you!

Thanks for reading. Until next time.