“It means we’ve beat them, Danny. We’re on our way home.”
Danny appeared embarrassed by his next question. “Tell me, Ben, can you see people walking about on the ship?”
“Yes, I see them… Not people, but ghosts.”
Danny smiled. “Good. For a minute, I thought I was going mad.”
******
They rowed for what seemed like hours, until the Empress Medina was just a dot on the horizon. They refreshed themselves with a drink of water and continued their gruelling task of rowing. Their undernourished limbs ached badly, but they realised the further they distanced themselves from the cursed liner, the better.
“How do we navigate, Ben?”
“We don’t. We just head away from the ship and hope we reach land or spot another ship.”
Danny was insistent. He straightened his panama hat that he had requisitioned from the ship to protect him from the blazing sun. “Weren’t you in the army, Ben? Surely you did map reading.”
Ben swilled a capful of rainwater around his arid mouth. “First of all, Danny, we haven’t a map. Secondly, yes I was in the army, not the bloody navy. I hate the sea and certainly have no idea how to navigate. How about you? Can you read the stars?”
“Give your head a shake.”
They rowed until their hands were sore. How they wished they had brought gloves with them. They ceased their rowing when dusk fell. They lay on their backs and gazed at the stars, the coldness of the night setting in.
“Ben, when we run out of food, will you eat me?”
“Of course I will. Wendy here is getting a bit tough and is starting to reek.”
“That’s not funny. I’m serious.”
“So am I, Danny. So am I.”
Chapter Twenty Eight
The next morning, they searched the horizon, only to be disappointed. The sun had caused them much suffering when they had rowed the previous day. They had decided to mount the tarpaulin, to shade them from the unforgiving sun. Ben wore a boater to protect his head, which he had salvaged from the Empress Medina, Danny opted for his panama hat.
They ate another piece of flesh, which was now very tough to chew. They sipped another mouthful of water and decided to keep the champagne for when they spotted land or were picked up.
Danny leaned over the raft and rinsed his face with the seawater. “Ben, I’ve been doing some thinking. The story you told me about the Empress Medina and Davenport. Why didn’t we stay on board? Wasn’t the ship found on the 29th June? Why didn’t we wait to be rescued?”
“That was in 1925, Danny. Davenport would have killed us if we stayed on board. He would have had no choice. We couldn’t change history.”
Danny wiped his hot brow, his lips dry and cracked. “I don’t know about you, but I’m just about all in. This rowing is getting harder.”
Ben passed his companion a cap full of water. “We must keep going. It’s our only hope.”
A low drone could be heard from above.
“Listen, Ben. An aeroplane. It’s a fucking plane!”
They searched the skies as Danny loaded the flare gun. Far above, they could see a dot in the sky. Danny fired the flare, and its red smoke shot towards the heavens.
“Forget it,” groaned Ben, who squinted against the sun. “It’s a passenger aircraft. They’re too high to see our signal.”
“Forget it? Shit, you’re joking,” said Danny, as he loaded another flare into the chamber.
“I said no, Danny! Don’t waste the flares. We may need them later.”
******
Their rowing had become progressively slower as the day wore on. Their hands were cut to ribbons, even though they had covered them with material from their shirts. Their faces were scorched by the blazing sun and their lips were dry and cracked.
“That’s it, Ben. I’ve had it. I can’t do another stroke.”
Ben ceased rowing. “We’ll rest for a while. You’ll feel better later.”
“No, I won’t fucking feel better later; and who made you captain? It’s because of your bloody ancestor that we’re in this mess. Cindy would still be alive today if it wasn’t for your murdering great-grandfather.”
Ben’s eyes displayed hostility. “Listen, arsehole. Do you think I’m proud of what happened? I’m sick to my neck with your whinging. I lost Natasha, in case it slipped your mind, and if I thought it couldn’t get any worse, I’ve been balling my great- grandmother. You think you have troubles, Danny. They’re only just beginning, believe me. Wells is like a pussycat compared to me, so keep your fucking whinging to yourself. Besides, Philip Cooper your great-grandfather also conspired in the killing of the passengers, so don’t you preach to me about morals. He was as guilty as the others.”
