The Twilight Shift.

The Twilight Shift

It was late evening in Playa del Ingles. Down by the beach front the sign for Dunes and Tunes glowed emerald green across the deserted car park. John sighed as he pulled his car to a stop outside the pub. Here we go again, the twilight shift. He was the midnight entertainer who sang, every night, until closing time .

He stood a moment on the pavement, listening to the murmur of drunk voices and the dulcet tones of Archie Meanie, winding up his set with the final chords of Country Roads, coming from inside. John's face glowed an opaque white, he looked pale skinned and tired under the brightness of the street lamp. The black leather guitar case weighed heavy in his hand. It had been a long week of late nights with always one more song to sing.

He clasped the cool aluminium of the back door handle, pressed it down and walked into the bar. A warm, acrid smog of cigarette smoke mingled with stale beer greeted him. The pub was full. Everybody had been in a festive mood all week even though the main event was still a good few days away. The Christmas decorations, strung across the varnished wood ceiling, glistened in a rainbow flash of coloured foil under the low lighting. Fairy lights, strung in the branches of the two imitation fir trees, winked on and off in a steady, alternating rythmn. He smiled hello at a few faces he recognised from the previous evening and made his way through the cramp of tables to reach the small square of a stage which Archie was just leaving.

The old woman was sitting alone. John nodded a greeting as he passed, but she caught hold of his shirt sleeve, stopping him in his tracks.

'I was here last year John, do you remember me?' she asked. He tried to focus on her face, it was dificult to see in the dim light. Her feaures were distorted by shadow. He'd left his contact lenses out as well which didn't help.

'Yes, of course, its lovely to see you again.' Her aged face wrinkled with a frown, he didn't sound very certain. A hand crept onto his forearm and held onto him tight. The pressure of her thin, clawlike fingers dug through the thin cotton of his shirt, into his flesh. He tried to pull away from her, but she squeezed tighter. Her eyes glowed red. Must be a reflection from the balls on the tree. He shuddered, un-nerved.

'Are you sure you've not forgotten me?' She spat the words out in a hushed voice he struggled to hear above the rowdy babble. It was as threatening as the hiss of a striking serpent.

Her head tilted in a coquettish fashion and her lips curved in a smile. He wondered if she was trying to flirt with him. We get them all in here, he thought, desperate to break her hold on him and get to work before the drinkers gave up on him and went else where. Her free hand played with the glass on the table. He stared, mesmerized by her long skeletal digit, as the white painted nail circled around the thin crystal rim. The liquid in the glass glowed a light flourescent purple, mirroring the punkish mauve rinse in her long white hair.

'Must get started,' John nodded towards the stage hoping she'd get the message and let go.

'If you remember me, sing me that song. You know the one you sang for me last year and the year before that.' She laughed out loud. A rasping, throaty cackle which made the tiny hairs on the back of his neck stand up. 'You never know what will happen if you forget.' She fluttered a long lashed wink at him and then loosened her grasp.

On edge, but freed, he made his way to the stage. Archie brushed passed him, guitar in hand. They nodded at each other with their customary, casual unspoken greeting.

'Late again,' He heard Suzy's voice call over from outside. John didn't bother replying, but bent down and unzipped his guitar case. With a couple of quick, deft movements, tongue caught between his lips in concentration, he'd snapped the instrument together and was inserting the jack plug, ready to start. He ran his fingers over the tight strings and strummed a quick practice chord before he turned towards the audience. He moved closer to the microphone and said a quick good evening to the waiting crowd before asking for any requests. He glanced at the clock above the bar. It was a few minutes before twelve o'clock.


The slips of paper, with a variety of song titles scribbled on them, came in thick and fast. Most were from the guests outside in the open air, where they sat, sipping their drinks, under the shelter of the green and white striped canopy. John turned to face them and made a dedication over the mike, inciting all to join him in a rousing rendition of happy birthday.

A full moon hung low in the sky. It shone, a resplendent mottled white cushion on a dark blue blanket, casting an eerie light across the expanse of sand behind the terrace. His gaze wandered back inside and over the audience. He fixed on the old woman, but he couldn't recall her face or the song she wanted. Nothing jogged his memory and as the time flew past his mind remained blank. Never mind, she seemed content enough and even appeared to be singing along. He should have known better. Her lips moved as she formed the strange words of another language. In a whispered tone she mumbled an ancient and almost forgotten Celtic incantation.
.

It was almost a full hour and a lot of strumming later, when he noticed she'd gone. The old woman had slipped out when he wasn't looking. He breathed a sigh of relief then concentrated on the first words of the next song. Something twitched and pressed tight inside his jeans. It was like an itch he couldn't scratch. Must be the label of my boxer shorts irrititing, he thought. He carried on playing and tried to ignore it. He stretched out to adjust a sliding knob on the amplifier, but stopped, shocked at what he saw. Course, long black hairs sprouted from the back of his hand. Perplexed, he rubbed his fingers through what had been the stubble on his chin, it was now a full grown beard.

The warm atmosphere of the pub was making him feel peculiar. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehaed. He played the final chord of the last song. Feeling strange and disorientated, he ignored the calls for more and unplugged his guitar. He needed to get away. He packed his things quick, nodded a perfunctury goodnight at some of the lingering customers and disappeared through the swing door of the kitchen to make his escape.



