“Find a job you enjoy doing, and you’ll never have to work a day in your life.” That’s what they all say, and so that’s what my naïve self took to heart when signing up for my first Summer gig. What they don’t tell you is that quote came from an out-of-touch codger and the reality is much closer to: ‘Find a job you love, and watch as your passion gets ground down to dust.’
I used to adore swimming but after two months of being a lifeguard, I’d been turned off, pools, lakes, the ocean and essentially all bodies of water. Hell, even the sight of a sizable bath is enough to make me sick. You might be thinking I’m a little dramatic. I don’t blame you. But when I say my job sucks, I’m not complaining about mopping up puddles of strawberry ice cream and vomit. I’m not talking about chlorine-induced headaches or having to do laps in a pool that’s more piss than water. My job is unbearable because of one reason and one reason only. Tadashi.
The first day I met Tadashi I felt a little bad for him. Darren, the manager, had just finished his grand tour, knighting me with a rusty whistle and a half-used bottle of sunblock. After a poorly-rehearsed speech about ‘‘being the first line of defence” and “helping to uphold this pool’s pristine reputation,” he paused and sucked in his breath. “One more thing, yeah?”
“You’ll probably meet Tadashi today. He’s our pool boy and he’s a bit…what are we meant to call ’em these days? Special needs? Special abled? Fuck if I know. Point is there’s something off about him in that sort of way if you get my gist.” Darren mistook my silence for confusion and continued rambling.
“Don’t get me wrong he’s a nice enough kid, he’s just prone to the odd meltdown. That and the fact that he hardly speaks English means he ends up butting heads with a few people. Just give him his space and he shouldn’t be too much of a hassle yeah?”
I nodded, and that was that. Darren ushered me to my poolside throne and thus marked the start of my first day as a lifeguard. The day went by fairly smoothly – I got to yell at some boys for running, Mele the woman who ran the cafe (if you could even call it that) gave me a free sausage roll and I managed to get through most of the shift with only a mild sunburn.
Time feels slower in Summer. The warmth doesn’t just make us sleepy, it makes the earth languid so she spins that little bit more leisurely on her axis. That’s why I was so unnerved to look up from stacking towels and see that the sky had gone from baby blue to a bruise-like purple. I had missed the sunset.
Maybe it didn’t mean anything, people get distracted all the time but nonetheless the realisation twisted my stomach. I of all people shouldn’t be – can’t be – distracted. I didn’t have time to dwell on it because closing time was here, and I’d forgotten the 10-minute warning. Shit. Well, better late than never.
“Closing time, swimmers! It’s time to hop out, drip dry, and wave goodbye. We’ll sea ya later!”
Darren insisted I say that exact phrase, three times. He claimed it had something to do with brand voice and ensuring everyone heard the message but I had an inkling it had more to do with taking the piss out of the new guy. Looks like he overestimated what little pride I had left. I rolled my eyes, and went for a second time “Closing time, swimmers! It’s time to hop out, drip -” I stopped. There weren’t any swimmers left.
The few I had called to jumped out at what must have been record speed and were squelching towards the changing rooms. Chatter from the car park made me realise that most had left before I even called out. This was far from the whiny ‘just a few more minutes’ or the passive-aggressive towelling-offs I expected but hey, I wasn’t going to complain.
I didn’t know how to cope with the sudden quiet so I drowned it out by singing my cheesy little closing line, remixing it into about eight different genres as I tidied up. If I’d stopped for even a second, I might have heard the dull creak of the gate swinging open.
I only noticed when I turned, mid-stack of pool noodles, to find a boy standing right in front of me watching in complete silence.
“Hey, dude I didn’t see you there! I’m afraid we’re closed for today but if you come back-”
He blinked. “I don’t like to be told no.”
The boy had such a thick accent that I thought I misheard him for a second.
“Bad things will happen if you say no.”
Did this kid just try to threaten me? Over a late-night swim of all things? I was trying to decide between telling him off and getting help when the decision was made for me.
“Tadashi!” Darren barked, shuffling over from his little office. “You’re LATE. Your shift is seven AM Not PM. He drew out every syllable, emphasising “aaaaaa emmmm” to the point of excess. Tadashi bobbed his head out, looking a bit like a defeated pigeon. “Bad things will-” Darren cut him off.
