We walked to the beach that we’d never actually seen up close and stood in sand that was soft and gray in color in the waning light while we watched the shadows extend toward us from the setting sun behind the palm trees to the west.

I said, “This really is beautiful. Even though we can’t actually see the sun setting because of the cove, it certainly gives off some great colors. It almost makes me wish I were a painter instead of a writer.”

“Next time we’ll have to bring the camera,” Marty stated as if he was certain there was going to be more than one next time.

“Good idea. Maybe we can bring our drinks down here on Sunday for our Happy Hour, instead of at the trailer.” I quickly added, “Just in case we do leave on Monday.”

With Marty’s look of chagrin at my possible change of mind about contemplating an extension of our stay, or having already made up my mind, I hugged him and repeated, “Just in case. Don’t want to miss an opportunity, do we? Besides, if we do stay, we’ll know which we prefer to do, drink on the beach or at our own little patio.”

I felt his body relax. That gave me mixed emotions: wanting to smile at his boyish behavior, but at the same time feeling a little trapped. It seemed to me that if I ended up really wanting to leave this creepy place, Marty was going to be very disappointed. Did I want to disappoint him? Was following my own feelings worth having an unhappy man around? I didn’t like the position that left me in, but it wasn’t the end-of-the-world kind of position. And so I wasn’t going to worry about it until the time came to decide and then weigh the positives and negatives about what to do.

I sighed with relief at my own temporary resolve.

Marty, not knowing what had just gone on in my head, interpreted the sigh as a feeling of contentment, or whatever he was experiencing in his own mind. He gave me a squeeze as we watched the sea get darker, barely seeing the ripples of waves as they approached and washed the shoreline.

“Better march on if we’re going to see much,” he said with anticipation in his voice. I wondered if the anticipation was about getting the walk over with and getting home or seeing more of what we’d be living with for an undetermined length of time. Maybe both.

We walked back to the lane.

As we passed palapa after palapa, Marty pointed out the ones that he thought belonged to people he’d met, and the coveted trailer spot on the other side of the road where one of his card-playing buddies stayed year after year. My own thoughts were wandering to the whole stay or go thing as Marty chattered away about this person and that person. I didn’t pay much attention, because I figured the information wasn’t important enough until I would actually meet the person or people, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to remember, with my dilemma about staying longer to please my husband or leaving to give me peace-of-mind.

I had to constantly remind myself that I wasn’t being fair to either of us by jumping to conclusions about the place, like the weird happenings going on at the bar, without having more facts to put into the equation. Therefore, with that reminder, I would catch a phrase or two of Marty’s dialog, mumble an “uh-huh” before my thoughts would snap back to the same gut-wrenching quandary about the bad vibes of the park, of Marty’s feelings, and then reminding myself that I didn’t have to make a decision about staying at that moment. My mind-juggle kept up its cycle until we came to the mystery path we’d noticed a few days earlier, and saw the lights in the background as bright as ever. The inner-turmoil halted.

“Did you talk to the bar guy about this being the place where the brewery is located?” I asked Marty.

“No, I forgot.”

“Although it’s not quite half moon, it’s bright enough out, especially with the illumination from the beacon down the road to see pretty well. Let’s check it out,” I said with anticipated eagerness.

Marty shrugged, “Okay, but we’ll need to walk carefully since we don’t have a flashlight. There are a lot of shadows from the foliage that may not allow us to see any leg-breakers in the way. You know how roads are as they get washed out and traveled over.”

“Yeah, I’ll hang onto you and you can keep me from tripping since you’re the strong one,” I suggested.

“Until we both go down,” he replied.

We looked around to see if there was anyone watching before proceeding. It felt like we were trespassing into forbidden territory.

Walking cautiously, the road curved to follow the river. I could see fencing through the palms, which could possibly keep the crocs on their own side, although I was uncertain and more than a bit anxious. But this was an adventure that made me feel both scared and excited at the same time.

That was me, however. I liked to watch scary movies because I liked the thrill of the kind of fear that can’t harm me directly, but as I watch someone else in the path of destruction, I wonder why on earth I put myself through the anxiety. And here, as my heart rate accelerated, I was pondering the same question. Why are we doing this, again? I didn’t answer. We kept going.

“What the hell was that?” I whispered.

Marty didn’t respond for a few seconds and then whispered back a little hoarsely, “Probably just a squeak of a belt or something.”

