You know how I was found: mad with thirst and sun-crazed. You think that they fuel my madness now, where there is water running down the walls and the sun can barely squeeze past the bars? You ask me why I still scream in my sleep, and you think I will answer? You have judged me and sentenced me: let me hang! Let me die with my memories and motives you can never understand. You think I sinned, but I served a higher purpose. One you cannot divine… not unless you saw them crawling over each other… not unless –

Tomorrow, I will hang. You were right in your assumptions that I would crave some sense of understanding from my fellow man – never absolution, you understand, as that would mean I have committed a crime. And I have not. Adjust your chair and your vestments, Father… there, now I will tell you what I know, what I saw, and what wisdom I have gained.

oOo

I had opted for the steamship out of necessity, having business in Batavia – the Dutch Colonial Government was eager to try a new strain of coffee to replace the rust-ravaged Coffea arabica. The only vessel available was the Steamship Serend. After paying an almost extortionate affreightment, I was able to secure passage from Karachi to Padang, Sumatra. The relief was short-lived, existing between the frantic haggling in the office and the deafening cacophony of gulls, touts, stevedores, dock officials, animals and lascars crowding the narrow walkways between the looming ships.

A dark-skinned and wiry stevedore pointed out Serend to me as I ricocheted down the bustling and raucous dock. After passing cogs and dromonds and through the intricate webs of ropes from mainmasts and mizzenmasts, beyond topgallants and moonrakers, I saw the steamship and her belching funnels. She had been decked out as a tourist liner, ferrying passengers between India and the Dutch East Indies, but even to my eye, I could see the rusted lines of the bulky workboat she was. Her form reminded me of painted smiles on the clowns I’d watched as a child: a smile to hide their fatigue and sorrow.

After paying primage, my over-sized luggage was transferred to a lazaret, and the remaining suitcase was placed in my waiting cabin. The voyage was to take twelve days and no additional offers of remuneration could convince the Captain to hasten his pace, so I resigned myself to using the time to refine my propositions for the Dutch.

Despite my initial disappointment, I was relieved to be away from the commotion and humidity of Karachi, which at times, even after months of acclimatisation, snatched my breath and energy. The voyage to Sumatra was also welcome in that it would end my tour in that part of the world. Once my duties were completed in Batavia, I would be returning to England to welcome in the new century. Although not suffering homesickness, I was missing the quiet and steady pace of life in a small village.

Content to stay in quiet reflection upon my work and future, I had stayed in my cabin, but on the third evening, the bulkheads were too familiar, the books too well-thumbed and all the cracks upon the deckhead accounted for. The humidity and heat seemed to condense intro some physical presence, crushing out air and comfort and overwhelming the fan humming and spinning futilely above me. I craved some distraction from my small room and the crushing heat so ventured out to eat in the dining area.

Dinner had smoothly blended into cocktails – only the removal of shawls and jackets defined one from the other – and instead of returning to my bed, I settled in a booth in what served as the dining room and observed my decadent and blissful travelling companions. The younger women – those brash young ladies, defying convention and travelling un-chaperoned – were sipping their champagne, enticing the young men with idle talk; the widows – the matrons and mother hens – were clucking in their booths, sharing their observations and views. Once the tables were clear and the diners had gathered into their cliques, I slipped away onto the deck to enjoy a cheroot. The steady, chugging heartbeat of the ship’s coal-hungry engines cocooned me in a soothing blanket of sound.

I suppose it was not long after eleven o’clock when one of the crew, a thin, bright-eyed boy with dark skin, alerted the others to someone in the water. His cry did not disturb the evening revellers, but there was such a scuffle within the crew. I remember my father saying the sea was the only thing the Almighty had created with the power to unite men. I never understood him until that evening. The cry ‘man overboard’ was a universal call that no one dared ignore. The sea held no prejudices—to survive it, no man could either.

Yelling out, they threw ropes over the taffrail into the ink-like sea, and two men scurried down out of sight. Their eyes were keener than mine; they could see the poor victim, whereas all I could see was the creamy froth in our black wake. A net quickly followed, and I watched with keen, frantic interest.

My heart was in my throat; I felt as desperate to save the man as they were, even if I could do no more than watch with bated breath and prayer. I heard them give a jubilant shout; my held breath rushed from my lungs, thinking they had secured the man and were bringing him to safety. Indeed, they clapped each other upon their backs, their slick faces glistening and teeth flashing in the moonlight. But then they paused, their expressions becoming perplexed, fearful and bewildered.

In my imaginings of rescue, these did not seem to reflect the emotions of men saving another. I caught urgent mutterings, and from below, above the waves slapping the hull, I heard yelps. My heart sank. Had the victim drowned? I needed to know. I had shared in this, and I was left incomplete by not knowing the outcome. It was selfish, no doubt, but I had to know if their efforts had been successful.

I threw my forgotten cheroot overboard and stepped closer to the men in white, but when they saw me approach, two of them detached from the group and restrained me.

“This is not for the sir to see,” one of them implored. “Please, let the men finish their task.”

I wanted to argue, but some sense made me pause. The way they clustered around the taut ropes, whispering urgently, and how I was held back with gentle hands and wise eyes made me wonder if this was a ritual of sorts... something sailors performed to honour the death of a brother of the waves. I swallowed and stepped back.

Within moments, an argument erupted. To my utmost surprise, it seemed some of the men wanted to throw the dead man back into the water. Judging from the faces of those who refuted their intent, they wanted to do the same, but restrained themselves. I wished I still had my cheroot to draw upon. My nerves were unsteady, and I could not contain the desire to understand the cause of such bewildering consternation.

The quarrel dissipated when the Captain – a portly Englishman with meaty jowls and shrewd blue eyes – almost barrelled into them. His ruddy face was animated, and he almost dived over the rail to obtain a look at the man partly pulled from the sea‘s embrace. The two men who had scuppered my curiosity left me and rushed over. I have no idea what they discussed, but their tone and the way they clasped their hands made me wonder if they begged to leave the corpse in the water.

The Captain was unmoved by their words, and he ordered them to bring the drowned man onto the ship. Reluctantly, they complied and pulled on the net to hoist the two rescuers and the body from the water. The three slipped onto the deck like netted fish. The two sodden crew members scrambled to their feet, and whilst slipping upon the deck, disappeared into the shadows. The remaining men gathered around the supine form, their legs and torsos blocking my view. I succumbed to my curiosity, and on the pretence of straightening my hem, I peered between their shins.

I saw what I had expected to see: a drowned man. The exposed skin across the chest was grey and smooth, and I could only describe what I saw as bloated. There appeared to be gashes across his throat, three deep grooves across the larynx. I could see nothing of the face and no more of the body.

The corpse was hastily wrapped in a pale-grey tarpaulin from one of the nearby lifeboats and carried from the deck. I doubt I’ll ever forget the look of dread and despair on the faces of the reluctant pallbearers and the hungry expression on the Captain’s. Had I possessed clearer vision, I may have seen the representations of wisdom and greed.

With the body and the men gone, the usual sounds descended, restoring a comforting familiarity to the bizarre evening. The normality of it attempted to eradicate my doubts and inquisitiveness. It did not entirely succeed, but the night was cooling the air, and I sought the comfort of the bar and ouzo.

oOo

If I were pressed to answer the question of when it all began, then the following morning would be it. Breakfast was an incredibly bohemian affair. It stretched from dawn to late morning. The mother hens were at their tables first; I think it was the only time of day when they were comfortable in their bodices and long, heavy skirts – at noon, the tropical sun beat down unrelentingly and by evening, the air was sticky and warm. Later, those who had retired early or who had no interest in brief dalliances came, moving to their seats and eating with determined solitary focus. I rarely stayed to witness the arrival of the remaining guests. I had no patience for conversation.

But due to the ouzo – a delightful drink with a belated sting – on that morning, I had no urge to rush into the bright day; the muslin over the slatted windows and the sea breeze gently slinking through the room were providing some relief for my excess. Without hindsight, nothing had caught my attention, but now, I can clearly see the strains.

