First things first. This trek is a tad dangerous and I wouldn’t advise you to attempt it. There are barriers for a reason. If like me you decide to climb the fence or go up the steps on the other side, proceed with caution and wear good footwear. After all, I can’t tell you to stay away if curiosity got the better of me and I took the trek upwards myself.
The first collection of abandoned villa type buildings made up the bulk of my previous blog post. I will post a few photos for all those who haven’t got time to go looking.
As you can see, had this building been completed, the views from the rooms would have been stunning. It seems from the last photo and photos yet to come that their only use now is for people to hang around making fires, applying graffiti to the walls and trashing the place. There is still much beauty in the decay.
There is a small stone pathway at the back of these villas that leads up to a small cube like building that I presume might be some sort of boiler room. I’m not entirely sure what the building is but take a look and see if you can tell. Beware if you walk up, there are no handrails. It’s a treacherous entrance.
On a positive note, if you get to the top of the hill, the views are absolutely stunning.
And check out this out …
I took this trek with my husband. When you reach the top, there is an eerie silence about the place until the goats interrupted the moment. Within a short space of time, a load of goats mobbed the place. We watched as they flooded the buildings, jumping through windows, chewing on the flowers and foliage.
All in a good day out and this day out was free of charge (bonus) and certainly one with a difference. Remember if you do go up there, wear sensible footwear and take a camera.
My latest Icmeler based story ‘Ludicro’ is set in these buildings. It is part of a holiday horror collection of 5 novelettes (perfect length for an afternoon on the beach) called ‘Dyzturbya – volume 1 – Should Have Stayed Home.’
I’ll leave a sample below should you wish to check it out.
Author of Meet Me at Marmaris Castle, Dyzturbya – Should Have Stayed Home (Ludicro) and Whispers Beneath the Pines.
Ludicro by C Kovach
I am a lie,
But you see truth.
I need your soul,
But you’ll not gift.
I’m your desire,
But you’ll not see.
For your soul, I’m he.
Lydia leaned back in her seat, eyes closed, with one hand on her head whilst intricately weaving a strand of hair around her index finger. The coach went over a bump in the road, then the toddler kicked the back of her seat, again. The driver braked and pipped his horn, forcing everyone to thrust forward. She swallowed, forcing the nausea back, then she pulled the hair out at the root and dropped the black strand to the floor. She wiped her sweaty brow and looked back, catching a glimpse of the child. The sweaty, red-faced menace began to wail. “It’s just down the road Jake, stop playing up. The lady in front will tell you off and you won’t like that,” the mother shouted. That was the first time the woman had spoken and the brat had been kicking her seat since they had left Dalaman Airport. Little Jake responded by climbing over his mother and running up and down the aisle. The coach started to move again.
“That looks like a mini piece of The Colosseum and look at the fountains. I can’t wait to get out of this sweat box and explore,” Imogen said. The small village square looked busy. People were reading papers while sitting in cafes eating lunch. A group of children pointed at the dolphin statues in the fountains. Lydia stared out of the window as she was about to extract another hair. Imogen gently took her hand and guided it back to her lap.
“Why did I agree to come away with you?”
Imogen slipped down her sunglasses and peered over them. “Because it’s been a long time and you’ve missed me,” Imogen replied.
“There is that.”
Screaming boy yelled again as his mother dragged him out of the coach aisle and forced him back into his seat whereupon he continued kicking and screaming. They pulled up outside The Chateau, their hotel for the holiday. Its beautiful boutique image sported a small turret on the top of the building. Behind it, tree covered mountains reached heights she couldn’t fathom. Out the front were some tables and chairs that were set for dinner. She looked through the gap in the people sitting to her left and momentarily had a clear view of the sea. She pictured herself sitting at those tables, enjoying a meal while gazing out at the sea, taking time to reflect on her life, losing Oscar, and her newly resumed friendship with Imogen. Never again would she allow family to come between them. It had been too long and her life hadn’t been the same when they’d gone their separate ways. Imogen had forgiven her and now it was time to start afresh.
“I think this week is going to be one to remember. Welcome to Iҫmeler,” Imogen said as she stood and threw her bag over her shoulder. “Come on lazy, get up. We have a holiday to enjoy and it starts now.” Lydia looked back and noticed that the mother and screaming boy were still seated. At least they weren’t staying in the same hotel. She followed Imogen off the coach.
