Hell Ship The Flying Dutchman

by Ben Hammott

  Johan swam for the knotted rope hanging down the side of the ship and gripped the end trailing in the water. As he pulled himself along its length, something burst from the water beside him—a sucker stalk. Three more rapidly appeared and focused their tips on him. For a moment, man and plant stared at one another.

  Beneath the surface, Johan drew his knife. When one of the stalks lunged at his face, he swiped the blade at it, slicing clean through. His backward slice saw another sucker severed. As if receiving a plea for help, stalks appeared around him. He slashed out with the blade, severing five more before one grabbed his wrist. He bit down on the tendril, ripped it free and spat out the foul plant chunk.

  When something slithered around his ankles, he knew what was coming and took deep breaths before they pulled him below the surface. The stalks that held him hauled him under their mass and stopped by a thick bundle of leaves much larger than the others. Suspecting something horrific dwelled within, Johan peered through the opening into its dark interior. Two eyes blinked open. Red, bright and menacing, they stared at him. When the points of light moved closer, and the terrifying thing emerged, Johan put the knife to his own throat, pressed hard and slid it across his skin. Redness filled his vision, and through the bloody haze, he glimpsed the eyes closing in and monstrous jaws stretching wide to receive him. He welcomed the quick death that ended the unimaginable horror that was about to befall him.

  WOKEN FROM HIS FITFUL slumber by the furiously ringing bell, Fokke sat up and shook the fatigued fuzziness from his brain. Having slept fully clothed in case of an emergency, he pulled on his boots and glanced at the bedchamber door when glass tinkled to the floorboards. His worried gaze fixated on the snakelike shadows moving through the wardroom’s lantern light cast on the floor. He cocked an ear to the sound of something scurrying across floorboards and grabbed the loaded flintlock pistol he had placed beside his bed before resting. He crept to the door and peered around the frame into his wardroom.

  He saw the smashed gallery window, and the two sucker stalks, and huge creature, four times the size of the egg creature he had captured, were inside. They seemed to be searching for something. Muffled movement from within the sea chest turned the stalk heads to it, and the giant creature scampered over and climbed onto it. It tapped a claw on the lid a few times and waited. Muffled taps answered. It turned its head to the waiting stalks, screeched a series of drawn-out clicks and jumped to the floor when the plant appendages moved to the sea chest.

  The stalks’ efforts to force their way between the lid joint were thwarted by the two clasps holding it closed. Assuming they were here to rescue the captured creature—a loss Fokke now welcomed—he elected to remain hidden and silent in the hope they would give up and leave.

  Not to be outwitted, the stalks moved around the sides of the large chest. While one paused at a hinge to examine it, the other arrived at a clasp. After studying and prodding it a few times, it seemed to have worked out it might be the thing preventing them from getting inside. It turned to the observing creature nearby and prodded its sucker at the clasp.

  Both fascinated and concerned by the carnivorous plant’s level of intelligence, Fokke observed the creature stab at the clasp with a claw and then hook it under and release it. After the stalk had examined the open clip, it moved to the second one and tapped it. The creature scuttled along to it and hooked it open. They both forced their tips between the join and raised the lid.

  The creature climbed inside and screeched to its captive brethren, touching claws with the one that was poking through the air hole of the small cask. The two stalks reached inside and after examining all sides of the object, lifted it out and smashed it against the floor until it splintered. The trapped creature clawed at the break until it had made a big enough hole to escape through. Like parent and child reunited, they nuzzled together for a moment before heading for the broken window.

  Thankful they were leaving, Fokke watched the two creatures dive through the broken window and waited for the stalks to follow them. An urgent knock upon the door halted them by the window. Fokke turned his head to the door when the cabin boy spoke.

  “Captain, Mr. Drasbart requests yer urgent attention upon deck. Hundreds of creatures are attacking.”

  Fokke cursed the boy’s untimely arrival. A few more seconds and he would have been safe. Choosing not to acknowledge the boy’s presence in the hope he and the stalks would leave, Fokke waited.

