by Ben Hammott
THE CREATURES’ PATRIARCH, recently forced to abandon the ship, headed for the hull. Water streamed from its body when it stealthily climbed the port side. It peered over the rail at the humans distracted by the writhing stalks, their unprotected backs ideal targets for its viciousness. It crept its powerful limbs over the side, and with claws retracted, it skulked closer to the unsuspecting humans.
TOM MOVED HIS WEIGHT from one foot to the other to force some circulation through them while he kept his eyes glued to the rail edge. He had only turned away briefly when the boom of a blunderbuss shattered the silence that had fallen on the ship. The following cheers from the crew made him believe that whatever they had shot at had suffered from the blast. He glanced at Raf, a veteran sailor and the oldest man on board, more gray, straggly beard than face, when he spat a globule of dark, mashed goo over the side and took yet another bite from his wedge of chewing tobacco. He paused in returning it to his pocket and held it out to Tom, who glanced at the recently bitten end, damp with the man’s saliva and groove-marked from his rotten, gapped teeth, and shook his head. Raf shrugged, slipped it back in his pocket and again concentrated on the rail.
Wondering what was happening on the mid-deck, Tom shot a glance over the side to check it was clear and then looked back along the ship. He gasped at the sizeable sleek creature that crept up on the unsuspecting crew; their attention focused on the twisting line of tendrils along the starboard side.
When the creature hunched down on its four back limbs ready to spring, Tom cupped a hand to his mouth and yelled a warning. “Look out! It’s behind you!”
Some of the crew turned their heads towards the shout and saw Tom frantically pointing at the port side. The patriarch ran claws down the backs of the first men it reached. They screamed. Men turned to see the agonized expressions and arched backs of two of their comrades. The suffering men dropped their weapons and reached for the long rips of flapped open skin down their backs. The creature slammed into them, sending them reeling forwards into the others directly in front.
Flinching from the impact, one of the crew inadvertently tensed his finger on the trigger, blasting shot into the wounded man who had barged into him. The lead ball smashed through his shipmate’s chin and exploded through teeth before lodging in the dying man’s brain.
The man beside him raised his weapon at the monster and pulled the trigger. The creature swiped at the gun, knocking it aside as it went off. The shot entered another man’s back, severing his spine and sending him flopping to the ground.
With his retreat blocked by those pressed behind, Noah thrust his torch at the creature’s pointed face. The patriarch creature squealed as it dodged the flame and swiped out a claw, knocking it aside. It lurched forward, gripped Noah’s head in its jaws and launched him at the other humans. As panic flowed through the crew, the creature speedily moved amongst them, ripping, biting and barging them aside in disarray. The tentacles on its back sought their own victims. Darting snakelike at any within reach, they tore chunks of flesh from their prey.
When Guillermo swept the flaming torch at the vicious tentacles, it focused the creature’s swift vengeance upon him. Barely glimpsing the claw that swiped across his stomach before the monster turned away to attack another, he looked down and was horrified to witness his innards seeking to escape, forcing the deep gashes in his belly open. He dropped the torch and fell to his knees, clutching at his oozing guts to hold them in.
Unable to fire their weapons for fear of hitting their fellow shipmates, those around the outer edges moved away to seek a clear line of sight.
The patriarch swiped out a claw. Two men screamed as talons left deep gashes across their faces. Dodging back when the powerful creature attacked the man next to him, the boatswain aimed his pistol axe at the monster and fired. The shot grazed its side. The creature squealed and turned its murderous gaze upon him. Jozef lurched forward and swung the axe at its head. One of the creature’s arm claws bit down on his wrist, halting the axe inches from its face. It twisted savagely. Bones crunched and broke. The pistol axe clattered as it fell. Its other front limb swiped at Jozef, knocking him to the ground with enough force to send him rolling along the deck. The creature chased him and stabbed a claw through his chest, ending his tumble-and his life.
Fokke pushed a man out of his way, raised his pistol at the creature and fired. The lead ball grazed the patriarch’s head and smashed through the tip of one of the tentacles on its back.