The waiters had the air of men containing themselves and keeping strong emotion in check. They shared furtive glances and clustered in tight groups when they had the chance. Their agitation pushed them towards clumsiness, but at the time, I held it in no importance, unlike the guests, who rose to the challenge with typical English eagerness. As if, in retrospect, cotton stained with kedgeree held more significance than harbingers of their demise.

It didn’t appear relevant to me that the guests were also showing signs of anxiety. They had been vociferous and vicious all morning, like petulant infants, taking greater offence than was warranted and bickering over trivia. How I lament at my poor observation! If only I had seen the relevance of the increased agitation in those who were unaware of what disturbed the crew, maybe I could have acted sooner. As it was, the quarrelsome quests disembarked for their day in Bali, and it all drifted into whimsy and dim recollection and I spent the day sifting through papers.

I missed luncheon and noted during dinner that the guests had thinned. Many seemed to have chosen to stay in their cabins, eating their meals in peaceful seclusion. The tension had become less noisome, but it hadn’t left the ship… it was in the air as heavily as the incense; one could have choked on it. I forwent the ouzo, opting for a tisane, and settled in one of the recliners on the deck. Perhaps it was intentional, but I ventured onto the opposite side than the night before. Instead of the sunset, I had the turquoise twilight and watched the first stars emerge.

I must have fallen asleep because I was startled awake by a loud bang. I had grown accustomed to the ship’s unique noises – the grinding of the engines and the creak of the wood – and this was a new sound. I strained to hear it again, to identify it, but it seemed I was to be denied, and I was tempted to believe I had dreamt it. The tisane was cold, and the sky had surrendered to the moon and stars. Still fogged by sleep, I stretched and pulled my watch free.

While my eyes adjusted to the dim light and focused on the watch face, the noise came again. Something had struck the stern. Glancing about, no one else had seemingly heard the worrisome sound. Curiosity is a curse of mine, and I left the sanctuary of my seat to investigate. The moon was just past full and was kind enough to offer her light. Peering into the froth of our wake, I waited and listened.

It obliged, but from my left, and my gaze darted across the stern. Silhouetted against the sky, I saw a white-clad man lift his arms before his face and stagger back. My heart lunged painfully against my ribs! It appeared he would fall over the railing. Fortune smiled, and one of his colleagues bolted forward, catching him by his shirt, pulling him away from the edge and certain drowning.

As I approached, I caught some of the trembling man’s words before he was led away into the dark working heart of the ship. He was muttering ‘Nyi Roro Kidul’ over and over. The language was beyond me, but the usually dark skin was pale and the dark eyes wide with terror. I felt bile burn my gullet when my thoughts went back to the strange banging against the hull. I could not shift the notion that something terrible and unfathomable lurked beneath us.

Falling foul of my own need to know, I turned and stood by the cleat and studied the churning water. My untrained eye could see nothing which seemed extraordinary. The only thing to catch my eye was a disturbance in the water some distance from us, and I took it – for my own piece of mind – to be the frantic thrashings of fish just beneath the surface of the water. Satisfied that I had succumbed to fancy, I sauntered back to my cabin, intent on reclaiming sleep.

The next morning was calm and blissful. The suffocating tension had dispersed, relinquishing dominion back to the stifling humidity. As the voyage was not yet half completed, I was relieved to see the friendships and congeniality restored. It is interesting how our own selfish needs can cloud better judgement. I wanted peace, and I found it; I never sought to question how easily my travelling companions had been calmed.

The anxiety in the crew had not eased, however. I discovered the reason why over my late night ouzo. The barman broke his habit of silence and answered my mumblings about the crew being agitated: two lascars were missing. I shuddered when the news settled like ice in my brain. Had I seen the struggles of the two men last night rather than frantic fish? Fuelled by guilt, I interrogated my memory until I was assured I had not left two men to drown. My guilt was further assuaged by the barman continuing the conversation: the men had disappeared sometime around dawn. What I had seen had happened just after midnight.

My aniseed infused bliss was disrupted when I strolled back to my cabin for some long needed sleep. From one of the many shadowed companionways which lead down to the working sections of the ship, I overheard what could only be described as a frenetic hushed argument. The language may be unfamiliar, but anger, dread and fear have universal undertones.

The frantic mumbling sounded like the drone of bees as it echoed up the metal stairs, and if it hadn’t been for the Captain calling for quiet, I may have hurried past none the wiser, but interest gripped me again, and I hesitated by the companionway. Feet upon the rungs alerted me to some exodus, and I settled into the shadows, watching five white-clad men scurry past. When they had disappeared from sight, I crept back to the opening and listened.

“The creature is dead!” snapped the Captain, and I could imagine those red jowls of his, wobbling with anger. “Throwing it overboard will do no good.” I caught the sound of heels as someone paced. “The crew are superstitious, uneducated dolts.”

“And you are the voice of reason?”

This was a new voice. It was rich and smooth, suggesting a man of education and culture, and someone who had no patience with the Captain.

“Do you have any idea what that corpse is worth?” the Captain snorted.

The footsteps stopped abruptly. “We all have our Gods, it seems.” There was a pause, and I fancied the Captain struggling with the man’s words; I found myself imagining a sneer upon the speaker’s face. “Throw that thing into the deep where it belongs.”

I frowned. I knew sailors were buried at sea, sewn in hemp and weighted with rocks, but the tone suggested disgust rather than pity. They weren’t discussing a funeral, but disposal.

“If the crew want to drown themselves to avoid it, then that’s their folly, but this will put all my financial worries behind me.”

“And what of the missing passengers?”

“They can’t be missing if they never came aboard. The purser counted them in, and we were three short when we left.”

The Captain’s response had been too quick and too heated to bolster belief, and combined with their conversation, I felt discomforted. No one had made mention of missing passengers – but hadn’t I myself noted that the ship seemed quieter?

“The purser is a drunk, who can barely keep track of his own whereabouts.”

There were footfalls and then an echoing clang as a foot struck the bottom metal rung. “Disguise this as you feel fit,” declared the erudite adviser, “but dispose of that before the night is out.”

As the speaker ascended, I slunk away, hoping to catch sight of the man as he emerged from the doorway. In the moonlight, I saw his white garb and a red fez upon his head, but a cloud drifted across the moon, snuffing out the light before I could determine his features. Frustrated, I watched him turn away, but before he disappeared from view, an idea blossomed. Rummaging in my pocket, I grabbed some coins and hurled them across the deck. The man stopped and glanced around, startled by the noise.

Fortune favoured me that night! As he turned, the moon was restored and his face was revealed to me. And what a face it was!? In the silvery light, I saw a hideous mark upon his left cheek. From eye to lip there was a curved scar made up of many small, linked crescents. It puckered the skin, pulling down the lower eyelid, exposing the schlera of his dark eye, and lifting the upper lip into a perpetual sneer.

Almost as soon as he turned, he span on his heel, striding away, and was lost from view. As I have mentioned, curiosity is a curse, and my bane made me stay by those stairs until the Captain swaggered into view. He seemed disquieted, and he ran his palms down his lapels, as one would if fear had moistened them. I wondered if he was deliberating over the scarred man’s directive, seeing the sense over the profit. But what was it about the dead man that could cause such a vehement response?

I deliberated over descending the companionway into the gloom, but was disturbed by the sounds of pacing feet from below. So, it was something worth guarding? I straightened and automatically patted my chest pocket for a cheroot, but found none. Ouzo would have to settle my nerves, but I knew it wouldn’t quell my rising curiosity and trepidation – were there missing passengers and crew?

oOo

I was early for breakfast the following morning, eager to start my observations. The lady and child who would later share my lifeboat were there, talking and looking at a small book. She cast me a surprised glance, which made me wonder if they had eaten alone for the voyage thus far; I certainly couldn’t recall seeing her or the child around the ship. A waiter appeared at her elbow, ready to take their order. Beyond that, I paid them no more attention. I was after quantity that morning, not quality.

By mid-morning and several cups of tea, I was convinced my fears had been those of a child – unsupported and based on fancy. There wasn’t the merest hint of alarm or vexation. But to confirm my conclusion, I commented to a passing group that it appeared some passengers had disembarked, and they nodded, affirming that two couples had stayed behind in Bali. So that was it. My eavesdropping had yielded an unnecessary and silly dread.

