Short Story: The Ghost Ship
Richard Line 10 - Red
Short Story: The Ghost Ship
I twisted the stiff doorknob, my hand slipping against the wet shiny brass. I clenched tighter and tried once more to rotate it, this time succeeding. I had to keep a tight grip on the handle as the screaming wind nearly threw the door against the inner wall. I placed one sodden boot inside the door and onto the mat, squinting at the uncomfortable squelching noise produced. I twisted my body, so as to position my weight behind the door, still with one hand firmly gripping the knob that refused to be held by my numbed hand. I pushed against the door until I heard the satisfying click of the door locking. The angered wind still persistently pounding against the frail wooden door, which, I feared, would not last very long. I turned, every individual movement making the icy water penetrate deeper into my rapidly declining dry layers of clothing, peering through the thick layer of hazy cigarette smoke that made my eyes water and it nearly impossible to make out detailed objects in the room. I realised that after my struggle with the door I had forgotten to wipe my feet, consequently doing so, allowing time for my eyes to adjust to the thick smoke. The bar was empty apart from three figures to my right, who silenced as they saw me, and a man behind the bar. I approached the small plump barman, who was leant upon the bar, as I did so the figures began to whisper to each other again. In front of him stood a glass with the reminiscence of a strong spirit. His face was as red as a tomato, this must have been what first attracted me to him as it was as though his head was a beacon among the deep grey smoke, and he had not one hair upon his head.
"Evening, Whiskey please - on the rocks" A large bolt of lightning illuminated the dimly lit bar area, as it did so I caught a glance at three other haggard males in the worn red seating area, who ceased to whisper when the one facing me noticed I was watching.
"Make it a double."
He nodded and turned his back to me, pulling a large dusty glass from above his head. He placed this underneath a small tap and gave it a quick rinse. Still with his back to me he pulled a tattered dishcloth from his waistline, dried the glass inside and out and held it up to one of the rare points of light in the bar - the whole process making little improvement to the quality of the glass that he was using. He turned and swiftly grabbed his own glass and proceeded to fill both of them. As he handed me my glass he raised his own.
"Cheers" I said handing him the correct change in exchange for my drink, he checked his handful of coins briefly and nodded in reply.
I was just about to retire from the bar with my drink and take up a seat in a dark corner of the worn seating area when the red-faced barman began to speak.
"You travel alone?" he said in a monotonous deep Scottish accent.
"Yes, I'm from London, I thought I'd come up North to relax," I replied "Is the weather always this bad?" I gestured towards the door, which nearly flew open with a sudden gust of wind.
"Once a year, for four days," he lowered the tone of his voice, "when the ship returns" He picked up my empty glass along with his and glanced at me, but I raised my hand shook my head.
"Ship?" I was confused; once again he filled his glass with his back to me.
"The ghost ship." He said blankly
"Sorry, I thought you said 'ghost ship'" I chuckled, he turned to face me. He knocked his head back, the liquid vanishing almost in an instant, and slammed the empty glass down on the bar. I stopped chuckling after noticing his face carried no emotion, but still upheld a friendly smile.
"Yes, the ghost ship" He said, still blankly.
"Oh right, ok," I said nervously, both intrigued and confused at the same time, "What sort of 'ghost ship?'"
His faced changed now from the still and blank picture that it was before, to a face that held the basis of terror, a terror unknown to myself. I was therefore prompted to be petrified before the barman even opened his mouth, and wondered whether I should have asked this question, but then realised that it was too late to change my mind now. He opened his mouth but I could barely here the words before they were whipped away by the surging draft creeping in between the gap underneath the door.
"See these men here," He pointed towards the three shadowy figures in the far corner of the room that I had noticed on my entrance, I nodded in return, "These men have seen the ship."
"But..." I tried to quiz him further on this 'ship'.
"Go find out for yourself, but I'll warn you now, it's no story" He turned and began to polish his glass again, I took this as my cue to leave my place at the bar, and reluctantly made my way towards the three shadowy figures. As the distance between the shadows ...
