Horror Thriller Box Set 1

by Amy Cross

  "Oh, I'm not a hero," he replied, putting an arm around her shoulder and leading her back toward their house. "I'm just a man of God who was fortunate to have the strength required to do face down the beast." The alderman knew that he would burn in Hell for having agreed to make a pact with Madeleine. He also knew that, by sacrificing his soul, he had ensured that his family, and the town, would be spared from any more visits by the vampires. While he could tell no-one of this pact, he was at least able to console himself by looking down at his daughter's carefree smile and knowing that he had saved her, and all like her, from any further torment.

  Dark Voyage

  Chapter One

  "Dear Lord," Saffron whispered, with his eyes closed and his hands clasped together. "I beseech you to watch over your children and deliver us from this tempest. Guide us safely to shore, Lord, that we might humbly carry out our work and..."

  He paused for a moment.

  "That we might humbly carry out our work," he continued hesitantly, "and that we might, um... That we might..."

  He paused again.

  "Oh, fuck it," he muttered, opening his eyes. "Fuck everything."

  Seconds later, the boat hit ploughed head-on into another huge wave, pitching first one way and then the other. High up at the very top of the vessel, perched in a bare metal lookout tower, Saffron was sent slamming into the railings. The chain around his waist was pulled tight for a moment, before Saffron grabbed hold of the handrail and steadied himself. When it came to a choice between God or a sturdy railing, Saffron chose the railing every time.

  He looked up at the dark and stormy sky. The thick black clouds were so close, Saffron was convinced he could almost touch them if he reached up.

  It was getting late, well past midnight, and Saffron had definitely pulled the short straw again. Although the Demeter V was equipped with a couple of rudimentary radar systems, the boat was basically an old Soviet-era tug that had been dragged back into service and given little more than a quick spit and polish. Most of the crew felt that the damn thing was liable to break in two at any moment, and that was before they came upon the worst storm Saffron had ever encountered. The captain, a Swede by the name of Mathias Efferson, had decided that someone needed to keep watch from the lookout tower. It seemed like an archaic practice, but Saffron was just a lowly engineer and therefore couldn't really argue. Tonight, it was Saffron's turn to be up on lookout, so there he was, chained to the railings as he sat up high in the rain.

  Below him in the darkness, picked out by a few lights that still shone in the driving rain, the huge deck of the Demeter V was decorated with large shipping containers bound for port in Albania. In the distance, the stormy horizon betrayed the curve of the planet.

  "Shoulda stayed home," Saffron muttered, as the boat briefly tipped toward the starboard side before righting itself. Even the slightest of pitches down at deck-level resulted in the top of the boat swinging wildly through the rain, and Saffron couldn't help but grab the railing, just in case the chain should slip and send him plummeting down to the deck below. Railing before God, every time.

  After a moment, his radio crackled into life.

  "Bridge to Saffron," said a static-filled voice. "Checking in. All good up there? Copy."

  "All good," Saffron replied with a sigh, as rain ran down his face. "As good as it's gonna get, anyway. But did we slow down a while ago?"

  "We've got a problem with the breach pump," the voice said wearily. "I'm going down to check it in a minute, but we're probably gonna have to take a slower pace until we get to port. We might have to add a day and a half to the journey time."

  "Figures. Do we get paid more?"

  "You know the answer to that question."

  Saffron sighed.

  "Someone'll be up to relieve you at 6am," the voice added. "Try not to get washed overboard until then, okay?"

  "I'll try," Saffron said, giving the chain a quick yank just to make sure he was still firmly attached to the railing. "If I go down, though, you'll know soon enough. It'll mean the whole fucking boat's underwater."

  "Over," barked the voice, before the radio fell silent.

  "Over," Saffron muttered, setting the radio back in his pocket just as a huge wave rocked the boat. Instinctively, he reached out and grabbed the handrail, just as the force of the impact unseated him and sent him sprawling toward the edge of the steps. The chain rain taut for a moment, and Saffron was easily able to get himself back in position. "Nice try," he muttered darkly, looking up at the stormy sky.