  In the corridor, Tom put his ear to the door to detect any sounds that would reveal the captain had heard him and was stirring. Hearing only the normal sounds of the ship at sea, he rapped harder on the door. “Captain, the creatures are attacking again, and Mr. Drasbart requests yer urgent presence topside.”

  When no reply from his captain was forthcoming, Tom decided to enter and rouse Fokke from his slumber. The first mate’s order was to alert the captain of the danger, and he wasn’t going to fail him. He turned the handle and opened the door.

  Fokke sighed when the handle turned and flicked his gaze to the clacking at the window as two of the smaller crab-like creatures entered. It seemed the stalks had called for reinforcements. The two plant tendrils slithered across the room and stretched towards the door, while the two animals climbed the walls and moved along the ceiling to drop on anyone who entered. To save the boy, he would have to reveal himself. His eyes glanced at his sword hanging on the wall across the room. With only one shot in the pistol, it was his only chance to save them both. He raised the weapon, darted into the room and fired at the nearest creature. The lead ball almost severed its head from its body. It dropped to the floor and wriggled as life left it. As the stalk lunged at him, Fokke flipped the pistol over to use as a club and smashed at the stem with enough force to send it crashing into the wall. He ducked under the second tendril and slammed a shoulder into the half-open door, sending Tom staggering backward into the passage and smashing into the opposite wall. He threw the pistol at the second creature but missed when it sprung to the floor. Two strides brought him to his sword. He snatched it from the wall, and with no time to pull it from its sheath, swung it at the stalk shooting at his face, knocking it to the side. Dodging the creature’s attack at his leg, he flicked the casing from the blade, sending it flying across the room. The sheath struck another crab creature climbing in and knocked it back through the window. Fokke raised the sword at the two attacking stalks. A broad sweep of the weapon cut through them both. Before their severed tips touched the floor, he stabbed the tip into the creature scurrying across the floor towards him. He raised the sword and stared at the impaled fiend trying to wriggle free while it swiped claws at him. Lowering the sword, he slid the creature off with his foot and crunched and ground its exoskeleton into the floorboards.

  Knocking on the door, Tom called out, “Captain, are yer okay? Do yer need assistance?”

  “I’m fine, lad,” replied Fokke, turning his head to something scraping on the window.

  It seemed the creature’s cries or the plant’s distress had brought forth further reinforcements. As more of the plant limbs and animals smashed through the glass panes, Fokke collected his pistol from the floor, exited his cabin and closed the door.

  Shoving the pistol into his waistband, Fokke looked at Tom. “Come on, lad, let’s go give some assistance to those battling topside.”

  “Aye, sir.” Tom followed the captain as he walked briskly along the corridor.

  As Fokke stepped onto the deck, he stamped on one creature, grabbed another from the air that jumped at his face and smashed it into the quarterdeck wall, spraying Tom with its foul blood, and gazed around his crew’s ongoing battles.

  A group of men who had formed a semicircle had successfully driven a large group of the creatures back to the rail. Jabs of their torches sent some fleeing over the side. A short distance along the deck, a screaming sailor, blood dripping from the many wounds over his body and face, was hoisted into the air by the vines and disappeared over the edge of the sh
ip. The only good news was that the wind had dropped, and the rain was now little more than a gentle shower.

  Fokke glanced at the cabin boy behind him. “Stick close to me, lad.”

  Tom nodded and followed the captain across the deck to the steps leading up to the quarterdeck. Fokke slashed, stabbed and crushed any of the creatures in his path. Tom snatched up an abandoned torch, its long handle covered in blood, both human and animal, and jabbed and swung it at the beasts looking for a meal, driving them back. When they reached the short flight of steps, the captain rushed up them. Tom remained at the bottom, swinging the flames at any creatures that came within reach.

  On the quarterdeck, the first mate and three crew had successfully driven their attackers to the rail. A few jabs of the flames each wielded sent the creatures diving over the side screeching from their burns.