Danny fell silent and closed his eyes.
Ben recognized he should not lose his temper with his younger companion, but this situation would test the patience of a saint. He reached into the sea and scooped some cool seawater onto his hot, unshaven face.
******
Ben opened his eyes to another day and half wished that it was just a bad dream he was experiencing. The reality sank in when he saw the blonde head of his companion asleep at his side. Ben, again searched the horizon, but expected nothing. He looked hard and shielded his tired eyes against the sun. He removed his boater and focused the binoculars, before he scanned the apparent, deserted Mediterranean Sea.
“Danny!” he screamed, which alarmed the young musician.
“What is it?”
Ben pointed. “Look over there,” he said, and handed Danny the binoculars.
Danny croaked, his mouth so dry. “It’s a ship, and a bloody big one at that.”
Ben fired off the flare and watched it rise into the blue yonder.
Danny clambered to his feet and waved. “They’ve seen us, Ben. They’re heading towards us.”
The two embraced and laughed loudly, as they waved frantically at the oncoming ship. Danny opened a bottle of champagne and drank greedily, before he handed Ben a bottle. The ship approached at a steady speed of knots, as the two ecstatic companions dowsed each other with the champagne.
Ben assumed a more serious manner. “Listen to me, Danny. We must tell nobody of the events that took place on the Empress Medina. Nobody, do you understand?”
Danny nodded. “So how are we going to explain the disappearance of our wives, not forgetting our friends?”
“We tell them we won a cruise in a competition, and how Davenport was deranged. He was trying to replicate a sea journey that his ancestor took many years ago, only he went too far… Simon Holt poisoned some of the passengers and others starved, including our wives. We managed to escape by building this raft. We bear a resemblance to someone from the holocaust, so they must believe us.”
“They won’t buy it, Ben. How can we explain that we were on a ghost ship? Davenport, in case you’re forgetting, doesn’t really exist.”
“Ok, Danny, listen. We tell the truth, all apart from the eating of Wendy’s body and Joe’s arm. They have to believe us if we both stick to the story. As for Davenport, there must be dozens of people from the hotel in Naples who saw him.”
The ship was now about one hundred metres away and the two survivors waved hysterically. Ben stopped waving and raised the binoculars to his eyes.
“Shit! Row, Danny.”
“What? Are you crazy?”
“Row, I said. It’s the Empress Medina!”
“No. Are you sure?”
“Here, have a look.”
Danny lowered the binoculars, whimpered, and reached for the oars. They rowed as quickly as they could, but the liner easily closed in on them. The ship turned towards them, then suddenly stopped and drifted slowly towards the raft.
A strange mist descended on the ship and obscured the vessel from the vision of the two rowers. The grey mist drifted slowly towards them, their efforts to outrun it futile. The mist now closed on them quickly, until the raft was completely enveloped.
“Wh
at’s that?” asked Danny, who had abandoned his rowing.
Someone was in the mist. People were moving around. Various figures of the former passengers could be seen, their arms waving at the air. The mist lowered and merged with the sea. Then it disappeared beneath the waves.
“What happened? Where did they go, Ben?”
“I don’t know. I don’t like it.”
The sea began to bubble. It was as if the sea was about to erupt. A huge wave rose up and towered some twenty feet above them. It headed towards the raft and prompted the duo to row hastily.
Ben could see Wells, Dr Waverley, Pollock, and Grainger among others, merged with the oncoming wave. The giant wave hit them and they were engulfed into the oncoming torrent of water. The raft broke up into pieces, as it took the full force of the wave and tossed the two men into the deep blue sea.
Ben went under and swallowed a mouthful of seawater. The water stung his eyes, as he frantically battled to rise above the sea. He flapped his arms in a panic, unable to swim. He kicked his legs with all of his might, rose to the surface, and managed to grab part of the raft that had detached itself. He was fortunate. The part of the raft he clung on to was attached to one of the oil barrels.
