Hungry For You
After reading Raffles' tale of terror, I decided to write my own too. Please excuse all the grammatical errors.
“I really think we should get out and get another tuk-tuk”, Rafs slurs loudly as we jostle about in the back of the truck-turned taxi. A little while ago, our driver had pulled over sharply and demanded more money than was agreed initially.
“You give me 1000 baht. Layan very far. You give me 1000 baht. Ok.” The street lamp formed a halo on his greasy face. We argued and after much haggling, he got back into the taxi unhappily. The deal had turned sour and he had now pulled over to pick up a friend.
“This looks really dodgy. We really need to get out. They are going to rape us”, Rafs continues. I look through the partition and see the two Thai men eyeing us through the rear view mirror. They laugh. I agree with Rafs, they were up to no good. We stop the taxi and walk away feeling we just narrowly avoided hell. On the main street were lines of tuk-tuks waiting for passengers but in our drunken state and new found paranoia, all the drivers looked like rapists and serial killers. Our resort was far away and tucked deep into the hills. No one would find our bodies.
“Let’s go in that one.” Rafs points to a small man taking a long drag on his cigarette. He was leaning against his tuk-tuk talking to his wife who was peeling lotus seeds with a paring knife in the passenger seat. Twenty minutes later, the lights of Patong were a blur in the distance.
“You have been married long time?” Rafs shouts. The wind whips our hair in our face.
“Yes. Long time. Twenty years. We three children. You married?” The wife asks in return. And the small talk continues as we ride deeper into the hills.
“Where you from?” The man asks.
“We’re Malaysian,” we answer proudly.
“Ah Malaysia! We want to try-” he answers.
“Pardon? I can’t hear you. The wind. Very loud,” Rafs shouts once more. There was no answer. The loud engine and increasing fatigue ends our conversation. We turn into a long stretch of dirt road. Shadows fall away from the path as drive by.
“This looks really dodgy. We really need to get out. They are going to rape us”, Rafs continues. I look through the partition and see the two Thai men eyeing us through the rear view mirror. They laugh. I agree with Rafs, they were up to no good. We stop the taxi and walk away feeling we just narrowly avoided hell. On the main street were lines of tuk-tuks waiting for passengers but in our drunken state and new found paranoia, all the drivers looked like rapists and serial killers. Our resort was far away and tucked deep into the hills. No one would find our bodies.
“Let’s go in that one.” Rafs points to a small man taking a long drag on his cigarette. He was leaning against his tuk-tuk talking to his wife who was peeling lotus seeds with a paring knife in the passenger seat. Twenty minutes later, the lights of Patong were a blur in the distance.
“You have been married long time?” Rafs shouts. The wind whips our hair in our face.
“Yes. Long time. Twenty years. We three children. You married?” The wife asks in return. And the small talk continues as we ride deeper into the hills.
“Where you from?” The man asks.
“We’re Malaysian,” we answer proudly.
“Ah Malaysia! We want to try-” he answers.
“Pardon? I can’t hear you. The wind. Very loud,” Rafs shouts once more. There was no answer. The loud engine and increasing fatigue ends our conversation. We turn into a long stretch of dirt road. Shadows fall away from the path as drive by.
“Why are we slowing down?” I ask, "Are you lost?" The driver stops completely now. The green light in the tuk-tuk cast a ghostly shadow around us. I can just make out the silhouette of a padi field. Our resort was close. The engine cuts off and the silence becomes unbearably loud. The man comes round to the back where we sit. I see Rafs open her mouth and a look of terror twists on her face. I feel a sharp burning pain and hot wetness on my neck. She screams and I turn to see the wife standing behind me with a bloodied paring knife.
“We want to eat Malaysia long time. Malaysia hard to get. Only many farang. Farang no taste good. You look nice,” the man whispers as he brings a long parang down to the back of Rafs head.
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