Panicked shots fired by the terrified crew went wild of their erratic, ever-moving target and brought the monster’s wrath down upon them.
The patriarch lunged at the nearest man and bit down on his arm. Crunching through skin, muscle, and bone, it drew its head back with the severed limb in its jaws. Flinging the gruesome prize at the group of four men backing away, it leaped upon them, biting, ripping and stabbing until all four were corpses.
As soon as he heard the first shot, Tom had rushed from the quarterdeck to assist.
Fokke called the boy to him and pointed at the powder bag. “Quick, Tom, powder and shot.”
Tom crossed to Guillermo. Ignoring the dying man’s pleas for help and the innards he was unsuccessfully trying to prevent spilling out from the large gashes in his stomach, he tugged the strap from the man’s shoulder and returned to the captain.
As the captain reloaded, Tom rushed around to the other men handing out gunpowder and shot. He then collected the dropped weapons, moved to a safe distance and started reloading while the carnage continued.
“Those who have firearms,” shouted the captain. Six men gathered around him. “Aim and fire at its head on my order.” When all had their weapon trained on the creature continuing its carnage, Fokke shouted,” Fire!”
Multiple shots rang out, sending lead at the creature and a cloud of acrid gray smoke forming around them. The creature’s squeals indicated some of them had found their target. Fokke waved the smoke away and gazed at the dead and dying men, but there was no sign of the creature. He glanced at the crew around him. “Reload.”
Tom rushed to them and swapped their discharged weapons with those he had reloaded before rushing off to reload them also.
With the screams and groans from his fallen crew ringing in his head, Fokke searched for the monster.
Luka Vanmulan, who had never been so terrified, wished his limbs would stop shaking as he directed the blunderbuss at the many shadows around him, any of which might be concealing the vicious demon. He put a hand to his head when something splattered on it and looked at the thick, dark liquid that stained his fingers. He shook it off and gazed up. Terror froze the scream on his lips when he saw the monster dropping from the yardarm. He panic-fired the weapon before he aimed, blasting the rail with shot. A stretched-out limb slashed across his face deep enough to scrape bone. Knocked to the ground by the creature landing on him, its claws digging deep into his flesh, Vanmulan screamed as he struck wildly at its head with the butt of the blunderbuss. The patriarch savagely ripped out the man’s throat and, sprayed with the man’s blood; it turned on those around it when one fired his pistol. It leaped when the lead ball grazed its shoulder and barged into three men, knocking them sprawling. A blunderbuss went off beside its head, deafening one ear. It ran a claw from the man’s neck to his navel as it turned to another. He swiped away the pistol aimed at its face, deflecting the shot as it whizzed past its head. Burning powder singed its scales. It jumped on the man and bit off his face.
Shaking with terror, Wagner aimed the pistol at the creature that was close enough for him to breathe in its stagnant, briny stench. He pulled the trigger.
The patriarch screeched when another explosion rang out close by and pain burned in its side. It snarled at the human responsible, who reeked of fear.
Backing away, Wagner, his face masked with terror, threw the discharged weapon at the creature, turned and fled.
The patriarch bounded after the fleeing human and swiped at two men too sluggish to av
oid its wrath. Both screamed from their painful wounds as they collapsed to the deck.
When the large creature set off in pursuit of Wagner, stalks snaked over the sides of the vessel and started dragging the dead, wounded and any human they came across off the ship to their feeding ground.
Casting a terrified glance behind at the monster in pursuit, Wagner headed for the forward door leading below deck and jumped down the steps. Landing awkwardly, almost twisting an ankle, he faltered before regaining his balance and rushing along the corridor.
Witnessing the monster’s pursuit of Wagner, Fokke grasped his pistol hand with his other in an attempt to lessen its shaking, sighted on the animal and fired. Cursing when the shot missed and splintered the mast that the creature rushed past, he turned to survey the carnage left in its wake.
Geerhart fired his blunderbuss at three serpentine tentacles reaching for him. The blast shredded two, but the third whipped down at his leg and yanked him off his feet. Dragged towards the rail, he struck mercilessly at the frond wrapped around his ankle, doing more damage to his leg than the carnivorous limb.
