Beat The Beach

By Colin Devonshire

A collection of short stories plus one not so short. Featuring Thai characters and/or Thai settings. A young girl wants revenge for her father's death. He was a drummer but not respected by other musicians. She steals the show with her drumsticks. She does more with blades on the Phuket's beach. A package is delivered, and an ear falls out. Then there is a tap at the door. Thailand's version of a vampire was locked in an underground room. The new owner is determined to open it. A London bodyguard checks out his friend in Pattaya, and there he meets twin sisters, one, a police officer, the other a nun. An evil Lord kills his mate, the twins have paranormal skills that come in useful. Some of the stories have dark humour, some violence, some both, and one is not for under eighteens!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dark-Novels.com
• Release date: Dec 20, 2022
• ISBN: 9781393250449

Colin Devonshire

Colin Devonshire worked in print and allied trades in London before spending twenty years as editor of a lifestyle magazine in Hua Hin, Thailand. He now writes fiction and non-fiction full-time. His wife, children and six dogs keep him busy!

Book preview

Short stories are tiny windows into other worlds and other minds and other dreams. They are journeys you can make to the far side of the universe and still be back in time for dinner.

― Neil Gaiman

Beat The Beach

©2023 Colin Devonshire

Ordering information at https://www.dark-novels.com

All Rights Reserved

Copyright notice

Book editions - 1

ISBN Number

https://www.dark-novels.com for more information on Colin’s other books.

Disclaimer

The characters in this book are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

ASIN: B09TYW1L8H

Beat The Beach

'YOUR SEAT, SIR,' the air hostess cleaned some imaginary dust from its cushion.

The passenger looked around before answering.

'Thanks, I'd like to sleep, with no interruptions.'

His crumpled Daily Mail hit the floor. The headline glared up at him, 'Guitarist - Dead.'

'I know you,' wailed a girl sliding into a seat nearby.

Mr Giles Goodly tutted and glared at the hostess. The Thai Airways lady offered an embarrassed smile.

'You're the drummer! I know you. Why have you cut your hair?' she continued.

The once bouncy black curls were now a grey crewcut.

'Excuse me, young lady. Please leave him in peace,' said the hostess. 'We are about to take off, sit and fasten your seat belt.'

'Your hair didn't fool me; I recognise your hand tattoos,' the young girl said, sitting down.

Giles Goodly, better known as Beat-Em Up, or Beat for short, was the drummer for chart-topping, 'Forsaken'. An ageing band of hell-raisers. He was wearing a blazer and Levi's jeans. His long-sleeved denim shirt covered his arms, his jacket now stowed above.

'You should have worn gloves,' laughed Amy, his neighbour, for the long flight to Thailand.

'Next time, I'll take your advice,' he grinned.

'You look good without the curly bonnet,' she noted. 'Pity about Pots, I loved his voice, and how odd and sad about the guitarist; what was his name?' she asked, judging Beat's facial reaction.

'Please let me rest,' he said, reminding him of his friend did not improve his mood.

'Sure, sure, I bet you are still upset. Half the band dead!'

He closed his eyes and hoped to drift to sleep. Without thinking about the group's leader, with whom he'd had a love-hate relationship. Once more, he started visualising the Ferrari. It's spinning and smashing into an M4 barrier.

'What happened to Jethro?' he wondered. That was news to him.

Beat's relationship with the fastest fingers in London had been far friendlier than with their leader. He slept the rest of the way to Bangkok's Suvarnabhumi Airport fitfully.

Amy rushed to join him at the exit, 'Where are you heading?'

'A day in the city, then down to Phuket for a party. Are you alone? You are young. I hope someone is meeting you?' he asked.

'I'm fifteen, quite old enough, thank you,' she answered, almost stamping a young foot.

'Okay, be careful. Bye, have a wonderful trip.' Beat jumped into a taxi.

'I will,' she mouthed. 'It will get better.'

'Follow that one,' Amy ordered her taxi driver. She felt like James Bond as she entered the hotel. Keeping back, she tracked Beat into the reception. She scribbled a hasty note on hotel-headed paper, 'Your bass player is dead too!'

She folded the paper in four.

'Please deliver this to that man's room,' she asked the receptionist, pointing to Beat as he entered the lift.

As soon as the porter left, Beat read his note, then checked Google on his phone.

'Oh, no. 'Bassist found dead in his bedroom. There was no trace of foul play. Police suspected he died following an overdose. Time of death approximately forty-eight hours ago,' Oh God, oh God,' he said, fighting back the tears.

He went to the room's mini-bar and downed all the spirits collection.

'Should I go back to London?' he asked himself before ringing his manager.

