Ark Of Hope: Beyond The Dark Horizon

by Roger David Francis

  Stella sneered, “It never too late, don’t you agree?” she asked, looking at Jade. “I told her that but she still wouldn’t come with me.”

  Jade nodded unable to take her eyes off the young woman, hardly able to believe what she was looking at.

  Myrtle’s head was on back to front.

  At first Jade had assumed she was flat chested but as her gaze had travelled down she could see the shape of her buttocks where her stomach should be and her feet pointing behind her.

  Dear God, she thought, is this nightmare never going to end? She tugged Brett’s arm, “We have to go,” she said.

  Brett was staring at Stella. “I think,” he said to Jade, and then swallowed hard, “That half her head is missing.”

  Jade looked and when Stella turned her head slightly she could see that all that was left of her head was a face and a few inches of scalp with hair hanging from it. She shuddered.

  “You don’t have to look so smug,” the woman said, “Just because you’re still in one piece. I suppose you found a seat on one of the lifeboats?”

  “No,” Jade whispered, horrified.

  “There was room for me and my daughter, two places left, then that awful waiter pushed us to one side, scrambling over our poor bodies as if we were no more than pieces of shit under his foot. Served him right though, the Captain hauled him back, he got what was coming to him.” She looked satisfied. “Now I have to wash my hair, it feels a mess,” She fingered the few strands left. “If I’m not careful when I comb it some of my scalp ends up in my hairbrush. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” She stood waiting for them to go.

  “Come on,” Jade tugged Brett’s arm.

  They moved off and Stella called back to them, “You’re going the wrong way, you won’t find lifeboats on the Bridge, suit yourselves.”

  Jade linked her arm through Brett’s, it was comforting. She was worried about Robbie but more than anything she wanted to get off this ship.

  “We’re here.” Brett stopped in front of a door. “I can see the control desk,” he said looking through a large glass window. He tried the handle and opened the door. Stepping inside he was amazed to see everything looking operational. There was an old fashioned computer blinking on and off and a huge control centre that spread across the front of the room. The whole front was one enormous curved window that gave a panoramic view across the ocean.

  But there was no one there.

  “It’s guiding itself,” Brett’s voice held a note of wonder mixed with disbelief.

  A man crawled out from underneath a cabinet. “Mr Burns at your service,” he said with a light Irish lilt in his voice. He stood up and held onto the computer console. “I lost my sherbet lemons,” he told them, “thought they might have rolled under the cabinet. My mouth’s dry.” He opened his mouth and thrust out his tongue. It was grey and there was green slime coating his teeth. “I suppose the Captain sent you to spy on me? He thinks everything that goes wrong on the ship is my fault. I’m the Officer in charge of the Bridge not the boiler room, how was I supposed to know it would blow up?”

  Mr Burn’s was about six foot tall with a pronounced stoop. He was completely bald and what appeared to be thick black engine oil was running in streaks over his scalp. He didn’t seem to notice. He picked at a scab on his arm. “What can I do for you? I’m a busy man.”

  “You can tell us where we’re heading,” Brett said.

  “No, I can’t, it’s a secret.” The man grinned suddenly, “Have you eaten? I believe Mr Wurner serves up a nice tasty beetle soup, or you could try his crunchy live crab soufflé.” He sneered, “Words got around about the four of you, sneaking around the ship minding people’s business; you don’t belong on the Princess May.”

  “We know that, we don’t want to be on it, believe me.” Jade said, disliking the man. He was picking at another scab and she realised he was covered in them, they looked sore and painful. Glancing down at the floor she shuddered. What she’d thought were the shells of nuts she now realised were dried scabs. Mr Burns flicked another one onto the floor.

  He said, “I’m not in control of the ship anymore, I can’t change the settings on the computer, you’re going to have to take pot luck where you end up like the rest of us.” He bent down, picked up the scab he flicked on the floor and popped it into his mouth and began chewing noisily.

  Brett turned to Jade. “Let’s get out of here; I’m beginning to feel sick. None of this is real.”