He dumped his guitar case on the passenger seat of the car. His shoes were squeezing, tight on his feet. They ached from the two and a half hours of standing in one spot. He kicked them off and headed for the beach. He wandered along the shoreline. Behind him, a trail of strange elongated paw-like prints lingered in the sand before being washed away in the ebb of the waves. He looked out to sea where broken beams, like shimmering shoals of dancing siver fish darting across the black expanse. With a swift shrug he shed the restrictions of shirt and jeans. The soft sea-breeze ruffled through the thick fur covering his body. The sleek, black hair shone, as glossy as any well groomed Labrador's. A shadowy form, wolf-like in its contours, stretched out before him in an elongated sillohette on the sands. Feeling at one with nature, John lifted his head skywards and howled, in a quite melodic tone, at the moon. Out of instinct he dropped down onto all fours and ambled along, then began to run, paddling through the shallows like a playful pup. Salt water splashed, dampening the fur on his underbelly. It glistened white-gold where grains of sand clung to the matted strands


He paused, cocked his head to one side and listened. In the distance the beat of music from a disco bar still thumped, but closer was the low murmering of voices. Somewhere amongst the darkness of the dunes there were people. He lolloped over to where the two drunks lay under the cover of their makeshift plastic tent amongst the brush.

'K-kin' hell', one of the tramps stuttered, 'it's a werewolf'. He screamed and stood up. He made as if to run, but stumbled over his feet and sat back down again in a crumpled heap.

'Don't be soft, you drunken sod, its just a mutt.' His companian eyed the animal as it hunkered down before them. Its tongue lolled from its mouth and rabid saliva dripped, in transparent glutenous globs, from the red rimmed lips. Its side heaved as it panted from the exertion of its energetic spurt along the beach. In a show of bravery he attempted to whistle the beast to him. John growled, a deep throaty growl, not impressed with the company he'd encountered.

They weren't what he was looking for and he decided to leave them to their own devices, he had other things on his mind. His nose twitched and he sniffed. Above the pungent stink of dirty men, like a half forgotten memory, he fancied he could smell the lingering whiff of Kentucky Fried Chicken drifting over on the night air from the Jumbo Centre. As he turned to leave the vagabonds temporary campsite a stray beer can sailed over his head and landed with a soft thud in front of him. A toothy canine grin stretched across his muzzled features. The warm stink of stong urine rose to linger in the air where he'd left the bush steaming.

John padded over the cold sand with silent stealth of a night creature. He stopped to sniff a discarded Big Mac wrapper. Wind-blown, it fluttered, snagged on a brittle twig. A song chorus passed unwarranted through his mind, but the words of Old Shep escaped him. It was nothing more than a fleeting thought as his mind concentrated on more important things. He wondered if there was anything edible to be found in the rubbish bins at the back of Mcdonalds

With an agile leap he left the sea front and dropped onto the red tiled walkway which ran its horizontal length. It seemed deserted. He sloped through the dark shadows of the closed reastaurant terraces in search of a stray cat to chase. Disappointed he couldn't find one, he kept walking until the aromatic and pleasing scent of spilt Guiness set his nostrils quivering. The surroundings were all too familiar. He crouched on the pavement, raised his back leg and scratched behind his ear, confused. They were getting ready to shut for the night.

John sidled over to the entrance and cocked his leg. A spray of water hit plastic. With a well aimed stream, he pissed up the poster advertising the afternoon session with Gary Lithgow. Something which Rory, with a last minute afterthought, had remembered to set in place for beach bound passers-by to see in the morning.

Suzy, who was helping sleepy-eyed Aylen collect the beer mats from the barrel tables and stack them in a neat pile on the bar, caught the animals action in the corner of her eye.

'Shoo!' she hissed at the creature, clapping her hands together to try and scare it away. 'Yeh scruffy old mutt...don't yer be cocking your leg up that.'

'Leave it alone,' Aylen frowned at her, feeling defensive. She tilted her head, 'it's quite cute really.'she said after a moments thought.

Rory wandered back out and stood, with hands folded behind his back, pondering the situation. He could, he considered, take the beast home, but then decided against it. He was playing golf in the morning. He shrugged and went back inside the bar to do the cashing up.

'Oh no, do you think its lost?' The woman asked no-one in particular as she emerged from the gloom of the half shut pub. With monochrome vision he watched her weave unsteadily, tottering off, as she tried to remember which way it was to the taxi rank. He fell into step behind her.

An inate sixth sense warned her of some danger lurking. She stopped, and turned, swaying slightly on the points of her stiletto heeled boots. In her inebriated state, she attempted to focus on the huge, shaggy wet dog heading towards her. The long nails of its claws, shone a bright ebony black and scratched a rythmic tic-tac as it slunk towards her. It hunkered down on its forelegs in front of her, rear end up and stuck its cold wet nose into the palm of her outstretched hand. She wondered if he wanted to play. Strange, she thought, you don't see many dogs with bright blue eyes, they're normally black. There was something very familiar about the way it raised one quizical eyebrow when she asked it, 'Is that a collar you're wearing? Perhaps you've got a name tag with a phone number I can call and someone will come and pick you up.' but she couldn't think what.


She reached down to take hold of the leather cord hung around its neck, a deep grumble sounded in its chest. She shook her head, was that really a gold earring she could see glinting beneath the tangle of black fur on its left earlobe. Bewildered, she made herself a promise to lay off the gin if it was going to have that sort of hallucinogenic effect.

The wolvine apparition snarled and bared a set of gleaming white fangs. 'Don't be biting me,' she slurred. 'or you'll get alcoholic poisoning.'

She thought she heard it mumble under its breath before it sloped off, with the stealth of a black shadow, into the dark of the night. It had sounded something like, ' LizX, I'll get you for this', She decided it must have been just a whisper carried on the night breeze.


The question is... Was there really a werewolf spotted slinking through Maspalomas Dunes or is this just another of those....shaggy dog stories?