“I’m sorry about this,” I said. “I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”

Our local guide crouched inside the moored boat and gazed over the river. Shimmering ripples spread out from where it rocked and dipped under his weight. His face overtaken by creeping shadows, he raised his palm and waved off my concern, but his stiffening jaw and judging eyes told a different story. I was the stereotypical obnoxious tourist, out of my depth, lost in a foreign environment, and yet disrespectful to the locals who led the way. It was my husband who didn’t give a shit about anyone other than himself, and as usual, I was being dragged along through the dirt.

But then why did I feel so guilty?

The sun was shrinking behind the thickening morning haze, pale muted yellow, strangely distant, becoming further removed from us with every passing second, and with its departure swept a lonely chill, out of place in the otherwise tropical climate.

A bellowing call reached us with a jolt — my contemplative guilt quickly replaced with frustrated anger. Justin strolled down the wooden docks towards us. He waved both arms like a hyperactive schoolboy — looked the part too — a navy tie hung loosely around his neck like a hangman’s rope, and his baby blue shirt — untucked at the back and sides — flapped in the breeze. These were the same clothes he’d been wearing last night. He appeared dazed, most likely hungover — or still drunk. He staggered and almost fell into the river. I was disappointed he didn’t.

The guide was already on his feet. He untied the rope and summoned me over with a stiff head nod and a commanding whistle. I followed instructions and boarded our vessel, moving to the front, which was narrow and cramped. Justin climbed on board and shook the guide’s hand like he was entering a business meeting or something. Then he came and sat next to me. The souring smell of alcohol made me feel queasy.

“Apologies for the hold-up,” Justin said throwing an arm around me, from which I pulled away in disgust.

He leaned back with a stupid grin. “Uh-oh. Am I in trouble?”

The erupting engine drowned out what would have been a piercing response to his childishness. Numbing vibrations danced across the wooden frame and were accompanied by the smell of burning gasoline.

The guide steered us away from the docks and onto the main channel of the river. An intense heat radiated from the engine and the wooden bench warmed to the point of being uncomfortable.

“It’s so hot. Is that normal?” I asked Justin.

He shrugged. “It’s a wooden boat with an engine. It’s going to give off some heat.”

“But it’s not just some heat, is it?” I snapped. “It’s painfully hot.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said shuffling closer to me. “It’ll cool off when we get going. Hopefully, you will too.”

We moved through the inner city where mould-stained derelict buildings on either side of the river pressed down upon us and beckoned us forward. Their dim carved-out interiors were hauntingly familiar.

Had I been down this river before?

As I stared into the darkness of the exposed windows and doors I felt myself tugged towards them. Their hollowness was also mine; like a part of me was missing too.

An elderly local woman, rooted on the bank, watched us pass. Her bush-like greying hair sprung out in all directions. Her features were dark and gloomy. Her eyes sunken and cold. There was an electricity to her presence. It was as if she had been standing in that spot for eternity, watching tour boats pass and silently judging them. I smiled and waved at her in an attempt to represent Justin and me as friendly tourists with good intentions, but it was not reciprocated. She continued to stare.

I felt guilty again, as if my presence here was deeply insulting to the people who called this river home.

I shouldn’t be here, I definitely shouldn’t be here.

Now travelling at full speed, we were leaving the greying structures of the city behind. The soft breeze massaged my face, a refreshing contrast to the engine’s heat, which had become unbearable. The natural wonders of this unfamiliar place outstretched before us, a conscious ecosystem of wildlife and plants. This was a world long forgotten. A place we had all come from and would one day return. It was beautiful, but also intimidating - frightening even. A maze of waterways separated by the jailing green mounds of the mangrove forest, devilish monkeys, screeching, leaping between drooping branches, with narrow shaded passageways providing entry into the concealed heart of this self-contained microcosm. With one final glance back, the fading sun dipped and shivered behind the skyline and the guide steered the boat into one of the offshooting passages.

“The silent treatment, is it?” said Justin.

I had been so absorbed in this strange new world that I hadn’t noticed Justin’s change in position. He was leaning back against the bench, with his legs raised and dress shoes resting on the bow. A circular sweat patch stuck his shirt to chest. He craned his neck up, and my wispy image was reflected in his sunglasses.

“You can be mad at me, but don’t let it ruin the day,” he continued.

This was his usual strategy. He behaved badly and then used my negative reaction against me. I thought it might be different here, but no. The patterns continued wherever we were. I was starting to see that now. In fact, it was painfully clear. So much time wasted and he still wouldn’t even admit anything was wrong. To him, it was just business as usual. I was no different than one of his clients, someone to be won over and kept at bay.