Drasbart snatched the boatswain’s fallen pistol axe from the deck and rushed to the man’s aid. A single strike severed the frond through. He swung the weapon at the next two that were trying to attack him. Slicing through one, he dodged the other lunging for his weapon arm.
Geerhart grabbed a torch lying nearby and thrust the flame at the attacking tendril. Flaying madly from the pain, it retreated. Drasbart helped Geerhart to his feet, and they crossed to the few survivors huddled in a circle around the main mast. All had reverted to the torches, most of which showed signs of dying now the pitch-enthused wrappings at their tips had almost burned away.
When they had dragged the last of the casualties over the side, the rest of the stalks slithered back into the sea, giving the few weary survivors a welcome respite.
Drasbart’s worried gaze traveled the length of the ship for any remaining threat. He was glad to see that, for now, the battle was over. A count of the remaining crew revealed no sign of Raf on the quarterdeck, another victim of the onslaught. They had taken a heavy toll. Only nine sailors, three of which were wounded, himself, the cabin boy and the captain, remained of those above deck. He wasn’t sure how many wounded had made it below to visit the ship’s surgeon to get patched up, but with the cook and the surgeon, he guessed maybe another three or four in total. In his estimate, the weed and creatures had claimed more than thirty souls since the ship had encountered them, and they still weren’t free of the monsters’ clutches. Their future looked grim. He looked around for the captain and spotted him reloading his pistol while crossing cautiously to the forecastle doorway. To find out what their next move would be, he went to intercept him.
Aiming his reloaded pistol through the doorway, Fokke peered into the gloomy stairwell.
“Anything wrong, Captain?”
Fokke glanced at him. “Plenty. That large creature’s still on board.”
Drasbart stared around the deck anxiously.
“It’s not up here.” Fokke nodded at the entrance. “It’s down there.”
With creased brow, Drasbart looked down the few wooden steps. “That’s not good. There’re men down there.”
“No, it damn well isn’t,” stated Fokke irritably, brushing a hand through his blood-matted beard. He glanced over at the men gathered around the mast casting fearful gazes at the sides of the ship. “Gather half of the men able to wield a firearm and bring them to me.”
“You’re going down after it? Is that wise?”
Fokke nodded. “Perhaps not, but I mean to see it dead for what it’s done here today. Even if I have to burn the ship around it to achieve that.”
Unsure if the captain was serious, Drasbart nodded. “I’ll go select the men.”
“While we’re below, you and the rest of the crew are to remain topside and guard the ship against further attack.”
“I’m not sure that’s even possible with the few we have left.”
“You’ll do your best, I’m sure. If we fail to return, load the landing boat with provisions, set a fire, and you and any others still alive abandon ship.” He glanced at one of the landing boats, its canvas cover loosened by the strong winds draped over the side. “Best get Tom set bailing out the rainwater just in case.”
“Aye.” Hoping it wouldn’t come to that, Drasbart went to issue the captain’s orders to the few remaining members of the crew.
The ship’s cook, Jon Busch, stopped gathering the pots, pans and other metal containers that would boil water and glanced along the corridor at the running footsteps approaching. Already nervous from the sounds of battle going on topside, which he noticed had now waned, he reached for the meat cleaver when the footsteps were almost upon him.
Wagner glanced at the cook as he sprinted by. “Hide, the devil’s coming!”
Busch had peeked topside during the devilish weed’s attack and had witnessed the crew fighting the carnivorous plant and evil creatures. He didn’t for a moment doubt Wagner’s warning and ducked behind the serving counter.
The patriarch jumped down the steps and stared along the corridor. Though the passage was dark, its nocturnal eyesight picked out every detail and the fleeing human at its end. Cautious of the strange, confining surroundings, it padded along the corridor at a swift gait. On reaching the galley, it paused and sniffed the strong stench of unwashed human.
