convinced me of my previous assumption.
“Very funny guys,” I said, walking into the wheelhouse. “Moldy cheese?”
“Go on now, you don’t need to be in here!” the captain shouted. “Didn’t I tell you to get something to eat?”
I stared at the two men for a second, a long second. My thoughts were lost, and it felt as if someone had pressed a hot iron into my chest.
“But stay out of the galley,” Taylor added, grimly.
“By the way, this here is my brother,” said the captain, jerking his thumb, smiling proudly.
* * * *
Things only got worse as the day rolled on. I managed to talk to the rest of the crew, when they came in to use the bathroom, or get some coffee. They were all just as distant and remote as the captain and his brother had been. Some of them seemed cheerful enough, but when I asked them about heading for port, they just shrugged their shoulders and walked away. None of them invited me into the galley for a meal.
In what must have been the late afternoon, I went back to my bunk to rest. I thought about my predicament, still hoping that everything was just one big joke and that now, the entire crew was in on it. I thought this, in fact, moments before I fell asleep. But hours later, when I opened my eyes…
The stateroom was morbidly dark. There were no sounds other than the humming of the engine below. I climbed down and crept out of the room, thinking the crew was asleep. I walked down the hall toward the galley, famished, prepared to steal food. As I approached the ready-room, I saw a man lying on the floor, and my first assumption was that he had passed out after coming inside. But after close inspection, I realized he was dead.
It was Taylor, lying on his back, eyes and mouth stretched open, a face of death staring at the ceiling. I noticed streams of what looked like yellow earwax that had bubbled and oozed out of his ears. And there was a putrid smell lingering in the hall, like rancid milk.
Nerves now rattled, I stepped past the body and approached the galley. I wasn’t sure what had happened to the man, and I certainly wasn’t going to touch him. Briefly, I suspected a heart attack, and that nobody had found him yet since everyone must have been asleep. But then I thought about all that earwax and the smell.
My thoughts spun into a different direction after entering the galley. I found the rest of the deckhands, and all three of them were sprawled on the floor, eyes as vacant and vast as the Bering Sea. And each of them had that yellow goo dripping from their ears.
I choked on my breath and ran for the wheelhouse.
* * * *
Captain Bailey’s head was drooping over the back of his chair. His scraggly hair swayed absently from the motions of the boat. His arms hung low. His eyes stared at the wooden paneling above. His mouth gaped crookedly as if the jaw had become unhinged. And from his left ear…a mound of goop the size of a tennis ball.
I had awoken into a nightmare—a gruesome death that had touched every man on the Aleutian Whisper, except for me. I was both chilled and mystified, and in the grip of this terror, I reacted.
I grabbed the captain’s body and flung him to the floor, tenderness aside. Yes, the man had saved my life, but… But what?
Panic set in, and I quickly surveyed the instruments, the compass, looked for a map. My legs got the shakes, and my imagination got the best of me. I pictured some kind of monster on the ship—a yellow blob, searching for its next victim—so I flipped the mast light switch in response. A blink of the eye and the Aleutian Whisper turned white against the black hollows of the night.
“Some kind of monster,” I told myself. Then I thought that that was just an irrational fear. But still—every man was now dead. Hadn’t I been in this same situation only the night before? The lone survivor.
I reached for the radio, the word “Mayday” clinging to my lips, when suddenly…
“Sissssss…”
A turn of the head and he was there, standing, glaring—with those fire-lit eyes. The pale face of Death now leered at me in the form of Captain Bailey. I froze at the wheel, eyes locked with his. Then, with blinding speed, he grabbed me!
His hands wrapped around my throat, he snarled, his face contorted into a visage of lunacy. He squeezed at my neck with impossible strength. Some kind of monster! The horrific thought broke my initial shock, and then I punched the captain in his nose.
“Haaaaaaa!” The captain hissed, and his jaw dropped open, releasing a foul breath of air. His hands were successfully crushing my trachea, and he had me pressed up against the side-door. I clutched the strip of hair on his head and jammed my thumbs into his eyes. I tried to push him away, but he wouldn’t let go. The captain was killing me.
“Arrgghhh!!” He roared, and again, that breath, stinging my eyes. I dropped my hands and reached for the door handle behind me. I turned it, and then the wind took over.
I collapsed with my back to the railing. The sweep of the black ocean struck instantly with a light mist, swathing across my face, clinging to my hair, while the creature known as Captain Bailey just stood there. He stood in the doorway, scowling, and for sure, I expected him to drop down on me and finish the job. But no; he simply turned and walked back into the wheelhouse!
The icy wind snapped me out of it. I stood and observed through the doorway, studying the captain. I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was a nightmare, as there could be no other explanation. Or so I thought.
I left the dead man as he was, pacing the wheelhouse, and climbed down onto the deck amidship, via the side rail. My body screamed for warmth, I was freezing, my hands shook with fear, and my stomach churned. I needed to get back inside. But I wondered about the others. Would they be just like the captain?
The door into the ready-room gave an aged, metallic squeak as I opened it. I cringed, and carefully slid my way through. I walked toward the galley. They were still there, all four crewmembers, and I was careful not to touch any of them. It seemed my own hands had brought the captain back from the dead, and into the unwholesome state of a mindless sentinel. Obviously, I didn’t dare reproduce this scenario with the others. But I needed to get warm. I needed extra clothing, possibly some raingear.
Like a mouse, I stole my way down the hall and into the nearest stateroom. Rummaging in the dark, I found a wool jacket and a cap. I put them on and crept back to the ready-room, avoiding Taylor’s body. There was a set of raingear hanging on the wall, just above him. Carefully, I reached over his body and grabbed the gear. But as I pulled it away from the hook, a pair of gloves fell from within its bulk, and onto Taylor’s face.
“Muuaaaahhhhh….”
I panicked, and threw myself out the door and onto the deck! I slipped and fell, but swiftly regained my footing then ran behind a stack of crab pots, where I promptly turned and looked back toward the door. The corpse I had just awoken was now sporadically breaking the light from the hall, and the galley, as it wandered the inside of the ship.
Taylor stayed put, however. He stayed in his “area,” and so the hours passed. My stomach churned and toiled with an angry hunger. My mouth went dry. I put on the raingear and was mildly warm, but my body shivered endlessly from fear. Yet despite all this—the hunger, the thirst, or the ceaseless terror—my eyes also grew heavy.
*
