This is a guest post from Nike about her "unique" horror movie like experience on the island! Have FUN!
Thank you Nike.
The Pantie (K)nicker
It is 11:30 AM, my alarm discourteously assures me. It feels like I had only just closed my eyes a second ago. The life and times of an insomniatic writer... dysfunctional with the lack thereof, but addicted to the steadfast nostalgia and poetry, that the nights without it brings..sleep. I have only had three or four hours of it, but there is no time to waste.
I slowly attempt to get up from my bed, but instead find myself warring with every single muscle, joint and other, newly discovered, aching parts of my body. The usually accustomed function of movement, suddenly feels very unnatural,painful and involuntary. Muay Thai. I have my next session at 14:00 PM. After comically maneuvering my body from the bed to the shower, into my shiny pink Muay Thai shorts, and behind the wheel of my superannuated Suzuki Jeep, I am ready to face the wrath of my trainer *.
*With other words: Dog-tired, hungry, aching and generally disabled.
I arrive at the WMC gym in Lamai. After a quick brawl with a heavily make-upped lady boy who loudly informs me that parking my ancient vehicle across from his "workplace" scares off his/her customers, I irritably reverse and re park the Jeep on the exact same spot. The Kathoey is satisfied, but my stomach is not.
I pop next door for a protein shake and swallow it down in hasty gulps. Back at the gym,the agony awaits me with a playful grin and a punch to face. "Hello Nike! Today I train you hard! Today I kill you sure! How are you today Nike? " Great. Today I'm great.
By the grace of the gods and excessive application of boxing liniment - (a different kind of savior, but equally praiseworthy) - I manage to navigate my limbs through an hour of what feels like a real life version of Mortal Combat.
My trainer- ( I imagine his "character" to be a fusion of Sub-zero and Liu Kang) is effortlessly engineered by a gaming fundi, who hits the combo buttons on his "controller" repeatedly without even blinking. Me? I'm one of those lame girly characters, chosen for the sole reason of my pink fighter suit, by the gaming fundi's four year old sister, who fails to operate the "controller" at all. K.O.
I arrive home, an agitated muddle of sweat and self- pity, in search of water and absorbed by the magnetic appeal of my bogus green leather couch. I daydream about sleeping..then decide to review last night's attempts of a literary masterpiece*.
* With other words: Unsatisfactory late night scribbling about something that would have made more sense even if written in hieroglyphics by the gaming fundi's four year old sister.
I notice that my laptop is switched off. I know I left it running,I always do, but unannounced power cuts are unofficially indigenous to the island. I think no further of it. It is at this point that I notice it. Someone had pulled out my USB cables and for some bizarre reason tried to plug it back in to the telephone line port..needless to say, it didn't fit.
I am now confused. It is obvious that someone had been tampering with my laptop, but on the other hand, I just entered via my front door moments ago, the padlock still intact and very much locked. I am now confused and baffled, ...and tired still.
I blankly stare across the room...my eyes meet the vengeance of a typical crime scene. Clothes, empty water bottles, wrappers, papers, books, pens, crumbs, coins, pillows, towels and a mangy looking dog, all decorates my floor like abstract installation artwork.
With my better half currently on a different continent, I clean about as often as I sleep. The mystery remains..
In the bedroom I find all my drawers overturned, and as the sudden realization of fowl play sweeps over me, I almost behead myself on the corner of the cupboard as I slip on non other than my useless African passport, and my stash of (much more effective) 1000 Baht notes.
I can understand if my passport did not meet the burglar's standards, but no money taken at all?. The confusion now dominates.
My bed sheets had been ripped off the bed and left in a crumpled heap on the floor, the door leading to outside forced open- locks bent. Peculiar.*
*Note to self: The mangy dog that decorates the floor, is in fact mangy AND useless.
I'm too tired to decipher the just of the situation and decide to call for help. After explaining to the landlady that someone had broken the door, messed up my bed- thrown my valuables on the floor and rewired my laptop, she leaves with the promise of installing a security system and a look of utter bemusement. I convince myself I am the victim of a greenhorn burglar, a poltergeist or a buffoon.
It is not until after I take a shower that I come to face the punch line of the peculiar break in. My underwear. It is gone. All of it. Each and every single piece of garment. Clean,dirty,nylon,cotton,spandex. Gone. I mourn. I mourn for my attire like a mother mourns the death of a child. Somewhere on this island, someone or something is in possession of my precious femme fatale weaponry. I am mourning, I am tired, and I am going commando.
In the early morning hours a rock comes crashing through my window. I look outside,fail to see much since it's dark, sweep the shards aside and collapse on the bed. Sleep. When at long last it arrives, it does so unexpectedly.
Almost a week and a half pass. My recollection of this is a blur of Muay Thai, writing, chicken noodle soup and all night Skype sessions with my lovely. The Pantie (K)nicker, - I shall call him/her so - consigned to oblivion.
There has been no more incidents of any sort and I have given up trying to figure out who the fallen angel with the lingerie fetish might be.
It is 5:30 AM. I have been asleep for about 20 minutes. I hear a cacophonous sound coming from my mobile*. Awake.
*Note to self: If mobile is left on floor with the rest of the decorations, the mangy one with teeth might mistaken it for a chew toy. When the mobile gets chewed by the mangy decoration it will no longer function properly,and most certainly make cacophonous noises when a message is received.
I read the message. It takes me several minutes to register what my eyes are seeing. A text message from an unfamiliar number containing an excerpt from the lyrics to one of my favorite songs. The master of domination strikes again. I am confused,again. Suddenly I hear scratching at the front door. My heart beats faster. Holy egesta, I'm terrified.
More scratching...then a sigh of relief. It is the mangy floor decoration who seeks to exit. I get up and let the dog outside.
As I open the door, I am met by hundreds of colorful little pieces of material, scattered all over the veranda. A kaleidoscopic exhibition of cut up/torn pieces of garment. Clean,dirty,nylon,cotton,spandex. All mutilated, all here, my underwear. I stand in the doorway digesting the horrific sight of my murdered children. I conceptualize ways to return the favor to the Pantie (K)nicker. I lock the front door and go back to bed, and because I am tired, I sleep. *
*Salutation to the Pantie (K)nicker. It's not over.
*Good night.