I thanked the guests – a family heading for Sumatra – and they invited me to join them for an afternoon card game on the deck, to which I readily, surprising myself, agreed. So it was that I later found myself on the upper deck, enjoying the warm summer breeze and holding a decent hand of cards, partaking in pleasant conversation with a patriarch and his three charming ladies.

It was during the game that the lady of the family commented upon someone singing just before dawn, rousing her from sleep two mornings in a row. It was obvious she was taken with the mystery soloist, using words such as exquisite and divine. I admitted that I had not heard anything other than the steamship’s creaks and groans. Sympathy radiated out from her, as though I had missed something essential to our humanity. From beneath his greying moustache, her husband supported her dismay and encouraged me to wake early to hear something that would delight my soul.

I am not a romantic, and I found their enthusiasm rather sentimental, but I agreed to wake before the dawn. It was no real hardship, as I found sleep quite difficult to maintain and often woke early. Although, I did feel a flicker of doubt – the gulls were barely audible above the constant thrumming and chugging engines. With a cry from the lady, she placed her winning hand upon the table, accompanied with congratulations and smiles from her husband and daughters. When dinner approached, the same invitation was extended, but I declined, and so we parted company: they to their meal and myself to a lounger to enjoy the warmth of the early evening sun.

From where I rested, I heard more talk of the beautiful dawn song from those taking a turn of the deck, and I began to feel piqued at missing something so apparently captivating. I resolved to walk the ship in the morning and seek out that elusive aria.

oOo

My heart clenches when I think of all those who perished. I have never been able to remove the memory of them scurrying over each other like rats. I can’t bear to think about it. You will dare to say that I did wrong… and even after knowing, you will still try to believe it!

oOo

I rose early and hastily dressed for the walk around the ship. I had seen my companions from yesterday enter their rooms on the starboard side, so ventured that I would be better placed to hear this heavenly voice from that side. The sun was up, but a sea mist had surrounded the ship, which I was told was usual for this time of year, where cold air met warmer air rising from the sea. Despite seeing it on a few occasions through my porthole, being in its cold and damp embrace was unsettling and uncomfortable.

Whilst hunched against the chill, I could hear the waves slapping against the hull and the customary creaks and groans, but no hint of a pleasurable note. The loungers were folded up against the cabin walls, but they looked damp in the diffuse light. I patted my pockets, locating my cheroots and matches. If I couldn’t sit, then at least I could smoke, allowing it to soothe me. While I was enjoying the one vice my father tolerated, I caught the sound of heels against wood.

In the mist, the sound seemed to come from all around, and I found the uncertainty quite thrilling. Slowly, a shadow emerged from it, revealing the woman and the child from yesterday. They both smiled, and the girl, who was perhaps six, reached out to grip the hand of her – what I assumed – nanny. I quickly snuffed out the cigarette and threw it into the hidden ocean beyond. Had I taken more care, I may have seen something odd in the little girl’s stance.

“Lovely morning,” I quipped, gesturing to the thickening gloom.

The woman smiled. “It’s worse today, but it can be quite beautiful when the dawn softens its hue.”

Her voice was gentle and held the slightest accent, but her origins eluded me. There was a romantic quality to her, with her dark eyes and black hair. I wondered if she were Spanish, or perhaps Greek. Her appearance precluded the possibility that the child was hers. Golden curls seemed to explode from under her bonnet, despite the attempt to contain them in blue ribbons, a blue that matched her large, almost luminous eyes. Her cheeks were pink against creamy skin. I am not much for children, but I was taken with her features.

I didn’t see the woman and child at lunch or dinner, and I was surprised at the disappointment I felt; I had considered myself quite content with a solitary voyage. The barman did little to lift my spirits. He was back to his quiet and efficient self, pouring ouzo freely from the bottle. By ten, I was convinced that I was caught in a joke: there had been no singer and there was no hint of dread. In truth, there was a pervading calm throughout the ship… an almost indolent and whimsical atmosphere. Whatever had bothered the crew and the passengers was like the fog: heavy and depressing but quickly deserting the air as the sun climbed higher.

I drained my glass and placed it before me; the barman duly filled it, but before he could slink away to polish his glassware, I caught his eye.

“Yes, sir,” he asked softly, “is there something else that I can be getting for you?”

I inhaled slowly, suddenly wishing that he had missed my gaze. I was feeling too relaxed to stir up my old concerns. I lifted my glass and smiled – perhaps tipsily – at him.

“I was teased into thinking that a great singer had joined the dawn chorus,” I replied rather self-mockingly. “I have spent the day searching for their heavenly aria.”

The barman stopped polishing his glass and stared at me quite forwardly. “And sir has not heard this music?”

His tone and expression pulled me up short. Just this morning the crew had acted as though some terror was looming over them, and now, they were calm, even sympathetic at my inability to hear what they all seem to have heard and enjoyed. Instead of puzzlement, I felt an anger stir in my chest. I could just about tolerate making myself a fool in front of my peers, but I wasn’t prepared to have some crewman have a laugh on my account.

I resisted the urge to smack down my glass, instead opting to bid him a curt goodnight and return to my room. I had found peace there, even if my mind had railed against the ennui. But I knew I wouldn’t settle. While a wonderful lethargy had descended upon the ship, I was feeling increasingly tense; it was a feeling made worse by the fact that no one else seemed so share in it. No doubt the stress of my impending proposal was unnerving me more than I thought. A healthy income to see me through my time at home was riding upon a successful conclusion.

It had become my habit to walk the decks before retiring, and as I rounded the bow, I saw a lady’s umbrella resting by the taffrail. It was a delicate thing, perfectly impractical against the rain that fell in these parts, and I smiled at the absurdity of it. I recognised it as belonging to one of the young ladies I had played cards with, so I decided to return it, but as it was far too late to visit my quest had to wait until morning.

oOo

Filled with the energy of a pleasant sleep, I walked to breakfast, swinging the parasol in my hand, in the hopes to catch the lady before the sun rose high enough to cause her concern. The dining area was quiet, and I was almost ambushed by attentive waiters. As I came to the end of my meal, the father and mother entered, and I stood to deliver the item their eldest daughter had lost.

The man smiled at me and slapped me amiably on the shoulder, asking if I would care to join them. I thanked them and lifted the pink and white umbrella.

“But, sir,” the lady replied, her face reflecting confusion, “it can’t be our daughter’s.”

I felt uncomfortable due to my assumption, but the expressions on their face seemed incongruous to my error. Where I was ready to laugh it off, they seemed quite discomforted.

I apologised and assured them that I meant no offence, and I hoped that my brashness hadn’t caused them unnecessary concern, but they still seemed agitated. In the end, I felt it best to leave the matter and wish them a good day. There was consensus on this, and they smiled at me as I moved to depart, but as I turned, I heard the mother sigh and utter, “Abigail will no doubt feel peeved that I have her parasol – she would have need of it at home.”

I paused mid-step, then shrugged off the odd comment and continued back to my cabin. But by the time I entered the confines of my room, the parasol was a heavy weight both in hand and on mind. I was sure the pretty shade belonged to Abigail… and that I had played a hand with her. I frowned and sat down. Could I have been mistaken? Could we have been talking at cross-purposes and the young lady wasn’t their daughter, but some other travelling companion? My eyes were heavy and my head ached, so with a sigh, I slid the umbrella between bed and wall and settled down for a nap to ease my headache and discomfort.

I opened my eyes to the sound of singing… or what someone thought was singing. I had never heard such a discordant and unpleasant sound; the closest thing being the screech and wail of stressed metal. It wasn’t particularly loud, yet it was invasive… reminiscent of the sound of a wasp nearby: hardly a cacophony, yet demanding of attention and seemingly all around.

Unable to settle, I sat up and donned my coat, as a sudden chill had gripped me, and moved to locate the source of the unmelodious sound. The deck was slick with moisture from the air, which also stung my exposed skin. It seemed impossible that in such tropical climes I should feel the depression and cold of an English autumn. Shadows loomed around me, the fog distorting my senses. My ears strained for any sounds other than the intermittent wail, but there was nothing, save for the ship’s stuttering chugs. I pulled up my collar and slipped my hands into the pockets. The very atmosphere pressed against me, and the more I listened, the more my agitation grew. There was something… amiss.