'There's nothing you can do. Stay there. We've got a new release to sell. Imagine the sympathy sales we'll get. Do it for the band,' said the manager.

'Take me to the airport,' Amy said as she signalled the next taxi cruising to head the rank.

Checking all the following day's flight times, she bought a ticket for the next plane to leave for Phuket.

It took only two phone calls to hotel receptionists to discover where the Drummer Hammer Night was being held. An international gathering of the world's renowned drummers.

She was pleased that she needed only one further call to find out if he was staying in the same hotel.

'Has Mr Goodly told you of his dietary requirements? Of course, as his private assistant, I need to check that he keeps to his regime,' said Amy. But, unfortunately, her spy skills did not reveal his room number.

'Are you press?' asked the receptionist. She disconnected the call.

She then checked into the hotel herself.

Excited, she whispered to herself, 'Not long now.'

After a much-needed shower, she planned the next day's activities before sliding back into the quilt to enjoy a refreshing night's sleep.

'Good morning, madam, you're the first for breakfast,' grinned a server.

Amy sat patiently waiting for Beat to arrive. Instead, she flicked through the pages of a pop magazine, whistling to herself.

'Khun Giles, welcome to our little hostelry,' gushed the manager. 'I hope you find everything to your liking. We will do everything to make your stay happy,' continued the limp man.

Amy watched them enter the nearest elevator in a bank of four. The lit number said floor seven. She jumped into the next-door lift. She was pressing button seven. She arrived as the grinning porter exited room number seven-one-zero, pocketing his hefty tip.

Downstairs, the drummers started arriving at the party before eight o'clock. They were seated around large circular tables. All chairs face an enormous stage. They had positioned ten drum kits awaiting attention. Lights beamed and flickered as a spritely drummer leapt from one kit to the next as an athletic warm-up act.

All seats were taken but one. The backing music quietened, and guests turned to face the entrance doors. Lights dimmed, a drum roll started, and the applause began, gradually increasing. Then, finally, they saw their hero, Beat. Striding in, arms above his head, hands waving. He grinned at the attention given by his adoring fellow drummers.

Young drummers took to the stage, banging out their favourite star solos. Beginning with Buddy Rich. Then on to Ginger Baker, Phil Collins, and Ringo Starr. Ending with a twenty-minute tribute session to the late, great Keith Moon. 'Stars of the future, playing great oldies,' said their host as the applause rang out.

'And now, in a change to our published programme, a young lady, all the way from London, please welcome, Miss Amy. Another big hand, please.' The compere bowed out as leather-clad Amy walked across the stage. She was throwing drumsticks spinning high in the air, beaming. Without looking up, Amy caught the sticks, one in each outstretched hand. Taking a hasty bow, she took her time adjusting her seat. She glanced around, then hammered out Moby Dick. An exact copy of John Bonham's 1970 Led Zeppelin performance. Silence. The stunned audience was speechless, and the management was unsure how to follow that. Time stalled. And then, cheers, claps and whistles rattled the ceiling for ten whole minutes. With a tear in her eye, Amy ducked the congratulatory back slaps to dash out of the back door.

'That was the girl I met on the plane! Who the hell is she?' asked Beat.

Nothing but shrugs answered him.

Beat left without a word. The manager tried to get his show restarted. The guests were no longer interested; they had seen an unbeatable performance.

'What could cap that?' he said into the mic, signalling servers to deliver food and beverages. 'Quickly, move, get the dishes out.'

'Where did the girl in leather go?' Beat asked at reception.

They pointed to the beach. Beat ran, looking both ways as he raced through the coffee shop out onto the moonlit sand.

'Stop, please stop,' he yelled at the black shadow nearing a rocky outcrop. Amy disappeared out of view. Beat searched, squeezing between rocks.

'There you are,' he said.

'Yes, I'm here. I've waited for years for you to talk to me.'

'What do you mean?' he asked. 'Should I know you?'

'I am not one of the thousands of girls screaming your name. Instead, I cry in anger at the sight of you.'

'Why, I don't understand?'

'You and your band killed my Dad,' she answered, tears dropped in the sand.

Beat studied her face, struggling to see a resemblance to any man he had ever known.

'Who was your father?' he asked.

'He died because of your thoughtless behaviour? You never gave him a chance.'

'I've no idea what or who you are talking about?' he said.

Half sitting, half standing, leaning back against a rock, she bent forward and gripped her ankles. Then, with her head on her knees, she wept.

'Oh, Dad, I miss you.'

Beat was unsure if he should hug her and try to comfort the lost girl. But, nervously, he edged closer.

