Death on the Cretan Mountain
A fictional short story loosely based on my experience of Crete in the autumn of 2022.
Kolforna's eyes were glued to the Cretan landscape sprawled out beneath her. Miles and miles of green scrubland on mountainous terrain and in the distance, a hazy Mediterranean sea blending into a forget-me-not blue sky.
It was peaceful up here. The air was cooler and there was no wind. Occasionally, the sound of bells around the necks of goats could be heard, like wooden spoons rattling around in tin cans.
This, thought Kolforna as she drank in the scene. This is what I came for.
A loud male voice with a Yorkshire accent punctuated her solace. 'How gorgeous is this?'
Kolforna took a deep breath, trying to ignore John McClusky's presence. It was day five and her patience for the old man was wearing thin.
'You know a lot of couples come up 'ere?' he continued. 'To watch the sun set.'
Kolforna focused her eyes on the small horizon line between the gentle mountain slopes, regretting accepting John's offer to host her.
John was a short man with a beachball of a belly atop a pair of skinny legs. He had wispy white hair which he swept over a pink scalp and a pair of thick, square-rimmed glasses often perched on the bridge of his elongated nose. Kolforna guessed he was in his seventies but he seemed to move perfectly well. In fact, he was very active for an old man, constantly going out, whether it was walking-football, film night at a friend's or into town for drinks.
John loved talking and worse, touching. Every conversation included him holding her arm or elbow, or putting his hand on her waist or back when crossing the road, or leaning flush against her when looking at something on the laptop. Kolforna couldn't tell if he was a covert pervert or if he was genuinely one of those touchy people. Either way, she couldn't wait to find a one-bedroom apartment in Chania, the nearest main town where other young digital nomads lived, and escape his isolated villa up on the mountain.
'It's very romantic this spot, ain't it?' said John.
'Is this the kissing point?' joked Kolforna and then instantly regretted it.
'Yeah, it is. C'mere.' John made to grab Kolforna's slender arm but she expertly put a few metres between them while forcing a good-natured laugh.
'Why?'
'C'mere.' He looked at her expectantly through his square-framed glasses.
'Why?' she asked again, her brown face flushing with heat.
'Awh you're no good!' He turned back to face the view.
Kolforna stared at the green landscape, noticing a tiny white house with a terracotta roof in the distance. What was the old man trying to do exactly? Kiss her?
The other night, he told her he was going out with his friends. 'Gonna drink loads and be back late,' he had said with a grin. 'Might stumble into yer room by accident.'
'Yeah, good one,' Kolforna had muttered.
This was the second time he had made that stupid joke and it wasn't even funny. Kolforna was relieved when he had finally driven off in his battered old silver Peugeot. A part of her wished he would have an accident while drunk driving up the mountain in the dark on his return.
Unfortunately, John was perfectly fine the next morning. Not even a hint of a hangover.
'Let's go further up,' John said after a while. 'It's been ages since I've been to the top.'
They climbed back into his car and drove upwards at a snail's pace for a few minutes. John looked out of the side window while Kolforna stared ahead. Her anxiety of not having secured an affordable apartment was surfacing again. She didn't know how long she was going to be in this position - living with an old codger and relying on him to drive her into the nearest village to do a simple grocery shop. She was so desperate to leave her unaffordable life in London that she had jumped at John's offer via Facebook to host her without thoroughly researching the area. If she had, she would have known his villa was a thirty-minute walk to the nearest hamlet - a handful of tavernas, a cafe and a dusty old corner shop - and a two-hour walk to the nearest village.
'So, you never told me about Turkey,' said John, alternating between looking at the treetops below on the left and the narrow mountain road ahead.
'What about it?'
'You said you didn't like it because it was full o' perverts.'
'Yeah.'
'So what happened?'
A small bird flew across the windscreen and Kolforna fleetingly wondered what it was like to just flutter away whenever she wanted. 'I can't really be bothered to talk about that to be honest.'
'Why not?'
'Because there were too many events and I don't want to hash over them.'
'Ooh full o' secrets, aren't ya?' John glanced at Kolforna with a gleam in his eyes.
She frowned. 'They're not secrets, they're just really not worth talking about.' Kolforna did not have the mental energy to think through the pros and cons of her three months in Turkey; all she could do was focus on setting up a new life as a digital nomad in Crete.
