by catt dahman
Her bosom filled with more than a fear of the fish biting her; she imagined an endless lifetime of punishment locked into the jaw of this creature. In its belly, she would struggle as her soul faced eternal misery.
Lines of blood streaked her neck as her eardrums burst, and she moaned as she imagined slimy tentacles rising from the oily floor to rip her apart as her bladder let loose and a cloying iciness rose beneath her dress, caressing her legs abominably.
Her bleeding wrists were not doing the job quickly enough, and it was what she had wanted, to die, but she fought it now, kicking at the crates and hammering against them with her crimson-stained fists.
How could she die among the horrifying voices and the monsters that lived deep in the water and deep in the ship itself? The big fish seemed to be grinning at her from the dark waters where it swam.
The Titanic shuddered only a bit, but it was enough for the crates to shift once more, crushing her flesh between them, grinding against her bones as her head broke open. Blood saturated the wood and pooled on the floor around the cargo.
Had the ship made it to shore days later, laborers would have found a decomposing mess hardly recognizable as having been human. There was less damage than the fish would have done, the shark known as a carcharodon megalodon, a species that has been extinct for millions of years, but it was enough carnage that the shark would have been frenzied with excitement had it seen her. As it was, it smelled her.
She would never been found.
But hers was not the only blood to christen the steel of the ship. As the Titanic was built, hard hats, machinery guards, and safety lines were unused, and two-hundred fifty men were injured as some fell from great heights, some were mangled or crushed, some suffered head injuries, and many lost legs, arms, feet, or hands.
Reports were hidden or forgotten, but more than a dozen died on the ship as it was constructed.
“So much blood,” Howard moaned in his sleep.
A terrible set of events became a perfect storm.
Chapter Two: April 14, 1912, 9:40
Howard’s Account
Every day aboard the ship, there was plenty to do for entertainment if one wanted. There were the meals: breakfast was American and British with fruits, meats, eggs, tomatoes, and potatoes, and lunches were of various meat and vegetable dishes.
If one were to take a bite of each dish, he would find himself full before sampling but half. I cannot imagine how much food the ship carried, but each meal was an event to be cheered over and recollected for hours afterwards.
While the first class passengers dined upon fancy meals in elaborate settings, second class partook of very elegant meals as well, and Steerage was served hearty, flavorful dishes. Captain Smith told us during one of the lavish dinners that formerly those in Steerage had to bring their own meals but aboard this fine ship, everyone was treated well. He said the Steerage had a lounge and a smoking room as well.
Of course, no one in first class had concerned themselves with the meals of the other classes, but it was a tidbit he shared with us. The Captain, so knowledgeable of his ship, quoted the tonnage of food brought aboard and told us what supplies the kitchens and pantries held.
Each class had a dining area, smoking room, and gathering areas, and bedchambers were comfortable and roomy, but none could compare to the cabins that first class enjoyed. We had private toilet facilities, dressing rooms, and bedchambers, forming five rooms dressed in Queen Anne décor. It was said Mr. Astor and Mr. Ismay had staterooms that were more richly appointed and much larger than the other rooms.
After breakfast, many of the passengers strolled along the ship and used the Reception Room, with its white walls and ceiling and dark carpets, to meet others and talk. To show off Parisian fashion, the ladies wore their richest gowns of purple, blue, green, off-white, pale yellow, and cream. The room was a peacock of vibrant colors and designed (so the Captain told us) so that the dress colors were viewable in the natural light of day since they would seem muddied by gaslight.
He laughingly said that allowed women to wear purple in the daylight hours so the color wasn’t ruined, and we’d never see a lady wear purple in the evening. Amazingly, that was true.
The married men and women and those older than twenty-five, all gathered in the Reception Room to share the news of the day. It was rather formal and the place my aunts enjoyed most. I saw them sitting at a table.
“Howard, do come meet Mrs. Gibson.”
I tipped my hat and called back, “I have met her. How goes the trip, ma’am?”
“Wonderfully, thank you, Sir,” she called back.
I could see my well-meaning aunties were desirous that I might join them so they would have the opportunity to introduce me to more proper ladies of wealth and family name. I could think of nothing more monotonous than being set up, unless it was the insipid gossip they indulged in.
I tipped my hat again and went along my way.
The younger people and some of the older ones as well, gathered in the Lounge, on the Promenade Deck, to play cards, gossip, and to meet one another. It was decorated in a French style with boiseries, or carvings on the walls; this was where I enjoyed going when I was not in the library or in my stateroom writing. It was a jubilant room, not in line with my usual, morbid moods, but quite enjoyable.
The older women retired to the Reading and Writing Room to relax with cozy blankets tucked around them as they sat around the fireplace to chase away the chill. The ladies could stand before a big bow window and gaze out to the Promenade Deck while staying toasty warm. It was one of the most pleasingly furnished rooms of all.
The men enjoyed the Smoking Room, paneled in mahogany with inlays of mother-of-pearl, stained glass depictions of ports of the world, and a large fireplace. There was a bar where cigars and drinks were available to the gentlemen.