“None of that spooky shit today mate, you’re confused. You come in the MORNING, not the EVENING. Got it?” I think he got it, but he didn’t like it because he started clenching his fists. Release. Clench. Release. Clench. He widened his eyes and peeked around as if the right words would pop out of thin air. I guess they never came because after a minute he let out a defeated groan and walked away.
“What an intro,” I chuckled. “Is this normal? Or?”
“Yep, that’s Tadashi for ya.” Darren rolled his eyes. “He’s either messing up or freaking people out. Only reason I still keep him around is because the government subsidises his wages. It’s one of those inclusivity initiatives, ya know? Anyway, he shows up, gets to feel like he’s contributing to society, and then leaves. Bit weird, but you’ll get used to it. It helps if you don’t take anything he says seriously.” As you can imagine, I did not get used to it.
The next morning, I arrived at the pool a little early and there was Tadashi—dressed head-to-toe in spotless white, a small cap perched on his head. He looked more like a kid pretending to be a sailor than a pool boy, but I found the commitment endearing.
The storm last night meant a bunch of pōhutukawa flowers had found their way into the pool. I spent most of the morning watching Tadashi fish them out with intense focus. He’d created a pretty sizable pile of red pulp when Mele came over and nudged me. “Watch this.”
“Yo Tadashi! Put em’ back into the pool!” Tadashi frowned but sure enough, kicked the pōhutukawa back in without complaint. A woman scoffed and redirected her aqua jogging route around the drifting bloom, now spreading its tendrils like a slow-moving bloodstain. “He practically does anything you tell him” Mele grinned.
Darren came out a few minutes later and had a go at Tadashi, ranting about how he should have been done cleaning the pool by now. Tadashi just nodded and went back to work, a silent Sisyphus.
It was during my lunch break when my sympathy for Tadashi started to twist into disdain. I’d snagged another free sausage roll from the café and was walking past the equipment shed when I was tackled to the ground. Flakes of pastry went everywhere; my head was throbbing from the impact, but before I could yell out, a hand clamped over my mouth.
“Don’t make a sound.” Tadashi’s eyes were frantic, his whole body shaking “Bad things happen if you say.” Say what? I don’t know but despite it being a muggy afternoon, I started to shiver. He grunted trying to explain himself further, but no coherent words came out. The warm air spurting from his breath smelt quite literally like shit. I wanted to push him away, but something in his eyes stopped me cold.
They were ink-black, carrying a depthless dread that didn’t belong in the face of a teen, especially not one with this apparent ‘limited understanding’ of the world. It was the same look my little brother wore on his deathbed—staring straight through me into something waiting, something dark and patient. It was the look that haunted me into this job, rescuing children in hopes I’d never have to see that blank terror in someone so young again. It was the look of knowing something that someone was simply too young to know.
I didn’t move a muscle.
We lay there in silence for about ten minutes. Once Tadashi realised I wasn’t going anywhere, his grunts turned into short sobs of relief. Then, a scream split the air—high, sharp, and constant, through the quiet. It was coming from the pool.
No. No, no, no. n o noono.
I shoved Tadashi off me, his cries reaching a fever pitch that blended with the mother’s shrieks as she stared at her daughter’s body bobbing face-down in the water. My pulse hammered as I dove in, hauling her out scraping my knees on the concrete as I fumbled for a pulse. My hands were shaking so hard I could barely feel anything. I was too late. Why wasn’t I paying better attention? Just as my mind spiralled into panic, her eyes popped open. She grinned up at me, giggling. ‘Gotcha!’
Relief and fury knotted in my gut, and before I knew it, I’d vomited right onto her. Her white togs turned orange as her laughter distorted into an indignant tantrum.
Darren hadn’t even noticed I’d left my post. Since she wasn’t hurt, it all blew over with nothing more than a stern lecture about ‘professionalism’ and how it’s ‘never acceptable to throw up on a child.’ I didn’t care. The little brat deserved it.
The next few days passed in a boring blur. I stayed clear of Tadashi and got used to his phrases. Most of them were pretty mundane and control-focused. An agitated “Don’t Be loud!” when kids would yell by the poolside, or a “Remember The Rules!” when one of us took an extra minute on our break time. But every so often, he’d say something off—something that made my skin crawl. That’s what I found myself discussing with Mele on Thursday.