'You can't even share one event?'
'Nope.'
'What if I threatened to leave you on the mountain?'
'For not telling you about my experiences in Turkey?'
'What would you do then?'
'Think I'll be fine.'
The car juddered as it drove over a particularly rocky area and John revved the engine.
'Are you sure?' His voice rose a couple of decibels unnecessarily.
'I've solo-travelled around developing countries John; I think I can walk it down the Greek mountains alright.'
'You're very sure o' yourself, aren't ya?'
Conversations with John usually ended up irritating her and this experience was no different. Kolforna focused on twisting her long dark hair into a messy bun at the top of her head. A few silky strands escaped the blue scrunchie and hung loose around her triangular face.
John slowed the car to a stop and pulled up the hand brake. They had reached the peak at more than two thousand metres above sea level.
'C'mon,' he said needlessly.
They climbed out of the car and walked to the edge of the road. A small rock, the size of a teacup, lay in front of Kolforna. She gave it a kick and listened as it tumbled down the rocky slope.
The setting sun cast a golden hue across the bushy terrain. Kolforna spotted a handful of olive trees in the foreground, their foliage a pale green in comparison to the surrounding. She breathed in and out deeply and slowly, appreciating the view and releasing her worries. John walked over and put his arm around her, squeezing her bony shoulder tight. She tensed.
'Isn't this beautiful?' he asked, looking at the trees.
Kolforna tried to ease herself out of his hold but the old man held on. Did he have no sense at all? Surely, he could tell how uncomfortable she was?
'I'm sorry John, I don't like being touched.'
‘What do you mean?' He turned his head to look at her, his nose only a few inches from her cheek.
Kolforna's face prickled. She stared straight ahead as she extricated herself with a little force and quickly put several large steps between them. John looked at her good-naturedly.
'I don't like being touched,' repeated Kolforna, pulling her crumpled t-shirt back in place.
'Why?' It sounded like a genuine question. Like he was asking why she didn't like watching Eastenders or eating mushrooms.
'I just don't.'
'That's really odd.'
'Not really.' She was getting annoyed again. Did this stupid old man not understand anything? He used to be a teacher - he worked with special needs kids for goodness’ sake - you'd think he'd understand consent and respect.
'It's human nature to touch,' said John simply.
'My close friends and family can touch me, I let me niece and nephew climb all over me whenever they want, I hug my friends as a form of greeting but that privilege is not extended to anyone else.'
John stared at Kolforna blankly. She wanted to say more. She wanted to tell him that she hated all the times he had touched her, but her precarious position as a tenant in his isolated villa stopped her. It was important she maintained a friendly relationship.
'You're jus' untouchable, aren't ya?' he said after a moment.
This made Kolforna pause. She could turn this conversation into something light and humorous here. She'd said the important part about not wanting to be touched - hopefully he heard her and would respect that - and now they could move on in a positive manner.
'Guess I am.' She flashed him a smile.
John laughed and turned back to the view. 'What are you like eh?'
The road started to decline downhill from there onwards, curving around and leading to a church about a mile away.
'I'm going to walk for a bit.'
'Sure,' replied John as she neared the edge of the road and continued to take in the scenery.
It felt good to move through the mountains on foot instead of the rickety old car - much more natural and wholesome. Kolforna been so busy managing her depression and anxiety since relocating to Crete that she had forgotten her love for wandering through nature. The familiar sense of gratitude for life bloomed in her stomach, filled up her lungs and expanded to her heart as she passed shrubs stubbornly growing through sandy cliff faces, noticed a white butterfly fluttering around and felt a rare cool breeze caress her bare arms.
After some time, the sound of an engine grew loud behind her.
'Let's go to the church,' called John from the car as he drove parallel to her.
Kolforna made to get in but John continued driving, laughing. She gave him a sarcastic thumbs up as he drove ahead. A dozen metres down, he stopped and let her in.
'What would you have done if I had driven off eh?'
'Carried on walking.'
John let out another laugh.
The church was a beautiful old stone building with stained glass windows. John tried to open the large wooden doors but they were locked. On one side of the church lay a dozen marble gravestones with photos and engravings in Greek. He stared at them for a minute while Kolforna waited patiently.