  Glancing down at the port cargo deck, Saffron frowned as he noticed something moving between two of the shipping containers. Knowing that only a madman would venture up on deck in this kind of weather, he narrowed his eyes a little, hoping to see better. Sure enough, he realized there was definitely a dark silhouette moving across the deck, but the figure quickly disappeared behind one of the containers.

  "Hey!" Saffron called out, but he knew there was no way anyone would be able to hear him above the storm. He reached down for his radio, figuring he should probably check with the bridge, but finally he decided it was probably nothing. Considering how tired he was feeling, he couldn't discount the possibility that he was imagining things. Anyway, even if there was someone, he reckoned it wasn't any of his business. If Efferson or one of the others felt like going for a suicidal stroll across the deck in the middle of a force nine gale, that was their problem, not his.

  As the boat was rocked by yet another wave, Saffron looked up again at the stormy sky. There was no God up there, of that he was sure. There were just dark clouds, twisting and curling into one another as they sent down wave upon wave of torrential rain. At least the lightning seemed far away. Saffron wouldn't be surprised, though, if it came directly over the boat. The way this night was going, a lightning strike seemed just about par for the course. If he were a god-fearing man, he'd have asked the Lord for forgiveness for his many sins, but all he could do in the circumstances was hope for the best.

  "I'll be alright," he muttered, as the boat pitched again. "I don't need no stupid God to get me through a storm."

  Chapter Two

  "Jesus Christ, it's worse than I imagined"

  Ducking down as he entered the engine room, Efferson shone a torch through the darkness of the boat's innards. He'd never seen such a rundown vessel. There was rust everywhere, along with a disturbing stink of motor oil mixed with rat droppings. It was, by far, the most disgusting place Efferson had ever stood, and he would have been worried standing in this neglected old hulk in the safety of a harbor, let alone out at sea in force nine winds. Beneath his feet, the vessel's floor let out an ominous groan as the Demeter V was rocked by yet another wave. Efferson couldn't help but wonder if the whole damn vessel might break apart at any moment.

  "I know, I know," said Claremont, pushing past him. "You think it was my idea to come to sea in this shit-heap? You think I didn't tell 'em it was dangerous?"

  "Let me guess," Efferson said, holding onto the bulkhead as the boat was tossed yet again. "The guy who declared this thing to be seaworthy was some inexperienced little idiot who's never been to sea in his life?"

  "The guy's probably sitting in some office in Southampton as we speak," Claremont replied with a resigned sigh, "checking his watch and wondering why we're taking so long to get the cargo to Durres. He probably thinks we're slacking off on some beach somewhere, having a great time."

  "So what's the problem?" Efferson asked, shining the torch up at a series of compression tubes that ran across the low ceiling. Nearby, a set of pistons were making a painful-sounding grinding noise. Whatever was wrong with the boat, it sounded serious and it sounded chronic. "Sounds like the engine's giving up on us. Please tell me the engine isn't giving up on us."

  "The engine's giving up on us," Claremont said, grabbing a hammer from around his waist. "There's water in the uptake valve, probably 'cause there was no plate over the inlet. It's illegal to set sail without a plate in place, but of
course the company doesn't give a damn about that, does it? All they care about is that we keep costs down. It's not gonna sink us, but it's gonna slow us down. That's why I wanted to get your ass in here. You've gotta see this fucking place. It's like something from the nineteenth fucking century. I know I've got a habit of performing miracles with the guts of these tubs, but there's nothing I can do down here except see if I can keep the damn thing going. If I can't find a way to flush the valve, we're gonna have to go down to doddering speed and hope we make it to port."

  As he finished speaking, there was a loud bang somewhere beneath their feet, as if the boat had hit something large and heavy. The sound of the impact reverberated through the metal bulkheads.

  "Probably the wreck of the last poor bastards who tried to get through this storm," Claremont said tensely, as he and Efferson exchanged worried glances.

  "You'll just have to do the best you can," Efferson replied, shining the torch across the room and shuddering as he saw the banks of archaic machinery. "Jesus, some of this equipment's old Russian stuff, isn't it?"