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"See these men here," He pointed towards the three shadowy figures in the far corner of the room that I had noticed on my entrance, I nodded in return, "These men have seen the ship."
"But..." I tried to quiz him further on this 'ship'.
"Go find out for yourself, but I'll warn you now, it's no story" He turned and began to polish his glass again, I took this as my cue to leave my place at the bar, and reluctantly made my way towards the three shadowy figures. As the distance between the shadows and myself decreased, the figures became less shadowy and more conceivable. Although once I found myself directly in front of the three figures I wondered whether this was such a good thing.
All three men had unhygienically large beards that were damp around the mouths due to excessive drinking of strong ales. The man furthest left, gazing into his pint of ale as though the answer to life was swimming at the bottom, redirected his stare from the glass to me as I halted in front of the table. Taking centre stage in his ghostly white face was a false eye, which seemed to follow my every move. His hair was hidden underneath a worn blue cap, with flecks of damp from the rain outside. His shaggy, tattered hair seemed to grow out the side of this like weeds searching for sunlight. He continued to stare. The man in the middle held a firm grasp on his glass, as though I were about to steal it, and also stared at me, though in a rather more critical manner. I cannot say that this did not put me on edge. His eyes were mere slits in his bright red face, quite a contrast to his companion's, and so I could not quite tell what exactly he was staring at. But whether or his gaze was at me or not was quite unquestionable. The last man was quite a different figure altogether, though his posture was the same there was something about his eyes which seemed to give him an air of knowledge above that of the people he was with. This man did not stare, but he did not ignore me. He did not clench his glass, for he did not have one. His face looked calm and uninterested, as though he knew the answer to all that life threw at us, before I even knew the questions. He merely sat, calmly, neutrally, silently on the edge.
"Mind if I have a seat?" I tried to sound as polite and relaxed as possible. Grunts of acknowledgement allowing me to sit were all that I acquired in return. A long silence followed, I tried to keep up my friendly "tourist" smile as I discreetly studied each one of them, but as I felt very on edge I eventually decided to break the ice.
"The barman was telling me about the ghost ship?" An even more deadly silence followed. The men with the hat and eyes like slits stopped their fidgeting, the man who did not move, still, did not move.
"The..." I wondered whether I had been heard correctly.
"Aye, the ghost ship," said the slit-eyed man in one of the deepest Scottish accents I have ever heard, "We know about the ghost ship." He said calmly but sternly. I began to seriously question what drove me to ask about such a ludicrous thing.
"I just wondered if you could tell me a bit about the tale, umm...story, well, you know what I mean" I laughed nervously. I was silenced with blank responses on all behalves.
"'Tis not story," said the man with the hat "'Tis the truth, we have seen it."
"So you have seen the ghost ship?" I was still uncertain whether these three men were quite 'all there'.
"Aye, we have seen it, but 'tis not a sight for the faint-hearted." He declared.
"Well, could you...show me this ship?" I think that the drink and lack of sleep must have all gone to my head.
"No! No. I will not go to the ship," He seemed quite adverse to taking me anyway near the ship, "'Tis more than most men deserve to be encountered with the ship once, I'll not go a second time."
"Well then, could you tell me where I could find such a ship?" I was beginning to believe increasingly less in this tale.
"You'll find it at the port."
"Where will I find it in the port, will it be difficult to find?" I did not fancy spending all night in the storm for nothing, even if the weather had eased off a bit. The man with the slit eyes chuckled.
"You do not find the ship," he paused, and lowered his voice to a whisper, "the ship will find you."
Lightning struck just outside the door illuminating the slit-eyed man's laugh that had now evolved into an evil open-mouthed cackle. Thunder clashed above my head, I jumped making the glasses on the table wobble. I reached out to steady them but my hand was shaking, only making the situation worse by knocking over another glass as I did so. I apologised and pulled a handkerchief from my pocket to mop up the ale, and promptly stuffed it back into my pocket after doing so.
"Anyway, I don't believe in such nonsense, I'll meet you back here tomorrow afternoon to prove that I have survived the night and there is no such tale." I replied cockily. Silence again swiftly swept smiles and relaxation off of the table.