During her first night, John had invited her to a film screening at Julian's house. Julian played walking-football with John and lived in Crete for half the year with his wife Sandy. They rented a beautiful villa in another village about a thirty-minute drive away.
The film was projected onto a roll-out screen on the spacious patio. Comfortable outdoor chairs had been arranged in a semi-circle with little tables laid with snacks on either side. Although the film wasn't to Kolforna's taste, she politely watched and joined in the discussion once it was over. At some point, the conversation turned to work and then to how Julian and Sandy became a couple.
'Julian found me again after his travels and proposed to me on the underground,' said Sandy with a smile. 'I told him 'don't be silly' and then went home!'
Everyone laughed. Sandy extended an arm across the table and Julian accepted, looking at her with a twinkle in his eyes. Something deep inside Kolforna uncoiled and rose like a phantom snake - something akin to sadness, or yearning, or both.
John downed the cheap wine he had bought along and chortled loudly. 'Why were you so keen to marry her eh? Running away from summink?'
'Not really,' said Julian.
'Go on, there musta been summink there, for you to propose so quickly. Tell us. We won't judge ya.'
Julian's silver eyebrows arched a little. 'There's nothing to say John.'
John slapped a hand on Tom's shoulder - the only other guest - and looked from him to Julian with a wide grin on his face.
'He runs off to India an' Afghanistan an' all 'em places for a coupla years and then suddenly decides to come back to London, knock on 'er door and ask 'er out,' he exclaimed to Tom. 'Proposes to 'er on the underground soon after.' John looked at Tom for agreement. He received a blank expression instead but didn't seem to notice. He continued to hold onto Tom's shoulder, shaking him with enthusiasm while looking at Julian. 'There weren't any mobile phones back then. So it's not like you maintained a relationship while you were gone. Summink is a little off 'ere Julian, if you ask me. C'mon, tell us.'
'Well, we did know each other for several years during university,' said Julian 'I realised I loved her and wanted to spend my life with her. That's all.'
John licked his lips. 'Nah, I ain't havin' that. You're hidin' summink mate.'
Julian looked mildly perplexed. Sandy smiled politely and Kolforna stared at the large white screen where the film had been projected an hour earlier.
'I think it's time for me to head off now,' said Tom.
Kolforna opened her mouth to suggest the same but John interrupted, 'I'll have another glass o' wine, if you don't mind Julian.'
Half an hour went by, or perhaps an hour, and John continued to goad Julian. Sandy tried to turn the conversation to Kolforna's profession but John's loud voice took over the space.
'I think it's time to go home now John,' suggested Julian politely.
'No, no, I'm alright, let's finish that wine. Pretty good for the local grocery store, ain't it?'
As Kolforna waited for John to leave the gravestones, she realised that the first nights' event foreshadowed what was to come. Loads of drinking and drunk-driving, loud, shallow banter, and being forced to stay in places she didn't want to because she was reliant on John to take her to and from the villa.
By the time John was ready to leave that night, it was half past two. He was drunk but lucid. Kolforna didn’t want to get into the car with him but she didn't have much of a choice. She also correctly suspected John was used to driving drunk so the chances of him getting them home in pitch black without any issues were good.
Another minute passed and John remained at the graveyard. Kolforna decided to wander off. She'd explore the space while he got over whatever was holding him up - probably his own mortality.
'There's a small village about a mile away.' Kolforna startled. She didn't realise John was right behind her. 'Haven't been there in a while, I want to go check it out.'
He put a hand on her lower back as he fell in line with her. A lick of anger rose in Kolforna's belly. She wanted to dig her fingernails into his wrinkled hands.
'It's getting dark and I'm hungry,' she said instead, walking ahead a little faster.
'It's only down the road. We'll go for dinner after that.'
Knowing John, the visit to the village would take a long time, or something else would distract him and they'd end up taking another detour. Kolforna was not in the mood. This was why she preferred solo travelling - she didn't have to compromise her time and energy. She stopped at the edge of the road, closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. Her emotions were threatening to engulf her. How long was she going to be at John's mercy? Forced to spend time with him and rely on him to commute? It had only been five days since she'd arrived at Crete and moved into his house but it felt like a month.
