“Norman, Norman, good to see you, Norman. Come and join us.”
The loud, eerie laughter continued, and the mist enveloped the frightened man. He could now make out the faces of his tormentors. Wells, Grainger, the colonel, Dr Waverley, Pollock and many more. They held hands, rotated like a large wheel, and each character intermittently positioned their faces inches from his. Their breath was putrid and reeked of evil.
“No! Please go away. What do you want of me?”
Again, there was strange laughter, followed by the voices. They appeared to speak in unison. “We want you, Norman. We want you.”
Numerous arms emerged from the mist and clawed at his obese body. Quinn was lifted above the deck by a mysterious force. He now hovered above the rail, and grotesque heads now took the place of the former passengers. Davenport’s head appeared to him, as the mist appeared to carry him out to sea, whilst hideous limbs still enveloped his body.
Quinn screamed loudly. “I don’t want to die… Please, I‘ll do anything!”
Norman felt his bowels release when the mysterious arms pulled at his limbs and agonisingly stretched him, until he was spread-eagled above the sea. He hovered there for what seemed like minutes, and his screams merged with the strange chants of the spectres. He felt his sinews give way when the figures still engulfed in the mist, pulled harder and harder. Their loud laughter still drowned out his screams. His limbs were torn from his body, and his torso exploded into a mass of bloody pulp. What was left of his ravaged corpse fell into the sea. The seagulls quickly joined the gory bloodbath and swooped to feed on Quinn’s mutilated remains. The mist carried out to sea, and the eerie laughter could be heard above the squawking of the gulls.
Chapter Twenty Five
Norman Quinn’s disappearance had a radical effect on the remaining survivors. Although Quinn was not the most popular member of the team, it demonstrated just how vulnerable they were. They made a unanimous decision not to separate and opted for safety in numbers. What buoyancy the food had offered them, was quickly dispelled with the taxman’s disappearance. That he had taken his own life and jumped overboard was suggested, but such a deed seemed out of character for the cowardly man.
The eating of the flesh had a negative effect on Sarah. She had vomited violently during the night. This was their seventeenth day aboard the Empress Medina, their twelfth since they had eaten a decent meal.
The carcass of Wendy was dropped into the sea, and a sense of guilt remained with each of the survivors. The ceremony was carried out swiftly, the group not proud of the gross spectacle.
The feeble survivors made their way along the deck. They did not expect to see another vessel or land, but they kept up their daily routine of manning the bridge. The women had demanded to take part in the vigilance, and now Cindy half-heartedly scanned the blue horizon.
Sarah had excused herself and hurried to the lady’s room, as her delicate stomach played up yet again.
Cindy lounged in a seat and swallowed a mouthful of her delicious champagne. The harrowing ordeal had taken its toll on this once blonde beauty. She was devoid of make-up, her long hair dishevelled and matted. She had not washed her hair for a week. Merely the thought of doing so fatigued her. She brought the binoculars to her tired eyes and again focused on the vast Mediterranean Sea.
She felt her long skirt ride up her thighs and immediately pulled it down. Again, her skirt moved up her legs. She was now afraid. There was no wind present and the sea was unnaturally calm. The once imminent storm had abated during the night as they slept.
Cindy pulled at her skirt. A strong force battled against her. Her breasts were now being mauled aggressively. She tried to fight off the invisible hands, but they groped robustly between her legs. Cindy let out a loud scream and grappled ineffectively with the mysterious force.
A transparent figure appeared, and a gap-toothed grin adorned his features. The breath of Wells was rancid, an odour similar to rotten eggs.
Cindy backed away, but Wells just remained. He leered and ran his grotesque tongue across his lips. The apparition disappeared, as the others, alerted by Cindy’s screams reached the bridge.
“What is it, Cindy?” asked her husband Danny, who hugged her.
“Wells, he was here. I mean, I could see through him, like a ghost,” she sobbed.
“Did he hurt you?”
“He was touching me, Danny. He was touching me… It was awful.”