  Jade wasn’t surprised at Brett’s words. Wherever the ship was taking them they had no control over it and she was glad that Brett finally understood.

  Cassie walked slowly along the corridor glancing around looking for Robbie. At one point she nerved herself to call out his name but her voice bounced around the walls and echoed back. She’d run away from the strange couple, the sight of the dead fish coming out of the woman’s stomach had been the final straw.

  There was a large double door in front of her, pushing it open she found herself in what at first appeared to be an empty theatre. The red velvet curtains hung over the stage in perfect folds and she thought she could detect the smell of newly polished wood. All the seats gleamed and rows of lights lit up the sides of the theatre. At the very bottom of the rows of seats, right in front of the stage was the solitary figure of a man. He was sitting staring straight ahead as if waiting for the show to begin.

  It could be Robbie; Cassie thought and began making her way down the middle aisle towards him. She’d always loved theatres; especially enjoyed a good musical, there was something special about the atmosphere, the anticipation as the curtains rolled away and the orchestra struck the first chords. She could feel it now, like a vibration under her feet. She smiled, of course it could just be she was enjoying the sensation of the soft springy blue carpet, it was a nice surprise, and so was the pleasant smell.

  As she drew nearer the man turned his head and Cassie gaped in terror.

  His face terrified her; it was just a blob of stretched skin. No eyes, no mouth, no nose, yet coming from a tiny hole in the middle were a series of jumbled words.

  “Missy, hello, Sit and come by me,” He gurgled. “The May show Princess is starting about.” He patted the seat next to him. “House full tonight.” He added, seemingly unaware that he was making little sense, that the words he spoke were out of sequence, “down enjoy, sit.”

  Cassie stood shaking and almost jumped when a loud blast of music filled the theatre. The man’s hand shot out and grasped Cassie’s, pulling her down into the seat next to him. He began to clap his hands and make a weird whistling sound through the hole in his face. The curtain parted and Cassie gasped in shock.

  Two rows of skeletal young women emerged from both sides of the stage, joined together and began high kicking in unison; their skulls bobbing up and down to the music. They were holding hands, their bones clattering together as they spun and jived around the stage. The music was loud but though Cassie couldn’t see any musicians, the heavy beat of drums seemed to be hammering down from all directions.

  The dancers dipped and swayed. Some of them still had wispy bits of hair on their skulls which lifted and floated around them, all of them had large teeth that gleamed in a parody of a smile.

  “Bitches skinny, like it,” the faceless man said. Cassie imagined he was grinning but of course there was no expression on his face.

  Cassie watched in growing despair as the young women on the stage twisted their broken bones into a semblance of dance movements. One woman’s foot broke away and skidded across the stage landing on the faceless man’s lap. He guffawed loudly and stroked it. Feeling hot and sick Cassie attempted to stand up and make a run for it but when she turned her head she cried out in alarm. The theatre was now full of people, every seat was taken. There were men women and children all sitting in absolute silence as the dance continued on its ugly course.

  Cassie blinked to make sure she wasn’t imagining it but they were still there.

  “Sit do
wn, girl,” a voice suddenly called out. “You’re blocking my view.”

  Cassie swivelled her head round and the man who’d shouted out was waving to her two rows behind. His head was caved in on one side and his eyeballs were hanging from their sockets.

  “Shift out of the way, can’t you see I haven’t got my glasses on?” He yelped.

  “Missy,” The man with no face tugged on her t-shirt, “Ice cream fetch, itchy throat.” He clawed at the collar of his shirt ripping it down revealing a large pink windpipe pressed into a row of bony ribs. There appeared to be masses of tiny insects crawling along the bones. Beneath the ribs Cassie thought she could see what looked like his heart, red and swollen and mindlessly beating. The young women were still prancing around the stage but they seemed to be slowing down and Cassie realised the music was stopping. The audience didn’t applaud; the only one clapping was the faceless man.

  “More and then more,” He hissed through the hole in his face, his fingers busy plucking at the crawling insects and flicking them away.

  The curtain fell across the stage and Cassie could hear the skeleton women clattering off to the sides. I have to go, she thought, I can’t take any more of this.

