9 Tales Told in the Dark 11

by 9 Tales Told in the Dark

  Frank and Joe stripped off their shirts and climbed into the water. Their job was to inspect the twenty-two foot wooden spar extending from the nose of the craft. Once happy with its condition, they would mount a barbed copper torpedo to its far end. When the Hunley rammed its target, that barb would attach to the other ship's hull. As they backed away, leaving the torpedo behind, Lieutenant Dixon would pull a cord, triggering the ninety pounds of black powder inside.

  Auggie slipped through the rear hatch. To judge from the sounds echoing through the hull, James Wicks was doing the same thing at the front.

  "Ready?" The light filtering in through the hatches was so dim Auggie couldn't tell if James was ready to test the hand crank that, once underway, all seven enlisted men would use to move the Hunley. The crank moved, albeit marginally. Auggie grabbed hold and, together, they rotated it several turns, keeping it slow so the fish boat wouldn't strain against her lines.

  "Looks good." The lack of any drawl made private James Wicks stand out among the crew, as did his birthplace—Ohio.

  Muted voices echoed through the hull then a shadowy head poked into the front hatch. "All ok out." Carlsen said. "How's the candle supply?"

  Auggie heard James moving around. Something clattered against the iron floor. "Be easier to check if you would move your head." The Ohioan didn't bother to hide his exasperation. A small circle of light appeared.

  "There ya go. Need me to check the box for ya too?"

  James grumbled, but Auggie knew he was counting candles and matches. "Three candles, twenty matches."

  "Thank you, private."

  "He doesn't like me." Wicks' mumbled comment carried easily through the interior.

  "It's not that. He just wants to be fighting Yankees with General Lee." Auggie wiggled the fingers on his left hand. At the battle of Bull Run, before he'd even fired a shot, a Minie ball had mangled his index, middle, and ring fingers. A surgeon had done the rest, leaving him with only his thumb and pinky finger. "I understand how he feels."

  "Still no reason to take it out on us."

  Auggie had no answer to that, so said nothing as they joined the others already lounging on the pier.

  When Lieutenant Dixon arrived, they started to stand, but he motioned them back down. "Relax. I've got something to say before we set sail, and you can hear as well seated as standing." The lieutenant stood on the pier, staring at them for a long minute, more serious than Auggie had ever seen him. "The Housatonic is on blockade duty in the mouth of the harbor."

  "Waiting for us to sink her." Arnold winked at the lieutenant. Auggie joined in the laughter and cheering that followed. Arnold always knew the right thing to say.

  "And sink her we will," Dixon said, when they quieted. "But, you men know the Hunley's history." He made eye contact with each man before moving to the next. When he got to Auggie, the lieutenant lingered.

  "If any man wants out. Now is the time. It will not be held against him." The only movement was Arnold lifting a butt cheek off the wooden pier to fart. Even the lieutenant laughed. "Then I will assume that Private Becker's eloquent buttocks speaks for the lot of you." Though he'd not asked for any, nods and grunts of affirmation greeted his statement. "General Beauregard has ordered that we attack after dark, and while submerged, an order which we will pursue with vigor. After the attack, it's imperative we surface, even in the face of incoming fire from the Housatonic. That, I'm afraid, may be the lesser of two evils if we are caught submerged…"

  The lieutenant continued his speech, but Auggie drifted off, thinking about what he'd just said, "the lesser of two evils." What could be worse than enemy fire while submerged?

  "Private Miller," Lieutenant Dixon nodded to Auggie, "Private Wicks," he nodded to James, "be ready to drop the ballast at my command."

  "Yes, sir." The two privates spoke in unison. Auggie wondered if James was also picturing the head of the iron bolt that would be at his feet. To drop the weight held fast against the bottom of the hull, they would have to unscrew the nut that secured the bolt while in almost complete darkness. They'd never practiced it while the submersible was moving under fire … or while dealing with whatever might be worse.

  "Good. Once on the surface, I will exit the fish boat and signal Battery Marshall of our success. Corporal…" He waited for Corporal Carlsen's nod, acknowledging that he was listening. "You will shut the front hatch behind me. I will signal the shore from outside the Hunley."