Ben looked around. “Where’s Sarah? Didn’t we agree that nobody was to be left alone?”
“Sarah is ill. She went to the ladies room.”
Danny clenched his fists and circled the deck like an eager boxer. “Show yourself, you slimy fuck! Big man are we, Wells? Well show yourself and let’s see how big you really are without your apes.”
A strong breeze passed through them; a breeze that carried with it, the odour of rotten eggs.
******
Ben worried for Sarah, and noticed that she ignored the meat in front of her. She was pale and had lost a lot of weight; even more than her companions.
Ben stroked her hair. “You must eat, Sarah. The meat will give you strength.”
She just rocked her head from side to side.
Ben abandoned his coaxing. “Today, we’ll finish the raft. The sooner we get off this ship the better. We’ll launch it tomorrow morning. I estimate the meat and champagne will last us possibly three days, if we ration it appropriately.”
“I’m not going,” groaned Sarah.
“Sarah, don’t be foolish. You must go with us.”
“No, Ben, I’m staying here with Joe.”
Ben sidled up to the distressed woman. “Joe is dead, Sarah. He’s gone. You must now think of yourself.”
“My Joe is not dead. What are you trying to do to me?”
“Come to your senses, woman. We threw him over the side, remember,” growled Ross.
Cheryl placed a comforting arm around Sarah. “Joe will always be alive in your heart, Sarah, but he really is dead.”
Sarah shrugged Cheryl off. “You’re no different to the rest of them. You want me to leave Joe here, don’t you?”
Danny joined in. “He’s dead, god damn it. He was riddled with gangrene.”
Sarah sobbed. “I spoke to him.”
“You spoke to him? When?”
“Today. When I went to the ladies room. He told me not to leave the ship if I loved him.”
Ben gripped her shoulders. “Sarah, that was not Joe, believe me. It may have looked like him, but it definitely was not Joe.”
Sarah upset the champagne bottle. “You never liked him, did you? None of you. I’ll be glad to see you all go.”
She ran away and Cindy tried in vain to stop her.
“Leave her, Cindy,” insisted Ben. “Davenport has been playing his tricks. You won’t change her mind.”
******
The raft was finished before sundown. They had decided to sleep close to it. They could not afford to let it out of their sight, aware that Davenport would do everything in his power to prevent them from leaving the ship.
Sarah had not been seen since she had ran away. She had seemed to be in a sort of trance, and it was thought best to leave her. Either she was insane, or Davenport had somehow brainwashed her. If she appeared the next morning, they would force her onto the raft, but if she didn’t show, they would have no choice but to leave her.
Ben, Ross, and Danny had tied themselves to the raft. Every possible precaution had been taken.
It was a clear, humid night, with not a breath of wind. Ben lay on the hard deck and looked up at the stars. He nodded off and again dreamt of Natasha and the beach.
Cindy was roused from her sleep. She felt a cold hand caress her slowly between her legs. She looked across at Danny, who slept soundly. She put her hands down to fend off her invisible assailant and tried to scream. No sound came from her mouth, as she was now being held by her ankles. She was dragged slowly across the deck towards the bow.
She tried again with all of her might to scream, but was incapable of doing so. It was as if her vocal chords had been muted. She heard muffled laughter, as she continued on her terrifying journey across the deck. She stopped and looked up, to see semi-transparent figures tower over her. Wells was accompanied by Grainger, Pollock, and Bates the butler.
Cindy was paralysed, and watched helplessly as her clothes were removed from her. Four sets of hands fondled her frail, thin body, and she looked helplessly towards her sleeping husband. She wept when they took turns to rape her. The reek of the gangster’s breath carried to her nostrils when he entered her. He had a manic grin on his face, and his piercing red eyes stared through his thick spectacles.
After each of them had their way, Bates placed his strong hands around her throat and squeezed tightly, until her body was limp. She was lifted above the sea and dropped to the murky depths below.