  “Stay,” the faceless man commanded and tugged her arm. Cassie pulled away. “Yet better to come,” he hissed.

  The red curtains parted and in the middle of the stage was a group of musicians. There were five of them, two guitarists standing together, a drummer with his stick poised over a large cymbal, a keyboard player and the man in front who was holding a microphone. A large sign glittered above their heads and the words ‘The Cockroaches’ was lit up by a flashing neon light.

  At first glance they looked normal, ordinary young men with collar length hair, smart suits and big smiles on their faces.

  The audience were silent. “Thank you, thank you for the applause,” the singer breathed into the microphone. “I hope you like our latest song, ‘Only you,’ which we’re proud to announce has just reached number one in the charts.” He held his hand up to stop the applause in the silent theatre. “One, two, three,” he yelled and the group began to sing and play.

  Cassie thought she’d never heard anything so awful. Not one of the young men could play their instrument, they were hitting any old notes and the singer was appalling as he croaked and wailed down the microphone. The faceless man nudged her.

  “Hey, good. Flowing juices.”

  Cassie glanced behind. The audience was sitting stony faced, unmoving as the dreadful noise continued. The drum beat was out of sync with the twanging guitars and the sound level had been set so high she thought her eardrums might burst. The only two words she could make out were the continual yelling of ‘Only you’ the rest was lost in a maelstrom of clashing sounds. Cassie desperately wanted to leave but there was something so terrible about the five young men mindlessly jigging about on stage, lost in the thundering noise that she found she was unable to stand up, her eyes transfixed on them.

  She thought she knew what was coming but when it began she cringed back in her seat.

  The audience began silently throwing tomatoes at the group, most of them hit their targets, the group’s faces in particular were being covered in splodges of red juice, bits of tomato skins hanging from their noses. They carried on playing until the lead guitarist stopped and wagged his hand in the air. His fingers dropped off and shaking his head he left the stage. The drummer turned his sticks onto himself and began beating the top of his head with them. At first Cassie wasn’t sure if he’d been hit by a tomato until she realised it was blood pouring out of a gaping wound in his scalp. He threw the drum sticks down and slouched off the stage.

  “Only you,” screamed the lead vocalist as the bass player standing next to him suddenly fell to his knees. His shirt popped open and the bleeding sores on his chest began to turn black, a reddish purple liquid oozing out of the open sores. He twanged on his guitar one last time and then fell backwards and lay still.

  The faceless man was chuckling. “Good, no, loving it.” He gasped through the hole in his face.

  The rhythm guitarist leaned against the singer and put his arm around his shoulder. Slowly he started to slide down. A tomato hit him square in the face. He swiped at it and when he took his hand away where his nose had been was now just a gaping hole. On his hands and knees he crawled off the stage.

  The audience roared.

  Terrified Cassie turned around. Every person had their mouth wide open making the awful sound. On stage the singer was now alone, still singing without the music, his voice growing weaker. He looked surprised when something began emerging out of his mouth.

  Cassie shuddered in disbelief as a large black eel slithered through his teeth and stretched itself around his neck. The singer’s eyes bulged as he gagged unable to breath and Cassie watched in horror as he slid down onto the stage twitching until he lay still.

  The audience stopped roaring and the curtain came down.

  Cassie struggled to her feet knowing she had to get out of there but the faceless man grabbed her arm and pulled her back down.

  “Bit best to come yet,” he gurgled.

  The curtain parted again and there was no sign of the Cockroaches left, they were gone and the stage was empty apart from a small table that stood in the centre of it with a lot of colourful items on, and next to it what looked like a guillotine. The faceless man began clapping again and then stopped as a tall man wearing a top hat walked onto the stage. His black coat was long and loose, dragging on the floor, swirling around him. He flicked it back and then stared around at the silent audience. He smiled and held up his hands.

  “Thank you, thank you for your applause. My name is Charles, also known as The Great Deceiver.” He beamed. “Tonight I intend to thrill and perplex, amaze and delight you and for that I need a volunteer.” He began taking objects off the table, turning a handkerchief into a wand and pulling fluffy balls out of an empty box.