  Auggie watched Carlsen's jaw move, but emit no sound. Why would the lieutenant order the corporal to shut him out of the Hunley?

  "Battle positions," the Lieutenant said.

  Once inside, the men would not be able to squeeze by each other, so they climbed down to the fish boat in the proper order. Frank and Joe went first. Frank would enter the rear hatch as Joe entered the front; they would then meet in the middle of the Hunley. Charles and Corporal Carlsen went next, followed by Arnold and Wicks. The lieutenant saluted each of them and praised them for their bravery before they stepped on the ladder. Auggie and Lieutenant Dixon would be the final two down the ladder.

  The lieutenant stopped Auggie. "I've got something for you, private." He pulled a revolver from under his belt at his back. Handing it to Auggie, he patted his own, still holstered, sidearm. "In case of boarding, I've got the front hatch. You sit behind the rear hatch, and are the farthest from me."

  "Thank you, sir!" Auggie saluted, almost clubbing himself on the forehead with the barrel of his gift.

  "I know you will be as enthusiastic if the Yankees try to board." Lieutenant Dixon grinned and directed the pistol into Auggie's belt. His grin fell. "Or whatever else might happen."

  "Yes, sir!"

  As he and Lieutenant Dixon sealed everyone in, the pools of light under the hatches grew smaller until they finally winked out. It wasn't until that moment that the lieutenant's words became real. All of a sudden, his hands felt cold. The lieutenant expected … no, Auggie shook off the thought. He wouldn't get in the Hunley if he did. Or would he? Auggie had heard the general's threat: attack or be hanged. Lieutenant Dixon had ordered Corporal Carlsen to shut him out of the fish boat.

  A small beacon of light appeared in the front, followed by the smell of phosphorous. At the front of the fish boat, James had lit a candle.

  From beyond the small circle of light, an unseen Lieutenant Dixon spoke. "Remember, if the candle goes out, we are out of air. Do not wait for my command to drop ballast." Auggie silently mouthed the words along with the lieutenant—the same words he'd spoken before every training run.

  "Corporal, call it out."

  "One … Two … Three …" At each count, the men leaned into the hand crank. It had been engineered so that no man applied full pressure at the same time as any other man, otherwise, the Hunley would jerk as it moved through the water.

  BEGIN

  Once content they had the rhythm, Carlsen started singing. "When Johnny comes marching home again, hurray, hurrah…" Gradually, the rest of the crew picked up the tune until they were all singing in low voices.

  Auggie soon lost himself in the monotony of forward, back, forward, and back again. Sweat ran from his brow, but he hardly noticed as his mind wandered, taking him back home. The dark confines of the Hunley's interior disappeared, replaced by the forested hills of North Carolina. A dirt road, rutted by decades of wagon travel, meandered between flowering dogwoods and red maple trees. Bluebirds and cardinals sang from their heights. To his right, a small lane snuck away, deeper into the forest. His feet took him onto the side route. Three steps later, a dark-haired beauty in a brown homespun dress stopped him in his tracks. The forest seemed to vanish behind her twinkling brown eyes and mischievous grin.

  "My pa is going to kill you when he hears we was out here alone." Afraid of befouling the beauty of her voice with their songs, the dream birds quieted when Hannah spoke. And, though they'd been officially courting for two months, Auggie reacted just as he had when he'd first seen her at the Burke County Fair,
by standing speechless.

  "So it's best he not hear of it," Hanna said, pushing off the tree behind her. She stopped so close that he instinctively raised his hands to keep her from crashing into him. Grin still in place, she raised her elfin face to his. "But my soldier deserves a kiss before he leaves."

  "Prepare for dive in…" Lieutenant Dixon's voice echoed through the forest. Hannah vanished. In place of her delicate shoulders, the cold iron of the propeller crank filled his hands. "Three… Two… One…" The Hunley tilted to his right. It held that angle for several minutes before levelling out at a depth of six feet. "Ramming speed, Corporal." Though still beyond the candle's meager influence, Auggie knew the lieutenant crouched in the bow.