Going back home was not an option - there was nothing there for her. She hadn't realised September was still peak season and everything was expensive - more so than London. There were two and a half weeks left before the season ended. She didn't think she could do another day with the old pervert.
'What are you just standin' there for?' said John. 'C'mon.' He reached out and wrapped his fingers around her forearm, pulling her towards the car.
Kolforna resisted and pulled back. 'Why do you always have to touch?'
'Alright, calm down. I was just bein' friendly.'
'That's not being friendly, it's weird. I've never met anyone who touches as much as you do.'
'Watch your tone.'
'What tone? I'm asking a question. Why do you keep touching me? I don't like it, it's gross.' She folded her arms across her chest. A small shiver crept up her spine.
'You're bein' awfully rude, especially considerin' I've invited you into my home and I'm drivin' you around in my car.'
'That doesn't give you the right to keep putting your hands on me. I'm renting a room in your villa; I'm your tenant. Our relationship is meant to be professionally friendly, that's all. Don't you know anything about boundaries?'
John's eyes widened with surprise behind his thick lenses. 'Now you listen 'ere you,' he said, pointing a stubby index finger at her. 'If you don't appreciate my very generous hospitality, you can always go back to where you came from. Go on, go cryin' back to London.'
This was what Kolforna had been afraid of - John kicking her out for standing up to him. She stood staring at his leathery, oval face, her heart galloping in her chest.
'Now I'm goin' to the village, you can walk it back to the villa,' he continued. 'And tomorrow, you can pack your things and I'll take you down the mountain. You can get a cab from the bottom and go somewhere else. I won't tolerate abuse.'
The sun had nearly disappeared into the horizon and the sky had turned a dusky violet.
'We're too far from the villa; it would take me at least two hours and it's dark now.'
'That's your problem, ain't it? That'll teach you for bein' ungrateful.' John turned and made to walk towards the car.
'Are you serious John?'
'Yeah, I am,' he called over his shoulder.
Kolforna stared at his receding back in disbelief. And then suddenly, intense dislike mingled with disgust and anger erupted to the surface. Her body acted of its own accord and she ran and pushed John in the back with all her might.
'Whaa!' he cried as he stumbled and fell on his face.
Kolforna stood over his body, breathing hard. She had a strong urge to kick him while he was down but sense was creeping in.
John pushed himself on to his knees, paused for a moment and then gingerly picked himself up. He turned around, almost sluggishly, and looked at Kolforna, a mixture of anger and incredulity in his eyes. The tip of his nose and forehead had a bloody scratch where the skin had grazed against the pebbly earth.
'What the bleedin' hell do you think you're doin'?' His chest rose and fell in fury.
Kolforna swallowed a lump in her throat. What had she done? There was no coming back from this. 'You were going to leave me stranded,' she said, her voice an octave higher than normal.
'Doesn't mean you bloody attack me!'
'Just drop me back to the villa and I'll leave tomorrow‒'
'No! I'm not doin' you any favours.'
'It's the responsible thing to do as my host‒'
'As your host, I don't expect to get abused!'
'Well you shouldn't have kept touching me. You violated my body and my personal space many times!'
John's eyes bulged. 'Violated?! Now don't go makin' this into somethin' it's not!' He poked the air with force as he spoke. 'I welcomed you into my home with open arms, I picked you up from the airport at one a.m. in the mornin', you're swimmin' in my pool‒'
'You didn't clarify the villa was so high up on the mountains that I'd have no choice but to be reliant on you for everything! You told me the nearest village was a twenty-minute walk away but that's bullshit! You misled me on purpose because you're a lonely old man desperate for company!'
'Shut your gob,' roared John. A small spittle flew out of his mouth in a weak arch and fell to the floor near Kolforna's feet.
'Admit you're a pervert,' breathed Kolforna.
'Right, I've had enough o' you.' He wrapped his thick fingers around her forearm once again and pulled.
'What the hell are you doing?' cried Kolforna.
'I'm takin' you back to the villa and you can pack your things and get out tonight.'
'Let go of me!'
'I'm doin' what you wanted, you ungrateful child!' John's grasp was quite strong - stronger than Kolforna had imagined it to be.
