" 'm really, really sorry," said the rep, screwing up her face in contrition. "But we were really lucky to get Los Christianos - most places are completely chocker in high season.

Janice was furious.

"How can you have only just discovered that the hotel had burnt down?" she squeeled.

"I know!" replied the rep, raising her eyes to the heavens and giving a short snort. "Unbelievable isn't it? It's a new resort for us and they only told us this morning when we rang to confirm drop-off arrangements."

Janice gave up. She was determined to enjoy her first holiday without a boyfriend in tow, and providing they had sun, a pool and a constant supply of Pina Coladas she would be in heaven.

Two other couples boarded the transfer bus to Los Cristianos; a honeymoon couple joined at the hip, and showing every inclination of remaining that way, and a middle aged couple, looking sweaty and angry and determinedly ignoring one another. When they arrived at the hotel Janice found herself virtually alone. Which was just fine.

To her immense disappointment the pool was closed for maintenance for the week - an annual occurance designed to coincide with Janice's only holiday and made all the more frustrating because the beach was a long hot walk away.

The hotel was woefully quiet. In the cocktail bar Janice sat bolt upright in the hard wooden chair and tried to attract the waiters attention, which was firmly gripped by a football match on the satellite TV in the corner.

"May I join you?"

Janice looked up to see the middle-aged man that had accompanied her on the transfer.

"Of course. Great," she said, unable to muster much enthusiasm. "Is your wife not joining you tonight, Mr ...?"

"Dillon. No she's had a hard day and she's gone to bed with a headache."

"It's a shame to start a holiday like that," said Janice sympathetically.

"Well, it's not really a holiday, more of a pilgrimage. Our son died here ten years ago. We come back to remember him, I suppose."

The conversation died. Mr Dillon wasn't forthcoming with details of the tragedy and Janice felt too uncomfortable to probe. This was her holiday for chrissakes. She didn't want to be tangled up with this guy's mourning. She made a polite excuse and left.

As she strolled blearily back to her room her attention was caught by a dark shape moving around the pool. Drawing closer she heard a conspiratorial whisper and a peal of giggles. Through the gloom she could just make out the honeymooners clasped together in the dark water.

"Evening," she smirked.

"Evening," replied the pair before dissolving into renewed mirth.

"Skinny dipping," she muttered, "lucky beggars."

Later that night she was awoken by a crashing and splashing coming from the direction of the pool. It sounded like the honey-mooners were really going for it and the girl gave shrill squeals of delight as they churned up the water.

"Blimey," she thought, "good girl." and smiling drowsily she drifted back to sleep.

The next day Janice made the long hot trek to the beach. She got lost twice and twisted an ankle in a pothole, and when she eventually arrived at the thin grey strip of sand, it was crowded and dirty. After a morning of being tripped over and jostled by kids and yobs she gave up, and wended her weiry way back to the hotel, where she spent the afternoon sunbathing on the balcony outside her room. Occasionally she peered over the edge to see if anyone had started work on the pool maintenance, but it remained filled and blue and inviting and there was no sign of a any hispanic pool cleaners.

On the second day she decided to abandon the claustrophobic confines of her sun terrace and make an illicit raid to the pool. So, armed with her towel, her radio and three bottles of pre-mixed Pina Coladas she lifted the red and white barrier tape that stretched around the pool and stepped onto the hot limestone flags. She was surprised to find Mr Dillon, sitting in a deckchair under a sunshade, a book collapsed in his lap and snoring copiously.

It was hot. Really hot, like hell had opened up and mankind was sizzling on a country-sized barbeque. And Janice was right there on the hot coals, basted in coconut oil and turning deliciously brown. She lay stretched on her thick beach towel with the top of her one-piece swimsuit rolled down to her waist, her skin tingling as the heat seeped through her skin right to her soul.

She fell asleep.

"Hey, why don't you come in?"

The voice startled her. It was deep and rich and oozed into her brain as she dozed, coating her mind in honey. She jerked awake suddenly and sat up, pulling her knees protectively up to her naked breasts.

There was someone in the pool. He was bobbing at the near-side of the pool, just below the lip so that only the mop of black hair was visible, and occasionally a pair of jet black watery eyes

"When did you get here?" she asked, feeling her stomach knot up, " I didn't hear you."