"This is no tale boy," whispered the man with the hat, his voice escalating, "This is terror like you have never known!"
"We'll just have to wait and see, goodnight gentlemen." I gave the three figures a nod and swiftly stood up. Glancing over to also give the barman a smile, I promptly remembered that I could see no further than the end of my arm, and so cautiously made my way over to what I thought was the door. As I walked a harsh whisper stopped me in mid-step.
"Remember boy, 'tis no tale." The voice echoed in my mind as I placed my hand on the doorknob and twisted it violently, was I doing the right thing? I quickly reminded myself that there was no such thing as ghosts and stepped out of the door into the cold night. The rain had nearly stopped and only the odd drop hit my ears that were poking out of my hat, I glanced up at the full moon which beamed down on me and began to make my way towards the water's edge. As I walked I could not help but think that I could hear that ghostly cackle of the slit-eyed man being carried in the wind.
I picked a small spot out on the end of the jetty and leant against what I could only guess to be the old boathouse. Unfortunately this was locked, had it not have been I would have most certainly sheltered from the elements inside. I tried to get comfortable but it was very difficult as the wood was damp and hard, and would not have been very hospitable in the best of weather, let alone a storm. Partly out of boredom and partly out of fear I began to hum to myself. The wind picked up and a small gust was soon whipping over the water's surface, blowing the spray of the breaking ripples into my face. I pulled my hood up over my face, restricting my view, but warming my ears. The empty howling of the wind rushing threw the ropes and sails of the boats in the water was sending shivers through my spine, but I tried to think rationally - there was no such thing as ghosts.
I must have been sleeping for around two hours when I awoke with a start. The howling was much worse now, and a thick mist had settled on the water's surface like a blanket of blackness. I felt disorientated and could no longer see the ships that were in the water. Only the moon, which penetrated the blanket with a faint glow, gave me any sense of where I was. The howling was getting increasingly louder. I jumped up to my feet and pressed my back against the wall of the boathouse, attempting to get as much of my body as possible behind the ridge that sheltered me from the lashing wind from the North. I moved my feet cautiously as I could hardly see the ground that my feet were upon, and had a worse still view of where I would be placing my foot next. The cold mist chilled my nose and eyes and my lips were dry and cracked. The howling was incredible now, lashing around the boathouse like a deadly whip. And then I saw it.
The ship was immense and with it came the irrepressible smell of rotting wood. The smell became stronger as the boat pulled up into the bay; almost overpowering now was the smell of death. As the ship came to a halt, the detail on the wood became apparent. The timbers were grey with age and wear, and had become to tear away from the framework. Instincts told me to run, but my feet would not move. The ship came to a complete standstill but only at this point did my feet begin to obey my brain. I turned slowly and began to gather pace, looking back at the ship I could see an anchor being thrown overboard. I gasped to myself and nearly screamed, but forcing myself not to I turned back round to concentrate on the direction I was running, only to catch my footing on a bracket on the floor. I tried to regain my balance but instead was sent hurtling into the air, and catching my pelvis on the jetty's wooden edge, landed with a forceful splash into the water.
As soon as I hit the surface it was as though a thousand knives were being thrust into me, my head went straight under and I felt my clothes become heavy, sodden with water. My first instinct was to lift my head above the water, but my footing was held tight by a loose rope attached on the underside of the jetty. I panicked and kicked out frantically, but the rope only seemed to grasp my foot tighter still. After what seemed like hours underwater the rope eventually gave and my foot was free. I tried to get my arms to swim upwards, towards the dim glow of the moonlight, but they were numb from the cold. I kicked with my legs and slowly made my way to the surface. My head burst free from the icy blanket that surrounded me, and I gasped at the air, coughing up water that I had swallowed. My hand outstretched just reached the jetty edge and I managed to haul myself, exhausted and freezing, onto the safety of the wooden haven. I lay there for a moment shaking, trying to get my breath back, and then summing up all my energy managed to get myself to my feet. I began to walk, as though I were a baby taking my first steps, giddily at first and then beginning to pick up my pace. I ran cautiously off of the jetty and on to the slippery grassy verge, wet with dew. I broke into a full sprint, but my hip was still very painful. I lost my footing again in a waterlogged pothole and slipped headfirst into the wet mud. My hands were cut on the sharp gravel and I could no longer move my wrist. I heaved myself to my feet again, clutching my broken wrist with my other hand and tried to run, but my limp had worsened and I feared that my hip would no longer support my body weight. The air was clearer now I was some distance from the jetty, and the ship, and I could now make out the narrow pathway in between the water and the woods. I was breathing heavily and could hardly move from my ordeal, I decided that hiding was my safest option. I hobbled into the thickest foliage and crashed onto the hard dead twigs in the middle of the bush. I sat up and pressed my back against the small tree and clutched my hip with the hand that was still moveable. I sat deadly still, the howling had stopped now and all that I could hear was silence.