They waited at reception and a man in his mid-twenties welcomed them in. Lydia removed the booking details from her bag and passed them to him. “I see, you want a room on the top floor, with a sea view. We have keeping just the room for you,” he said in broken English with a smile. “I am Firat. Anything you need, just ask.” He took Lydia’s case, placed it on a trolley and walked towards the lift.
“What about Imogen’s case?” Lydia asked, staring at the man. The man stared back, smiled and continued into the lift. “Wait, my friend-”
“It’s okay Lyd, he doesn’t understand. I’ll get my own.” Imogen wheeled her case into the lift.
They reached their floor. Firat walked ahead with the trolley. “I can’t believe he didn’t take your case. I’m going to say something.”
Imogen yanked Lydia’s arm and pulled her back. “Lydia no. It’s our first day. We don’t want to make a scene.” Firat looked back as he opened the door to their room. Lydia released herself from Imogen’s grip and walked ahead into the room.
“Are you okay Madam?” Lydia ignored him. Her eyes were drawn to the view through the patio doors. The blue tones of the sea blended in with the sky, making the horizon invisible. Mountains jutted out from the sea, and the bay of Marmaris could be seen in the distance. The man continued to stand.
“I think he wants a tip,” Imogen whispered.
“I’m not giving him anything,” Lydia replied as she ignored him. He eventually left. “What a cheek. He really thought he was getting a tip after the way he treated you. I don’t believe it, and to top it off we’ve got a double bed. I asked for twin beds.” She began pacing the floor and biting her nails. “I’m going to have to say something.”
“Don’t. It doesn’t matter. It’ll be like when we were kids and I stayed at yours. Really, it doesn’t matter. Let’s just enjoy our holiday,” Imogen replied.
Lydia walked over to the patio doors and slid them open. As she stepped onto the balcony she felt a faint breeze cutting through the wall of heat. “You’re right. I’m going to put my feet up for a bit, check out the minibar and then unpack.”
“I’m going to explore the village a bit. Want to come?” Imogen asked.
“No. I’m exhausted. I’m just going to stay here and chill.”
Moments later, Lydia watched from the balcony as Imogen walked towards the fountains that they’d passed on the coach. She looked up and waved. Lydia waved back. Soon her friend had disappeared into the distance.
Lydia walked across the room to her bag, took out her camera and lenses, and placed them on the patio table on the balcony. She needed to get back to reality after the shock of losing Oscar. Her mother’s words rang through her head. “Well, he did ride a motorbike. I can’t believe you got on it with him after I told you how I felt. He’ll kill you one day. Thank goodness you weren’t with him that day, stupid boy. It was only a matter of time.” The woman had failed to realise that Oscar was a safe rider. It wasn’t his fault. He always made sure she’d worn leathers and a helmet, and he never even sped on the bike. No, the cow hadn’t realised that as she’d tried her hardest to tarnish his memory.
A tear rolled down her cheek as she remembered her long haired chef and his wide smile that had made her so happy. She wiped a trail of wet from her arm and held it up, blood. There was no way she was ever going to be able to stop picking at her arms. The scab fell off, leaving a tiny but angry red hole, in and around the blood pool. She wiped it away.
Taking her hair, she began to twist the under-layer around her finger until she pulled a few strands out. Her fingertip gently brushed her nape and felt the prickles of new strands poking out of the bald patch under her hair. “Stop it,” she heard her mother yell. That’s all her mother ever had to say. “Stop it, you’ll go bald, take up knitting or something.” Her mother just didn’t understand. Imogen understood, she always did. She picked up the camera and exchanged the standard lens for a telephoto lens and looked through it. From behind the camera she observed the beach below.
A couple of teenagers were playing a game that involved throwing each other in the sea. She smiled as she watched them. The girl in the blue bikini was being carried in a fireman’s lift by a hefty looking boy. He waded through the water, carrying the screaming girl until he was at waist height, then he threw her into the sea. She immediately came back up to the surface and began splashing him while laughing. Lydia’s focus went back to the beach and she watched a waiter carrying a tray of drinks over to a sun lounger. Every image that she focused on wasn’t worthy of snapping. Her inspiration had dried up. She leaned back on the patio chair and refocused on the tall man standing at the water’s edge. Shaking, she zoomed in closer. His long brown hair fell over his shoulders. “Oscar,” she whispered. The man turned. She trembled as another tear rolled down her cheek.
“Don’t be stupid. He’s gone,” her mother’s voice shouted in her head. She was right. He had the build, he had the hair, but he wasn’t Oscar.
