Tales From The Dark Past - Books 1-3

2. September-2

"Maybe the ice preserved it,"

"Maybe it did."

The door led to a small passageway, cowering under low deck beams above, and with three doors, dimly seen. The first door also opened to Lauren"s touch, and they peered inside. The cabin was tiny, barely more than a cupboard, but it held a single, mould riddled bunk and a sagging bookshelf complete with a row of books ruined with damp. Dim light struggled through a bolted porthole.

"Imagine a man staying in a place like this for months on end," Kenny stepped further inside, wrinkling his nose at the stench of damp. "Look at that, though," raising his hand, he touched a splintered hole in the varnished wood above the door. "I would say that was a bullet hole."

"A bullet hole? Lauren was unimpressed as she looked closer. The hole was not large. "Perhaps there was a mutiny."

"God knows. Is this the captain"s cabin?"

Lauren shrugged her shoulders, but somehow she knew the answer. "No; it"s not." Leading them outside, she ignored the hatch that led to the dark bowels of the vessel and pushed open the second door. "This looks more promising."

She stepped forward, uncertain what she would find but sure that she was safe. She stopped dead. "Oh my God!"

Sitting on the edge of the bed, the man was leaning forward, one hand pointing at the door, and the other resting on top of a flat, japanned tin case. Wide spaced above gaunt cheekbones on which sprouted a dark beard, his eyes stared sightlessly ahead, while the skin was taut on a fleshless face that had been dead for many decades.

"Sweet Jesus in heaven," Kenny said softly. "Who the hell is that?"

"It might be the captain," Lauren stood for a minute, gazing at the corpse. That song she had heard in the sea returned, soothing sweetly around her head, strangely calming even as it augmented the atmosphere of infinite sadness in this small cabin.

It"s not the captain. It"s Him.

It"s not the captain. It"s Him.Her eyes roamed around the cabin, noting the single desk and the varnish peeling from the woodwork; instinctively she straightened the pile of papers. There was a bookshelf laden with sodden nautical volumes, a chart fixed to a small table and a bunk, neatly made except for the black mould that covered what had once been the covers. The smell of damp and decay was overpowering.

"Welcome home, Captain." Kenny said quietly. He touched the revolver that sat on the bed, half hidden beneath a fur of red rust. "Here"s the g*n. Maybe he went mad and shot the rest of the crew."

"We"ll never know by speculating," Lauren felt a sense of infinite loss. "Let"s find the ship"s papers. The log book might tell us." She indicated the japanned case held by the dead man, "and I think it will be in there."

Kenny recoiled. "You can"t touch that."

"Yes I can." It was the first time in her life that Lauren had been in close contact with a corpse, but she felt no repugnance at all as she gently prised free the skeletal fingers. They parted easily, as if the dead man was glad to be free of the burden he had carried for so long, and she eased the case away.

"I must look in here."

"Maybe it"s full of gold." Memories of childhood stories of treasure ships removed some of Kenny"s distaste.

"Maybe it is," Lauren encouraged his fantasy as she turned the key that protruded from the lock. It moved easily, as if it were only a few days since it had been last used, rather than scores of years. Moving back to gain more space, she opened the lid. "No pieces of eight or doubloons," she said quietly, "but something far more interesting."

Pulling out a thin pile of documents and a bound notebook, she placed them on the desk. "These must be the captain"s personal papers. There are a small sheaf of letters he must have written but been unable to post, and what looks like his journal." She looked in the box again. "There"s no logbook though, which is disappointing." She stared at the dead man, wondering what personal tragedy he had experienced, and how it had felt as he sat at his desk, the only man left in Lady Balgay, and what it had been like to die alone in an abandoned ship.

Lady BalgayWelcome home; welcome home at last.

Welcome home; welcome home at last.That music was back, syrupy smooth and insistent; the words indistinct but seeping into her mind. "I think we should read the journal."

"The captain may object," Kenny did not go near the dead man.

"I don"t think that"s the captain."

Why did I say that? There was no reason except a gut feeling that was so strong, enhanced with a feeling of quiet desperation she knew came from the man in the chair, that she had no doubt she was correct.

Why did I say that?"Let"s get away from here," Kenny had retreated to the doorway. "Get back on deck until the lifeboat comes."

"I must read this; he wants me to." The statement came from nowhere, but Lauren would not be denied. Although she was still dripping wet she felt no discomfort as she scraped the captain"s chair back from the desk and lowered herself carefully into it.

"He wants you to?" Kenny stared at her. "Listen to yourself, Lauren."

"You go on deck if you like. I"m fine here."

"With that? With him?" Kenny gestured to the dead man, who continued to point to the open door as if indicating something.

Lauren glanced over her shoulder. "He"s harmless."

He wants me here.

He wants me here.Brushing fragments of white shell from the surface of the desk, she put down the journal. The leather cover was brown and shiny, as if it had just come from the shelf of a quality stationery shop. She opened it, wondering what was inside.