Out of Context
The rain has only just started, but the drops are as big as ten pence pieces and getting faster all the time. Rain not being unexpected of course, when trekking in the Manu National Park, but that doesn’t make it any less unwelcome.
Frank pulls his sensibly purchased insect-repellent jacket closer around him, and pops up the hood, knowing the mosquitos will not miss a trick if he lets his guard down now. He has been happy with his progress so far, and congratulates himself on his forethought in not joining the group trek, which would have been slower. And at his current speed Machu Picchu is approximately 3 hours away, according to the map. He ploughs on, knowing his bearing will still be virtually spot-on, as he reset his position only fifteen minutes earlier.
The trees draw closer at their tops in this area of the forest, and along with the gloominess of the weather, make the view ahead crepuscular. Where leaves are large and substantial, the rain collects, and the older, weaker branches collapse, the noise reverberating through the trees as they fall. This unnerving crashing sound, the lack of light, and the drag on his boots from the waterlogged sludge, makes walking increasingly arduous. A ominous drumming sound is also making Frank a little nervous. It’s probably his pulse, echoing in his head now that he has his hood up against the rain. Still, it adds to Frank’s sensation of dissociation in a way that is not at all pleasant.
Being prepared for the first rain is a different thing to actually experiencing it. When he was planning his itinerary from the warm, dry comfort of home, he had envisaged the experience to be somewhat meditative, relaxing even. In fact it he finds it unsettling, particularly as he is not sure whether it is just his imagination that the heavy rain is partially conceals some more menacing sounds in the forest, that he can’t quite pick out. He soon finds himself praying for the rain to stop, even though he knows there is little chance of that happening for several days now.
He has been walking in the storm for almost an hour, and given how strenuous the trek has become he decides that his next stop should in fact be a recce for an overnight spot, instead of him recalibrating his route. So he sets his sights on finding a clearing to camp out in.
Before long, he spots what looks like a space in the trees not too far up ahead, and when it comes closer into view it does indeed look the perfect location to pitch up for the night. He is focussed now on getting his tent out and up, and some food inside him as quickly as possible. Time to focus on practicalities, not whining about rain in a rainforest, he scolds silently.
As he steps out from between the trees into a small dell, it was as if he’d been heard and rewarded, because just like that the rain stops completely. In its wake it leaves an unnatural, almost other-worldly silence . The constant hum of the forest; the birds, insects, crackling of twigs, also seems to have disappeared.
Frank can see the silhouette of something standing in the middle of the clearing, just out of full sight. His hopes are briefly raised that it might be the rare Anoa Buffalo he’d optimistically expected he might see, a little off the beaten track. What a treat!
Yet, the peculiar sight before him as he comes closer, is something so incongruous and out of context, that his brain cannot properly process what his eyes can clearly see……
It isn’t a living thing. It is a red box, and standing on it, a small girl made from plastic. She sports a built-up shoe and is holding a charity box with these words written on it:
“Please give generously.”
Standing slightly behind the plastic girl, to the left, is an even shorter figure. A hideous, whiffling, goblin-like creature that is bent over almost double, and looks to be severely crippled. It has deep ridges that carve furrows in the skin of its slithy face, as gnarled as the tree trunks surrounding them, and its repulsive carcass is contorted almost beyond recognition as a humanoid form.
Frank is horrified, and stumbles backwards, his hands flailing ineffectually as he grapples for balance. He registers a grotesque guttural sound emanating from the region of the creature’s mouth . The sickening noise gradually forms into words, but it is the ugliest language he has ever had the misfortune to hear and as it speaks, Frank’s ears begin to bleed.
Knowing instinctively that he won’t make it out of this clearing alive, he also senses that this creature is euphorically happy. It is beamishly waving a wad of bank notes above it’s head , more money than it has ever seen in it’s miserable life.
It is triumphant.