A woman ran up to him and kissed him on the lips. Lydia looked away and wiped her teary eyes. She glanced back. Oscar’s gaze met hers through the camera. He let go of the woman and continued staring. Tears of blood began dripping down his face as he reached up to her. She pulled the camera away and rubbed her aching eyes before looking back. The man was still kissing the woman. “Stupid, stupid,” she said as she placed the camera down on the table and put her feet up on another chair. She grabbed her sunglasses and leaned her head against the patio doors. “Too much sun and no sleep last night,” she whispered as she took a deep breath and closed her eyes.
Cold, why was she so cold? She took one step after another but she wasn’t getting any closer. “Babe, I’m here,” Oscar called. She gazed up at him, his head was perfectly framed by the moon, giving him a milky halo. She reached around her neck for her camera but she didn’t have it. Great, she’d tried hard to get the perfect photo for so long, now was her chance, but she didn’t have her camera. His smile beamed back at her. She ran, longing for his embrace, his warmth. She tripped and shivered. Why was she so cold when Oscar was wearing nothing but swimming shorts while standing at the sea’s edge? Like a pond, the sea was still. Oscar took another step into the water. “It’s beautiful. Kick your shoes off and come in.”
“I’ll get my clothes wet,” she said as she pushed each foot forward though the pebbly beach until she reached him. “How did you get here?”
“I’ve been waiting for you. I knew you’d come.”
She held her breath and stroked his face. An image of him in hospital, hooked up to a life support machine, shot through her thoughts. “You’re not real.”
“You’re touching me.” He leaned in and kissed her hard on the lips. “I’ve missed you so much.” Tears flooded her face. She gasped between cries as she gripped him hard, taking in his smell and running her hands through his knotty hair.
“I’ve missed you so much too. I thought you … you-” she pulled away and stared at his unshaven face.
He smiled and took her hand, placing it close to his heart. “You can feel my heart beating. What does that tell you?”
“Come swim with me,” he said as he waded deeper into the gentle water.
Lydia shook her head. “Don’t leave me.”
“Come with me.”
“I can’t, I’m so cold,” she replied through chattering teeth. Oscar dived underneath the water’s surface. “Oscar,” she called. He didn’t reappear. “Oscar. Stop playing games.” He bobbed back up and beckoned her to enter. She kicked off her shoes and stepped into the sea. Oscar swam further out and called her. She shook her head and shivered. “It’s too cold. Come back.” She watched as he ignored her calls and swam away. He reached the safety rope and lifted it up. “Oscar, please come back.” Her heart raced as she hugged herself to keep warm.
She heard a rumble in the distance. The water’s edge receded, revealing a seabed of shale, stones, weed and sand. Oscar was gone. The glint of the moon bounced off his shoulders as he swam away. Another rumble filled the air followed by a whooshing, like a tornado gathering momentum around her head. “Oscar,” she yelled as she took a step back. She could no longer see him. Her heart hammered and she began to hyperventilate as she saw the enormous wall of water coming over the mountain that jutted out of the sea. Holding her ears, she ran backwards, screaming and trembling as the approaching tsunami blocked the moon’s light and whooshed forward. There was no way she could outrun a wall of water that was the height of a tower block. She kneeled before it, begging it to take her. She could go with Oscar into the sea and they could be together once again. “I’m coming Oscar,” she yelled as she sobbed into her gritty hands.
“Miss. Are you okay?” asked a large man, who was walking with a woman. Lydia looked around. How had she got onto the beach? She remembered falling asleep on the balcony. A tsunami flashed through her mind. She trembled. “Are you okay?” the woman asked.
“What?” She wiped the sweat off her nose and lifted her tee-shirt away from her clammy skin.
“Do you need a doctor?”
“I’m okay. Where’s the tsunami?”
The man turned and whispered to the woman. She heard the word drugs in their conversation. As she stood, she brushed the pebbles embedded in her knees onto the ground and turned to walk back to the hotel. “Drugs,” she said as she shook her head and crossed the road by the mini supermarket.
As she entered the hotel, Firat ran over to her. “Are you okay?”
She grabbed a flyer off the front desk and began fanning her face. “Why wouldn’t I be?” As she went to speak again, she caught her reflection in a mirror behind the reception desk. Dried blood streaked her arm. Her hair was all matted and stuck around her face revealing her bald area, her knees were raw from kneeling on the beach, and she didn’t have her shoes on. A flashback to her kicking them off as she stepped into the sea came back to her.