Ben peered over the barrel and climbed onto the wooden planks. The mist had returned and was about thirty metres away. He lowered himself back into the water, clung onto his vessel and kicked his legs gently, careful not to disturb the water too much.
Ben heard a blood-curdling scream and peered around the barrel. What he saw would haunt him for the rest of his life. Danny was suspended in mid air, held up by several groping transparent arms. Each of the phantoms bit into Danny. They were eating him alive! Ben noticed Davenport amongst them, and the blood that dripped from his teeth. He stopped feasting and his eyes searched the debris as the deafening screams still rang out. Ben hid behind the barrel and prayed. He was not a religious man, but at this moment he was desperate. The screaming ceased and he heard a great splash, as Danny’s remains were deposited into the sea.
Ben chanced to glance around the barrel to see that the mist started to move towards him. He lowered himself below the barrel, held his breath, and clung onto the remains of the raft. He waited for what must have been minutes before he rose to the surface and gasped for breath. He looked behind him and the rancid breath of Wells invaded his nostrils. Ben scrambled to get aboard the remains of the raft, as the fog now closed in on him.
The mist teasingly hovered in front of him, and he could see the heads of the passengers laughing at him. On closer inspection, he recognised they were all joined together, a huge mass of bodies laughing hysterically.
“Lunch was delicious, Duncan, but guess what’s for dessert?” The voice belonged to Wells.
Ben now considered drowning himself. His fear of water would surely offer him a more comfortable death than being devoured alive. Ben noticed the flare pistol that lay on a section of raft nearby. He held onto a piece of the raft, dived into the sea, and his momentum helped him to drift towards the pistol. Ben kicked his legs and anxiously fought to stay above the waves, his fear of water not forgotten. He gripped the remainder of the raft, climbed on, picked up the pistol and hoped to God that Danny had loaded it.
The mist once more closed in on Ben and the grotesque hands groped for him. Blood dripped from their fingers. Davenport was clearly at the centre of the mist, his manic smile directed towards Ben.
Ben took aim at Davenport and smiled. “See you in hell, Davenport.” He squeezed the trigger and the flare hit Davenport. Huge orange flames engulfed his torso. The mist turned crimson red, and a loud, piercing scream filled the once tranquil surroundings.
Ben held his ears and watched the mist rise into the clear blue sky. He watched the tormented faces of Davenport, Wells and the other spectres, who groaned when the mist evaporated before his eyes. The only sound that could now be heard was the loud breathing of Ben, and then his giggles. He laughed so hard that tears ran down his hollow cheeks. This soon turned to tears of sorrow when he recalled Natasha and his companions.
Ben looked for the Empress Medina, but it was nowhere to be seen. He searched for the oars, but was unsuccessful. He lowered himself into the sea, clung onto the remains of the raft and kicked his legs. He carried on doing this for another day and then lay on the raft to await death. He had no shelter from the sun, and without food and water he had become delirious.
The wind had now strengthened and he started to drift aimlessly. His dry mouth was sore, his lips cracked. He lay on his stomach, stared into the sea and dreamt of Natasha. He cupped his hands in the sea and drank the salty seawater. He retched violently and lay in the scorching sun.
He was close to death and again considered throwing himself into the sea, when he heard voices. “No,” he whimpered, and realised he was either insane, or Davenport had returned for him. “No, no, no, please no.”
“Parakalo.”
He raised his weak head to see a fishing boat approaching. He was carried aboard the Greek vessel and was given drinking water. He drank greedily and then he lay on the deck, the strong reek of fish present. He drank again, as the Greek fisherman said something to him.
“English,” croaked Ben, “I’m English.
“Ah, English. Welcome aboard, friend. I am Manos.”
Ben was taken indoors and refreshed himself before he slept soundly.