I didn’t want to move, but instead of being wise and suggesting we go back, I said, “Let’s take a look.”

“Really?” Marty’s query was hesitant as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to do that.

“Yeah,” I said quietly, “We’ve come this far, let’s check it out.”

I began to walk ahead, but Marty took my arm and made me stop, then said, “I go first, okay?” It was a statement more than a question.

I shrugged, and off we skulked, tiptoeing, almost, as if our footsteps on the dirt could be heard.

Around another bend where the light brightened again, we came to a wooden bridge that crossed the river as it flowed around the park side of the hill. The structure looked like a pretty sturdy piece of construction, at least in the brightness of the moon and other lights that showed more shadows than details.

“Interesting,” I said. “It looks like it could handle a Mack truck instead of just foot traffic.”

“It sure does,” said Marty, interested in the construction process, wanting to examine it more closely.

“A little too dark to see how it’s put together,” he muttered, while he touched the railing as if it would give away clues.

“Come on, Mr. Contractor, let’s get across this thing. I don’t like the idea of being above open water with creatures bigger than I am lurking close beneath such a flimsy platform.”

“You just said that it could hold a Mack truck!”

“Yeah, but it’s flimsy when you think of what could clamor over it from below,” I responded quietly.

Marty gave me a look and said, “Let’s get going.”

We scurried across but didn’t get far on the path when we came to a gate. It was padlocked shut and too tall to climb over.

“Damn,” I said. “Must be something going on that they don’t want anyone to see.”

“Don’t go letting your imagination rev into high gear, my sweet. I know how you get. Pretty soon you’ll have human sacrifices being thrown to the Big Daddy Croc to keep it and its little ones at bay,” my pragmatist-with-sudden-imagination whispered.

“Mmmmm, I hadn’t thought of that one, but it’s as good a theory as any,” I said wryly, leaning into Marty for him to hear my whispers. I added, “I was thinking that they were probably grinding up the crocs and using the puree as part of the brew. But I like your theory better. It’s way more interesting. However, who would they use as sacrifices? There aren’t any villages nearby from where they’d capture unsuspecting inhabitants, are there? A story needs to be believable, you know.”

“Good point,” Marty whispered back, “but I was being facetious, trying to out fantasize your fantastically creative mind. I’m sure that when we get to take a tour of the brewery, we’ll laugh at our ridiculous nighttime illusions, don’t you think? Let’s go back.”

As we walked back toward the bridge our eyes had to constantly adjust to the dimmer luminescence that was often overpowered by dark shadows after having the bright light glaring in our eyes at the gate. But aside from the adjustment of sight, I noticed how breezeless the night was, and what a grand walk this could have been if we weren’t on the mission we were on — this covert one, playing sleuth. I smiled. I was loving this adventure and the walk on this secluded path on this lovely evening. I breathed in the night’s balmy air.

As we were ready to step onto the wooden structure, those soothing thoughts were jarred away by another sudden scream, followed by a muffled whimper or moan then a splash.

“Let’s get out of here,” I said, all thoughts of the lovely evening gone.

As I dashed up and over the bridge I tripped on a root that I couldn’t see in the path and nearly fell.

“God, Jean! Slow down. You’ll break an ankle or something,” Marty said and took hold of my arm. We walked more cautiously, but still as briskly as possible until we got to the road, after which we nearly ran to the nearest side-road that took us to our trailer.

The RV was a welcome sight, as we ran to it. Marty held the door open to our sanctuary for me to run up the steps with him close behind. He flipped the lock into place after slamming the door behind him. He was as spooked as I was, I could see.

We fell to the sofa and burst out laughing.

“I feel like a kid who just toured the reputed haunted house,” I choked. “That was pretty exhilarating.”

“You are some weird dame,” Marty said through snorts of laughter.

“Guess that’s why you like me, huh?” I teased.

“No, this is why I like you,” he said pulling me toward him and locking lips. That stopped whatever humor or eeriness I felt bubbling up inside of me. Instantly.

Off came the clothes as we stumbled to the bedroom, the evening’s events forgotten.

At least for the moment.

_______________________

Read more from my novel The Mysterious RV Park!

The Mysterious RV Park (What’s Really in the Red Beer?) - An Excerpt from the Novel

Visions in the Dark

Making Our Way Down to Mexico