Post by K Man on Oct 31, 2005 15:40:31 GMT -5
{Haven't done this in a while, let's see how rusty I am. The recent cruise inspired me to write this.}
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“Beautiful night, no?”
I’m so startled by his voice that I nearly leap out of my skin. I settle for spilling most of my drink on the deck railing and stammering out a response instead. “Yes, very.”
I try to retain at least a little manhood and by spinning around casually to see who snuck up on me. He’s a tall man, at least a good six inches over my own six foot frame, and does a good job of making the uniform he wears look perfectly fitted to his lean body. The stripes on his shoulders and the hat are a dead giveaway on rank. “Good evening captain.”
“Bonjour…” That’s right, I remember reading something in the little book in my cabin that he was a Frenchman, born and raised in a small fishing village. “Would you like some company?”
I nod.
Admittedly, it was unusual to find the captain strolling the decks of this cruise ship a little after midnight, but probably no stranger than him finding me watching the dark seas beyond. He strides up to the railing and clasps his hands, leaning on his elbows for support. I turn back around and do the same thing, careful to mind the coffee I spilled moments ago.
The captain wasted no time in striking up a conversation. “It is late to be out. Can’t sleep?”
I nod again, casting a glance at the captain, trying to get his name from the badge. All I can make out is Ferman or Feymann…something like that; and some illegible writing under the name, probably his country of origin or length of duty. It strikes me as odd how most Europeans don’t need the formality of a name to begin talking to you like you’re an old friend. “Yeah, the seas are a little choppy.”
The captain lets a little laugh-like burst escape his lips—clearly my idea of ‘choppy seas’ and his are completely different. “No. The sea, she is calm. Perhaps you are choppy?”
The captain—poor retort aside—has made a good point. It’s my first time on a cruise ship and it does take some getting used to. The up and downs, occasional side to side; it was like being drunk…or so I’ve read. Until tonight, I had found it helpful to sit and watch the sea go by so I could time the rising and lowering of the ship. Of course, with it nearing midnight, the seas had become nothing but a black abyss beyond the pale lights of the deck. The only solace I found now was in the decaf coffee my chilled hands were so tightly clasped around.
“It’s hard, when you don’t know anything about the seas. I’ve spent my whole life on land.” I say coolly, taking a sip. “I don’t know enough to feel safe.”
“Bah! There is nothing to worry about. The sea will take care of us.” The captain keeps his gaze into the rolling blackness beyond, calm as ever. He turns to face me and for the first time, I get a good look at his face. It is a weathered visage, clearly having seen enough sun and sea spray for two lifetimes and he’s probably just passing forty in years. He is clean shaven and blessed with chiseled features, ice blue eyes highlighting an already handsome face. He looks genuine when he asks me; “What are you worried about?”
“Well…” I look around; trying to find one of the many things I didn’t know about. “What’s that for instance?”
“A life-raft. It inflates when it touches the water.”
I look at the barrel-like device, poised in some machine that looks clearly designed to heave it into the ocean…like a clay pigeon thrower. There were probably four dozen such barrels about the decks, in addition to the lifeboats hanging from pulleys overhead.
“Ah…ok. And that?”
The captain is polite enough to answer my next few questions about the ship in detail. He explains exactly how safe the ship is and how my fears are unfounded, besides—he explains—it’s just water out there. I could swim couldn’t I?
“Well, what about the stuff in the water?” I question, getting into learning as much as I can and frankly, enjoying the company.
“Like what?” The captain turns to face the blackness beyond.
I strain my eyes, trying to see anything beyond the soft glow of the ship’s lights on the waters. I finally spot a bit a misshapen material, like a ratted dress floating in the water.
“What is that?” I ask, pointing to the floating clump of spongy material. “Could it hurt me?”
“Seaweed…” the captain smiles, “I do not think it will hurt you. There is nothing out here you need to worry about.”
I nod, trying to test the captain’s knowledge some more. “What about that?”
“That is…” The captain stops here; clearly puzzled as his keen eyes pick apart the object. It doesn’t look all that different from the last clump of seaweed except that it’s a bright green color. In my ignorance, I mistook it for perhaps young seaweed…if there was such a thing.
When it bumped against the hull of the ship, I could feel my mouth open in horror.
As it strikes the metal plating, the clump rolls over and there, staring back at me and the captain, is the body of a younger woman dressed in a bright green evening gown. Her skin is pale and blue, her hair spread out like some fuzzy auburn halo and there is no question that she is dead as her tongue lolls lifelessly in the saltwater.
The ship continues to steam ahead and as such, the body floats past us quickly, but not before the captain springs into action. He runs across the deck, grabs a long pole with a curved hook and sprints further down the deck. He jabs the pole into the water and latches the young woman around the chest. I race as fast as I can, dropping my coffee as I grab the exposed end of the pole and pull back with the captain. In seconds, the wet lifeless body slaps against the wooden planks and begins to ooze cold water everywhere. I try to hold back my vomit as the captain, truly trained in such emergencies, throws his body atop hers and places and ear to her mouth.
