Dark Harbour: The Tale of the Soul Searcher

by Joseph Kiel

  His heartbeat quickening, Jeremy stared at the lady on the rocks, seeing how the light of the moon appeared to be a spotlight for her. She had long flowing hair, which was tasselled and tangled like seaweed. He guessed she was probably fair-haired but it was hard to tell from where he was.

  Her clothes were unusual. They seemed the sort of garments that someone out of a fairy tale would wear, old fashioned perhaps. At the same time, her appearance did not seem out of place to Jeremy. It all seemed right somehow.

  The bowing of her head as she looked down upon the waters seemed to convey such a heartbreaking sadness to Jeremy. Even though he knew nothing of her, he could feel her pain. Perhaps she would share the anguish with him, perhaps she might acknowledge and feel the torment in his own soul.

  She turned to face the beach. Jeremy knew that she’d seen him and an uplifting wave of emotion surged through him, sending him to the verge of tears. She dove gracefully into the water and for a few moments was out of sight. He saw her reappear about twenty feet away where the sea was shallow enough for her to stand.

  As she walked towards him, her features gradually came into view. She was incredibly beautiful. In fact, Jeremy could not imagine there to be a more beautiful woman anywhere else in the world. It was difficult to guess her age, but her skin was soft and her body nubile. The colours of her flowing garments were a warm mixture of mauve and turquoise.

  Her body was adorned with jewellery: earrings dangling from her ears, bracelets around her wrists, necklaces, even silver chains around her naked feet, a rainbow of different jewels within them. She seemed so vivid, so celestial. She must have been one of the resident spirits coming to help him, maybe even one of Neptune’s servants rising from the depths of the sea.

  She walked over to him and sank to her knees so that her eyes were directly in front of his. A gentle breeze swept by them but it did not disturb her soaking clothes and hair which clung to her. Jeremy looked deeply into her eyes which must have absorbed the light of an infinitude of orchid sunsets. At this moment, as they took each other in, Jeremy could see they were filling with tears.

  ‘Hello there,’ she spoke to him.

  ‘Why are you crying?’ Jeremy asked her.

  She did not answer the question. She just looked at him as the tears streamed down her cheeks. At the same time a smile was appearing, a smile which completely lit up her face.

  ‘I’ve found you,’ she whispered to him and then took him into her arms.

  In the comfort of her embrace, Jeremy now felt complete. He had gone from such despairing darkness to this uplifting rapture. He had tasted both extremes within the same night.

  Both ends of the spectrum, and indeed everything in between, would be within him for eternity.

  Part 1: The Akasa Stone

  Chapter 1.1

  So that’s about all there is to tell about young Jeremy Tuckwell. After seeing his brother stabbed and then going home to discover his grandfather had been murdered as well, this misfortunate boy went to Moonlight Cove to seek help. If you were to talk to your typical Harbourian know-it-all, as in that guy that sits on his own at the end of the bar and is an expert on whatever the topic of conversation is, this is all he would tell you.

  Jeremy’s rucksack and broken torch were found on the beach leading people to think that he’d walked into the sea in order to end his life. His body never washed up on the shore though. But neither was it in common knowledge that the living-breathing Jeremy had turned up anywhere.

  Over the months following that fateful evening, pictures of Jeremy were splashed around the town proclaiming his disappearance. With no legal guardians pressing the story, and with it being before the days of the internet and Facebook and plastic bracelets and 24-hour news channels, the search for Jeremy soon fizzled out.

  They still talked about the two brothers in the school playgrounds, and with an unhealthy degree of morbid curiosity. Some of the high school kids who had known Simon even fraudulently bragged about ‘What we do to the new kids round ‘ere.’ The more timid pupils speculated on what became of the missing brother. A rumour soon formed that the malevolent being Old Shiner had returned to the town and taken him away. You can’t really pay much attention to what kids tell you though. They do talk crap most of the time.

  As the years went on, even the talk within the playgrounds had dried up. A decade or two later, as a new generation passed through the schools, Jeremy was mostly forgotten about.

  The thing about this town is that there are much more exciting things to look for than a lost boy, especially a boy who is most likely dead anyway. Face it, when kids go missing how often do they turn up alive?

  People would much rather spend their time searching for treasure. If you want to get to know this town and understand it properly, then you also need to be told about the story of the Akasa Stone. The search for this particular treasure has gone on for decades and has disappointed many would-be adventurers. Even so, they rarely lose their belief that somewhere in this town the stone is out there, waiting to be found.

  And the other thing that people like to search for is love. They like to search for ‘the one’. The mystery of this town seems to inspire such heart-bleeding romance in people here.

  Whether it’s treasure, or love, or both, Dark Harbour knows many stories about souls who have coloured the town’s doleful darkness through their deeply profound yearning.

  ***

  After dowsing his chips with vinegar, Danny picked up the saltcellar and sprinkled a generous helping of salt over them too. Working at the chippie this afternoon had been agony on an empty stomach. He would have eaten some breakfast this morning if one of his roommates hadn’t kindly helped themselves to the rest of his Cheerios. Fortunately his job had its perks. Being a hungry, hard-up student, Danny often took home free food.