Striking fast as a cobra, she pulled stilettos from the cuffs of her trousers. Flashing in the moonlight, the blades sliced behind his knees, slashing Beat's hamstrings. Left and right, he collapsed to his knees. Her hand clamped his mouth, halting the screams.

'Mr Drummer Man, how hard do you think it is to tamper with a sports car's brakes? Flash git. Easy. How stealthy do you have to be when adding poison to alcohol? And how difficult is it to doctor heroin for an addict? Easy, believe me, especially when we have an alcoholic, a drug taker who likes solitude by hiding away for days. And now, Dear Beat, it's your turn, the last member of Forsaken,' she smirked. 'All superstar musicians who didn't give my Dad a second thought.'

Beat's jaw dropped as a distant memory glimmered.

'My Dad taught me to bang on drums, but he could do much more. He was a genius with guitars, and my God, was his voice sweet? Freddie Mercury learned from him. All he wanted was a chance. You laughed at him. He would have made 'Forsaken' the best band ever. All you had to do was listen, and you laughed at him. He died holding my hand. You will die looking at my feet!'

Amy left Beat pinned to the wet sand by the blades that slashed his throat.

She skipped along the beach, whistling the latest number-one hit.

The END

Tea Junction

'I'M GASPING FOR a cuppa,' said Angie.

'We will not have your usual,' Suk answered.

Angie was the new girl at Pert Exports. She brewed the office tea. But, of course, that wasn't her job. She was head of international sales. But, as the new girl, she made the tea.

Suk was the daughter of PE's owner. She ran the show.

'Today we are going out for our afternoon cuppa. I'm taking you to a tea shop. Okay?'

Suk led Angie by the arm to her chauffeur-driven BMW.

'Where are we going?'

'We are going to Yaowarat Road, Bangkok's Chinatown. They know about tea, the tea we export to Europe. It is about time you sampled our best seller.'

'Oh,' said Angie. She was brought up on Lipton's or PG Tips if there was no Lipton's.

The car crawled through Bangkok's late afternoon traffic. There was no parking, and the ladies jumped out.

'I'll call you when we need you,' Suk waved the driver ahead.

'That's not Thai lettering?' said Angie, pointing above the red door.

'No, it is Chinese.'

They ducked through the bamboo curtain and into a cramped room. Tables and chairs jammed together. People sounded as if they had a row. Then, gesturing and flapping their arms, they turned and greeted Suk with their hands together as if in prayer. An elderly lady led them to a back room. The table had a red cloth cover. Two steel chairs with red cushions match the red curtains on the windows at the back.

'They like red, I see,' said Angie with a smile.

'Sit,' said Suk.

A pot of tea arrived, and small cups with no handles accompanied it.

The old lady could not speak Thai or English, Suk translated.

'She said, welcome to Yum Chas, her tea shop. She will send us some jasmine eggs presently.'

'Oh,' said Angie, not knowing what to expect.

'The tea in front of you grows in Mae Hong Son. A beautiful region of Thailand, mountainous, and cooler than Bangkok,' Suk laughed. 'Anywhere is cooler than here.'

'Why am I here, and why are you telling me all this?'

'Because I need you to go up there.'

'I don't even know where it is?'

'You will fly to Chiang Mai, and our driver will take you to the border with Myanmar. I was hoping you could write an article about the area, particularly our tea plantation. You leave tomorrow.'

Their conversation was a Q and A session, with Angie answering.

With a final, 'Oh,' Angie was driven back to her condo.

Angie checked Mae Hong Son on Google. She packed an overnight bag; she would need a sweater. What she read thrilled her and scared her.

'New day, a new adventure,' she said as she locked her door. Suk's driver was waiting, flight ticket in hand.

'One way only?'

The chauffeur shrugged and drove to the airport.

Angie called Suk while waiting for take-off.

'We don't know how long it will take you, do we? There is a lot to see and learn. The manager will arrange your ticket when you are finished. So don't worry,' said Suk.

The plantation manager's driver was waiting, flapping a board with her name.

Angie was surprised to see it was a woman. Her English was passable. She introduced herself. 'My name is Ju. It means Daisy in English.'

They wandered to the car park, a shiny Honda saloon waiting patiently. Ju opened the back door, and Angie clambered in. Then Ju pointed out some sights to see as they passed them. They travelled between hills out of the city of Chiang Mai. Angie fell asleep.

'Where are we going? It seems we have passed the city?' asked Angie.

'Yes, we left Chiang Mae hours ago. Our tea grows in a place called Mae Aw. Our neighbours are Myanmar and China.'

'China?'

'Yes, I'll show you on the map,' said the driver.