  "If only," Claremont said, having to raise his voice to be heard over a nearby steam piston that was starting to spin loudly. "It's Soviet, at best. Don't ask me where they found this shit-heap. Fucking pile of junk should be in a knacker's yard, not out here trying to carry a load of cargo across the Med, especially not with the forecasts we've been having lately. Only a crew of desperate idiots would ever have accepted such a job."

  "Jesus," Efferson replied with a wry smile, shining the torch over at the far corner of the engine room and pausing as he tried to work out what, exactly, he was looking at this time. "What the hell's that?" he asked.

  "Oh, that's the best part of the whole fucking thing," Claremont said, walking over to what appeared to be some kind of large black mold in the far corner. "Do you happen to know what this is?" he asked, turning back to Efferson. "Any ideas?"

  "Not a clue."

  "Me neither." Reaching out, he tapped his knuckles against the solid surface of the mold. "It's like some kind of dry oil. Damn stuff's just frozen to the bulkhead. I tried chipping some of it away, but whatever it is, it's stuck pretty damn fast." Leaning a little closer, he gave the mold a brief lick. "Tastes like cinnamon. What do you reckon that means?"

  "It means you're a disgusting old man," Efferson replied, stepping across the room and shining the torch directly at the mold. "Didn't customs have something to say about this when we left Southampton?" he asked as he ran his hand over the hard, smooth surface. "They're always panicking about foreign objects. I'd have thought they'd have a field day about something like this."

  "It wasn't there when we left Southampton," Claremont said dourly. "Whatever it is, it's grown during the voyage."

  "Seriously?"

  "Seriously."

  Efferson stared at the strange mold, finding it hard to believe that such a huge mass of matter could have built up in barely a month's time. There were pieces of wire mesh fused into the surface, along with sections of wood and metal, as if other parts of the ship had been used to bulk up the mix. "It's almost like a nest," Efferson said after a moment.

  "I was gonna mention it earlier," Claremont replied, "but I've been too busy trying to make sure the goddamn boat doesn't sink. Anyway, it doesn't really matter, does it? A bit of mold's not gonna hurt anyone, and it's not gonna add too much to the weight. It's not even in the way. It's basically the same stuff that mushrooms are made of, right?"

  Efferson turned to him.

  "Isn't it?" Claremont asked innocently.

  "Just don't serve it up for dinner," Efferson said with a sigh. "And see if you can get rid of it. I don't want to spend hours at Durres arguing with some antsy Albanian customs official who thinks we're bringing the Black Death to their country. We have enough trouble with them when we're just transporting spare parts. God forbid that any of those officious bastards catch sight of this stuff. They'll all have heart-attacks, and then they'll stick us in quarantine for a month."

  "Yeah, but -"

  "Just get rid of it," Efferson said firmly. "Damn thing gives me the creeps."

  "And when would you like me to remove this huge piece of mold?" Claremont asks. "Before or after I've fixed the engine and dealt with half a dozen other problems that are bound to crop up before sunrise?" He waited for an answer. "Can you seriously believe they sent us out with just a four-man crew?"

  "Just get it done," Efferson said, turning and heading over to the door. "I've got to get back up to the bridge, but I want the engine sorted before anything else breaks. The storm's set for another couple of hours at least, so no-one's getting any time off until we reach port. Got it? We're under-manned as it is, and the last thing I need is to deal with crewmen taking impromptu naps."

  Efferson waited for a reply, but all he got from Claremont was a grunt of acknowledgment.

  "I'm gonna take that as a sign that you understand," Efferson said bluntly.

  Heading out onto the deck, Efferson shielded his eyes from the pouring rain and looked up at the main lookout tower. Sure enough, Saffron was still up there, braving the worst of the weather and keeping an eye on the boat. Smiling as he reflected upon the fact that there was at least someone else who had a worse job than him, Efferson hurried over to the door that led into the main drive-room, from where he planned to make his way up to the bridge. As he did so, however, the boat lurched to one side, almost knocking him off his feet, and when he pulled himself back up, he noted that the drive-room door was already hanging open. He was certain that he'd pushed the door shut a few minutes ago, but he knew there was no way any of the other crew would be out here in the storm. Figuring he must have made a mistake, he headed inside, and this time he made doubly certain that the door was shut behind him.