“Have you ever noticed…” I began, choosing my words carefully, “How everything Tadashi says sounds rehearsed?”
She scoffed “Rehearsed my ass. The guy is what? 15? He’s two years your junior and can’t even respond to a simple yes or no question. His English is terrible.”
“No, I mean, like… he only speaks in fixed phrases. He’s either repeating them in that stiff, tone or he’s silent. He doesn’t respond, not really. It’s like he’s got a script, and he just parrots it, throwing out lines here and there.”
Mele thought about it, drying a plate slowly. “Huh. Now that you mention it, sure, I see it.”
That was my chance to share my theory. “It’s almost like he learned English from watching movies or something. A set of catchphrases he picked up from somewhere, you know?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t surprise me. If he’s learning from movies, though, they’ve got to be horrors. Some of the shit he says sounds like it’s ripped straight out of Ringu.” She had a pretty good point.
“You know, Darren has one of those old TVs in his office,” she continued, her eyes glinting. “Care to figure out if he’s a horror buff?”
I didn’t love the idea, but you know what they say about curiosity killing the cat. The next day, we both got to work early. Tadashi was there particularly early as he often is on Friday and we managed to coax him into the office.
“Let’s see what we’ve got here,” Mele murmured, flicking through Darren’s meagre DVD stash. “10 Things I Hate About You… unlabelled… 500 Days of Summer… more unlabelled… Mysterious Skin… even more unlabelled ones… Fuck me, are these all Joseph Gordon-Levitt movies?” she wheezed, shaking her head. “Didn’t peg Darren as a rom-com kinda guy.”
“I guess the experiment is over, then. No horror here,” she shrugged. Tadashi blinked at me and against my better judgement, I suggested we pick a random movie to watch before opening time. Mele rolled her eyes—but to her merits, she picked up a DVD, popped it in, and made us each a mug of Milo. “Watch this” she commanded. Tadashi glued his eyes on the screen.
For a while, we sat in a cosy silence. The morning light crept through the frosted window and formed a halo around Tadashi’s greasy bowl cut. He slurped his Milo with gusto and (unsuccessfully) tried to mimic the song from a Tui in the distance, sending Mele into a fit of laughter. For once, I didn’t feel that inescapable sense of dread in his presence.
The haze lifted as the main fluorescent lights flickered on.
“Is that the time?” Mele gasped, glancing at her phone. “Darren’s going to be pissed when he finds out we snuck into his office”
Not one for breaking rules, Tadashi let out a wail, dropping his mug. Dark brown Milo spread across the carpet like a stain of guilt. “What’s wrong with you?” Mele hissed. “How are we supposed to sneak out now?”
She leaned closer to me, muttering through clenched teeth, “Fuck it, let’s get out of here and blame it on him.” But before she could bolt, Tadashi shuffled over to the door and began to groan—a low, hollow sound.
“Now is NOT the time” Mele snapped as the sound of Darren’s distant whistling echoed through the changing rooms. He was nearing the end of his rounds, the office would be his final stop.
I glanced down and noticed a slow yellow stain was spreading across Tadashi’s white sailor pants. Mele’s face contorted in disgust “Ew move you freak!” She raised her arm, ready to shove him aside.
But Tadashi’s hand shot out, fast, catching her wrist mid-air. There was that same dread in his eyes that I saw the day he tackled me by the pool.
“Lick it up bitch.”
Mele’s eyes darted to me, her face pale, “Did he just… really just say that?” Her voice wobbled, changing from surprised to irate in a second.
“Fuck no. You better not have said what I think you-” her rant was cut short as he pulled her towards the reeking puddle of spilled Milo and urine. Before she could even scream, he forced her down into the dark, cloying mess. “Lick it up bitch.”
Just then, Darren burst in, his whistle falling silent as he took in the scene—a tableau of horror. Mele thrashing, Tadashi’s blank stare, and myself paralysed in shock. Darren shoved Tadashi off who collapsed to his knees, rocking and groaning. Mele scrambled up, retching between sobs, and I just stood there blinking. I was too late.
That was the end of Mele. She gave Darren an ultimatum. Her or Tadashi. Much to her surprise, Darren chose Tadashi. Something about his wages being subsidised and the risk of backlash for discriminating against a special needs employee. Furious, Mele stormed out, leaving with a string of choice words and a promise to file her own discrimination suit for harassment and an unsafe work environment.