Busch turned his frightened gaze to the end of the counter, and his ears to the deep, rumbling breaths of the devil creature Wagner had alerted him to. When its snout appeared past the edge, he raised the cleaver. He trembled when its head came into view and turned its horrendous face at him. As if sensing his presence, the tendrils on the creature’s back pointed their tips in his direction and split open, revealing each had a small jaw lined with tiny, needle-sharp teeth.
The creature snarled and moved so swiftly, Busch barely registered the attack before it was upon him. Stumbling back as he swung the meat cleaver, stacks of pots and pans clattered to the floor. The knife joined them when a claw sliced at his wrist, cutting deep to the bone. Busch screamed. The creature bit down on his neck, severing arteries and windpipe and scraping teeth across his spine. Busch flopped to the floor when the monster released him. Its tongue slithered over its snout to lick off the cook’s blood as it moved away to continue its hunt.
Wagner leaped down another set of steps as Busch’s scream was cut short. Desperately gazing around the gundeck for a hiding place as the clack-clack of the creature’s claws on the ship’s timbers grew steadily closer, he rushed for the far door and pulled it shut it behind him. Breathing heavily from fear and exertion, he put an ear to the door. The ominous clacking continued to track him. He sniveled in terror as he grabbed one of the lanterns stored on hooks beside the entrance and lit it. Holding it high, he shone it around the storeroom filled with the heady aroma of spices. Stacked with crates, barrels, and sacks filled with expensive exotic wares and provisions for the long voyage home, it provided plenty of places to hide. Though doubtful any would prevent the monster from finding him, he nevertheless hung the lantern from a ceiling hook and sought one out.
On entering the gundeck, the creature paused and cast its evil gaze around in search of the human that had caused the painful throbbing wound in its side. It raised its head to the muffled screams, running footsteps and gunshots filtering down from the top deck, before focusing on the door at the far end of the room—the only route the human could have taken. It slowly crossed to it and putting its snout to the gap beneath the door, sniffed, drawing in the human’s scent and fear. It slammed its shoulder into the barrier, sending it flying open to smash against the wall. It entered the storeroom, and sniffing the air tainted with strange aromas, it narrowed in on the human’s scent and followed it through the room.
Shivering from the chilly, brackish water and fear of the thing that moved across the creaking boards above him, Wagner flinched when it sm
ashed through the door. Backing deeper into the cold, dark keel hold he had chosen as his place of concealment; his eyes followed the creature’s footsteps as its body blocked the lantern light seeping through gaps between the floorboards above. He sobbed when it halted at the trapdoor, its growl deep, rumbling and full of menace.
Wagner clamped a hand over his mouth to the stifle the involuntary fearful gasp brought forth when the creature flung the hatch open. Lowering his head and shoulders until his eyes were just above the surface of the foul soup, he stared at the monstrous demon poking its head through the opening. Its searching eyes turned in his direction. His whole body trembled when they found him, sending small ripples emanating out from his shaking form.
Wagner rose up straight when the creature dropped through the hatch and slipped beneath the surface. He sobbed as his terrified gaze fixated on the creature’s tentacles, the only visible part of it, gliding closer, their tiny mouths chomping hungrily. He screamed when he was yanked under and swallowed the foul water tinged with his blood when the creature and its tentacles feasted.
CHAPTER 9
Defeated
Brackish water drained from the creature when it climbed out through the hatch and ran a black, pointed tongue over its teeth stained with the blood of its recent human meal. When distant voices promised another tasty feast, it skulked towards them.
FIGHTING THE MAN’S jerking movements with each prick of the needle he passed through his skin to knit the sides of the deep gash together, Tobias Smollett, the ship’s surgeon, barber, and carpenter, continued with his task. Though he hadn’t seen the creature responsible for the crew’s recent injuries with his own eyes, the vivid descriptions given by his frightened patients had painted such a strange beast of immense ferociousness that he found it difficult to believe such a monster existed outside the realm of myth and nightmares. Something, though, had inflicted the severe wounds on those he had patched up, most of whom he doubted would survive the long journey home with what limited medical assistance he had at his disposal. He tied off the final stitch and cut the thread with his teeth.