The fishing boat crew from Hersonissos in Crete, hastily rushed Ben to hospital, where he remained for three weeks. It was whilst he was recovering in hospital that he was visited by a representative from the British Embassy.
Chapter Twenty Nine
“Hello, my name is Richard Tompkins and I’m a delegate from the British Embassy. I’m here to clear up a few details. You see, you really were in a bad state when you were rescued from the sea.” The heavily moustached man who wore a grey pin-stripe suit continued. “Could you give me your full name please?”
“Benjamin Duncan.”
“And your address?”
Ben gave him his details and Tompkins jotted it all down.
“Now, Mr Duncan, can you tell me how you came to be found floating on driftwood in the middle of the Mediterranean?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try me. I’m rather a good listener you know.”
Ben told his story, careful to omit his acts of cannibalism. After the completion of his version, Tompkins put down his pen.
“Are you pissing me about, Duncan? I’ve better things to do than listen to such piffle.”
“It’s not piffle, Tompkins, as you call it. If you care to check my story, you’ll find all the details about the Empress Medina in the history books.”
Tompkins sipped his tea. “And you honestly expect me to take you seriously? That you were on a ghost ship that was rife with cannibalism?”
Ben continued. “Check for missing persons and see for yourself. Ross and Cheryl Harper from London. Joe and Sarah Cummings from London, Norman and Wendy Quinn from Birmingham, and Danny and Cindy Cooper, also from London. I‘m afraid I don’t have their full addresses, but with your resources, I doubt that will be a problem.”
Tompkins jotted the names down and turned to Ben. “Mr Duncan, you seem to have been through quite an ordeal. Being in the sun for such a long spell will not have been pleasant. Also, you were suffering from starvation and dehydration. I’ll have you transferred back to England as soon as possible. In the meantime, please keep this baloney to yourself.”
“Baloney? Check the facts, Tompkins. Check the letters, informing us of our prize cruises.”
“Goodbye, Mr Duncan.”
******
Ben was transferred back to England, where he was locked up in a secure ward in a mental institution. He was visited often by government officials. One fine day in August, George Martin called on him. He was an obese man with a red face and thinning air. He was in his fifties, guessed Ben.
Ben faced him across a table
in his cell.
“Hello, Ben, I’m George Martin and I’m connected to Special Branch. I’m here to try to unravel this mess. You see; we’re having a little trouble with the credibility of your story. You must see it from our point of view. I mean, ghost ships and cannibalism; it’s just not on, old boy.”
Ben was tired of the questioning. “Well, I’m sorry, old boy, but I told you exactly the way it happened. If you don’t believe me, then fuck you. I could’ve made up a lot of shit, but no, I told the truth, and if it doesn’t fit into your neat compact world, then so be it. I’ve given you more than enough information. Why don’t you check out my story?”
“We have, Ben, believe me, we have… True, all of these people, including your wife are missing. We even found some of the letters, informing you of your prize, but my superiors believe that you could have sent those letters out.”
“Bullshit. What possible reason would I have to send out such letters? I didn’t even know these people before I met them on the cruise.”
“But, we only have your word for that. You see, you have to see it from our perspective. First of all, nobody saw this so-called ghost ship. Not in Naples and not in Crete. How could such a large vessel have gone unnoticed? True, the Empress Medina was found abandoned in June 1925, and that is how you came up with your incredible lie, isn’t it? You must have done an awful lot of research to remember the names of the characters. The ship you claim you sailed on, Ben; don’t you think we’d have found it by now if indeed it existed?”
Ben was perplexed by this information. “Not in Naples? Not in Crete? Impossible! Countless people must have seen the ship.”
“But that’s just it, Ben, they didn’t. You must realise how this sounds to us. With no ship, your story is irrelevant.”
That’s why they call it a ghost ship. You see, Davenport created the fog so nobody could see it.”
Martin glanced at his wristwatch. “Oh come on, Ben. Tell me what really happened. What did you do with the bodies?”
The Cruise Page 19