'There don't seem to be any hotels?'

'No, there aren't any. Don't worry. We have bungalows built into the hill.'

'It's beautiful here,' said Angie.

'Yes, not the same as Bangkok or London, is it?'

'I don't recall mentioning London to you?'

'No, all foreigners say they come from their capital city. They think we've never heard of any other place,' she said, checking the mirror. 'Down there is a lovely stretch of river,' changing the subject.

Tourists were paddling canoes and waved as they saw the car. The scenery was green and rising to the sky. Clouds were now blanketing the peaks. Driver and passenger were quiet as they motored on.

'Are we there yet,' laughed Angie.

A puzzled driver said, 'Won't be long now.'

'Sorry, I'm not laughing at you. English children get bored on a long trip and ask how much longer?'

'I didn't know you had children?'

'You didn't ask.'

'Do you?'

'Does it matter? No, I've never married and have no children. Anything else you want to know?'

'Sorry, I'm not being nosey. We Thais like to ask questions.'

A sharp left turns up a steep incline.

'We are here. Look, you can see our tea growing on both sides.'

'Can we stop? I'd love to take pictures?'

'Don't worry, up there is better for snaps.'

They kept driving for another fifteen minutes.

Below them were twenty bungalows built into the slope. And tea, as far as you could see.

More homes scattered between bushes.

'Wow, is this all Suk's?'

'Yes, well, her family own it all.'

Angie snapped away with her iPhone. A lady lifted Angie's holdall from the boot.

'Oh, it's okay, I can manage,' said Angie.

The lady smiled and walked off with the bag. Her red cheongsam's silk shone in the evening sun as it burst between the grey cloud covering.

'Beautiful dress,' said Angie, turning to see her driver slipping on her red silk jacket.

'Come on, and I'll show you your room.'

Insects chirped as they strolled past bushes.

'Do you have an alarm on your phone? We have an early start. There is no tv or Wi-Fi, so no excuse for a late night.'

'And the food?' asked a peckish Angie.

'It will be delivered to you in an hour. I hope you like Chinese food?'

Angie sat on her bed, flicking through books and magazines. She was disturbed by a tap at the door.

A red-dressed lady hung a white suit in the wardrobe. A short while later, the woman returned with a plate of dumplings and a teapot.

After eating, Angie went for a stroll. The travelling had worn her out. She turned to return to her room. The driver appeared and said, 'Wear the white suit tomorrow. It will be good in the photos. I'll come for you at first light. Better set your alarm.'

'Strange room, strange place, strange people,' was Angie's thought as she dozed.

It was dark when the tapping started. Angie looked at her phone. 'Still another ten minutes. Please.'

'Don't forget, white suit.'

'What is this?' said Angie as she stumbled to the bathroom.

Dressed in white, Angie opened the door. Twenty or more red-clad women bowed to her.

They stood back as Suk smiled and greeted Angie.

'I didn't know you were coming.'

'Oh, I wouldn't miss this for anything.'

The group solemnly marched to vehicles. They all clambered in. Angie noticed the drivers were women.

'Everyone I've seen here is female?'

'Yes.'

'Yes? Why?'

'Because we get the best tea by using female labour.'

The vehicles pulled up at a bare patch of ground.

Angie screwed her eyes, 'With all the beautiful greenery, why show me this?'

'Come here,' Suk led Angie to the following plot. Green leaves were bursting out.

'That is what I expect. Look over there.' Suk pointed back.

Angie touched the tea leaves and took a deep breath. She glanced down.

'What is this?' she scurried the earth with her foot.

'That, my dear, is part of a virgin's skeleton. The bones increase our yield.'

'What?' Angie grinned, expecting the punchline. Instead, red-clad women rushed her into a shallow grave.

The earth was patted down.

'We expect great things from this plot,' said Suk as she wandered back.

The END

Krasue

A PIERCING SCREAM cracked the bedroom mirror.

'Honey, what's wrong?' asked Billy, panting as his fingers searched for his wife's hand.

Khmer expletives yelled at him from all angles, but none he understood. Finally, breathing too fast, the young pregnant mother regained her composure. Her chest lifted and fell in time with her oxygen intake.

'Where am I?' Nipa said as she looked around the bedroom.

'Babe, you are okay; we are at home, in bed. Calm down. You are sweating. It must have been a nightmare?' said the shaken young husband.

He flicked the bedside lamp on.

'Christ, look at the blood. What happened?' Billy asked.

'I, I, I can't talk...' she coughed more blood.

'Keep still. What is that?' he asked, pointing to a cord hanging from the corner of her mouth. She coughed again, this time spewing streams of red. The thread remained as if stuck deep in her stomach. The visible end swung like a one-legged ballet dancer.