Heading aft, I saw the little girl with the blonde curls. She was on tiptoes, peering into the sea, leaning terrifyingly towards the hungry ocean. I rushed forward, my heart throbbing painfully in my throat and my mind filling with horrible images of another lost soul disappearing beneath the waves. My hand grabbed her arm, and she whirled on me, her eyes on mine. I fancied I saw something akin to hate in those blue depths, but it was gone so quickly I considered it merely a result of the fright I must have caused her.

“My apologies, little one,” I whispered through trembling lips, fighting to catch my breath. “I feared you would fall.”

Her pink lips moved into a smile, but I can’t say that it suited her. It was analogous to a doll’s face: painted and emotionless. For all her young charms, I found her manner quite unsettling. I hastily looked around for her nanny, but I could see no one. Despite my unease, I felt obligated to take her to her cabin, so held out my hand. After the merest hesitation, her small hand slid into mine. The air had sapped the heat from it, and I thought to comment about wearing gloves in future. But before I could form a response suitable for a child’s comprehension – knowing from past experience that I had the knack to overwhelm others with my instructions – I heard the rapid tapping of heels.

From ahead, the nanny appeared from a doorway, her dark eyes frantic and moist. She saw us and quickly gathered up her long skirt to run our way, her face reflecting pure relief and a pale shadow of anger.

“Oh, thank you, sir!” she implored, quickly plucking the girl into her arms.

The girl buried her head against the nanny’s neck, hiding her face in the long tendril of dark hair cascading down her shoulder. Any comment regarding the child being allowed to walk the deck alone withered on my tongue. The nanny had a quite breathtaking quality about her when not ‘tidied’ into decorum and proper attire. Her anxiety-flushed face and her moist eyes were most attractive.

“You’re more than welcome,” I replied. “I think some hot chocolate and a rest, and she’ll be as right as rain.”

The lady flashed me a smile, gently caressing the young girl’s back. “Thank you, again.”

With that, they returned to their room, and I continued my stroll, happy that my thoughts were now on the loveliness of the young lady. I remembered the strange and unpleasant sound later that evening, but by then, it was too late.

Dinner was even quieter, and some of the dread returned. The mother hens were not clucking their protests from the booths, and the young women sat quietly next to equally quiet men. I would have thought it sedate and civilised, had not the last few days imprinted upon me some underlying doom. They ate well enough, the waiters bringing more to their table than I would have thought suitable. Surely, the small ship – as used to work and hauling freight as she was – couldn’t carry enough food to sustain such appetite. The sight of such genteel gluttony quite ruined my mood. My eyes wandered to the shadowed booths, where the hens were not pecking at their food as they usually did, but devouring great forkfuls of their well-stocked plates.

As odd as it would seem to condemn people for eating their food, the sight somehow appalled me. My father had attended certain soirees where the selected guests would dine as they please on what they pleased. Was this hastily purchased voyage dedicated to those who relished unusual prandial pleasures?

My conclusions seemed strong enough to convince me that the whole voyage was catered to the more extreme peculiarities of our sensibilities. The sense that I was part of a prank made more sense. This was a showboat… maybe a voyage with a purpose to entertain – like the murder mysteries played at the Village Halls. My haste to join the passengers had not allowed me to expand the idea that I was joining a tourist ship. Given the activities my peers considered entertaining, I decided that I was caught up in a holiday fantasy. Granted, there had been the tragedy of a drowned man and the loss of two others, but the more I thought, the more I pondered if anyone had truly been lost. The purser – who indeed had greeted me somewhat drunkenly – could have simply miscounted the number of passengers, and I’m sure that absconding crew was a good a reason as any for missing men.

It resolved my doubts quite nicely… rather too quickly, in retrospect. Happily, I returned to my room to complete the last details of my presentation. But why did doubt still haunt me? It hit me rather bluntly. The sound from the engines had changed; it was the same gentle chugging from when I first boarded her in Karachi and not the steady pounding heartbeat from our voyage. I had noted it before lunch. How long had we been stationary? I wanted to continue with the smothering logic that had neatly explained away everything else, but there are deep instincts existing within us, and I knew something was terribly wrong. The realisation slithered down my spine to coil in my gut.

I returned to the dining room, and my eyes darted over the gathered diners. There were eighteen of them. In the far corner, sat the family from yesterday, but the two young ladies were absent. I marched over, my hand pushing the chairs and tables aside.

“Sir,” I declared, keeping my frustration hidden, “pray indulge my curiosity, but do you know how long the engines have been stilled?”

He stopped chewing and looked up at me. “I hadn’t realised they had been. Some routine repairs, I should imagine.”

His answer was so straightforward and simple that I felt foolish. “Of course,” I murmured. “Forgive me for disturbing your dinner, and please pass on my regards to your daughters.”

“Abigail and Melissa?” he replied, his rheumy eyes blinking and his thick moustache twitching. “Why, they’re in England, no doubt regretting their decision to stay, eh, Phyllida?”

The mother smiled and nodded. “When we tell them what fun we’ve had, they’ll be green with envy.” Her eyes moved to mine – but her gaze was distant – and she waved her hand towards an empty chair. “Please join us and eat; you look half-starved, my boy.”

It was all I could do to keep my wits together. “But we played cards day before yesterday? Abigail left her parasol by the rail.”

They shared a glance and looked upon me as though I were deranged from the sea-air. “We did play cards, sir,” the man intoned carefully. “My wife here won both hands, but it was just us three.”

“I daresay that you have confused us for another family,” the lady suggested softly. “Sit and eat, the waiters will bring something presently… ah, here they come now.”

I turned my head and saw two white-clad men striding towards me with fixed smiles and zealous eyes. Their presence immediately disturbed me. If I had possessed an appetite, it would have withered.

On compulsion, I moved before they came close and left the room onto the deserted deck. The damp loungers had not been opened. I could see no crew about their work. Either I was enduring some madness, or something had affected the minds of my fellow passengers and the lascars. I knew a simple way to at least guarantee my sanity.

My feet carried me to the purser’s office. I twisted the knob and the door opened smoothly. The dark, dingy office was large enough to hold a desk, a filing cabinet and a swivel-backed chair affixed to the floor. I slipped into the worn leather chair and switched on the lamp. I tried not to notice the dried ink in the well and the mould encrusted cup, but they added to my mounting dread nonetheless.

I forced myself to sit and open the thick ledger resting mockingly on the table. The purser may have been a drunk, but he would have been compelled to fill in a passenger list to satisfy the Captain, as collaborated by his annoyed grumbles at my arrival. My eyes and fingers sought out the names of the passengers. A trembling finger moved down the list while my mind counted.

Fifty-eight.

And Abigail and Melissa were on the list!

It wasn’t the frantic fear that I had expected. My heart didn’t leap and threaten to burst; my body didn’t tremble, and I felt no urge to curl up on the floor to wail and scream. All the sensations I had thought would accompany fear didn’t bully me. Instead, I felt a cold despair. It was a willingness to accept what was coming… whatever that was. I sat back against the cracked leather and was content to wait.

Dust motes danced languidly in the lamp’s shaft of sick light. I watched them for what felt an age. What was this suffocating languor? Surely, I should feel something at what I had discovered. Pain pulled me from it quite effectively. While my brain had been diverted, my hand had sought deliverance. It had snaked out to grab the dry pen, the nib digging into my palm. Suddenly awake, I caught the sound of dying notes on the air. It was the strange music from earlier, and it sickened me.

I have never had an epiphany, and I have often dismissed such events as poppycock, but as my palm throbbed and my stomach rolled, I felt enlightened. It became clear that I needed to know what had been pulled aboard all those nights ago. The missing passengers – and now I was sure there were more than a few: the couples who had allegedly departed at Bali, Abigail, Melissa and the many others I had not seen at mealtimes – and crew had not simply left. The bizarre lassitude creeping throughout the vessel, turning anxiousness into a stupor, the apparent bliss at a morning soloist, and the horrid sound filling the air were not normal. I wondered if my own thinking had been in some way affected. The answers seemed linked to the drowned man. I had to know.

