Nichola Wright
Names have been changed to protect the innocent….The lights had gone down at the end of a fantastic first day of the Guadiana International Music Festival and the last of the revellers were straggling home. Eventually, as the quayside tent emptied out, only the members of the closing band remained, dismantling their gear.
Jose, the lead guitarist was working away on the stage, packing his precious Gibson Les Paul electric guitar into its case whilst the other three band members ferried their gear to their van.
However, when they returned, Jose was nowhere to be seen. None of them thought much of it initially as he’d probably just gone outside for a smoke. But, twenty minutes later when they were ready to leave and he still hadn’t returned, a touch of concern began to creep into his friends’ minds.
Nuno, the lead singer, gave Jose a phone call, but it just rang out. Meanwhile, Filipe, the drummer, headed to the tent’s edge to look for Jose outside. Approaching the entrance flap, he suddenly cried out, throwing his arms out wide to stop himself falling, as his feet slipped out from under him. Stepping back and looking down he saw a huge puddle of soft, slippery mud, half in and half out of the tent. As he cautiously lifted the flap, light spilled out, illuminating two sets of muddy footprints heading from the puddle and disappearing into the gloom. However, there was no sign of Jose.
Intrigued, Filipe turned back to his friends. “Hey guys, someone bring a torch. I can’t see Jose, but there are some unusual footprints here.”
Shining it on the ground all three set off to follow the footsteps. But the torch beam was weak and barely penetrated the darkness. The gloom caused a feeling of unease to settle over the friends, and they huddled close for safety.
The muddy steps led across the road to the river bank, where they merged into the earth and foliage making them impossible to follow any more.
“Why would anyone come here?” wondered Filipe.
“Maybe to get on a boat?” suggested Nuno.
However, it seemed like a strange and difficult place to get onto a boat when there was a pontoon and ramp nearby, but who knows. Perhaps Jose had met someone and gone to their boat?
A sharp beep beep pierced the silence and they all jumped, their worry for their friend having wound their nerves tight. Everyone pulled out their phones to check their screens, but it was David who had received the text. After a quick scan, he read the received message aloud.
***All good guys, I met a new friend and I’ll see you tomorrow.***
Relief flooded through them. They had a good chuckle over their reactions and turned for their van and their hotel for the night.
Day 2
However, the next morning when the band mates were ready to leave for home, Jose still hadn’t returned. Again, calls went unanswered.
Nuno called the festival organiser, Carl, to let him know the situation. After a chat with the band members and some of the other volunteers, it was decided to go on with the festival. After all, the likelihood was that Jose was just having fun somewhere and mobile signal could be poor along the river.
The afternoon session at the Beach Bar was as fantastic as the first. The sun shone all day and it was a happy bunch of music lovers that followed the bagpipes and fire juggler to the quay stage later that evening.
News of Jose’s disappearance and the mysterious muddy footprints had spread like wildfire during the day. Despite most people thinking Jose was off having some fun, Saturday’s closing band had been warned not to leave anyone alone, just in case. But they didn’t think too much of it, there was bound to be a logical explanation as to where he’d gone.
As they broke down their set, the five piece band split into two groups. Taking it in turns, two of them remained working on the stage, while the other three ferried gear to their van parked outside. Returning from one trip outside, the group of three chatted and joked, on a high as they relived moments from the set. No one noticed that the stage was now empty until they climbed back up to retrieve the remainder of the gear. The lead singer Fran, and the bass player Dan, were nowhere to be seen.
On a normal day to think it was something sinister wouldn’t even cross their minds, but after last night’s disappearance, a dread quickly dampened their joviality. After a moment’s hesitation they set off as one, running to the edge of the tent to see if their friends were outside.
There was now a fresh pile of mud on the edge of the dancefloor and again, footsteps led from it back to the river.
Reluctant to go any further in the dark, they called Carl who hurried from his home nearby to the tent. He found the three band members standing dazed, staring at the puddle of mud. They’d also called the police, but with little evidence to go on, other than some mud, the police took the opinion that the missing people had simply gone off with friends.
It was difficult to do much more in the dark, so it was agreed to wait until daylight and organise a search.
Day 3
Time seemed to go on a go-slow until dawn. The remaining band members sat around drinking coffee while Carl had made calls and put out messages on the local WhatsApp groups asking for volunteers to form a search party. Despite the early hour and a few sore heads, a large group had gathered as the first light of day broke above the Spanish hills to the east.
Splitting into groups, they scoured the riverbank in the area where the footsteps disappeared, but nothing of use was found. Some took to dinghies, looking at the riverbank from the river, but frustratingly, they also didn’t find anything to suggest where the missing musicians had gone.
Having found no clues, the search group was initially stumped as to what to do next. Someone mentioned that whoever was leaving the muddy footprints obviously had an attraction to the music. This led to a suggestion to set up a sting trap. If some of the local musicians would volunteer to play, maybe it would lure the culprit out?
