The Leviathan

The first monster movie I remember being truly terrified by was a movie called "The Relic". Although I do not recall the exact events, whether the movie was realistic or not, nor why I was so scared, I do remember crawling into my bed that night, afraid to turn off the lights. Since "The Relic", I have seen many horror movies. Some have left me frightened, while others have left me laughing. Perhaps it is a growing maturity, a realization that the things in movies which scare us are often so unrealistic and unlikely that we cannot truly fathom the emotional impact should it actually occur. Or maybe we live in a constant state of denial, one which refuses to acknowledge what we’re really seeing. Either way, one thing is certain. When the monsters become real, so does our fear. This is my story of meeting the Leviathan.

I arrived in Barcelona, Spain in the early hours of the afternoon on a beautiful spring day. Trees were in blossom, the sun was shining strong and people all around were basking in the day’s delight. Meeting two friends from school, we walked down the road to our hostel. They already had their room reserved, a room which was full, so I was forced to take another room. I was led to a 10-bed room, where only one other person was staying. As the door opened, the individual laying in bed (surprising since it was so beautiful outside, especially at 3:00 P.M.) pulled the covers over her head (I knew it was a girl based on the clothes laying around). I took a step inside and was immediately taken aback. I inhaled a biting scent, one of chloroform and Icy Hot. I thought, perhaps, that it was the cleaning supplies used on the floor. Whether or not it was, I had to ask for another room. The man working at the front desk informed me that there was – a six-bed room. I moved in there, where no such scent existed, as well as any other people. Perfect. This room would be mine for the next two days.

Later that evening I decided to take a shower before going out for the night. The hostel was eerily quiet, but the potential for danger never crossed my mind. The men’s and women’s showers were both located down the same lonely hallway, and upon leaving, I heard the door to the woman’s shower open behind me. Starting a conversation while wearing a towel – a new one for me, but well worth a try, or so I thought, seemed like a good idea at the time. That is, until she walked out. Hot-pink underwear, a matching bra and, unfortunately, nearly 300 pounds of woman beneath (barely). With a destroyed desire to communicate, I hurriedly escaped down the hall to the safety of my room. With the door closed behind me, I let out a sigh of relief. I could hear a lone pair of feet slowly closing in on my room. Step after step the volume increased, until I could see the silhouette from under the frame of the door. I held my breath and listened as the steps continued on to the room which I had first been brought to. When I heard the click of the closing door, I felt reassured that everything was ok. I dressed, putting my insecurity in the back of my mind, and left for the night. When I came home, my room was safely, peacefully empty. Little did I know it would be a long time before I ever slept soundly again.

The hallway is dark. Only a lone, white light at the end offers any guidance. I feel my bare feet make their way over the cold, off-white tile floor. I can hear the soft purr of a fan somewhere in the distance. I know not where I am, only that I am alone. The cement walls and ceiling of the hallway make me realize that I am confined. I feel a faint, cold wind on the back of my neck and the hair raises. I hear a low growl from behind me, in the darkness. Suddenly, my feet feel wet. I look down and see a stream of cold water coming from the darkness. I turn to run. My wet feet slap the surface of the floor, stinging with every step. The stream soon becomes a river, and within seconds I’m overtaken. As I fall, I turn to see a pair of gleaming, haunting red eyes. I go under. I wake up.

It is raining outside when I open my eyes. I look at my watch and see it is nearly noon. A cold breeze flows through the cracked window. I get out of bed, shower and dress. I am out for the day. Upon returning in the late afternoon, I walk into a room to see girls clothing scattered about. Tank tops thrown on the bed, girl shorts scattered around the floor near a baby blue suitcase and a pink thong hanging from the top bunk. I perform a double take – the pink thong is enormous. The pink thong is . . . the same one I saw the girl wearing yesterday. Within minutes, she walks in.

“Hello,” in a thick German accent, “aren’t you the boy in my room yesterday?”

“Nope, I don’t think so,” I reply.

“Well maybe you are the boy I saw in the towel,” she says with a smile.

God doesn’t like me.

Over the next 10 minutes, Anne, as she calls herself, a 45 year old traveling from youth hostel to youth hostel, describes her interests, marital status and thoughts on dating, as well as inquires as to my relationship status, thoughts on older women and thoughts on dating. When the conversation becomes too intimate, I inform her that I need to leave to get ready to go out. I leave to take a shower and get ready. Having prepared myself for this situation, I bring my clothes with.

When I left for the shower, she was fully clothed. When I return, my mind was nowhere near prepared to witness what it was about to. I push open the door to find Anne lying in bed, facing away from me. She is lying on top of the covers, wearing a thong and loose-fitting tank top. My stomach becomes weak when I see her sensually massaging her upper leg. I cough, hoping she will acknowledge my presence and stop. She continues. I avoid facing her, although I can see her in my peripheral vision. She turns to face me.

“Oops, I didn’t see you come in here,” she says.

“Bullshit,” I think to myself.

It is then that my fear is fully unleashed. As she lays there smiling at me, I notice a dark brown spot emerge from her shirt. I hold my breath and hurriedly put my belongings into my suitcase. There is nothing I want more than to escape the evils in this room before they/she consume(s) me. Suddenly, I see my greatest fear. One of the monsters within the monster is unleashed to the helpless world, where it was only lightly restrained by her loose-fitting tank top. Plop! I want to vomit. I try to avoid looking, but when she offers no reaction I have to ascertain if I was really seeing what my mind had conjured. My dread is confirmed by the sight of her, and my eyes burn and my heart races. My fight or flight reflex is in full effect, saying nothing but run! She giggles a horrific, malevolent laugh. Fuck it. I slam shut my suitcase and dart out of the room. I feel as though I can hear the malicious laugh all the way down the hall.

When I make it to the safety of my friend's room, the girl inquires my anxiousness.

"I can't talk about it right now," I tell her. "I'm sleeping in here though, no questions asked."

The next day I had one of my friends come with to get my belongings. Anne was laying in bed, probably hungry and tired from not having the blood of a human to feast on the night before. It was minutes before we were out of there, but as I turned to go, she decided she wasn't going down without another fight.

"Where are you going next?" She malignantly questioned

"Bern, Switzerland," I lied.

"Me too. Maybe I get your phone number and we can go out for drinks," she replied with an insatiable smile

Ben, if you've been getting calls from a creepy German girl, it's not my fault.