  The first officer turned as the captain reached the top of the steps and joined him in gazing along the ship. They seemed to be winning the battle. The creatures’ crushed and burnt bodies now littered the deck, and those that remained were being forced back by the flames.

  “I think we’ve got the better of them now, sir,” said Drasbart.

  “But at what cost?” frowned Fokke, scraping his sword blade on the rail to remove the creatures’ blood.

  Drasbart gazed around at the survivors. “Difficult to say until we do an exact tally, but we must have lost at least twenty men.

  Fokke cursed the creatures. “It’s imperative that we free ourselves of this deadly menace before we lose more souls.”

  Drasbart was in total agreement. “As soon as there’s a break in the fighting, I’ll have the men start boiling water and setting sail to pull us clear.”

  Fokke turned to the three men guarding the quarterdeck rail against a fresh incursion. “Raf, you’re to remain here to protect our rear. You other two are with us.” He turned back to his first mate. “It’s time we reclaimed our ship.”

  Drasbart nodded. “Amen to that.”

  Fokke swapped his sword for Tom’s torch and ordered him up to the quarterdeck to assist Raf in guarding the stern.

  The four men spread out. As they slowly moved toward the bow, they thrust the torches at the creatures, driving them back. When they reached other members of the crew involved in their battles, they helped them defeat the beasts they were fighting before moving on. Leaving men at intervals to guard the rails they had cleared, they assembled all available crew to join their line.

  As they scuttled backward to avoid the burning flames, the creatures failed to realize that the humans were herding them.

  Noticing the success of the captain’s line, Jozef, busy fighting at the bow, rallied those around him into a similar formation and drove the creatures towards the stern. When the two groups of animals met, the men encircled them and stabbed the flames at them. The creatures’ high-pitched squeals filled the air tainted with the stench of their burning flesh.

  When the last one had succumbed to the flames, a deathly silence reigned on the ship. The rain ceased, and the breeze grew gentle, the creaks of the vessel welcome normality.

  A shriek, long and menacing, came from the sea on the port side. Splashes, unnatural footsteps on water, approached the ship and cast the men’s anxious gazes to the port rail.

  The captain strode to the side and stared into the darkness at the approaching sounds. Whatever was coming was concealed by the night’s lightless cloak. He drew the long-handled torch back like a spear and let it fly. Before the sea extinguished its tip, he glimpsed something substantial, evil, and murderous moving purposefully for the ship across the weed. The creature raised its head and looked at him. Stunned by the terrible red-eyed monster he had caught sight of, Fokke backed away from the rail.

  “What is it?” asked Jozef, his anxiousness increased by the captain’s pale, terrified expression.

  Fokke turned his head to the boatswain. “Something new. A large hell-spawned demon.”

  Clacks on the hull caused by something climbing up the ship sent fearful dread coursing through everyone trapped on board.

  CHAPTER 8

  The Final Skirmish

  “What do we do, Captain?” asked Noah shakily, as he and his shipmates gazed in fright in the direction of the approaching clicks.

  Snapping out of his fright, Fokke glanced around at his scared crew. “Use your torches to stop it boarding and send it back to Hell!” He turned to his first mate, fished a key from his pocket and handed it and his empty pistol to Drasbart. “Take two men and Tom to the arms locker. When you’ve loaded a few, send Tom topside to hand them out.”

  “Aye, sir.” Drasbart selected the two nearest men and headed below deck, calling Tom to join them on the way.

  The boatswain ushered the reluctant men nearer the port side with threats of a lashing if any deserted their post. Though some of the men believed a lashing would be preferable to what they were about to face, they all aimed the torches gripped in their sweating, trembling hands at where they thought the latest threat on what had turned out to be a nightmare voyage, would appear.

  When a clawed limb covered in tiny scales that shimmered in the torchlight appeared over the side, its talons gripped the rail with enough force to splinter the wood. A gasp of fear rippled through the men staring at the webbed claw. Tips of tentacles rose into view and directed their heads over the frightened humans.

  “Hold!” ordered the captain sternly when a couple of men went to step back.