'Fine, but you don't have to grab my arm to do this. I told you I don't want you touching me, what part of that do you not understand?' Kolforna threw her free hand on top of John's, trying to pry his fingers off her.
John's lips thinned as he continued to pull. Kolforna's trainers slipped a few inches in the gravel. She dug her nails into his hands - it didn't force him to release her - so she slapped off his glasses and pressed her thumb hard into his left eye.
'Aarghh!' he cried, finally letting go - but only to grab her upper arms instead.
'Let go you freak!' shouted Kolforna, reluctantly holding onto his soft upper arms to balance herself.
They wrestled like that for a few seconds, shuffling around the narrow mountain path, John's face contorted in rage, a thin trickle of blood working its way down the side of his nose and onto his cheek, until Kolforna heard rocks tumble down the side, and a split second later, a sound, something like a gasp, echoed into the night as John’s shocked pink face disappeared from Kolforna's eyeline in a flash, leaving behind nothing but a deep blue sky and the sound of rolling rocks.
Kolforna froze.
It took a few seconds for her mind to catch up with what had happened. It wasn't a steep slope, and only twenty metres or so until the ground flattened, but it was rocky. Kolforna looked down to see John had come to a stop at the bottom, his back slightly arched across a boulder, his right leg askew. His eyes were closed but his beachball of a belly rose and fell so she knew he was still alive - but for how long?
'John?' her thin voice called out into the night.
No response.
Her legs felt like jelly. She crouched down and looked at the rocks, wondering if she could reach him safely. Then what?
'Okay… at the very least, I should call an ambulance,' she said as she pulled her phone out of her side bag with shaky hands. 'This was an accident. The ambulance will come, John will be fine and I'll try my digital nomad life in Albania or something.'
Kolforna quickly googled the emergency number and tapped in the digits. Her index finger hovered over the green call button.
If John died, they'd see the nail marks on his hands and they'd know there was a physical altercation between the two. If John lived, he might accuse her of pushing him down the mountains and the nail marks would offer credence to his story. He might even spin a tale of how she - a young, broke Londoner - took advantage of him - a kind, elderly man who offered to rent a room in his beautiful villa for cheap. People would think she was some kind of a gold digger. Either way, she'd be in a lot of trouble that she didn't think she could handle.
Kolforna looked back at John - his eyes were open now and he was looking directly at her, accusation in his gaze. His mouth seemed to move but no sound came out, at least none that she could hear.
Kolforna sat on the floor with her legs tucked under her bottom, not knowing what to do. She rocked back and forth as dozens of thoughts, some only semi or barely formed, whirled through her head. Occasionally she wiped her hands or dragged her fingernails across her jeans. Twice, she let out a frustrated sob and angrily wiped away hot tears.
Some time passed - she didn't know how long - but it was pitch black. Her body was stiff from the cold and she could no longer see John. One of the ideas running through her head had placed itself at the forefront of her mind, becoming more and more solid until she finally decided to follow it through.
Kolforna picked herself up off the floor and walked unsteadily towards the car, using her phone light to guide her. If someone was to see her, they would assume she was drunk and not riddled with pins and needles. But the night was an impenetrable darkness, only punctuated with a handful of twinkling lights in the distance where villages and hamlets lay scattered across the mountains.
John had left the key in the ignition. She sat in the driver's seat, only mildly aware of how odd it felt sitting on the left-hand side of a car, switched on the engine and then the headlights. Adjusting the gear, she reversed the car, turning at a ninety-degree angle, and then inched forward. The dim light flooded the rocky slope where John's cold body lay.
Kolforna pulled the handbrake up, got out of the vehicle and stood at the edge of the road for a minute. Then she sat on the hard earth, turned her body around and extended a leg as she carefully made her way to the bottom. Going down the mountain wasn't as difficult as she thought it would be. A few rocks came loose and tumbled below but the larger rocks held fast.
Ten minutes later, or perhaps longer, Kolforna reached John. She stood over him, mindful not to block the light, and looked at his pallid face. His eyes were glassy, like those on mounted animals you'd find in a museum, still staring at the road where Kolforna had climbed down from. Should she brush a hand over them as a mark of respect for the dead? But the idea of touching him made her feel queasy - more so than having his eyes open - so she left them alone.