The week after Mele left things started to go downhill. Parents complained about the creepy pool man making their kids uncomfortable, belongings were going missing and soon we started to lose business. The worst part is even after a firm talking-to from Darren, and a lecture about being ‘appropriate in the workplace’ Tadashi would not give his compulsive creepy phrases a rest.
That Thursday, a kid came up to me, barefoot and teary-eyed talking about how he couldn’t find his jandals. I suspected Tadashi had swiped them, but before I could say a word of consolation, Tadashi looked up from the pool filter. “Shut up kid. No one’s going to help you.”
A week later, a woman demanded a refund because the pool boy had eaten half her chips. I kept an eye on Tadashi for the rest of the day and saw him skittering in and out of the café, crouched low, grabbing food from unsuspecting customers. He was strange, unnatural, moving like some half-wild animal. Anytime someone dared to protest, he’d lock eyes with them and hiss, “Bad things will happen if you say no.”
But the final straw came when I was fending off a few stubborn magpies that had taken to swooping down near my chair. “Get out of here!” I shouted, blowing my whistle to scatter them. The birds shifted slightly but stayed just out of reach “Go on get!” Frustrated, I crouched, preparing to stand up and swat at them, when I felt an odd weight on my chair.
I looked down there was Tadashi, crawling up towards me, his face a mask of vacant horror. His mouth was stretched open, wide and gaping, and his eyes—those dark, endless eyes—bulged as he dragged himself closer. “Geeeeeee owwwwww,” he groaned, the sound stretching out in a grotesque mimicry. He didn’t blink, just inched up towards me, his limbs contorted.
“Geeee owwwwttt,” he repeated, louder, his voice raw and hollow. He was close enough now that I could see a thin stream of drool slipping from his mouth. I was trapped, unable to look away. “Get… out!” he yelled, the words forced out in a strangled gasp, his lips twisted in a desperate imitation of my own command. A single tear slid down from his wide, unblinking eye, splashing cold onto my foot.
For a split second, I felt a strange, twisted pride—he’d listened to me, learned my words. But as I looked into those eyes, that pride turned to horror. My body went rigid, and then… nothing, just a rush of air as I toppled backward.
When I came to, it was dark. Another missed sunset. A nurse with a heart-shaped face rushed over, “Hey, hey now… You’re okay! Just a little fall, yeah?” She smiled, rattling off how lucky I was—only bruises and a sprained ankle. As she continued her speech about rest and recovery, I scanned the room: none of my stuff was there. Darren, the lazy bastard, had called an ambulance but didn’t grab my gear. My bike was in the pool lot, and my phone and keys were still in my backpack, locked in the changing rooms. I groaned. The nurse said her shift was ending in ten and she could drop me off.
Half an hour later I stood at the pool entrance, her taillights fading down the empty road. I’d never seen the pool this late.
I grabbed the spare key from under an old statue by the entrance, a chipped, grinning fish from the 50s. its wide mouth mocked me in the half-light. I rattled the door open and snuck past reception toward the changing rooms.
“mmmph”
I froze. I didn’t deserve this, or maybe I did, fuck if I know but I couldn’t bear the thought of being haunted. I chalked any suspicious sounds down to the wind, forcing myself forward, but the sound came again, muffled but slightly louder. This time it was accompanied by a wet thud echoing through the darkness. Bile slid up my throat and settled behind my teeth. One of the lights had been left on. Fuck. One of the lights had been left on. Oh Fuck. That’s a normal mistake, right?
I tried to steady my breath. You hit your head, I reminded myself, swallowing hard. There’s nothing here. And then I peeked around the corner into the changing rooms. No excuses, no fake rationalisation could make me forget what I heard. It was barely a whisper, but it was there.
“Bad things will happen if you say no”
For once, the dreaded catchphrase didn’t come out of Tadashi’s mouth. It came from Darren.
Darren didn’t see me. He didn’t stop. And Tadashi—with that same expression of pure dread—just nodded.
I now know where Tadashi learnt his catchphrases from.
I rushed out into the night, as the bile turned to vomit and the vomit turned to guilt. I swallowed it all, and choked it down. Once again, I was too late.