******
The sleeping group were woken at dawn by the howling wind and the torrential rain. They looked to the sky and caught the welcome refreshing drops of rain in their dry mouths. Pots and pans were laid out on the deck to catch the unexpected windfall. The strong wind hindered their progress, as they wrestled with the raft and tethered it to the deck.
“Where’s Cindy?” shouted Danny, who tried to make his voice audible against the howling wind.
The group staggered indoors and forced the door shut.
“I said, where is Cindy?”
“I was the first to rise and she was not there,” said Cheryl.
Danny advanced towards the door. “I must find her. She’s still out there.”
“Wait,” ordered Ben. “We’ll help you. We’ll search for both Cindy and Sarah… Cheryl, Ross, you two search the interior of the ship. Danny and me will have a look on the decks. Meet back here in half an hour.”
The Harpers went on their way as Ben and Danny returned into the storm. Their shouts were muffled by the roaring of the wind. They secured the raft in an attempt to prevent it from being swept overboard.
Cindy or Sarah were nowhere to be found, so they turned their attention to the lower deck. Their search proved unsuccessful, so the quartet eventually reunited in the Garden Lounge.
“We searched every room, with no luck,” reported Ross.“I’m sorry, Danny.”
“You’re sorry? You’re not going to write them off just like that. I’m going back outside.”
Ben barred his way. “No, Danny. That’s what Davenport wants, don’t you see? He’s trying to split us all up. He wants to isolate us.”
Danny was frantic. “I can’t just sit here and do nothing. My Cindy could be out in that storm.”
“She’s not out there, none of them are. We covered the entire decks. You have to accept she’s gone. You’re not the only person here who’s lost someone close to them.”
Danny pointed threateningly towards Ben. “Don’t try to stop me, Ben. I’m going outside and that’s final.”
Danny pushed past him and was gone.
“And then there were three,” uttered Cheryl.
Ben nodded his head. “This is exactly what Davenport wants.”
Ross pondered. “We certainly can’t launch the raft in this storm. We’ll have to wait until it blows over.”
“Even the bloody weather’s on Davenport’s side.”
“Not necessarily, Ben,” said Cheryl. “We at least have some water to drink.”
Chapter Twenty Six
The rainwater was a welcome addition to their dry palates. Ben had never imagined that he would ever tire of drinking champagne. They had filled as many pots and pans as they could with the rainwater. The remaining meat off Wendy would last that little bit longer, now that they were down to three. Every so often, Ben checked outside to ensure that the raft was still intact. He felt uneasy. He had a compelling urge to visit the library again. He could not explain it, but he just felt obliged to go. He gave the Harpers an excuse of trying to locate Danny and the others, before he made his way back onto the deck and into the storm.
Progress was difficult, as he struggled against the wind. Ben gripped the railing to steady himself. He made slow headway towards the lower deck. He eventually arrived in the sanctuary of the library and dried his face with his handkerchief. His eyes perused the library, not knowing why he was lured here.
The large portrait of Davenport dominated the room. Ben had a strange feeling that he was being watched. The portrait appeared to be alive. He was certain Davenport was grinning at him. Ben’s eyes were attracted towards the large oak table. A sturdy, leather bound book lay on the table. He watched in amazement as it opened, and the pages turned over effortlessly. The turning of the pages ceased and Ben edged slowly towards the book, as the wind still howled outside.
Ben touched the book and turned to the cover. The diary of David Duncan.
Ben returned to the page that the diary had fell open on.
June 27th, 1925. What hell we have found ourselves in. After the departure of the majority of the passengers and crew, we find ourselves in a difficult predicament. Unable to eat the poisoned food, we are facing a dilemma. After much deliberation, we have decided to kill Davenport. Our craving for food surpassed our sanity. After all, he has not long to live. The decision was mine alone. I take full responsibility for our barbaric actions. Rose, my wife is weak, and I do not believe she can survive. She refuses to eat human flesh and I fear for her health.
We are getting weaker by the day and our infatuation with eating flesh grows. We eye each other with suspicion. We are afraid to sleep, unsure if we will be the next victim. One by one, we have unashamedly murdered to satisfy our craving for flesh, and our will to survive has strengthened.