  The clacking on the hull had ceased with the appearance of the limb. It had stopped. It was waiting.

  The boatswain leaned towards the captain. “Why do you think it stopped?”

  Fokke shrugged. “How the hell should I know?”

  Seizing his chance to wound this new monstrosity to threaten his ship and crew, Fokke snatched a cutlass from the man beside him and pushed through the line of men. He cautiously approached the leg, and halting an arm’s length away, he raised the sword and swung it at the limb with all his vengeful might.

  A terrible shriek rang out when the blade sliced the scaly limb. The patriarch creature, keen to taste more human flesh and to show its weaker brethren how to defeat the humans, leaped over the side, avoiding a second swing of the sword by a hair’s breadth. It jumped onto the mizzenmast rigging and swiped a claw-tipped rear leg at the men nearby. A deep gash opened across one man’s chest, the other man dropped his torch and grasped hands at his neck. Blood poured through his fingers.

  The nearest crew thrust torches at the monstrosity, sending it scampering higher until the darkness concealed it. With their fearful gazes raised aloft for the giant beast, the men held their torches ready to fend off its expected attack.

  As the man with the sliced throat collapsed to the ground and gurgled his last breaths, the boatswain ordered the man with the gashed chest to head below to get it seen to by the ship’s surgeon.

  Tom appeared on deck carrying an armful of weapons that included flintlock pistols of a variety of makes; four blunderbusses, excellent short-range funs to repel pirates; and a pistol axe the boatswain had won in a card game against a Polish sea captain. The boatswain intercepted Tom and quickly handed out the weapons.

  Tom crossed to the captain and handed him back his pistol. “Loaded and ready to fire, Captain.”

  Without taking his eyes from the rigging, Fokke took the pistol.

  Tom followed his gaze to the gloomy upper half of the mizzenmast, where he assumed the creature the first mate had said was coming now hid.

  Tom tapped the waterproof munitions bag hanging from his shoulder. “I have spare cartridges, powder and shot ready to reload.”

  “Good lad,” commended the Captain, who sensed they would need them. He took the bag and handed it to Guillermo nearby. “Return to the quarterdeck.”

  “Aye, sir.” Tom returned to the quarterdeck.

  After a few minutes of inactivity, which was more nerve-wracking than an attack, Fokke turned to a man armed with a blu
nderbuss. It had a limited range, but it wasn’t accuracy he was after. “Noah, fire a shot up the mast to see if we can flush it down.”

  “Aye, Captain.” Noah pointed the weapon skywards, rested the wooden stock against his shoulder, and pulled the trigger.

  The explosive flash shed some brief light on the upper rigging and picked out the monstrous creature perched on the top yardarm peering down at them. Tentacles covering its upper back wavered in the air. It screeched when lead shot peppered its hideous form. Reclaimed by the dark, the terrified sailors heard it bound along the yardarm and after a few moments of silence, a splash. It had jumped overboard.

  The crew cheered their success and the fleeing of the monster.

  “Hush, you fools,” reprimanded the captain sternly.

  The men’s rejoicing promptly faded.

  Footsteps broke the dreaded silence that had befallen the deck. The first mate and the two crewmen who had accompanied him crossed to the men and quietly handed out the variety of loaded flintlock weapons they carried to those without one.

  Crossing to Guillermo, Noah grabbed what he needed from the ammo bag and reloaded.

  All eyes anxiously swept the sides of the ship for signs of the creature’s return.

  The creaks of the ship, thrumming of lines, and the gentle splash of waves on the hull were the only sounds to penetrate the eerie silence.

  Slithering sounds turned the nervous men’s frightened gazes to starboard and the tentacles rising above the rail, sinuously oscillating like evil serpents studying their prey as each prepared to strike.

  “Get ready men, but wait for my signal,” whispered Drasbart, barely loud enough for all the crew to hear.

  Those that had firearms cocked the firing mechanisms and aimed them at the writhing menace. The men armed with flaming torches held them ready to thrust at the plant when it attacked.