“Okay. If you need any assistance, just call down from your room.”
She continued into the lift and to her room. Maybe Imogen had returned. She entered the dark room and called her friend’s name but there was no reply. Maybe she had returned, found the place empty so went back out. Lydia peeled her sticky clothes off and dropped them to the floor then climbed into bed. Tomorrow was another day. She curled up on her side, in the dark, under the crisp sheet and thought of her moment on the beach. The whole episode, dream or whatever it was, slowly came back to her and she sobbed. Being so close to Oscar had felt real, so real she had smelt him and felt the warmness of his breath on her face. She had lost him all over again. She brought her knees up and cried into the pillow, hugging it until she fell asleep.
Lydia had awoken early and left Imogen sleeping. She hadn’t heard her return in the night. As she walked along the seafront towards the marina, she passed a lovely restaurant, serving people breakfast on a small jetty. She smiled as she watched a girl throwing bread in the sea and shouting at her parents, telling them that the fish were eating it. As she neared a bend in the path she reached an ornate water fountain. She placed her camera down and splashed a bit of cold water onto her face before continuing up the steeper hill, away from the marina. Everyone would be snapping away at the boats, she needed something more unusual, a different perspective, so she headed up the hill and followed the road.
She lifted her camera and looked through the lens. That was what she was after, a rusting old mesh with the beauty of the bay captured in every gap. As she continued walking it became quieter. She heard a bell ringing in the distance. Moments later she reached what she had come to see, the derelict hotel. Shrubs and bushes had partially taken over the crumbling steps that led to the main building and apartments. Pushing the branches aside, she climbed the steps, one by one, until she reached the top. She grabbed her camera and snapped away. A clunky bell sound came from the hills. She squinted in the direction of the noise, and what sounded like a crying child pierced her thoughts. “Hello,” she called. The sound was met by the wailing of many. She crept towards the main building and called again. There was no reply. The wailing subsided. “Don’t lose it Lydia,” she said. She shook her head and continued walking.
Standing in front of the chipped white building, she began taking more photos. She needed to explore properly, set up a few shots. She stepped through the door frame and took one step into the empty stone hallway and listened for any sign of life. A rustling drew her eyes to the room on the left. Her heart began to pound. She held her camera up towards the room and took a silent snap. A loud shriek echoed through the building. She stepped back and tripped over a piece of debris. Shuffling backwards on her bottom, she crouched under a flight of stairs and waited, hoping that whatever was making the noise would leave the building. She lifted her camera up and flicked to the last photo she’d taken. She exhaled and laughed as she saw a photo of a small bird entangled in an old bit of mattress that was stuck to a piece of bed frame.
She smiled as she released the bird’s wing allowing it to fly out of the window. Ambling around the rest of the building, she took more photos. Upstairs were more rooms and balconies. Rubble, broken sinks, toilets and door frames, all covered the floors. She stopped at the top of the building and stared at the sea through the torn window mesh. A jet ski skimmed the water and trip boats left the marina for the day. With other buildings to explore, she left.
From what she’d read, there was still a long building and some sort of pump room to find. She headed through a stone arch and up some more steps to reach the long building. She peered in one of the rooms and sniggered at the graffiti picture of a vagina that greeted her. Her heart beat faster as she photographed the decay, the debris and the beer bottles; evidence of current human activity and evidence that her inspiration was returning. Her smile vanished as her ears tuned in again to the child-like wailing that filled the air. The wailing was followed by a rumbling of hooves. “Go away,” she yelled as she ran out of the building.
Clunking bells were all around her along with the goats that they were attached to. The brown and white horned goat stopped wailing and stood in front of her, staring directly at her with its devilish rectangular pupils. The other goats stopped. They remained still and silent behind their leader. The sound of birds, jet skis and boats also stopped. It was her and the silent goats. Her heart hammered as she took a slight step back. She felt a trail of sweat dripping down her neck, tickling her skin. She wanted to scratch, she needed to wipe it away. The goat bleated as it leaned down to chew a flower. The others joined in and began to bleat and wail like babies. She stepped back and kicked a stone which chipped the wall of the building. The horned goat scarpered, followed by the rest. She exhaled and smiled as they ran away. It was goats, just goats. She began the trek uphill towards the pump room where she wanted to take a few more photos before heading back to meet Imogen.
End of sample.
To read the rest of Ludicro and 4 other holiday based horror stories, please follow the link below. If you subscribe to Kindle Unlimited, you can read it for free as part of your subscription.