The girl bend double, head between her knees, made more difficult as the six-month-old lump was in the way.

'Let me look,' Billy said as he touched the blood-soaked shoelace. 'A boy is tugging a worm from its muddy home.'

Gently pulling, releasing its deep grip, a knotted chain of razor blades slid up and out of her throat. Another stream of vomit soaked her husband.

'Got it!' he called, examining the item as a stamp collector sees a Penny Black.

Nipa rolled on her back and rubbed her unborn baby bump.

Billy held his prize to the light, 'It looks like uncooked bacon rind, a huge one. What the hell have you been eating?'

At seven AM, Billy left his wife to her troubled sleep in their Nong Bo Village, northern Thailand. He went to check on their livestock. Clucking and grunts accompanied him. Passing the spiky bamboo fence surrounding their property, he wondered. 'Why have we got such an ugly and useless fence?'

He quickened his pace to the chicken hut. Then, sensing something was wrong, he sprinted.

'Oh no,' he wailed.

His prize cockerel gutted open, spread and pinned on the fence post. The beautiful comb had gone, along with the rest of the head.

'I loved that bird,' he cried.

The usual pleasure of Billy's morning ritual, his early inspection of their farm, drinking a mug of Nescafe, relaxing before easing into the day's work, ruined. He often daydreamed about the night he met the love of his life. He had fallen head over heels for a gorgeous and vivacious nightclub hostess three years before. They dated for the rest of his holiday. Then returning to England, they enjoyed a long-distance romance. He proposed via Skype; she left the club; they married at her father's farm. Billy bought a farm nearby. They settled and began married life together. She became pregnant. What could be better?

'How are you feeling?' Billy asked his wife as she slumped next to him at the table, shattered. Her coffee skin was milky. The night had drained her colour.

'Yeah, sleepy. At least baby slept well,' Nipa answered as she prepared rice soup for breakfast.

'Hold the breakfast. We should go to the doctor? We have an appointment. We don't want to be late.'

'I need to eat; I am starving,' she said, dipping sticky rice into last night's curry.

'Do you want to know the baby's sex yet?' Billy asked, excited to find out.

'It's a boy,' she answered bluntly.

Billy, puzzled by her answer, decided not to question her. That could wait. He also wanted to learn more about his and their neighbour's fences. That, too, could wait. His wife's breakfast could not. So he remained in front of his laptop.

'Come on, Wi-Fi, don't let me down,' he said. But, unfortunately, their connection was rarely reliable.

He checked Google.

'Krasue fears spikes as they get their entrails tangled!' My God, now I've heard it all,' he chuckled, not understanding the text.

Once more, he ducked the chance to query things.

'That can wait,' he said to himself.

'Good morning, have you come for your check-up?' asked the doctor's receptionist.

'Yes, we need to ask him something else,' said Nipa.

'Your appointment is booked for a scan and consultation. Is that correct?'

'I know, but we need to see him about something else too, if possible?'

The receptionist showed them in.

'Hello, no problem with junior, I trust?' said the doctor.

The doctor looked worried as they explained what had happened the night before. Then, changing the subject, he stated, 'The baby's heartbeat is strong. The scan is fine. You have nothing to worry about regarding the baby. I can see if it is a boy or a girl. Do you want to see it?'

'It is a boy,' said Nipa.

'Yes, how are you so sure,' he asked.

Nipa smiled.

Billy asked, 'What about the blood last night?'

'I can't see where it came from. No cuts in her mouth or throat. Any stomach pain?'

'None, doc,' answered Nipa.

'I don't suppose you kept any of the blood or the curious thread?' asked the doctor.

'No, we cleaned up and threw away the other thing,' answered Billy.

'I'll run some tests, roll up your sleeve, please,' the doctor said.

'Fantastic, a son,' said Billy as they returned to their truck.

'Yes,' said an unsmiling Nipa.

Billy studied her blank face, riveted straight ahead. He decided not to ask what was worrying her. So instead, they bumped along the track to their home.

'Hungry?' she asked solemnly.

'What is the problem? I thought you would be happy. But, instead, you haven't even phoned your dad to tell him.'

'You couldn't understand.' She stormed inside, leaving her husband to check the remaining chickens.

'Your lunch is on the table; I'm going for a nap,' she called from the stairs.

Billy was used to the fiery, sometimes weird North-Eastern food. But they had never served him live maggots.

'What the hell is this?'

Insulted, he stormed up the stairs.

'Don't pretend you are asleep.' Then Billy said, 'you've just got into bed,' as he