From the companionway, I could hear nothing but silence. For some reason, the absence of the pacing guard did nothing to appease me. I slipped down into the partial gloom: some kind of lamp was lit in the space at the bottom, lighting my way. Despite my effort, it seemed every step heralded my trespass, but such was my need that I couldn’t have stopped. The steps made a quarter-turn to the right and led into a short, narrow corridor, which was lit by a cobwebbed and caged lamp. To my left there were two doors.

I had heard the conversation quite plainly from the upper deck, so I decided they must have been in the room closest to the stairs. I pulled open the first door and peered inside. The door blocked the light from the corridor, and all I could initially make out was the edge of a bed and something wrapped in cloth, resting upon it. My mind went back to the night they dragged this – what? Creature? Man? – from the ocean.

Fumbling along the wall with a trembling hand, I found the light switch and flicked it on. The light was weak and bathed the room in a sickly orange glow. I stepped over the coaming and pulled the door closed behind me. The room wasn’t very wide, allowing for the slim beds, but it was quite long. Four beds rested side-by-side, with a medicine cupboard, stool and desk at the far end. It was the sickbay. A strange, brine scent hung heavily in the air; it irritated my nose and filled my mouth. I found it most unpleasant and reminiscent of stormy seas.

Swallowing the tension crawling up my throat, I reached out and yanked the cloth back. Hideous sightless eyes met my eager gaze. Horror made me hold my stare, taking in the strange and terrible details. They were not the eyes of a man. They were large and rounded, pupil-less with a silvery sheen, and the thin film of a transparent eyelid half covered them. I had seen such eyes before, but on a fishmonger’s stall rather than within a man’s skull.

The skin was grey and looked as bloated as it had that night. I would have sworn that it had that look by virtue of what lay beneath and not through the effects of being submerged. The smooth greyness of it reminded me of the dolphins that played by the side of boats, bloated from blubber and designed for efficiency through water. My skin tightened across my scalp and my hands trembled. I wasn’t looking upon a drowned man; I was looking upon some strange creature from the depths! The scientist in me thrilled at what amounted to the discovery of a new species, but something, some instinct beyond my ability to describe, quailed at the sight; for although all things on earth must have been created by our great Maker, something about this thing seemed too alien to have been devised by God.

The three gashes upon the throat that I had taken for injury were, as you have guessed, gills. It had no ears, although there were some vestigial remains of that sense organ, and the head was more oval than our own, with a high forehead which curved down to a thin slit of a mouth with no pause for a nose. There was no hair upon the bloated body, and the skin felt rough beneath my fingertips, like that of a manta.

Further examination yielded webbed fingers and toes – unlike myth, he had no tail but thick legs and long, wide feet. The hands were also overlarge and ended in rudimentary fingers, which brought newts to mind, with their long digits ending in swollen tips. Turning a grey palm over, the finger-pads were slightly concave and had a raised hardened ridge around the edges. I placed my own hand atop the creature’s and felt a thrill as it swamped my own. These hands were designed for gripping. My gaze was instantly drawn to the long gash of a mouth.

Hesitating for the merest moment, I moved to place my hands on its forehead and lower jaw, which seemed to almost meld smoothly into its stout neck. I pulled. The jaw moved freely… and kept on moving beyond what I expected to be a normal gape! The maw kept opening, revealing a mouth full of tiny, wickedly sharp teeth and a wide throat.

It was a sight to bestir the imagination and speculation of artists and scientists! The Captain had been right. This find would set him up for the rest of his life; collectors and museums would squabble over this like hens over corn. I could also understand the terror experienced by the crew, living on myths and superstitions as they did. The stranger had suggested a link between this and the disappearance of passengers. The passengers had no idea that such a thing had been pulled aboard their vessel, so how could it have worried them? But they had all mentioned the song.

My eyes widened, and I backed away sharply, thumping the back of my head against the door. Was this thing truly dead? Was it singing still? Oh God! Was it sending us to our deaths? Lulling us into the waves with song?

I have never considered myself a brave man, and my father would have thought such a noble aspiration beyond me, but I was suffused with some deep conviction. It needed to be destroyed. But that erudite advisor had said to throw it back. The thought made me squirm. If it wasn’t dead, then throwing it back would only return it to its home. The idea to destroy it grew in strength and urgency.

I pushed open the hatch and stepped out, my hands on the metal rails, hauling myself up the stairs, but halfway up, something blocked my path. I looked up and my stomach dropped – the vast silhouette of the Captain filled the exit.

“I thought of doing that,” he uttered tonelessly. “I came down here with this very axe” which he now hefted “to cut up the beast.” The Captain took a step forward, and I took one back. “But then… then I heard the music – the rapture of the deeps, some call it – and I knew it wasn’t important. The song… the song is important. I will let nothing affect it.”

His boots clanged on the next step down and my mouth went dry. He was blocking my exit, and I was in his way: in their way, perhaps. I swallowed and mewled when my back hit the bulkhead.

“I came to get some bandages for my… for my – hand!” I licked my lips and hastily lifted my hand to show him the puncture wound in my palm. A wound that stubbornly refused to gush. “But I couldn’t find –”

“I can understand your fear…” clang “… I really can. It scared the hell out of me when I first heard it and realised what it meant.”

Clang.

“But when you pause to listen, it all makes sense.”

Clang.

“You should have faith and accept what it tells you. It’s beautiful, it really is.”

Clang.

“The barman and Mr Langley tell me that you’ve been experiencing fear and concern.”

Clang.

I was barely following the conversation; he was swaying between gentle coercion and undeniable threats.

“I want to assure you that all is well. We changed heading two days ago, you see, and now, as we need go no further, the engines have been stilled.”

Clang!

“Everything is as it should be; there is no need for concern.”

He was two steps above me, and his face emerged from shadow. I had expected it to be enraged, flushed, or twisted into madness, but it was calm: surreally peaceful. The eyes were soft and pitying, but the fingers were white and tight around the shaft of the axe.

“I urge you to stop and listen, just as everyone else has.”

I had to say something; I couldn’t just let this happen without some resistance on my part… even if it were nothing more than a squeak.

“Everyone?”

He straightened and frowned sadly, as though pained. “There were some who didn’t listen, but they left us.”

“At Bali?”

“If you like.”

His voice, his subtle shrug, and his fixed stare filled in the details of where those deaf individuals had left us. There is some liberation in having only one option. Without the plethora of possibilities, the doubts and fears evaporate. While the Captain smiled at me, the axe held at neck height, I felt a warmth flood me from head to toe.

“I want to listen and understand,” I pleaded, hoping that enough need infused my voice.

The axe dipped, and the smile widened. “I’m so glad to hear that,” he enthused, extending his hand to invite me up the stairs. “We’re in the dining room, preparing ourselves.”

I smiled and stepped into the circle of his arms, which promptly herded me up the companionway and onto the deck. I sought to confirm his words and let my gaze drift over the now exposed sea. My throat tightened, and I felt the fear expand and twist in my skull: there was nothing but the vast and deep ocean. My spirits were raised by the thought of the lifeboats.

“But before we join our brethren,” the Captain uttered softly, his hand clutching my shoulder – a little too close to the neck for comfort, “I want to show you something.”

We headed back towards the purser’s office, and I feared he knew I’d been in there, but before we reached it, he directed me into another cabin. The layout was the same as the purser’s office, but navigation maps rested, curled like dead leaves, upon the desk, and the swivel-chair was absent. In its place was a sprawled white-clad form, their fez lying like a silent screaming mouth lunging from the pool of dark, congealed blood. Obviously he had not listened to the song. Even though I had spent years in rigid science, stomping down on the ineffable and random concept of instinct, I was relying upon it to save my life. I knew who lay dead, so when the Captain used his foot to roll the corpse into its back, I could conjure a weak, sad smile and sigh despairingly when the scarred face met mine. Judging from the rictus grin and the hooked fingers, locked in place, the erudite advisor had been dead for quite some time.

