Andreas pressed the pedal, as the oil-leaking engine pulled the Datsun up Dune 13. Suddenly, the car jerked and the tyres punctured into powdery sand.  The driver swung the wire-hooked door, and his boots crushed an orange-headed lizard. 

Then, he buried a dipstick into the engine, and shook his head left and right. Later, his eyes followed a road sign buried in the sand, and it reads, ‘Filling station: 50kms. By now, the dipping sun coloured the dunes bloodied-red, and he flung a backpack over his shoulders. 

The dog-tired hiker followed fainted arrows sketched on foggy planks. By nightfall, he knocked at the black door of the B&B. Here, a furrowed-faced lady scolded him for almost becoming a feast for the black-backed jackals. 

First, the dust storm pinched his arms, and he parked himself on a tin chair. Suddenly, the century-old chair crumbled to pieces. “You’ll pay,” she scolded, knocking the ‘Don’t sit on this chair’ plate swinging above the vintage chair. 

The warning was upside down, and Andreas nodded. Then, he stretched his frozen hands towards the fire, but a spark jumped onto his nylon t-shirt. Luckily, the cane-hobbling lady blew out a ball of fire from his chest.  

“R20 a night, including salivating ten-legged crawlies,” she said. Andreas pressed his tear-clouded eyes at a glass of blood, but she tapped it, “Red champagne?” she asked. Inside the burnt hair-smelling room, the black curtains were dyed with cartoons of hugging skulls, and he winked at the lady’s creativity. Soon, the visitor washed his face with reddish water inside a coffin-shaped basin. Later, he stood under the shower, but his facecloth was damped by thickened blood. 

Then he jumped on the bed, which reminded him of a yawning grave. ‘Rest in peace,’ read the backward written wording on the bed’s headrest. The bedspread was dyed with cartoons of grave-digging rodents. Minutes later, the wind pocketed the window’s frame, and a shadow passed by. 

When he flashed a torch, it was gone. He was half-asleep when pattering shoes strolled near the bed. Andreas rushed to the reception, but spotted a skeleton flicking through the logbook, with its finger retracing his name. 

This time, he tiptoed backwards, and the evening sun lit up the two-leave plant hanging over his bed, making it look like a funeral flower. Suddenly, the sun shone and the receptionist choked up the doorway with a trolley of grey-green shrimps.