  Chapter Three

  "That's right," Saffron muttered bitterly as he watched Efferson pulling the door shut. "Get back inside, where it's nice and warm."

  With a heavy, hulking groan, the Demeter V crashed into another wave, which sent water crashing across the bow. Reaching out and grabbing the chains that secured him to the mast, Saffron double-checked that he was held in place. If anything, the storm seemed to be getting worse, and he knew he'd never survive a fall from such a great height. Glancing up at the sky, he realized he was probably closer to the clouds than to the deck of the boat.

  "Come on," he muttered as the boat creaked yet again. "You can do it. Not much further now."

  Chapter Four

  "Got anything on the radar?" Efferson asked as he walked into the bridge, only to find that the entire compartment was empty.

  Walking across the room, he looked around, expecting to find Carlton tinkering with some out-of-the-way piece of equipment. Glancing over at the main control panel, he saw that the boat was under the control of an autopilot.

  "Carlton?" he called out, as the storm lashed the windows. Given the strength of the gale outside, Efferson knew that shouting for someone was a forlorn hope. Grabbing his radio, he opened a channel and listened to the static for a moment.

  "Bridge to Carlton," he said eventually. "Repeat, this is the bridge calling Carlton. Where the hell are you?"

  He waited for a reply, but all he heard was more static.

  "Bridge to Carlton," he said again, failing to hide the hint of annoyance in his voice. "Answer your fucking radio or I swear to God, I'll leave you behind at the next port."

  Again, there was no reply.

  "Bridge to all crew," Efferson said with a sigh, "if anyone's seen Carlton, kindly tell him he's out of a job unless he gets his ass back up here in the next ten seconds." Wandering over to the main computer bank, he checked a couple of readings and saw that somehow, miraculously, the Demeter V was still just about on the right course. "Bridge to all crew," he said again, "can someone -"

  "Saffron to bridge," came a sudden reply, breaking through the static. "I haven't seen Carlton, but I thought I saw someone down by some of the containers near the engine ro
om. I'm pretty sure it wasn't Carlton, though. It was too tall. It didn't look like any of you."

  "No-one's been near the containers," Efferson snapped back at him. "What are you -"

  "Just telling you what I saw," Saffron replied. "I know it's a dark night, but I'm not imagining things. There was someone down there. I figured it could maybe have been you or Claremont at a push, but there's no way it was Carlton." There was a pause. "If anyone had come out of the bridge after you, I'd have seen them. That door stayed shut the whole time."

  "Great," Efferson said, "so what you're saying is that in the middle of a storm, some asshole has climbed up the side and decide to stow away? Get real, Saffron. You're no use to me up there if you're not reliable."

  "Charming," Saffron replied.

  "I'm not trying to be charming," Efferson muttered. "I'm trying to run a fucking boat." Before he could continue with his ruminations, however, there was a loud banging sound, followed by a tremor that shook the entire vessel. "What the hell was that?" Efferson shouted into the radio as he hurried over to the window. Staring out into the darkness, he could barely see a damn thing. Seconds later, a flash of lightning lit up the horizon.

  "I didn't see anything," Saffron replied, sounding noticeably less calm than before. "Apart from the lightning. Should I come down?"

  "Not yet," Efferson said. "Hold position. Claremont, are you okay down there?"

  He waited for a reply, but all he heard was static.

  "Claremont!" Efferson shouted. "Are you -"

  "What do you want me to do?" Claremont asked suddenly, his voice coming across loud and clear. "Do you want me to fix the engine, or do you want me to clean up the mold, or do you want me to stand around chatting shit all the fucking time on the radio? Seriously, tell me what you want me to do and I'll do it. I'll follow any fucking order you give me, but just stop trying to get me to do a hundred things at once!"