Whether it had been a test or warning, I had no idea, but the Captain grunted, dropping the axe by the corpse – I knew then, without doubt, how the man had died and who had killed him – and walked out, with me trailing like some boat caught in a maelstrom. The dining room was as I had left it: quiet and filled with contented and determined eating. The disgust I had felt evolved into horror. Hadn’t my father done the very same thing to his pigs! The Captain smiled at the gathered resolute diners and lowered me onto the nearest chair, clicking his fingers for the waiters. Within moments my table was brimming with food. But I noticed that none of it was the sort that required much cooking. I smiled and picked up a few biscuits. Mollified, the Captain walked away to check on his other guests. They mumbled to each other as they chewed, barely containing their growing excitement. But they were grotesque. Food stains littered their faces and clothes, and it was obvious that they hadn’t stopped to wash or change their attire. Whilst pretending to eat, I searched for the nanny and girl, but couldn’t see either.

How long I sat there, feigning an interest in the event, I have no idea, but eventually, almost as one, the others stood and filed out like ants, one following the one in front. I counted them, and I arrived at forty-six, but this amounted to everyone, not just the passengers.

I took my place in the procession and realised they were heading for their cabins. It took great effort to keep my stride slow and steady and plod to my room. Once in the stifling confines, I lay down and settled down as though to sleep; I had an idea that I would be checked upon later.

True to my suspicion, the latch went on my door, and I heard a satisfied grunt from the doorway. I counted to a thousand and slowly slid back the covers. I knew the layout of the ship extremely well, thanks to my nightly strolls. So it was no challenge to find my way in the dark to the nanny’s cabin.

My ears strained for sound, and my body was tense, ready to flee at any sound. I gently rapped on the door, but received no response. I didn’t dare knock louder, so I turned the handle and pushed. The door opened without so much as a creak. It was pitch black inside, and I felt my way to the bed to carefully pat it until I hit what I hoped was a leg.

It twitched beneath my hand, and a shape, black against black, moved.

“Who…?”

I acted quickly, using her voice to guide me and placed my hand across her mouth.

“Hush!” I implored. “Listen. I mean you no harm.” I felt her relax, but kept my hand in place. I knew how people could play along. “We need to leave the ship, immediately,” I hissed. “The Captain and the others are under the influence of some… thing, and I fear for our safety.” I could feel air rushing past my fingers from her rapid breaths. “I know you have no reason to trust me, but if you value your life and that of your ward, then please come with me to the lifeboats.”

And then there was a sharp sting at my neck and blackness, deeper than the night, descended.

I awoke with a sore head some time later. Blood had congealed against my scalp; I could feel it, tacky, beneath my questing fingers. Even the little amount of light from the small porthole stung my eyes, and I felt decidedly sick. I had been knocked out several times before, so the signs and symptoms were quite recognisable. I slowly lifted myself up. I was in the sickbay; the creature lay next to me, still under the cloth.

Even in my dazed state, I thought it strange that I would be locked up in the same room as the creature the Captain had sworn to protect. Unless, the creature was supposed to have woken first and I was the convenient breakfast. The thought of it fuelled me, forcing me to my feet. I checked the door – just in case I had dreamt the whole nightmarish voyage while suffering concussion. It was locked. To add to my discomfort, I could hear those discordant sounds on the periphery of hearing.

The desire to destroy the thing resurfaced. I looked around for something… some weapon. This was a sickbay, they had to have something. I lurched towards the cabinet and the desk at the far end of the room. I yanked open the doors and pulled out the drawers. A laugh burst from my lips at the sight of rolls of bandages falling to the floor. But there was no time to dwell. Rummaging around, I found a sealed box the size of my hand. I hurled it to the floor was gratified to see the lid split and fall away, revealing glittering scalpels.

I scooped the case up and returned to the merman. All creatures bled. And if it bled, it died. I removed two blades, and holding them aloft in each trembling hand, I plunged them into the thing’s chest. Nothing happened. It didn’t twitch or cry. It didn’t bleed. I took another scalpel from the box and began to slash at it wildly. The sickening music was rising in volume, as if it were trying to attack me, to stop me. My ears pounded and pain lanced through my head, ricocheting off my skull, until I felt as though my head were being slashed by the blades. Never had I experienced such intense painful volume.

Its throat!

I tore into the thing’s neck, ripping and cutting until it was shredded and hung in glistening gobbets between my fingers. Its black blood covered me from fingertip to elbow. Splashes of it speckled my face, but I ignored it and held my heaving breath to listen – the song had stopped! An exhaustion of such intensity swamped me that I slumped to the floor. I had no energy or even desire to move, and I considered myself avenged enough against the crew and passengers to face death. The creature was silent, and I hoped its coercing presence would die with it. If it was to be, then the door would open and I would be rescued. If not… well, I already considered myself doomed.

I must have slipped into an uneasy sleep, because I was woken by the ship suddenly lurching violently. My injured head struck the wall, and I found myself flat and painfully disorientated on the cold deck. It took me a moment to recall why the floor was also slick. Nauseous, I clambered to my feet. My eyes were drawn to the mangled thing, and I retched. I had done that?! The savagery of it disturbed me, even though I knew it had been done through fear and a desperate need. I must have been wild.

The sight of it was abhorrent to me, so I replaced the cloth to hide the evidence of my manic excess. Next, there was the blood. I found the nearest basin and rinsed off the black ichor. In the dim light, I could imagine that it was oil or grease. It was spoiled by the recollection of the slick tendrils of flesh hanging from my fingers.

Perhaps the sound of the running water had alerted them, but when I was finished, I could hear someone coming down the stairs. The sound was muffled and light, but I couldn’t quieten the echoing clangs of the Captain’s feet. I moved to gather up a scalpel and waited.

The handle moved in its runner, and then with a grinding thud, the bolts were drawn back. The door swung outwards, back into the gangway, and as it opened, I spun on my foot, my arm outstretched and a snarl upon my lips. The outline was that of a rescuer, and I diverted my arc in time to miss her. My fist connected painfully against the door, and she staggered back as it was wrenched from her grasp.

“My utmost apologies,” I murmured.

“The people have gone mad,” she hissed back. Her eyes were wide, and she reached out to me as a drowning man would a raft. “I thought you deranged when you broke into my cabin, but one of the crew came behind you, striking you.” She tightened her grip on my jacket. “They dragged you out and told me to stay in my cabin until it was time.”

“Let’s move to the lifeboats,” I interrupted, sensing that the calm exterior was cracking under the pressure building beneath. “Where is the little girl?”

At the mentioning of her charge, the lady straightened, finding strength in her responsibility. “She’s hiding under some tarp in a lifeboat.”

I smiled. “Good. Lead the way.”

As we emerged from the companionway, I saw the sun resting low on the horizon, and for some reason, this chilled me. Here, dawn did not scatter the monsters. Muted voices carried on the wind bullied us towards the stern, but from her agitated features, I guessed that the child was in the opposite direction. The girl was safely hidden, but we were not. The whole ship was against us; everyone caught under some spell. I swallowed my despair – slashing the creature had done nothing – and I knew without doubt or remorse that it was us or them. I pulled the woman – Renata – towards a shadowed recess between the taffrail and a storage unit.

When we crouched, she clung to my arm, leaning in to whisper, “She’s on the other side... on the right side.”

Her voice was tight, and I was impressed by her character – I had dared not speak for fear my voice would crack, betraying the fear that coursed through me. Swallowing, I nodded and plucked up my courage.

“There’s a gulley of sorts between the rail and the deck,” I explained as calmly as I could. “When the deck is clear, we’ll use it to slip around to the lifeboat.”

Four passengers scurried past, causing us to slink back into the shadows. I could see some inner zeal in their eyes, and they muttered excitedly between themselves. They were meeting in the dining hall – it was time. A chill gripped me. It was so close… whatever was going to happen was almost upon us. But it was also our salvation. When they gathered, the deck would be clear.