  Danny grabbed a wooden fork, picked up his jacket, and shouted goodbye to his colleague who was in the back mopping the floor. A short walk down the street he found a lonely promenade bench to sit on so he could satisfy his hunger at last. By some strange perversion though, Danny was actually quite glad that he’d been feeling so hungry today. The ravenous sensation had eclipsed other feelings.

  For that same reason, he didn’t turn up the collar on his jacket when he felt the bite of the February air, the sea wind breezing in off the icy waters. Winter had been wet and stubborn this year but it wasn’t raining right now. The teasing grey clouds had been sweeping over the town one after the other, each one threatening to unleash a storm but only spilling the odd drop. Not that Danny would have been bothered.

  Twenty years old, in the second year of an English Literature course at the college in Dark Harbour, Danny Adams looked quite like a tortured poet. He had a thin and patchy beard. His hair was brown and curly, and somewhat wild like waves in a storm. He most probably left it unkempt by design. His crumpled grey shirt had a missing top button and his black jacket was neither smart nor practical. He looked like he’d just walked out of a charity shop a couple of quid worse off.

  Usually he would wear a striped brown scarf that he wore even when it wasn’t cold outside. He had left it at home today though. Typical when it was actually cold today.

  The sullen student was of average height and average build and that’s just what he felt like as a person: average. He feared being normal. Ordinary. Indistinct. Which is why he had to make sure his hair was scruffy or he was wearing his scarf. He needed something to give him some character, something to set him apart from the rest. How else would people believe he could be the tortured poet? Writing actual poetry would help, of course, but that was something he’d been doing a lot of recently. It had been necessary, a form of therapy, all to help with his problem.

  After guzzling down the majority of his chips, Danny was now feeling quite full and somewhat bleh. He poked idly at the remaining chips with his fork, wondering why they looked so appetising ten minutes ago.

  Maybe it wasn’t such a great thing being
able to take away free meals when it was junk food like this. Even so, they tempted him very easily. It was a good thing he wouldn’t be working at that place forever. When his college days ended, he hoped to be moving on to a job of higher esteem. He hoped to amount to something. He hoped his life would have meaning.

  Worrying about his future was nothing compared to the other thing that was on his mind at this particular time, which had been ever since September. It was something that was getting more and more tormenting for him, but something he’d decided to keep to himself. That was the best way.

  He felt that he was starting to get things under control now. It was silly to let these thoughts dominate his mind so much, but, being the poet, he could use his talents to tackle this issue and then hopefully move on with his life. At last.

  The chilly wind seemed to be picking up a bit so Danny summoned the energy to start walking back to the flat. He stuffed the wrappings in a nearby dustbin and then pointed himself in the direction of home.

  As he sauntered along the pavement, his eyes to the ground, his head soon became full of those familiar thoughts. The searchlights of introspection forever shone in his mind, and they now dwelled on the thing that sparked these current emotions.

  He thought again of his latest poem and suddenly felt the inspiration for another couple of lines. It felt like he was finally getting it all out of him, that overwhelming fervour that had been growing within him for the past six months, like static building in a storm cloud. It was a feeling of such elation yet such dejection, a bright light that made the darkness so intense.

  It had all begun the first week back after the summer break. Danny had met up with his two friends and, as it was freshers’ week, they’d gone out into town one night to try their luck with the new intake of students. It was all Larry’s idea really. The other two just wanted the chance to catch up with each other over a few drinks.

  While Larry had been going through his chat up lines at the nightclub, Danny and Michael watched on with amusement, talking about their summer boredom of bunching flowers and catching chickens. Danny remembered feeling happy that he was back with his friends, looking forward to the new year of study ahead. The year was laid out before him. Everything was comfortably straightforward. Life was simple.

  That was until she walked in the room: Stella, the best-looking girl in the whole of the town. Michael hadn’t noticed her and neither had Larry. Even he would have known better than to go and ask her if she was a parking ticket or if her father was a baker. She was way beyond his league. And way beyond Danny’s too.

  Completely under her spell, Danny had not been able to keep his eyes off her. Suddenly his whole life had seemed to transform, as though all the lights within him had been switched on. They’d illuminated parts of himself that he’d never known before, inspiring those channels of energy that made him walk with a bounce in his step, that made him want to shine like she would shine.

  That made life mean something.

  She’d made such an immediate imprint on him that he was unable to get her out of his mind. Danny had never been haunted by such yearning, had never known it could be so intense.

  And here, six months on, Danny was still consumed by her as much as he ever was. He would see her every now and again about the town, and whenever he did, his heart would beat faster as his entire being appeared to be sucked in by her aura. It just wasn’t healthy thinking so much about one person, someone Danny had never even spoken to.

  She wouldn’t know who he was. She’d most probably never even noticed him, not someone so average. Danny would have liked to go up to her and speak with her, maybe introduce himself. For some reason he figured it would never happen, and even if it did, where would it lead? Maybe it was best that she be confined to his imagination. If nothing else, she was certainly the inspiration for some great poetry.