A second later he mutters, more of a confirmation than anything, “She is dead…”
I sit motionless against the deck, my mouth still not closed from when it initially dropped. Nearly ever fear I had about being on a boat had come to life in glaring, cold reality. Here was a woman, dead from drowning…at least I think it was drowning, and there was no alarm, no screams, just the cold black water spitting out a corpse. The captain reached for her neck and pulled a small neckband free, the same one they give you when you board the cruise that holds your identification and all the credit cards you may need aboard. He read the card issued to her and now his mouth ran agape.
“She is…was on this cruise.”
On this cruise? My mind begins to race even faster. How was it that we did not hear her or that she died so quickly? As I sit, stupefied in my own panic-inquisition, the captain stands and rushes to a nearby phone, ready to call the bridge and have them stop the boat. However, my next words stop him from even lifting the receiver.
“Captain!” I call out meagerly. “There are more people!”
I try to stand to my feet, but must pull on the railing to find the strength to stand, and even then, lean on it to remain upright. There, in the blackened waters gently thudding against the hull as we steam along, are hundreds…no thousands of bodies floating lifelessly in the water—each one a different person, a different soul, lifeless in the darkness. Men, women and children, each dressed in their best formal wear for the party that was held tonight. There are no screams, no flailing or motioning for help, just thousands of pale, bloated marionettes bumping against each other in some macabre water-dance.
The captain is speechless. Surely he was trained to handle one emergency or perhaps two, but the whole ship roster lifeless in the water? I could not blame him for apathy now. He begins to back up from the railing. I follow, if only to not be alone looking at the thousands of helpless souls in the water.
As to be expected, when we enter the ship, there is no one.
We gain our wits about us and scour the ship. We run through hallways, calling out for anyone at the top of our lungs and never receiving an answer. We dart through the many lounges and auditoriums, finding empty seats and half-finished drinks. We charge through the dining halls and find nothing but half-eaten plates and bowls of soup still steaming. The last place we check is the crew area and again, we find nothing…that is, until we open the door to the captain’s cabin.
For some reason, I am not shocked to see a man sitting at the captain’s personal dining table. It stands to reason, from the many horror movies I’ve seen and scary stories I’ve read, that there is always some explanation for an event like this—some person at the heart of it that explains it all. Something like this could not have happened for no particular reason, so I’m actually slightly relieved to find someone else on the ship that may know more than me.
“What in the hell?” The captain seems less than relieved to find this person.
With a cold voice that I could never hope to mimic, the man behind the table responded. “I think you should rephrase that to be ‘who’s not in hell’ to which I would answer—me.”
And just like that, the explanation falls into our laps.
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In Disguise
[/size][/center]“Beautiful night, no?”
I’m so startled by his voice that I nearly leap out of my skin. I settle for spilling most of my drink on the deck railing and stammering out a response instead. “Yes, very.”
I try to retain at least a little manhood and by spinning around casually to see who snuck up on me. He’s a tall man, at least a good six inches over my own six foot frame, and does a good job of making the uniform he wears look perfectly fitted to his lean body. The stripes on his shoulders and the hat are a dead giveaway on rank. “Good evening captain.”
“Bonjour…” That’s right, I remember reading something in the little book in my cabin that he was a Frenchman, born and raised in a small fishing village. “Would you like some company?”
I nod.
Admittedly, it was unusual to find the captain strolling the decks of this cruise ship a little after midnight, but probably no stranger than him finding me watching the dark seas beyond. He strides up to the railing and clasps his hands, leaning on his elbows for support. I turn back around and do the same thing, careful to mind the coffee I spilled moments ago.
The captain wasted no time in striking up a conversation. “It is late to be out. Can’t sleep?”
I nod again, casting a glance at the captain, trying to get his name from the badge. All I can make out is Ferman or Feymann…something like that; and some illegible writing under the name, probably his country of origin or length of duty. It strikes me as odd how most Europeans don’t need the formality of a name to begin talking to you like you’re an old friend. “Yeah, the seas are a little choppy.”
The captain lets a little laugh-like burst escape his lips—clearly my idea of ‘choppy seas’ and his are completely different. “No. The sea, she is calm. Perhaps you are choppy?”
The captain—poor retort aside—has made a good point. It’s my first time on a cruise ship and it does take some getting used to. The up and downs, occasional side to side; it was like being drunk…or so I’ve read. Until tonight, I had found it helpful to sit and watch the sea go by so I could time the rising and lowering of the ship. Of course, with it nearing midnight, the seas had become nothing but a black abyss beyond the pale lights of the deck. The only solace I found now was in the decaf coffee my chilled hands were so tightly clasped around.
“It’s hard, when you don’t know anything about the seas. I’ve spent my whole life on land.” I say coolly, taking a sip. “I don’t know enough to feel safe.”
“Bah! There is nothing to worry about. The sea will take care of us.” The captain keeps his gaze into the rolling blackness beyond, calm as ever. He turns to face me and for the first time, I get a good look at his face. It is a weathered visage, clearly having seen enough sun and sea spray for two lifetimes and he’s probably just passing forty in years. He is clean shaven and blessed with chiseled features, ice blue eyes highlighting an already handsome face. He looks genuine when he asks me; “What are you worried about?”