  Carlsen's count sped up. The men followed, increasing the crank's rotation. At four knots per hour, the Hunley made its way across the harbor. Sweat ran from Auggie's brow, soaking his hands. He fought to keep his grip, resorting to using his mangled left hand only for pushing.

  "Stop!" Lieutenant Dixon proved to be on the mark with his timing. Immediately following his command, the copper torpedo struck the Housatonic six feet below the surface, bringing the submersible to a teeth-jarring halt.

  "Full reverse!"

  "Full reverse!" Corporal Carlsen echoed the lieutenant's command. "One… Two…"

  Auggie jerked at the sharp clang of a Minie ball ricocheting off the iron hatch less than two feet from his head, losing the count. The crank struck him in the chest, and the breath he already struggled for refused to come. In vain, he grasped for the handle while trying to draw air into his lungs. Both eluded him, the air ceaselessly taunting him by sending the candle into a seizure of flickering light, turning the crank into nothing more than a flashing shadow-thing in front of him.

  "Prepare for blast!" As if in response to the lieutenant's command, the breath rushed to fill Auggie's lungs. He flattened himself against the hull. The shock wave struck, knocking him unconscious. He awoke to the sound of a match flaring to life. He might have been out for seconds or minutes, it was impossible to tell.

  "Sir, are you all right?" James must have lit another candle and now held it toward the bow of the ship. Before the small circle of light could banish the darkness shrouding Lieutenant Dixon's post, a growl, reeking of malice and savagery not born in nature, reverberated through the hull. James pressed the candle forward. In the flickering light, the back of Lieutenant Dixon's uniform jacket split into two pieces from top to bottom. Long hair sprung from the growing rift like thousands of black needles. The rest of the crew either leaned into the light, trying to see past James, or were trying to force their back, away from the lieutenant. Glimpses over shoulders and through fleeting gaps created by their jostling showed Auggie more than he wanted. The thing that had been Lieutenant Dixon turned. His humanity lay hidden beneath coarse fur and the remains of his uniform. Even resting on its hands and knees, the beast filled the bow of the boat. Yellow eyes shone from a head pressed against the top of the hull. Drool hung from a muzzle shaped like a wolf's, but larger than anything God would ever allow on an animal. Fingers tipped with black claws the size of knives flexed. James' head exploded in a spray of blood. The candle fell from his lifeless hand, but remained lit. Its flickering light turned the next several seconds into a living flipbook.

  Carlsen screamed as the werewolf pulled James' headless corpse to it.

  Training took over and Auggie reached for the ballast bolt. They needed to surface before they could escape. The others exploded into motion, pushing and shoving backward, forcing him away from the bolt and their only chance for escape. "I need to—" Corporal Carlsen's screams filled the sub.

  "It's coming for me, back up!" Sobs overcame Joe's frantic pleas.

  Cold iron stopped Auggie. He could go no farther, though the rest of the crew continued to press. Arnold begged God to spare his life. Either Frank or Charles kept repeating, "Stop Lieutenant, it's us, stop, don't hurt us."

  An anguished cry signaled Joe's death.

  Auggie's heart raced. There was no way out. The beast would keep killing them one at a time. How many were left? Three? Four?

  "I'm going for the ballast bolt!" Frank shouted. The pressure against Auggie lessened.

  "Open the hatch!" Charles stood, reaching into the conning tower.

  "No! We'll drown." Arnold managed to drag Charles back just as Frank screamed.

  Breaking free of Arnold, Charles roared an incoherent challenge and stumbled toward the creature. The battle played out in silhouette. They met in the middle of the submersible, over Frank's corpse. Private Lumpkin punched the beast, landing a solid blow on the end of its snout. It didn't seem to notice. Struggling no more than Auggie would have with a child's rag doll, the creature grabbed Lumpkin's arms and tore him in half. Blood, painted black by the candle light, splashed to the deck.

  Arnold fell to his knees. "Please don't kill me, please don't kill me." He repeated the mantra non-stop as it came at him.

  It howled in frustration when it realized it couldn't get its bulk past the corpses of the rest of the crew. Whining like a dog wanting to come inside, it tore at the human barricade, flinging chunks in random directions. Arnold continued to plead, seemingly oblivious to his reprieve and the fact that he knelt just in front of the ballast bolt.

