A strange creepy feeling

I had a little mission in town, and having completed it I decided a coffee would be just the thing, so I drifted into Waterstones café. I realised I’d not had any breakfast so I picked up a ham hock, gherkin and spinach sandwich and a coffee. I’d just finished when a couple came into the shop and I realised they were two of my writing friends, J and J. J1 I’d seen a little while ago, but J2 I hadn’t seen for ages – in fact many many ages ago so I was delighted when they sat down at my table so we could have a chat.

Furnished with refreshments they asked about the story night at the Black Cat last week which they’d been unable to attend. I reported back that it was a fine evening, with some interesting stories and some fine beer to wet our whistles. J2 hadn’t realised that the Black Cat is renowned for its beer selection and seemed to think he would have to visit to try it out! We caught up with each other’s news, all very ordinary – nice but ordinary, and then moved on – unsurprisingly, to books and writing. I think J2 is more of a poet than a storyteller and we spoke for a while about poets we like, poets we’ve read and poets we’ve heard, and spoke about Ted Hughes and Simon Armitage in particular. I used to live not far from where the latter lives and have visited the town where he was born many times.

Somehow we moved on to talking about Venice. I’d been thinking about it recently, remembering the film of Daphne du Maurier’s very creepy story, ‘Don’t Look Now’ – I’ve had a little shudder thinking about it again now! I visited Venice before I saw the film and had been very excited at the prospect. I was with three friends and we were camping – I think at or near Jesolo, on a very primitive campsite. We were all very thrilled at the prospect of visiting the famous city and I think we had to get a ferry to get there, but many details have blurred over the years. We visited some of the famous places, but couldn’t afford to go into many of them, so we spent a lot of time just wandering the streets.

I began to get a strange creepy feeling, which wasn’t helped when I got lost and separated from the other three. No mobile phones in those days and we’d made no arrangements of where to meet if any of us went astray. I wasn’t panicked or worried, I knew that somehow we’d manage to find each other – or I would manage to find them, as I think it was me (as usual) who had wandered off. However I did feel distinctly uncomfortable – you know that prickly sensation on the back of your neck, and the hairs on your arms lifting, and your skin creeping even on a very warm summer’s day? I certainly felt that. I felt as if I wanted to run but I just wandered on, eyes peeled for my pals. There were people about, locals and tourists, and it wasn’t them which caused this – although I do remember one woman, sitting in a doorway who gave me a very stern and disapproving look. She probably didn’t – it was probably her customary expression, or maybe she was surprised to see a young tourist hurrying along.

I remember a small church, quite a humble building with a small square in front of it with not many tourists or locals, and I had absolutely no idea which street to take. Obviously there was water everywhere, and boats on it, narrow ways and broader ways, bridges and tall buildings. I cannot remember now how I found my friends, I don’t think they had been worried about me, maybe just annoyed that I’d got separated from them, but anyway, find them I did. The next day when they returned to Venice, I stayed at the campsite reading ‘Lord of the Rings’, on my own – no way did I want to go back to that creepy place. I didn’t tell my friends that – no doubt I just said I was tired, or made some excuse.

I told the 2 J’s about my creepy adventure, and like most people they were surprised and hadn’t felt like that at all! I forgot to mention to them the excellent book I read recently, ‘Alibi’ by Joseph Kanon – I will message them shortly!

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(I confess, I had a moment’s amnesia and had to check whether it’s whet your whistle or wet your whistle, and of course it is the latter!)