“Well…” I look around; trying to find one of the many things I didn’t know about. “What’s that for instance?”
“A life-raft. It inflates when it touches the water.”
I look at the barrel-like device, poised in some machine that looks clearly designed to heave it into the ocean…like a clay pigeon thrower. There were probably four dozen such barrels about the decks, in addition to the lifeboats hanging from pulleys overhead.
“Ah…ok. And that?”
The captain is polite enough to answer my next few questions about the ship in detail. He explains exactly how safe the ship is and how my fears are unfounded, besides—he explains—it’s just water out there. I could swim couldn’t I?
“Well, what about the stuff in the water?” I question, getting into learning as much as I can and frankly, enjoying the company.
“Like what?” The captain turns to face the blackness beyond.
I strain my eyes, trying to see anything beyond the soft glow of the ship’s lights on the waters. I finally spot a bit a misshapen material, like a ratted dress floating in the water.
“What is that?” I ask, pointing to the floating clump of spongy material. “Could it hurt me?”
“Seaweed…” the captain smiles, “I do not think it will hurt you. There is nothing out here you need to worry about.”
I nod, trying to test the captain’s knowledge some more. “What about that?”
“That is…” The captain stops here; clearly puzzled as his keen eyes pick apart the object. It doesn’t look all that different from the last clump of seaweed except that it’s a bright green color. In my ignorance, I mistook it for perhaps young seaweed…if there was such a thing.
When it bumped against the hull of the ship, I could feel my mouth open in horror.
As it strikes the metal plating, the clump rolls over and there, staring back at me and the captain, is the body of a younger woman dressed in a bright green evening gown. Her skin is pale and blue, her hair spread out like some fuzzy auburn halo and there is no question that she is dead as her tongue lolls lifelessly in the saltwater.
The ship continues to steam ahead and as such, the body floats past us quickly, but not before the captain springs into action. He runs across the deck, grabs a long pole with a curved hook and sprints further down the deck. He jabs the pole into the water and latches the young woman around the chest. I race as fast as I can, dropping my coffee as I grab the exposed end of the pole and pull back with the captain. In seconds, the wet lifeless body slaps against the wooden planks and begins to ooze cold water everywhere. I try to hold back my vomit as the captain, truly trained in such emergencies, throws his body atop hers and places and ear to her mouth.
A second later he mutters, more of a confirmation than anything, “She is dead…”
I sit motionless against the deck, my mouth still not closed from when it initially dropped. Nearly ever fear I had about being on a boat had come to life in glaring, cold reality. Here was a woman, dead from drowning…at least I think it was drowning, and there was no alarm, no screams, just the cold black water spitting out a corpse. The captain reached for her neck and pulled a small neckband free, the same one they give you when you board the cruise that holds your identification and all the credit cards you may need aboard. He read the card issued to her and now his mouth ran agape.
“She is…was on this cruise.”
On this cruise? My mind begins to race even faster. How was it that we did not hear her or that she died so quickly? As I sit, stupefied in my own panic-inquisition, the captain stands and rushes to a nearby phone, ready to call the bridge and have them stop the boat. However, my next words stop him from even lifting the receiver.
“Captain!” I call out meagerly. “There are more people!”
I try to stand to my feet, but must pull on the railing to find the strength to stand, and even then, lean on it to remain upright. There, in the blackened waters gently thudding against the hull as we steam along, are hundreds…no thousands of bodies floating lifelessly in the water—each one a different person, a different soul, lifeless in the darkness. Men, women and children, each dressed in their best formal wear for the party that was held tonight. There are no screams, no flailing or motioning for help, just thousands of pale, bloated marionettes bumping against each other in some macabre water-dance.
The captain is speechless. Surely he was trained to handle one emergency or perhaps two, but the whole ship roster lifeless in the water? I could not blame him for apathy now. He begins to back up from the railing. I follow, if only to not be alone looking at the thousands of helpless souls in the water.
As to be expected, when we enter the ship, there is no one.
We gain our wits about us and scour the ship. We run through hallways, calling out for anyone at the top of our lungs and never receiving an answer. We dart through the many lounges and auditoriums, finding empty seats and half-finished drinks. We charge through the dining halls and find nothing but half-eaten plates and bowls of soup still steaming. The last place we check is the crew area and again, we find nothing…that is, until we open the door to the captain’s cabin.
For some reason, I am not shocked to see a man sitting at the captain’s personal dining table. It stands to reason, from the many horror movies I’ve seen and scary stories I’ve read, that there is always some explanation for an event like this—some person at the heart of it that explains it all. Something like this could not have happened for no particular reason, so I’m actually slightly relieved to find someone else on the ship that may know more than me.
“What in the hell?” The captain seems less than relieved to find this person.
With a cold voice that I could never hope to mimic, the man behind the table responded. “I think you should rephrase that to be ‘who’s not in hell’ to which I would answer—me.”
And just like that, the explanation falls into our laps.
Although I suspected something from the moment you the priest dude couldn't quite make out what the captain's name badge said... 