  “I’m waiting,” he said.

  The faceless man put up his hand but the magician ignored him. He was looking at Cassie.

  “You, young lady,” he almost whispered, “You’ll do. Give her a big round of applause please.”

  The faceless man began clapping and Cassie found herself walking up the small flight of steps onto the stage. She didn’t want to but she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

  She stood looking down at the silent audience while the magician continued to pull rabbits out of a hat and several rows of colourful ribbons from up his sleeve.

  He stopped abruptly and pointed to the guillotine. “Put your head on the block,” he commanded. Cassie thought someone in the audience gasped and then realised it was her. She shook her head, too afraid to speak.

  The Great Deceiver was still smiling but his eyes were cold with fury. “I said put your head on the block!” he roared. And that’s when the audience suddenly burst into life. People were screaming, men were shouting and Cassie could feel the stage beneath her feet tilting. The magician had grabbed her arm and was forcing her down. He clasped her wrists in iron handcuffs and pushed her head onto the block.

  Her eyes were a few inches off the floor and she imagined her neck snapping and her head rolling onto it, already her tears were splattering on the floorboards. The screaming was getting louder, and a low deep vibration was pulsing around the theatre like a hundred thundering hooves clattering over cobbled stones. The audience were charging out of the theatre, their voices raised and squealing in panic. Cassie could hear the magician cursing. “This can’t be happening,” he ranted. “They can’t leave, not now, before I’ve finished my trick.”

  She wanted to tell him to let her go but she couldn’t get the words out and then there was a terrible sound, like something thudding down, crushing her. She could see the magician’s feet a few inches away from her eyes and realised she was still alive, her head trapped in a tight hole.

  The magician undid her straps and helped her up. “They’ve all gone,�
� he moaned, his feet wide apart as he tried to keep his balance. “I did my best but they’re more interested in saving their own skins than watching me perform my best trick.” Tears rolled down his cheeks. He pushed Cassie to one side and knelt down, putting his head on the guillotine block. He reached his hand up and pulled the lever.

  His neck snapped and Cassie could see his tears mixed with blood as his head splattered and rolled onto the floorboards.

  She turned and ran down the stage steps, up the theatre aisle and charged out of the door, tears of horror and pity running down her face. She couldn’t believe how she’d been compelled onstage, how close she’d been to a horrible death. She breathed deeply. The ship wasn’t tilting anymore and she was alone.

  Those poor people, she thought, dead and they don’t know. Had they been existing on the ship for all these years believing they were still alive? It didn’t bear thinking about. Were they enjoying the show in the theatre, entertained by the beautiful dancers, the famous rock and roll group and the cunning magician when the ship capsized?

  They were long dead and buried beneath the ocean so what was bringing their poor spirits back to relive that terrible night? Had they been bought back just to experience the sinking of the ship again, was it a nightmare they couldn’t escape from? The thought was terrible and Cassie shuddered.

  “Miss, you shouldn’t run around the ship without an escort, you could get hurt. I’m about to serve high tea in the dining room.”

  Gary Wurner, the waiter loomed over her, his eyes twinkling.

  “I don’t want anything,” Cassie whispered.

  “I hear you just had a lucky escape?”

  “It wasn’t real,” Cassie said weakly.

  “Oh, yes, it was real.” The waiter’s eyes glittered. “Charley the magician was a friend of mine, or at least I thought he was. He never even made it out of the theatre. I shouted to him and he told me to piss off, can you imagine? Serves him right he’s been bought back.” Gary Wurner’s eyes took on a faraway look. “I can see them now, out of the theatre they came, like swarming ants, screaming to be let off the ship, pushing me to one side without a thought. Even the bloody Cockroaches, hanging onto their guitars as if that was going to save them, were yelling for everyone to make way for them as if they were royalty. Stupid bastards, it was every man for himself.” His eyes widened, “Would you believe that one of them, the drummer, actually swiped at me with his stick to clear a path for him and his group?” He grinned, “That’s why they’re back; nobody gets the better of Gary Wurner.”