I couldn’t do this anymore.

We were pulled deeper into the dense mass of browning overgrowth. The smaller corridor we entered was almost entirely covered by the curving mangrove branches stretching overhead, creating a sense of claustrophobia. Then without warning I heard a panicked yell.

“Get them out of there!”

I skipped a breath and listened. But nothing more. Then I looked at Justin who was still in the same position and didn’t seem to have reacted to it at all.

“Did you hear that?” I asked Justin.

“Hear what?” he mumbled.

“The shouting.”

“I didn’t hear anything.”

Strange. It was so clear. Like it was coming from the depths of the mangroves. Maybe someone was stuck. What a nightmare that would be. Trapped with the insects, the mud, and the blistering heat.

I felt a twinge of anxiety and suddenly questioned why we were doing this boat tour in the first place. I couldn’t even remember whose idea it was. Usually, it was me trying to get Justin to do something other than his work. I was the one who convinced him to let me come on this trip. But I couldn’t remember asking him to do this. Why would I want to see the river Lethe anyway? It didn’t seem like something I would have chosen. It must have been his idea.

“I think I want to turn back”

Justin huffed and shook his head. “Are you serious?”

“I don’t like it here at all.”

“You never know how to just enjoy the moment, do you?” he said, his voice dripping with condescension. “It’s always got to be difficult.”

Rage prickled my skin. I clenched my fists and prepared to pounce.

Was I finally going to unleash my gathering hatred for this man?

“You can turn back,” he continued. “But you're going to need to find your own boat.”

I tried to keep it together. Luckily I was used to biting my tongue on the nights Justin didn’t come home until the early hours of the morning.

“Are you not even going to bother to explain why you were forty minutes late?”

He shot me a look, incredulous, as if I was the one out of line. “I told you. This is a business trip. I have to take care of business first. That’s priority number one.”

I stared him down trying to get a read on his facial expression. “So you’re telling me you were at the office all night?”

“That’s right,” He scratched his stubby nose, turned away, and examined the roots of the mangroves as we moved further into their depths.

“Bullshit,” I said without thinking. “You’ve been drinking.”

“I had some drinks with everyone after we finished up.”

“Who’s everyone?”

“Everyone at the local branch. What’s the problem?”

“And you were doing that until 10 am, were you? You couldn’t control yourself when you knew you were supposed to be meeting me here?”

“I couldn’t just leave. It’s the culture here. You drink with your work buddies. It’s a trust thing. Last man standing is the one you want to do business with. That’s how it works. You don’t trust me, do you?

“I’m not sure I do,” I responded bitterly.

Justin took off his sunglasses and looked straight at me. His expression was stern and judgemental. I felt slightly intimidated. Guilty even. Like I was an awful person. Like expressing my frustration was an unforgivable crime.

“For once it would be nice to get some appreciation for the hours I put in at work, rather than these constant emotional outbursts,” he said.

The river had narrowed even further. The tangled branches of the mangroves were pressing us from both sides now. They twisted and curled with cruel vengeful intentions. We had slowed down to navigate the tighter width of the river. The humidity alongside the burning of the engine was taking full effect. I wanted to scream. I wanted to go home.

The boat’s engine was suddenly turned off and we were left in eeire silence. There was a subtle vibration coming from under us. Like the initial tremours of an earthquake. Both Justin and I glanced at each other and then back at the guide who was still crouched next to the engine. With wide eyes, he rested his index finger on his lips to silence us.

I looked over the edge of the boat into the water in an attempt to familiarise myself with my reflection, but there was a thick covering of toxic-looking algae which drifted across the surface blocking the view and concealing the secrets of the depths. The tremors built and the water began to gently bubble like the early stages of a boiling pot.

“Can you feel that?” Justin said with an uncharacteristic tremble in his voice.

We sat there listening to the sound of our own heavy breathing for what felt like a lifetime. The branches of the mangroves seemed to creak and ache in a way that felt physically painful. The bubbling of the swampy water eventually subsided and once the guide was confident it was gone he pulled out a wooden oar that was resting behind a compartment on the inner side of the boat and stood up.

“We change,” he said to us.

Justin and I didn’t argue. We moved to the back of the boat next to the now defunct engine and he ventured to the front where he dipped the oar down below the surface and began to steer us forward with careful intention.

