The Blue Men Of The Minch

Lachlan had barely turned four years old when he discovered there was much more to the sea visible from his bedroom window than he initially believed. Growing up on Scotland's Northern coast required a vivid imagination to compete with the inevitability of boredom, and his own father - an esteemed fisherman - helped him keep his curiosity alive.

The bedtime tales his father told him were filled with terryfing myth and magic, so much so that when Lachlan first went out to sea with him it was with more a sense of foreboding than excitement. He was an intelligent child, and he knew - or thought he knew - deep down that stories of blue men in the water were nothing but old folklore, though he still felt a childish instinct to entertain the notion nonetheless. It was a similar situation whenever one of his teeth fell out; young though he was, he wasn't completely naive as to think anyone other than his parents was putting money under his pillow at night, but what was the point in being a child if he couldn't pretend it was the doing of some kind-hearted fairy?

There wasn't much to do in Ullapool in those days, and so Lachlan often jumped with excitement whenever his father told him of the blue men of the Minch. He explained how they'd float along the surface of the water, before rising above and challenging whoever dared tried to pass through the sea.

"They like their poetry, so they do," he told him. "So you'll need to read lots of books so you grow up smart and witty, just in case you ever meet them."

"Have you ever met them?" Lachlan asked, open-mouthed with eyes wide and full of wonder.

"I have indeed, son," his father said matter-of-factly, "but I'm always well prepared, me. Your grandpa learned the hard way though. Lost two of his friends to the blue men back in the day, so he did."

Whenever his father told him this, his mother would always intervene, scolding his father for telling him things he was "too young to understand." This was Lachan's first inkling that there was some painful truth in the stories. His parents would then grow quiet before changing the subject, and his mother especially seemed content that Lachlan wouldn't think anything more of it. But he knew something was amiss; kids always know when something's wrong, and turning on the TV or distracting them with sweets never quite works to the extent parents think it does.

Lachlan grew up to be a fine fisherman, ultimately taking over the family business when his father retired. It wasn't until he made his first trip over to Stornoway as business owner that he encountered the blue men. In truth, after a life of sailing the choppy waters he had put his father's stories to the back of his mind, dismissing them as fable, but there was no mistaking them on that day.

The sky was a stubborn grey, overcast with billowing clouds, and the water chopped and sprayed in a relentless rage as it tossed the boat from side to side. Lachlan kept yanking his hood over his head but after a while he submitted to the constant wind that blew it down again, giving into the resilience of the rain spraying and beating at his face. A tempestuous wind drowned out any semblance of human noise, but what Lachlan heard was not human.

It was as though the Minch faltered itself, calming briefly to create enough serenity for what the blue men had to say. They rose from the water, visible from the waste up. There had to be at least a hundred of them surrounding Lachlan's boat, and as he strained with his eyes he saw their blue faces, stern with crinkled brows and baring their teeth. All of them were covered in some ancient tribal design, painted in grey and black on their faces, torsos and arms.

Then the blue man nearest the boat spoke, and Lachlan took a breath. His father had always told him that whatever blue man spoke first was likely to be the chief. His voice boomed:

"What witless wanderer dares pass through our waters?
Speak your name and purpose and do not falter!"

His father had drummed similar rhymes into his head for years, so Lachlan was ready and replied:

"I am Lachlan Murray, fisherman and friend.
I seek to pass without conflict before the day ends."

The chief frowned, his mouth gaping a little, as though both surprised and piqued at Lachlan's quick response. Nevertheless, he and the others retreated below the waters once more, allowing Lachlan to pass freely.

He returned from Stornoway later that day, when the moon was climbing above the darkening clouds and the Minch grew more hostile. However, he was not disturbed by the blue men on his way back; apparently his earlier quick response had warranted a return ticket free of hassle.

When he'd docked his boat in the harbour, he went to visit his father to tell him about his encounter with the blue men, much to his excitement.

"I taught you well then, lad," he said. "Otherwise you wouldn't be here to tell the tale."

"That I wouldn't," said Lachlan. There was something else on his mind though, something he'd pretended wasn't a possibility before. "What would've happened if I didn't respond so quickly?"

"They'd have destroyed the boat," his father replied flatly, "and you'd have been dragged deep under the water by now." Lachlan knew this to be true, given the stories he'd grown up hearing of his grandpa's own encounter with the blue men.

A few years later when Lachlan's father passed away, he and his mother went out to the Minch to scatter his ashes in the water as he'd requested. The blue men made an appearance, though they did not challenge the company to any rhymes or completions of any poetry. Instead they formated in a kind of silent salute of respect, calming the waters as was within their ability, allowing Lachlan and his mother to mourn in peace.

When Lachlan had reached a great age himself, much had changed in Ullapool. The rumours of the blue men of the Minch had spread throughout the world, to the point where their place in Scottish folklore trumped all but the Loch Ness Monster. But folklore was all it was to the thousands of people who sought to brave the waters of the Minch, enamored by the magical mystery of the story but not truly believing the presence of the blue men to be possible. Much like Lachlan thought as a young child.

Because of this, it came as a great concern to Lachlan when he learned that the council would be offering exhibitional tours of the boats shipwrecked long ago by the Minch, complete with actors painted blue and playing the part of the the deadly men. When Lachlan heard that part of the exhibition involved taking the tourists out to sea, he voiced his objections towards the council.

His concerns were dismissed of course as the missguided ramblings of a senile old man, and the tour went ahead. People travelled from all over the world including the USA, China and Australia, all intent on including the Blue Men of the Minch Tour as part of their adventure in Scotland.

Lachlan watched gravely from his window as the first boat set out to sea, its decks bustling with avid tourists, smiling with glad faces and careless in their tartan ponchos. He waited until nightfall, praying to the heavens that the blue men wouldn't make an appearance, or that if they did then the tourists would be smart enough to respond to their rhymes with speed and wit rather than take a million pictures with their phones.

Such prayers were answered in tumultuous rumbles from the sky, deafening in its roar and with lightning flashing behind the clouds. Sprays of mist, opaque and gloomy, shrouded the horizon. The boat did not return, and Lachlan despaired in his inability to have done more in persuading those in charge to cancel the tour. Subsequently, when it was evident that the tourists had perished, there were no further excursions out to the Minch, but such a decision couldn't bring the hundred or so who'd died back from dead, as Lachlan felt all too well.

Lachlan continued to sail far in to his golden years. He sought the blue men in anger, desperate to challenge and humiliate them with his quick ryhmes as he'd done on many occasions, but they scarcely bothered him again. When they did appear, they leering at him with toothy smiles and laughed cruelly at his shouts of rage and despair.

One day, when Lachlan's guilt had driven him to near reckless insanity, he encountered the blue men for the final time. He challenged them once again, demanding they repent for their murder of the tourists, but they simply continued laughing and taunting him with jeers and jibes. So Lachlan done what his father had warned him never to do; he jumped into the water. Weighed down by his drenched clothes, he lunged towards the cheif, arms outstretched and reaching with mad intent for his tattooed neck. But the cheif merely laughed at the spluttering old man, and soon Lachlan discovered he could swim no more.

They surrounded him on all sides, splashing through the surface of the water towards his boat. Raising their arms to the sky, they conjured a storm of booming thunder. Lightning followed, striking the boat and setting it alight. At last they circled Lachlan, before advancing upon him and dragging him deep, deep, deep below the murky depths of the Minch.