  Auggie willed his legs to move. One foot then the other slopped forward in ankle-deep liquid he hoped was seawater. He had to get to the bolt. If he could loosen it before the beast… It stopped and glared at him, a leg dangling from one clawed hand. Was there enough of the lieutenant still in there for it to know what he planned?

  The candle went out. For a moment, all was silent. Had the snorkels been damaged, or had the wick gotten wet?

  Wet body parts smacked off the iron hull as the beast tried again to clear a path. Auggie reached for Arnold but slipped in the muck. His hip clanged against the hull as metal struck metal. He pushed off and took another step before he realized what he'd just heard—the gun. Pulling it from his belt, Auggie pointed it into the darkness, toward the creature, and Arnold.

  Cocking the hammer, he whispered, "Arn—" A spray of something wet struck his face. Auggie pulled the trigger. The retort was deafening. Acrid smoke filled his nostrils. Auggie cocked the pistol again. Hot, fetid breath struck his face. Fear tried to buckle his knees. He fired again. The creature pinned Auggie beneath its weight. He pushed, and wiggled, frantically trying to get out from under the… He felt human flesh. The spiny fur was vanishing. The creature was shrinking.

  Stars appeared, a few at first, but brilliant in the blackness. Auggie remembered the candle. What he was seeing were not stars. There was no air. He panicked, scrabbling at the smooth hull for purchase. He had to get to the ballast bolt. More lights appeared then they too began to wink out. Auggie's flailing grew weaker.

  Hannah stepped away. "You'd better come home to me, soldier boy."

  Auggie could still feel where her lips had touched his.

  THE END

  AN AUDIENCE OF SQUIRRELS by Sara Green

  Brakes squealed. Frank Peavey looked up from his daylilies. It was just the garbage collection he normally wouldn’t have given it another thought but this time it was a little different. The man who had come around behind the back of the big garbage truck seemed to be struggling.

  “Need any help with that?”

  The man did nothing to acknowledge Frank. He just kept trying to toss a heavy bag into the truck so Frank joined him.

  “Let me help you with that.”

  The man’s face scrunched up like a crushed soda can.

  “Can’t allow you,” he said. “It’s the law. Got all kind of regulations only I can put stuff in this truck, got it?”

  “Sure, well it is still my trash and I help lift it, then you can push it in. Right?” Frank was half joking as the regulation seemed very silly considering how much the man who was easily past the retirement age was struggling.

  The man looked around and then nodded. “I guess tha
t could work.”

  Frank looked around too, wondering if the city garbage men were under the same pressures as almost any other job with bureaucrats who praised efficiency yet existed in such a capacity that it only slowed down productivity and morale.

  Frank and the man lifted the bag. Then the man gave it a hearty push and it plopped down into the back of the garbage truck. Frank went to wipe his hands on his jeans, but paused noticing all the soil he’d managed to coat them with while gardening.

  “Always a way around a regulation.” Frank smiled.

  The man didn’t. Instead he groaned and said, “Regulations are there to protect people.”

  “Hey, so my son is doing a report in his social studies classes about parts of the government that do work. You guys do a great job, so he was gonna do trash collection. Is there anybody he could call and maybe talk with to understand the process of how everything works?”

  The man shrugged. “Guess he’d want to talk to Tony Gose, but he don’t like kids.”

  Frank nodded and let the man walk around to the side of the garbage truck. The man climbed on and the truck jerked forward with a hiss and then went another fifty feet to the next set of garbage cans.

  ><><

  “So one more question, where does it all go?” Frank said eagerly chewing on his pencil’s eraser. There was a click on the other end of the receiver. It bothered him a bit. Tony Gose had been easy to pester for a few questions on his son’s social studies report and this new moment of silence felt cold.

  “We have various forms of exporting to various districts who pay to take out trash for waste-to-energy incinerators.” Tony Gose rattled off slowly, almost like some silent partner was coaching him.

  “Do you sort it at all before it is shipped out?”

  “No. It all goes. Procedure has the garbage taken directly from any of the dumping stations to whichever contractor currently has the bid to take the garbage out of the city. Will this be all Mr. Peavey?”