Kolforna picked up a large rock and placed it on his round belly. Then she picked up another and placed it next to the first. On and on she went until only the face remained exposed. She didn't know why she had left that to last. Maybe it was some subconscious way of honouring a life. Kolforna picked up a few rocks the size of tennis balls and looked at the little oval face one final time.
Should she say a few final words? She had never dealt with death before.
'Goodbye John,' she said. And then a pause, followed by, 'you desperate prick.'
'Ahh…' he uttered.
Kolforna jumped. The rocks fell out of her hands and clattered amongst other stones on the floor. The old man was still alive! Her heart thundered in her chest as she stood still and stared at his face. The light had long left his eyes. His mouth was open but she hadn't seen it move. She hadn’t even seen his belly rise up and down when she was putting rocks on it. Was she just hearing things? Maybe it was the wind - it was picking up a bit now. Or maybe it was a rock sliding off another and adjusting its position.
Kolforna stared hard at John's face for a while longer. Nothing. She knew she should check his pulse in case he was still alive but it was too late to turn back now. She just wanted to forget all about this nasty incident and move on. She had a plan: she would drive carefully back to John's villa and stay there until the end of the month. She'd use his car to drive into the village for grocery shopping once a week and if anyone asked, John had lent it to her while he decided to head back to the UK. She'd even send him a text message thanking him in response to an 'earlier conversation' they had had in person. She'd spend her time living the simple life she had dreamed of every day for the past few years - waking up in the morning in a beautiful, empty house, cooking herself some breakfast, working creatively online and going for long walks in nature. Maybe she'd even take up jogging - the mountain trails were perfect for this. A good quality life - it's all she ever wanted and it's what she deserved after struggling to make ends meet for more than a decade.
Once November arrived, she would move into a one-bed apartment in town which should be affordable by then. And when peak season hit again, she would move to another cheap European country and repeat.
Kolforna's breathing slowed down as she allowed herself to fantasise. Her dream was so close, she could taste it and it was delicious. It was easy to place the rocks over the old codger's face after that. A few more and she was done.
This was actually a great way to go for John - rolling down the Greek mountain he had called home for the last fourteen years. Better than withering away in a hospice, losing his dignity a little more each day as a different nurse wiped his bottom and threw away his nappy.
Kolforna climbed back up the mountain and looked down. The rock pile appeared natural, boring even. No one would ever guess there was an old man buried just beneath.
Giorgos Konstantinos woke up at the crack of dawn and started making his way down to the shed where the cow slept. The wife had thrust the responsibility of milking the only cow on this side of the island onto him. The metal bucket swung gently in his large hand as he walked down the muddy pathway that led to the narrow road. He wished the shed had been built closer to their house so he didn't have to walk so far every morning but the wife insisted he needed the exercise.
The faint rattle of bells told him the goats had woken up already and were gobbling up the fresh grass. His stomach rumbled as he thought of breakfast. Fried sausages and eggs with a large black coffee. If he made his breakfast before the wife woke up, he could add three spoons of sugar to his drink without any drama. His boot kicked something on the floor and it skittered across the gravel. He peered down to see a pair of square rimmed glasses. The lenses were fractured and one of the temples was wonky but other than that, it seemed to be in pretty good condition.
The hamlet at the top of the mountain where he lived was home to thirty-nine people and he knew every one of them. No one wore glasses like these. Fortunately, Giorgos had pretty good memory for a seventy-four-year-old. His brain rifled through the handful of people he had observed around these parts of the mountain over the year.
There was a lanky Russian guy with a young brunette hanging off his arm. But his glasses had a metallic frame, either silver or light gold. And then there was the group of German backpackers but they all wore shades. There was also an old British guy, short and skinny but with an abnormally large, round belly. Giorgos was sure he wore glasses but couldn't remember if they were the same as the ones he had come across.
Giorgos prided himself a good Christian. He bent down slowly, picked up the glasses and slipped them into his jacket pocket. He'd keep them safe at home in case someone came looking and if no one did, he'd hand them into the local police station in a week. He was going to drive into Chania to meet a friend and could pop into the station on the way. The glasses would be reunited with their rightful owner - Giorgos would make sure of it.