Over the next few minutes, more rushed past our hidey-hole. I fancied that even were we to leap out, such was their dedication and passion that they would not have noticed us. What could rob men of their wits and will? The thought terrified me more that what momentous and terrible event was looming. What controlled them and to what end? Nausea burnt a path up my gullet. Hadn’t I already guessed? I closed my eyes and tried to control myself, but behind my lids, I saw lambs gambolling towards the slaughterhouse.

oOo

Even now, Father, I can see them. The memory haunts me. The noose will be a relief, for nothing prescribed by these doctors has offered sanctuary and peace. I am almost finished. Can you see the end? Does your hand tremble because you have divined what happens next?

oOo

When we were sure the deck was clear, we slipped between the rail and deck and scurried towards the lifeboat. It was easier than I had hoped, and soon we were aside the small clinker-built boat. As we neared, I saw the edge of the tarpaulin twitch and then lift up. Renata cooed gently to the young girl within and prepared to climb inside, but my hand stopped her.

“I can’t lower the boat alone.”

Her pale face crumpled, but she rallied and gently caressed the child’s face. Turning back to me, she followed my gaze and quickly took her place on the davit opposite me. She mimicked my movements, winching the boat up on its davits until we could lower it down on the falls. Each clink and crack, each scream of metal tugged on my nerves; sweat dripped down my back and my heart hammered. It seemed an age until the davits were vertical and I could unhook the boat in readiness to lower her down. We stood there, gathering our wits and catching our breath when something heavy struck the boat, causing her to yaw violently.

Fear gripped me, and I gripped the winch handle as resolutely; across from me, I heard Renata grunt as she held onto the traitorous scream threatening to escape. Serend echoed her groan before settling. Breathing hard and convinced of our dreadful fate, I dared not move. It was Renata’s gentle concern that propelled me into action and not any bravery on my part. The deck was still deserted when I cast my desperate gaze along it, but I could hear them in the dining room, chattering and screeching like gulls. You cannot imagine how I wanted to run to them and pull them from their terrible fugue, but I had no choice but to leave them for their forced destiny.

The pulley system for the lifeboats was old, and we fought against the mechanism to lower the boat. Each grinding squeal grated painfully along my nerves as an alert to our escape, and I cast fretful eyes around us, in case we were discovered. Once the boat was low enough, we would shimmy down and join the girl. Given that we had remained undiscovered despite the noise, I knew we could risk using the motor on the lifeboat to escape this horror.

A glance overboard assured me that the lifeboat was in the water, but then a terrible thought filled my brain and made me moan in despair: how would be release the lifeboat from the falls? The axe! The Captain had dropped the axe in the room with the dead advisor. I relayed the information to Renata before guiding her so that she could clamber down the ropes. I would join her when I had the axe.

I waited until she was close enough to the boat to gain access to it without difficulty and turned to fetch the axe, but before I took a step, the terrible song began… as if it had waited for just that moment. I crammed my hands against my pained ears, but the sound pierced my skull. The pain was unbearable. I curled up, trying to cover my head, but it drilled mercilessly. How could they bear it? How could they stand and listen to it as though it came from the throats of angels? I know I screamed; it was all I could do.

Hands grabbed me and dragged me away… I didn’t care, so long as that hellish screech stopped. I was hurled to my knees and buffeted by my dreaded companions. How long it went on, I have no idea… long enough to make my nose bleed and purge me of the meal I’d eaten. When blessed silence smothered me, I collapsed. The sight of the over-fed passengers barely impacted upon my relief. Even as they hauled me to one of the booths, I was lost in my release.

In that gulf of silence, I could hear something scrape against the boat. The sound caused a corresponding excited susurrus amongst those gathered. It was here. I felt the ship tilt, and I tried to disabuse myself of the notion that something large had just come to rest on the port side. Clinging to the table, I watched as those standing began to stumble and shuffle to the opposite side of the room. Glasses, bottles, plates and cutlery began to slip from the tables, creating a terrifying herald of its approach.

Something huge behind me blotted out the light, and the room was plunged into shadow. Exalted gasps and claps welcomed in this portentous gloom, and I felt revolted at their… willingness, their adoration. There came the thunder of water striking the deck and the cabins, and what could only be described as a tattoo of squelching noises enveloping us. With a jolt and a series of stuttered undulations, the ship righted itself, gently bobbing as though nothing had happened.

The ensuing silence was both expectant and suffocating; even the revellers had been rendered moot. I knew it was foolishness to think that they had roused themselves from their delusion. Their expressions were joyous as they clung to each other.

Something heavy thudded on the roof, and a hysterical laugh bubbled up from my squirming insides: how like sardines we were! Dozens of rope-like tentacles writhed in through the windows and doors, wrapping around the ceiling. It came as no surprise when with a squeal and scream of tortured metal and wood the roof was peeled back, splinters raining down on us.

With the debris flung away, we got our first glimpse of what had caught us. Sinuous rust-coloured limbs waved languidly above us, like a seaweed forest, blotting out the sky. I had heard of the giant squid of the dark depths, but the size of it was… monstrous. This section of it was almost the length of the boat, and they reared up into the air higher than the topgallants of the tall ships.

With the gentility of a lady reaching down to select a bite, several slick tendrils swooped down to gently rub against the gathered morsels. The fools tried to grab them, to hold on as they writhed around… so eager were they. Their disappointed and despairing cries echoed in my skull, and they even begged for them to return when those questing arms rose up beyond their grasp. It was madness.

The limbs swung and crashed down, scattering the remains of the walls, exposing us to the air much as I had once opened up oysters. My eyes caught sight of other gigantic limbs writhing in the water, whipping it into a white vengeful fury. There were so many!—twisting and surging so much like worms in a grave – dozens… a hundred! My mind couldn’t comprehend how something so large could possibly exist. This monster would dwarf a fleet of ships. How had it not been seen or documented before?

A pale dome began to rise from the water; its dimensions impossible to calculate. I expected it to be soft and bulge as the heads of the octopus, but it remained firm. As more emerged, I recognised the curved outline, the darker striations down its white calcified sides. What I had thought its head was in fact its arched back; this was a nautilus, but one of proportions to defy logic and sanity. It was incredible. Finally, the head breached the frothing water, a flattened triangular plate. One of its eyes came level with mine… oh God! It was immense. A pale orb with a dark slit that a man could literally lose himself in; despite the horror, it was eerily beautiful. But then its mouth breached… and a hundred tentacles twisted in an orgy of movement, each arm writhing in hungry anticipation. At the base of these arms was a darkened centre in which a beak snapped in delight.

Even this did not deter the passengers. As my mind withered and my body collapsed at the sight they surged towards it as if it were their salvation. Dozens of those arms crashed down on the sides of the boat, pushing down hard so the aft was lined up to its gullet – as I had once lined up oysters to swallow them whole. Never have I heard a sound more terrifying and inspiring of inescapable doom than the clicking of that sharp beak….

oOo

Yes, Father, you may wish to empty your stomach, but this is a madman’s fantasy, yes? My ramblings are the delusional outpourings of a man robbed of his wits by some inner evil, an evil that led him to kill. I tell you, Father, I have no fear of that creaking rope, because it will end the memories… the knowledge I carry. They exist, Father. I have never seen God or heard His voice, but I have seen them… I have heard them. I have stood before them and know the hopelessness of our existence.

oOo

Fate spared me. Not only had it rendered me immune to the unmelodious lullaby, but the booth held me in place as the floor tilted, tipping the passengers and crew towards the nautilus’ churning maw. I clung to the seat and watched in despair as chairs and vases, all the detritus of the dining room, fell between the beak to be mashed and crushed into unrecognisable shards. I yelled and screamed at them to wake, to shake off their lassitude. My pleas and cries fell upon deaf ears or were swallowed by the scream and roar of the ship’s destruction and the whipping tentacles.

Heaven forgive me, but I left them. I clambered away from that mouth and the clamouring crowd and pulled and hauled myself towards the lifeboat that I hoped to God had unshackled itself from the sinking ship. I paused before leaving onto the splintering and twisting deck and turned. I could see them falling between the now crimson beak, see them torn into gobbets and chunks of meat. I felt numb; there was nothing I could do, and to spare my sanity, I became cold… empty. I stood and watched them as they scurried over each other like rats. They ran towards that mouth… leaping and crawling over each other to reach it. And they were in ecstasy.

oOo

I emerged from the carnage onto the deck; the beast was devouring everything, and the boat was disappearing as quickly as the people. To my left and right, those slender tentacles thrashed and writhed. The idea of diving into the churning water was unpleasant but unavoidable with the deck shuddering beneath my feet.