There wouldn’t normally be music on the quayside stage on a Sunday, but a group of five bravely volunteered to be the lure. That evening they played half heartedly, jamming on the stage whilst others pretended to be having fun on the dancefloor. Everyone was on tenterhooks making it difficult to enjoy the music. The musicians finished after only a few songs, hoping it had been enough to alert the mysterious abductor. Whilst most people headed out of the tent, others discretely hid inside, using tables and chairs to conceal themselves.
One group huddled beneath a large colourful sail that had been used to decorate the tent over the last two days.
On the stage, the musicians hugged in a circle, wishing Caro and Luke luck before the other three picked up some gear and headed outside, trying to recreate the scenes of the last two nights.
Caro and Luke shared a nervous look then began to pretend to break down their instruments whilst remaining on alert, ready for a possible attack.
Those hiding tried to keep quiet and not fidget as the tension mounted in the tent.
A few minutes later, there was the subtlest of motion over by the tent flap, as if the canvas was being blown by a gentle breeze. All eyes turned towards it, senses on high alert. Amongst the shadows, a darker shadow detached itself and moved slowly across the floor. An earthy smell filled the tent, not unpleasant but very strong.
Those hiding held their breath, as a soft shuffling sound filled the silence. Caro and Luke glanced around nervously.
Suddenly, those hiding under the sail burst out from their cover as one, moving quickly and throwing the sail towards the shadowy shape.
There was a muffled splat.
Everyone ran over to the sail covered mound, but it was Carl who tentatively peeled back a corner of the sail. Two large eyes stared back at them, wide and afraid.
“Sorry sorry, please don’t hurt me.”
Lifting off the sail further revealed a human shaped creature completely covered in mud. Brown blobs dripped from its torso, arms and legs, quickly forming a puddle beneath it. Its hair looked like green seaweed, straggling down its back.
Carl gave the creature a hand to sit up leaving his hand covered in mud.
The creature spoke again. “Your friends are okay. I’d heard the music and wanted to play it too but I had no one to play with. I’m very sorry, I haven’t hurt anyone.”
A huge sigh of relief went around the tent.
“Come on, I’ll take you to them,” said the muddy monster.
A line of people formed behind the creature, carefully picking their way through the scrub and trees by the riverbank. Those at the front kept close to it, still not trusting it to not run away. As they neared the river’s edge, progress slowed as the bank became slippery.
Just above the water’s edge, the creature stopped and parted the branches of a bush. Expertly hidden behind the leaves was a dark hole, just big enough for an adult to walk through hunched over. No one would have ever found the entrance if they didn’t know it was there.
Bending over and minding their heads, Carl and a couple of others at the head of the line tentatively entered the hole. They didn’t need to duck down for long as the tunnel soon opened out into a large cave.
A dim light glowed at the far side of the space and three people could be vaguely seen. One of them stood and walked towards the entrance. Carl recognised him as Jose with Fran and Luke close behind.
“Thank goodness you’re okay!” said Carl.
“Yeah yeah, we’re fine, just a little cold and the musty smell is getting a bit wearing,” replied Jose.
“What happened?” asked another of the searchers.
“It all happened so quickly,” answered Fran. “We heard a noise and the next thing we were in this cave. I really don’t remember much of actually getting here.”
“Then when we got here, we saw Jose and our instruments,” continued Luke.
“This … creature,“ Jose gestured to the mud covered monster standing sheepishly by the entrance, “said it didn’t want to hurt us, it just wanted some friends to play music with. So we’ve been having a jam sesh.”
Luke walked towards another section of the cave, the others following. A rudimentary drum kit made from upended buckets and barrels sat alongside the guitars. A dented and rusty oil drum lid acted as a cymbal.
“This guy wants to be the drummer,” said Luke.
“And he’s actually pretty good,” finished Fran.
A Year Later
The following year, The Mudders rounded off the Saturday night of the festival to raucous applause. Mais uma! Mais uma! called out the crowd. The encore was so good that no one minded the flecks of mud that gently rained down onto them as the Mud Monster enthusiastically played, now on a proper drum kit.
Nichola Wright
NOTES
Like many before us, it was the Rio Guadiana that brought us to Alcoutim. We first arrived on our sailboat Emerald, in spring 2014, before heading into the Mediterranean for 7 years. But the river pulled us back and this year will be the third winter that we’ve spent living aboard here.
In terms of writing, as a former electronics engineer and IT systems analyst, my writing style for many years was technical and very formal. Since then I’ve been documenting our sailing adventures and boat projects on our website (www.yachtemerald.com) along with some how-to guides. However, fiction writing is a whole new world for me. So, for the GIMF Fringe I’ve tried to let my imagination run wild with an attempt at some light hearted fantasy fiction, using the GIMF itself and a particular feature of the Rio Guadiana as my inspiration.