"Oh, I've been here a long time," said the man.

"Well you shouldn't creep up on a girl like that. It's not polite."

"Why don't you come in the pool, with me," said the swimmer.

"No, I'm trying to get a tan. Thanks for the offer," replied Janice, feeling dozey again and wanting to get back to her sunbathing.

"But it's so hot. Can't you feel the sun burning you ? It's like your skin is on fire and you're being roasted alive. You're sweating and greasy, slow and heavy and dripping like a melting candle."

Janice chuckled nervously but as the swimmer spoke she could feel her skin begin to tingle and then burn as the previously pleasant heat became oppressive and uncomfortable. She suddenly felt like she'd been sat too close to a roaring fire and the sweat began to burst from her pores.

"There's not a breath of wind, is there ? Don't you just wish for a breeze to cool your skin ? That would be fine."

She was suddenly lost in the dark brooding voice and it enveloped her like a cloak.

"Why don't you come in the pool, Janice? It's cool and blue and deep. Dive in. Come on Janice, just jump in and feel the icy water on your body. Feel your skin pucker up in goose-bumps and your heart race. It's so cold Janice. Dive in."

Before she knew it she was standing at the edge of the pool gazing at the deep blue water and yearning to dive head first into it's depths and feel it surround her to banish the oppressive heat.

"Dive in Janice. Make a big splash"

Like a sleepwalker she raised her arms and stood stiffly as if diving from the high board, flexed her knees slightly and...

"NO!"

The cry startled Janice from her stupour and she looked round sleepily to see Mr Dillon running towards her. She looked back to the pool and screamed.

A creature had clamped fat, wet liver paws around her ankles. Beneath the untidy mop off hair the eyes peered out like black olives pushed into a swollen grey bread-dough face. In places the bloated flesh peeled away from bleached white bones in flapping chunks. His grinning and rotten head flopped over at a peculiar angle to his body, and she could make out the stub of broken vertabrae protruded through the skin of his collar. Behind him the pool had turned a to a hot sticky mud, with huge bubbles erupted to the surface. Then they rolled heavily like the hump of whales and Janice could see the rotting, swollen faces of a host of drowned corpses.

Roaring angrily, the creature clawed at Janice's ankles. She sat down and tried to grip the tiles to pull herself back but they were slippery from the water and she felt herself being dragged relentlessly towards the cadavre.

"David! Stop that now. Leave her alone."

Mr Dillon was suddenly by her side, gripping her shoulders, and the corpse stopped and stared angrily at him with it's black eyes.

"Go back to sleep David, I'll take care of her."

The corpse snarled and, taking a last look at Janice, released its grip and sank beneath the surface of the water. Behind it, the floating bodies disappeared into the depths one by one and slowly the water of the pool turned a cold clear aquamarine.

Janice began to cry and Mr Dillon hugged her to him.

"I'm so sorry," he said, "so very sorry."

"What the hell was that?" sobbed Janice, pulling herself from his grasp.

"David is our son. He was a one for the ladies you see and he couldn't help showing off. One day he dived into the pool but didn't realise it was so shallow. He struck the bottom and it broke his neck, clean in two and he drowned right there on the bottom. He couldn't move and we all thought he was messing about. Every year he reappears, so we have to come back too, to protect them. The hotel owner is very understanding. I'm sorry I dozed off."

Janice was on her feet now.

"Can't you do anything about him ? Get a priest or something to blast him back to hell where he belongs?" she shouted angrily.

Mr Dillon drew close to her again and placed his finger to his lips.

"No," he said, "please don't tell anyone, please. It's all we have of him. He is my son and I still love him."

Janice turned and ran, ignoring the cries of the corpses father. She burst into her room and grabbed her passport and money and caught a taxi to the airport. She paid full price for an air ticket home and locked herself in a toilet cubicle until the flight was called.

On the plane, as she tried to comfort herself with the in-flight magazine she couldn't help recalling an image that had burned in her mind.

Behind the corpse, floating entwined in a gruesome embrace, she had seen the honeymoon couple, their necks twisted and their heads lolling on their shoulders.