  Chapter 1.2

  The tap started to drip again. At half past three in the afternoon Devlan was dreaming he was beneath a giant cathedral bell, but when the sound woke him he realised it was only the plinking of dripping water. He’d been sleeping a lot in the day recently. There just wasn’t anything else to do, and sleeping was a good way to escape.

  Devlan sat up on his mattress and made a long grumbling sigh, annoyed that he’d been brought back into consciousness, back to the dank greyness of his world. He’d been there a week, a place that was out of the way so that nobody would find him. No one in their right mind would surely want to come to this dump.

  Before the incessant dripping would turn into torture, Devlan got to his feet and walked over to the rusty sink in the next room. He gave the leaking tap yet another hard twist and wondered how long it would be before the bastard thing started up again. Being gifted at repairing things, he wished he had the necessary tools to fix it properly. It wasn’t as though he’d be able to call in the landlord to see to it. Then again, fixing a dripping tap in this place would be like putting a plaster on someone who’d jumped in front of an express train.

  He glanced at the cracked mirror over the sink and saw his enervated reflection. Through the filthy sheen he could see the tiredness within the hideous features that peered back at him. It was a visage that he’d kept hidden throughout his life, for it was a sight that induced revulsion in everyone he met. He’d felt their thoughts so many times: My God, what on Earth is that thing?

  Devlan broke his gaze and picked up the shades on the side of the sink. He put them over his savage eyes and pulled up the top on his tattered hoodie. That was better. Now he looked acceptable, if he were to keep his mouth closed.

  He shivered as he felt a bitter draught whipping through the gaping hole in the roof. The building really was a complete wreck, but then it had been a while since it was in use. Devlan could remember those days. He’d even known one or two people who’d worked there, their names now lost in the haze of time. He recalled that it had been a confectionery factory, and they’d made quaint little boxes of fudge and sticks of rock that were sold on the seafront stalls. Then the war had come and production had declined. Eventually the workers had moved out and the rats had moved in. And then, most recently, Devlan.

  Looking back towards the other room, he could see one of the rats sitting on his mattress. Propped up on its hind legs, it looked towards Devlan with its arms in front, as though it was begging to him, wanting more of the food that Devlan had been throwing to them earlier in the week.

  ‘I’m sorry, little one. No more.’

  Just as he said those words, and just as he felt a gnawing pang in his stomach from not having eaten anything for the past couple of days, he crouched down and pursed his hand forwards. The rat twitched its whiskers as Devlan slowly edged towards it, hoping he’d earned its trust enough to get close. Just as he was about to pounce, the rat scampered away.

  Devlan sighed to himself and sat down on the grubby mattress, feeling incredibly hollow all of a sudden. How miserable could life get? Forced to live in the most dismal hole in Dark Harbour. There had been only vaguely better days though, the occasional time when others wanted to hire him. Since being here, he hadn’t spoken to another soul at all. Perhaps everyone had forgotten about him now. He’d never felt so meaningless in his whole life, a life that was as big a shambles as this old building.

  His phone started ringing. Not expecting to get any calls, he’d put his phone away somewhere and completely forgotten about it. He was surprised there was even any charge left in it. Where had he put it? His hearing, which was as exceptional as his sight, quickly pinpointed the location of the sound.

  He reached under his pillow and pulled out the phone. The name on the screen triggered a myriad of old thoughts and feelings that all screamed out like victims in a Nazi gas chamber.

  ‘Hello, Floyd,’ Devlan said as he picked up.

  ‘Devlan, my old friend! You hiding again?’ boomed Floyd’s gravelly voice on the other end of the line. His voice always came at you like a slab of ice.

  Devlan mo
ved the phone away from his ear a bit. ‘I’ve moved.’

  ‘I assumed so. Got yourself a nice place?’

  Devlan looked around his room and decided to ignore the question. ‘I’m going to call Henry Maristow. See if he’s got any work for me.’

  ‘You’re that desperate? Things must be really bad.’

  Devlan could hear the irritation in Floyd’s voice as it was no secret that he despised that man. He liked winding Floyd up though. ‘No one else seems to have anything going.’

  ‘Then maybe we should have a little chat then, Devlan.’

  Devlan’s mobile made a beep. ‘Phone’s going dead. Want me to come down?’

  ‘Yeah, why don’t you meet me in an hour?’

  ‘Your place?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘What’s it all about then?’ Devlan asked him.

  ‘Oh this one’s a beaut. Grade A fucking stallion. Gonna shake things up in this town and rattle those motherfu…’

  Although his phone was dead, Devlan stood staring at it as though it might reveal to him the scheme that Floyd was now concocting. No doubt it would be sheer lunacy. Floyd’s schemes always were.

  Many people saw the two of them as a good pairing, for both were very much feared within the underground of Dark Harbour, albeit for different reasons. Devlan could illicit fear in people just through his very nature whereas Floyd had been quite the monster at heart in his younger years. However, these days Floyd was floating the mainstream of business enterprise, and had only hired Devlan for his engineering abilities. By the sounds of this call though, it didn’t sound like just another motor that Floyd wanted repairing.

  He had to admit that the phone call had lifted his spirits. Suddenly he felt wanted again. It seemed so long since he’d known that feeling, not that he’d ever really been that much of a friend to it in the first place.