I had not been sitting for long when I heard something approach, I did not run and I did not move, I did not even breathe. I could hear footsteps get heavier and closer and I could smell death in the air. I still sat, my body beyond movement. The smell was horrendous, a musty mixture of rotting flesh and sea-salt, and I could of thrown up where I was sitting. Eventually the footsteps carried whatever devilish creature had been outside away from where I was sitting. I breathed a deep sigh of relief and began to pull the side of my trousers down to bare my hip so I could see the extent of the damage. The pain was tremendous and I nearly passed out. A large gaping wound was covering the skin on the bone of my hip, and a wooden splinter was lodged into my side. I began to pull it out when I suddenly stopped. I could feel a cold breath on my neck breathing slowly. In and out. In and out. Blowing the wet hair away from the lobe of my ear. I turned slowly and looking back at me was the most hideous face that I could have ever imagined. I looked into the hollow, sunken eyes that stared back at mine. In them I could see the reflection of my own face, a look of utter terror.
"The mutilated body of Mr. Jeffries was found next morning when he did not arrive for a previously arranged meeting with a one Mr. McDuff," The slit-eyed man smiled at the thought of his name being broadcast live. "The murder is being treated as very suspicious and any witnesses have been asked to call-." The man who did not speak leant over the ale on the table to the turn the wireless radio off.
"I told him, 'tis not a tale," said the man with the hat. The three men chuckled to themselves as a bolt of lightning struck nearby and a crack of thunder crashed overhead. Their chuckles turned to cackles, cackles of pure evil.
Commentary on "The Ghost Ship"
In "The Ghost Ship" I have tried to use many techniques to build mystery and suspense within the story. The first example we see of this is the minor characters. I have attempted to make these as mysterious as possible by giving them brief descriptions and little other explanation of their personality. I have also referred to them as "the man with the hat," "the man with the slit eyes" and "the man who does not talk" as used in The Red Room by Wells to create a sense of mystery about the minor characters. These characters also say very little about the actual ghost ship and so leave this field to the audiences imagination, hopefully rising suspense when the ship is eventually encountered by the main character.
I have also attempted to make the setting eerie, giving it an empty and lonely feel. The central character is alone throughout the night he spends in the port, causing the coastline to be given a more desolate and empty feel. Because of this I have tried to keep a high level of description for even simple actions to create a sense of realism and, hopefully, a clear picture in the audiences mind. The scenes are also very dark which obviously is a major factor in the intensity and fear involved in most horror/suspense genres. Darkness gives the sense that many fields are unknown to the reader and central character, giving the sense of being trapped without information.
The story is also quite claustrophobic at some points. For instance, when the main character is trapped underwater after first encountering the ship he rushes to escape from whatever terrors may await him. Due to this I believe the sense of an impending evil gaining upon him is also present. The revelation at the end is also quite a sudden one, and I believe would be unexpected by a proportion of readers.
The story is told from a first-person perspective, meaning that the story only becomes clear to us at the same speed that it does to the central character from who's point the story is told. This also creates a sense of claustrophobia and impending danger just around the corner. This means that the story is also written in chronological order, moving onto points in the order that they would occur at in real life.