After we were moving again, I turned to Justin and whispered. “What do you think that was?”

He didn’t respond. He just looked straight forward towards the misty vanishing point. His face had turned almost as green as the water. He seemed to be lost in his own world as if he was experiencing a long lost memory.

“It’s very hot here, isn’t it?” he said without breaking his stare. “Even with the engine off it’s very hot. I didn’t think it would be this hot.”

The three of us continued on down the ever-narrowing river. The guide hadn’t looked back at us since we changed positions. He simply paddled forward with a steady rhythm. The mangrove trees stretched wide and high. Their top leaves flourished and created a natural rooftop to the river passage, blocking out all views of the sky and the setting sun. And so, we were left floating through a shadowy tunnel with the occasional glint of light sparkling through the gaps.

“You also smell of it too,” Justin suddenly said to me. “You’ve been drinking too.”

My skin prickled and I felt a chill rush over me. I hadn’t been drinking.

“Why would I be drinking in the morning?” I said.

“It’s not the morning,” Justin said.

“What? The boat trip was at 10 am.”

“Then why is the sun setting?” Justin said. “Why is it getting dark?”

I froze for a moment. Why was it getting dark? It shouldn’t be getting dark.

The guide kept rowing. His outline seemed to have thinned and was nothing more than a silhouette flickering in and out of existence. The mist around the boat was condensing with every passing second. I didn’t quite understand what was going on anymore. All I could think about was how angry I was with Justin.

“What were you doing last night?” I asked him again.

“I was at home with you.”

“No. You went to work.”

“Oh. I went to work. Then I came back and I was at home with you.”

“No. I was up all night waiting for you. I was worried about missing the flight. You didn’t come back until morning. So where were you?”

There was a look of deranged confusion on Justin’s face. Encircled by mist, he began to cough. His pupils flickered from me and then down to the boat, then to his hands. He stared at the palms. It was like he was trying to work out where he was. Who he was.

“We missed the flight,” he said.

The water around us began to bubble again. The guide had completely disappeared in the mist. Justin and I were now alone on the river Lethe. He looked up at me again. This time with horror.

“How could you do this to me?” he said.

“What are you talking about?” I exclaimed with a shiver.

Squawking birds took flight as the river reanimated, simmering and churning again, the shifting water rocked the boat like a newborn. Justin clung to the edges of the wooden frame to secure himself, while I remained straight and stunned.

Then, the encroaching flames closed in around me, accompanied by the stench of gasoline. I screamed out for help and the call was answered by the creature that lurked under the river Lethe. The bubbling froth parted making room for the emerging beast. It was a featureless twisted vine, rising from the depths without consideration, apology, or warning, displaced liquid murk cascading over the edge of the boat and covering us in its secrets. Thinner creeping vines, which appeared to be extensions of the mangroves, stretched from the main vine and dipped into the boat where we cowered. They made a vengeful thrust towards me. There was nowhere to go. No escape from this vile creature of the depths.

I let out a wild scream as the vines curled around my limbs, tightening and restricting my movements, feeble kicking and lashing were futile. Helpless to resist the creeping pull, I was dragged flailing along the surface of the boat and then up towards the humbling presence of the creature. It was drawing me in closer, embracing me further, until eventually I was pressed against its sticky, burnt exterior. I attempted to scream for help, but I could barely catch the breath required to form words.

“I’ve got her,” the vine announced in a booming voice.

Then it lowered, dragging me down towards the murky surface of the river Lethe.

“Please, no!” I screamed.

But there was no stopping it. I felt my ankles dip into the river, then my legs, my waist, and my chest. The last thing I saw before entering the darkness of my watery tomb was Justin sitting on the boat as it drifted away into thick mist. He stared at me in shock. His clothes were burning. I closed my eyes and held my breath. Then darkness.

When I opened them again I saw the universe. Stars shone on as they had for eternity. This was freedom. Relieved, I drew a deep breath. The air was fresh, the humidity gone. I tried to move, but I was still entrapped in the grip of the creature that lurked under the river Lethe.

“Let me go,” I spluttered.

“Don’t worry,” The booming voice replied. “You’re safe. And we’re working on getting your friend out too.”

Managing to tilt my neck to the side I glimpsed the tree. My weapon of choice. The flaming branches reached out for me, calling me back to the scene of the crime. The BMW Justin had bought me for my birthday was bending, cracking, and smoking within the flames. Then I tasted the sour alcohol on my tongue and realized we had missed the flight after all.

Ben Worrall