Dr Waverley, Father Rattigan, and Lord Braithwaite, were slaughtered, so that we could savour their precious and delicious meat. The human flesh is like a drug to us now. We are no longer able to suppress our habit. Thomas, Robert, Philip, Douglas and their wives, along with Rose and I have isolated ourselves from the others.
Wells, Pollock and Grainger eye us suspiciously, each of them fearing for their lives with justification. Grainger is the weakest and potentially our next victim. We realise that we must kill them. They must not live to tell this tale. If anyone ever reads this diary, then I will no doubt be dead. I intend to take it with me after leaving this god-forsaken ship, its contents a reminder of the horror that took place here. If I do survive and the book is discovered, then so be it. I will no doubt be punished accordingly and deservedly be put to death.
We have built a raft, but the impending storm prevents our departure. I still grieve for Penelope, my wonderful Penelope. She could not accept me not leaving Rose, and therefore she took her life, jumping overboard into the sea. Since I met Penelope, some three years ago, I have lived a lie. The torment of not seeing my son Carl is eating away at me. Penelope has showed me photographs of him, and my one wish is to meet him before I die.
I am not proud of my actions aboard the infernal, Empress Medina; quite the reverse. I am ashamed, but you must understand, we were desperate and starving. It is difficult for me to explain our predicament. Such a demanding and agonising ordeal provoked our inhuman deeds. This harrowing and terrifying experience is something I would not wish on the devil himself.
Tomorrow, we will attempt to leave the ship. If you read this diary, do not loathe me, but pity me, for it is I who will be forbidden from entering the gates of heaven. God forgive me. David Duncan.
Tears rolled down Ben’s sad face. The final piece of the jigsaw had fallen into place. His great-grandfather had instigated the cannibalism in 1925, just as he had done so recently. Davenport was seeking vengeance. Ben’s great-grandfather and his companions had eaten him to survive. History was repeating itself, although Davenport had saved himself from such an ordeal.
Ben read again about his great-grandfather’s relationship with Penelope. Penelope was his great-grandmother. Her son Carl was his grandfather.
“What have I done
?” he murmured, as he recalled his love making with Penelope. The visions he saw of her jumping overboard made sense. She had died broken hearted, lusting after his great-grandfather. Ben recalled his conversation with her. She had told him she was in love with a married man. That married man was his great-grandfather, David Duncan.
Somebody touched him on the shoulder and his heart skipped a beat.
“Have you seen my Joe? I’m sure he came in here.”
Sarah’s dark eyes were unblinking, her face so ashen and gaunt.
“Joe is dead, Sarah,” insisted Ben. “You must accept it and snap out of it. You’re coming with us, even if I have to bind you to the raft.”
Sarah looked past Ben. “Joe! I’ve been looking everywhere for you, honey. Where have you been?”
Ben turned slowly around; his mouth was dry and his body trembled. Joe stood by the door, minus his arm. He beckoned for Sarah to follow.
“Don’t go, Sarah,” demanded Ben. “That is not Joe.”
It was too late. She either did not hear or chose to ignore him. Sarah ran past Ben towards her husband. The couple stepped into the corridor. Ben started after them, before he turned back for the diary. It was gone. How could the diary have vanished?
He left the library hastily and made for the Ballroom, where he could hear loud music being played. He hesitated, took a deep breath and entered the room. The music played, but there was no band. He could clearly hear the violins, guitars, drums and trumpets.
Joe and Sarah waltzed, which Ben found comical, as Joe only had one arm.
Davenport suddenly materialised at the far end of the Ballroom, his faithful butler Bates by his side. The ship owned sipped from a glass of brandy and smoked a large cigar.
Ben paced briskly towards them and looked around him, not knowing what to expect. Davenport applauded softly, and watched Joe and Sarah go through their graceful paces. “Don’t they make a wonderful couple, Mr Duncan?”
The Cruise Page 17