The Unknown by Susan Skene
I try to remember everything that happened that
day. The barely audible sound of disgruntled voices in the front of a van
as it veers abruptly off the road. The low hum of an idling engine, purring
quietly at standstill. The van door opening, the driver’s door left open.The
cool fresh air permeating my entire being as I drink in its dewy, sweet
scent that is both reviving and chilling. The sound of metal on metal jangling
and the squealing, screeching sound of a gate swinging open. The van driving
onward, through the opening, then stopping as the driver gets out to shut it.
That’s how I remember it. That’s how it felt. Trying hard to pay attention to
every detail; suppressing the ever mounting anxiety I’m afraid might overwhelm
me and paralyse my thinking at any moment, terrified of what lies ahead.
The sound of dogs barking becoming louder as we regain momentum, bumpily
worming our way along a rutted, pot-holed track, throwing me this way and that
way, leaving me pummelled, bruised and battered. Is this our destination, the
end of the road?
The room is dank, noxious smelling; a fetid hole of decomposition, seemingly
deep underground. I imagine rotting in here, deep in the bowels of the earth. A
memory of the cellar of my childhood home invades my thoughts and remains as
frightening to me now as it was then. An odour of rotting vegetation,
composting, the stench of death and decay overpowering here. I am thirsty and
nauseous with no conception of time, night or day, forsaken in some hell hole
in the middle of nowhere and somewhere unknown.
The dogs supposedly unchained are silent now. I hear the hooting of a distant
owl, freely and silently hunting. We are the the hunter and the hunted in some
parallel universe. Is there is a window in here after all. My fingers though
numb with cold, grope about me searching for something, anything familiar, but
are only able to feel a cold flagstoned floor.
I struggle with all my might, twisting and turning blindly, unable to move in
any direction, leaves me feeling defeated and exhausted by the supreme
effort involved. I try to think constructively, to ignore the mounting panic
roaring in my head, to take back control.
Too late. I hear footsteps approaching and the sound of a door openIng.
….to be continued!
Jackie says: not only is this suspenseful and makes us want episode 2, I think Susan has, maybe better than many of us, used memories and bodily feelings to convey atmosphere. We think of sound, taste, smell, sight, hearing as the five senses, but a sense of a body in space, hunger, nausea, memories and impressions are all good ways of evoking atmosphere and Susan has done this very well.
Simon says: This is a spooky piece, which plays on everyone’s fear of the unknown. And the sensory deprivation of the central character makes the threat more potent. She is dependent mostly on her hearing, but her sense of smell comes into play too, particularly in that moment of the van’s door opening and her brief experience of savouring the ‘dewy, sweet scent’. The use of tenses is clever. Some of the action is in the present– we experience the terror with her. But then some moments are recollected in the past, telling us at least that she survives this particular ordeal and is able to look back on it… though, of course, we don’t know how scarred she is by the experience. When she is finally in the room where she is imprisoned, her sense of touch comes into play as she feels her way along the ‘cold flagstoned floor’. Then, at the end, she hears the footsteps and the door opening. We, the readers, are left on tenterhooks, desperate to know what happens next. A nice exercise in suspense.