My frantic gaze searched for the lifeboat. There was so much wreckage! For several terrible moments, I thought Renata and the girl had been swallowed by the ocean and my heart was crushed. But then I saw a flash of white and light grey… the boat and the tarpaulin. Thoughts left and the body took over, and I plunged into the cold water.

My arms and body ached with the effort of swimming, but I ploughed through the water as though hell were on my heels. Whenever I took a breath, I looked for the boat, but it looked further and further… it was cruel. My strength deserted me, as did hope. The monster’s feeding frenzy was creating waves, waves that were pushing the boat further out to sea. I think I managed a wry laugh… ironically, they were being saved even as the beast tried to feast on them. Despite my burst of humour, exhaustion slipped through my veins. I craved sleep. I craved an end to it. I slipped beneath the waves into a dim and smothering world.

Death wasn’t as hard and as terrible as I’d thought. It crept up slowly and carefully, more like a friend with alms than a callous predator. As the cold water licked around my face, a sense of peace suffused me. It was remarkably easy to dismiss the red tinge and the growing dark cloud where boat met mouth. I could even ignore the mass of flickering tentacles as they fished out any titbit that may have slipped past its snapping beak. Against logic, the thing itself was barely visible in the gloom and shifting, lancing light as I slowly descended to my doom. If it wasn’t for the myriad writhing tentacles, I would swear that all existed was the flotsam of a wrecked ship. The realisation burned in my skull, scorching away what remained of my sanity… how close had we come to creatures such as this and passed by, oblivious to their existence?

The water became colder, the shadows deeper, and my body began to fight against my mind’s selfishness. Gods, my lungs burned! Above me, the surface roiled like distant clouds. My legs kicked of their own volition, my arms pulling me up to blessed air. I knew it was hopeless, but my instinct was to fight. The fight was vital… the desire to live, not the result. How odd that I suddenly considered our species to be at its best when it was rallying against death; was there something beyond death that examined our effort?

If there were some test, then I was failing it. My limbs were heavy with fatigue and cold, and despite the burn in my chest and my thumping heart, I was slowing and accepting that air was beyond me. My lungs did what they had to, and I drew in a lungful of cold briny water. How my body twisted and writhed in protest and fear! It was horrible – how could I have foolishly considered this to be a quiet and peaceful death?!

Then arms were around me! Relief flooded me, coursing through my veins more passionately than any narcotic I had experienced. I began to rise to the surface with preternatural speed, and despite my euphoria, I began to feel soul destroying weariness accompanying a sense of dread. I looked down and saw grey, glistening skin. I knew without doubt what the hand looked like – couldn’t I feel those suckers gripping my skin, holding me fast against its firm chest? I closed my eyes. I couldn’t bear to see those tentacles unfurling to coil around me, lifting me into its maw. Bright sunlight and warm air struck my face and on instinct, I expelled the sea water is a series of hacking coughs.

I could smell it! – the same almost overpowering stench of brine. I heard a rapid sucking slapping sound, and I could picture those gills opening and closing. Tears stung my eyes, but failed to fall, and my chest heaved in great despairing gulps of air. The merman who had called this beast to its meal had brothers – of course he did! And they were waiting upon it now, ensuring that the diner was well catered to, picking up the cutlery, pouring the wine… bringing dessert.

To my utmost surprise when the arm holding me moved away, I felt a sharp push against my shoulder blades, propelling me through the water towards the lifeboat. I twisted to look upon my… saviour? His head was low in the water, so all I could see were his pupil-less and rounded eyes within a dark grey dome. There was an unsettling intelligence in his unblinking stare. Did he know what I had done to one of his brothers?

The creature pushed at me again, making it clear that he wanted me away. Slowly, I kicked, slipping into a clumsy backstroke so I could keep an eye on him. Movement on the periphery of vision caught my attention, and I turned. By now, I doubted anything could shock me, but as my brain fused my vision with my reasoning, I could see dozens of other grey domes in the water – their eyes upon me – and my breath caught in my throat. If it wasn’t for the sun coruscating off their eyes, I may have thought them nothing more than odd shadows amongst the waves.

I had nothing left – no fear, no hate, no high ideals. The world was different. Everything I knew drifted away like dying embers caught in an updraft… carried away to die in darkness. In front of me was the ravaging flame and behind me was an unimaginable and smothering nothingness. I would burn or be lost in blackness. All I could do was kick and move away.

With some silent command, the mermen slipped beneath the waves, and I dipped my head to watch them. They darted between the wreckage, looking for something. I thought they would carry the carrion back to their beast, but instead they pushed – almost reverently – the… carcasses away, eager to plunder the remains of the ship. Were they opportunistic scavengers, robbing this soon-to-be grave? There was an eagerness… an almost frantic quality to their actions. I needed to get away, as thoughts were rising like shark fins, and I couldn’t bear to acknowledge them. The desire gave me strength, and I swam strongly to the boat. The feel of wood beneath my numb fingers was more welcome than the feel of fine silk. I pulled myself up, feeling hands about me, helping me into the boat and under the tarp. And I slipped into darkness.

For those terrible days in that boat, we talked about the voyage. We talked until it seemed that nothing else had ever happened. When we couldn’t bear it, we slept fitfully or doubled-up around our horror. The girl, with her curls darkened with oil and smoke and hanging in limp, dirty tendrils, snuggled against the woman, her blue eyes wary and… unfathomable. Soon, the sun and lack of water snatched our sense, and for the last week of our trial, I suffered nightmares and terror beyond my ability to define.

oOo

You still tremble, Father. I almost sympathise. No man should know these things when we are so weak, when we are nothing but sustenance for such creatures… such Gods of the deep. Do we fear the sheep, the lamb? No. We tame them to happily skip to their slaughter; and they are happy with their lot, for they can do nothing to prevent it.

I know your mind is unravelling and unwinding to see the link between my disclosure and the murder I committed. It seems too fantastical, does it not? Look around you at the pictures on my wall, Father. Can you see the same image? Look closer… pick out the faces of the survivors.

The København, the Madagascar, the Neva… the Shannon and Stonehenge; the Peron and Phoenix… the AE1… and the Grampus. The countless dozens of Merchant Navy ships and steamers lost near Tasmania and never found, and these just from the records I could acquire – from the eighteen-fifties to present day, and only from the Indian Ocean. Read the articles, see the link – Oh, I wept and screamed when the knowledge tore through my skull! Can you see it?

I will allow you to deny it. I’m generous.

My breakthrough in my hunt came when I heard of the strange occurrences surrounding the Ourang Medan and headed to Indonesia, searching for any news of survivors plucked from the sea. I know you frown, but there were survivors; there always will be from wrecks such as these… usually, just one: a child. Why am I so sure?

I slashed the throat of the merman, but the song had still permeated that ship like the foul London smog, curling through the streets and alleys to choke us. I slashed at his body, and he never bled! How can I still hold the idea that it had come from him? Something else lulled us to our doom that day. It’s so remarkably clever. Women and children first, eh? We, through our very nature, would risk all to save her, to carry her to a safe harbour. From there, she slipped onto vessels to sing again… and again… and again. Do you understand? Do you? Do you know how many ships through the ages have disappeared… lost forever?

I may have crushed her skull, but her body slipped from the dock back into the water. People dived in and searched for her, but they found no body. Even now, you have no proof that she is dead, other than the fact that she never re-surfaced… but she wouldn’t, would she?

I know you understand. Here, have some water and sit; you’ll feel… calmer. Do you see now why I had to do it? Yes, make yourself hard and shake your head in horror at my deluded conclusions. It’ll no doubt help you sleep and preserve your sanity to cling to the notion that I am mad. But… you saw her face. In the few photos, you saw her angelic face and those blonde curls… in the written reports from sun-crazed and water-tormented survivors, you could read her presence: for a hundred years, the same girl rescued from wreck after wreck after wreck?!