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Cliché
Here's a little short story that I wrote for the Manitoulin Island Writer's Circle last month. The theme was supposed to be Halloween or a just a scary story in general. My impromptu title was "Cliché" in honor of the first sentence.
Cliché
It was a dark and stormy night. The captain of the small cargo vessel stared out into the darkness and carefully pondered his next move; only calm and rational decisions over the next few minutes would make the difference between life and death for his motley crew.
Night had fallen over the ocean like a thick satin cloak; swallowing the stars and moon, but not before an eerie calm had fallen over the waves. The ships compliment of small oils lamps were completely inefficient at revealing the thin wisps of fog that started to seemingly boil from the still waters as the air temperature suddenly shifted… a storm was brewing.
It was not long before the fog evaporated in the face of steadily rising winds. Weary heads snapped to attention as Captain Malcom’s voice rang out, “Secure tha’ load bys!, battan down da’ hatches, we’re head’n fir a blow, ayye!”.
As a well-seasoned veteran of the northern sea route, Malcom did not even consult his navigational equipment to check wind direction; the slight hint of lavender combined with the salty sea breeze was a tattletale sign that the storm was going to blow in overland, from the west.
Now, a scant half hour later, in what seemed like a different world, the November sea had churned to a rapid boil, waves slammed over the rails, engulfing the ship like a rabid dog, unholy foam whipping from its mouth, its inhuman growl the hurricane west wind.
Words, shouts, voices were torn and crushed before they were even uttered, Malcom was secured at the wheel by strong hemp ropes, his crew, equally bound to their stations. Moments before darkness engulfed his vision as the final oil lamp sputtered out, extinguished by a combination of wind, rain and waves, Malcom was forced to look on in horror as Roger Wittman, as fine a first mate as 30 years on the sea could forge, was lashed and thrown into the sea by a particularly unusual wave. In the near pitch black, more like the tentacle of some leviathan of the deep, the wave struck the mate squarely in the chest, snapping not only his safety line, but surely many ribs as well, before tossing him asunder as if nothing more than an empty rum barrel, sacrificed to the silence of Davey Jones’ locker.
Pitching, rolling, dropping, spinning, in near perfect darkness, strobes of lightning the only occasional illumination, Malcom’s sturdy legs and arms held him fast, as he was forced to ride out the roughest seas he could recall. Everybody from this region knew the stories, Keera’d’ween, the “Witch of November”, Mistress of the North Sea, during the summer months she gladly shared her waters, watching over all vessels who made the passage. Her toll was elegantly simple, the six good months were gladly shared, but the six winter months, the dark months, were hers and hers alone. Any who dared trespass, from cargo hauler to fishing sloop, dared to bring down the Witch’s wrath.
Malcom silently cursed himself, for it was not for greed that he had accepted one last load before settling into the life of a Townie with his wife and family, it was his heart. The medicine he was carrying, which he imagined to now be hopelessly mangled in his ship’s hold was vitally needed by the plague struck trading port across the sea.
“Why witch, why!?” he found himself repeating as if the cursing mantra could somehow beg the mercy of a non-existent personification of the fury that now threatened to engulf the life and limb of himself, his crew and his precious Anna Mae, the ship for whom his youngest daughter was christened.
Abruptly and with a sudden shift, something about the sea changed, Malcom, his captain’s mind, tempered decades at sea, raced and struggled to quantify and classify the perception. A sudden flash of lightning, followed by the long bellow of rolling thunder grabbed Malcolm’s attention like a slap to the face from a frozen cod as in the lightning’s purple-blue flash he glimpsed the outline of a massive iceberg directly off the port bow. Malcom barely had time to wonder how such a thing could have drifted this far south so early in the season before a massive wave pulled the ship starboard and somehow away from certain doom.
And then, surely the most unusual event to ever occur on any sea began to unfold. The wind, the waves, the rain all came to a dead stop; the ship lurched, wobbled and then came to a near standstill in the calm. Soon the darkness began to recede into a warm glow as Malcom’s authority rang out to order the crew to re-light the oil lamps.
Not that there was anything to see besides a mist thicker than Cook’s pea and cream porridge and then, as if all Hell’s demons wear singing some fearful chorus, an unearthly noise began to rise out of the fog, instantly raising every single crewman’s neck and arm hairs.
“Skaweeeeeeeeee! Skaweeeeeeeeee!” Malcolm’s fingers struggled with the soaked knots on his personal safety line, “SKAAAWEEEEEE!”, Malcom rushed on deck, expecting to come face to face with the Sea Which herself, but instead his eyes fixed on the massive form which rose directly in front of the ship. It must have been 30, nay 40 feet tall, the massive silhouette, taller than the largest frigates and galleons, which now was now drifting inexorably closer with at an excruciating pace.
Malcom and the crew stared helplessly at the beast as its entire horror was revealed, smooth yellow skin, horrid eyes, frozen open, staring blankly ahead, a huge, orange beak, somehow appearing to smile as its invisible voice cawed “SKAAAAWWEEEEE!”.
“Dylon, aren’t you done with your bath yet? Your sister needs to get ready for her date, don’t forget to put all your toys away after you get out of the tub!”
Malcom and his crew were spared this night, but their time would come soon enough…
The End?
Posted by Dylon on November 5, 2006 12:23 PM |
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Comments
"...like a slap to the face from a frozen cod."
I love it! Great ending! MORE PLEASE!
April 2008