Lunch was usually at Parisian café for lively meals. Many of us also enjoyed the warmed swimming pool. The water was always tepid and very clean, and the stewards were about to hand out fluffy, soft towels or glasses of freshly squeezed juice.
Inside, the Turkish baths had designs built about the portholes so that the Moroccan theme was never ruined. Expensive tiles of blue and green covered the room. The gymnasium was filled with the most modern exercise equipment available, punching bags, mats, and knotted climbing ropes.
I tried each venue as one should take pleasure in all that is offered, but I enjoyed nothing as much as a walk along the decks so I could feel the chilled air, smell the salt of the water, and watch the seas. Oceans covered so much of the earth; I wondered what secrets they held, and what denizens lived beneath the waves.
The evening meals were luxurious, but my stomach was bothering me as it often did. Physicians were unsure why I suffered bouts of anguish from pain in
my belly and thought it might be related to anxiety. For some months, I was bothered by spells of pain deep within my gut that frequently sent me to bed for days.
I was able only to pick at the meals, to taste each dish, and to fill myself with only the dullest of foods. I avoided alcoholic beverages. I was determined not to go abed with my ailment, and I struggled to maintain my composure, brushing away my aunts’ concerns about my pallor.
As my aunts begged me, I disregarded my qualms, the ache in my stomach, and bantered eagerly with the gentlemen whom I met on the voyage.
I escorted the single ladies along the decks, choosing cheerful topics and laughing often, but I did not find a young lady who captivated me beyond friendship.
I did form strong friendships with Jenny Cavendar, John Morton, Mr. Behr, and his fiancée Helen Monypenny. Mrs. Brown and Mr. Stead, the journalist, frequently joined me for walks or conversations as well.
But while I tried to put aside my dark fears, William Stead told frightening tales at every meeting, and as startling as they were, it was impossible not to want to listen. Most often, Mr. Stead entertained us in the Library or the Smoking Room, allowing us to gather abo
ut his chair while he spoke; he was most enjoyable to hear speak.
One evening at dinner no less, he told us a story about a mummy case that was part of an Egyptian collection and that was supposedly aboard the ship.
Captain Smith chuckled and refused to say if it were part of the cargo when the women asked him about the case. He told us, “I cannot confirm or deny that it is aboard, but I can assure you all that it is of no threat either way.”
Maggie Brown chuckled and leaned close to me, “He should be in politics.”
“I wonder if the mummy is aboard,” I said.
She shrugged.
Stead told us, “Four men bought the mummy case containing Amen-Ra.
One of the men, supposedly blind, walked into the desert, and was never seen again, and the next man was accidentally shot, and his wounded arm was amputated. He never recovered from the loss of his arm. The third man lost his fortune suddenly, and the fourth ended up homeless and on the street.
They sold the mummy and case cheaply, and the set was bought by a wealthy Londoner.”
“And did he have bad luck?” Maggie Brown laughed loudly, waving a bit of pork joint upon her fork. She was fascinated by the story so far.
Stead nodded eagerly, “He did. His home burned, and several of his family members fell ill. He was so frightened by his turn of poor luck that he donated the mummy and its case to the British museum.”
“So he shared the curse,” Captain Smith said, half listening as he read another message sent from his First Officer.
Again, there were warnings that ice fields lay ahead although we didn’t know it then.
“Steady at twenty-two knots,” he ordered. They had seen no ice but were on notice to watch for any sign of it.
“We have made better time every day,” Thomas Andrews said proudly. He had designed the ship, and that very night, he was going back to his stateroom to list cosmetic changes he wanted to make to the Titanic to make it even more luxurious; he told us this at dinner.
“Now, the winds have died down, and we shall make even better time,” the Captain said and then waved as if to have Stead go ahead with the story. “Fine ship, Andrews.”
Maggie brown interrupted, “What happened to the mummy, then?”
Stead shrugged, “Some of the crew moving it was injured, and one died. People viewing the exhibit and the workers at the museum suffered illnesses and accidents. The museum curator was so concerned, that he had sealed the mummy in her case in the basement. It remained there for years until a wealthy American purchased it, and it is here right now in the cargo hold.”
Mrs. Astor fanned herself, “Oh, goodness. That’s a terrible story.” She was young and extraordinarily lovely, but like a lady of good breeding, she was always prone to faints and paleness.
I genuinely liked her and admired her genteel manners; except for my own companionship, I preferred a hearty female like Maggie Brown. Yes, she was older than I, but I was not looking for a ‘we’; it was something I had discovered about my own tastes.
“It is just a story, Maddy. Do not worry yourself. We have a mystery to solve. An American. That narrows it down so we can figure out if she is aboard the ship,” Maggie Brown said, “Who here is likely to have bought a cursed mummy?”
“I did not,” Peter Cavendar said, “I saw you looked to me first.”
“You would not tell us if you did own the mummy,” Maggie said.
Jenny laughed as she covered a smile, “I would tell.”
“I don’t believe in curses,” John Astor said.
“Curses aren’t real, but evil is always with us, struggling to be set free,” I said. All eyes turned to me, and I felt my aunts’ disapproval, “and I dare anyone to say he has not had a nightmare or felt a shiver at times, maybe right on this voyage.”
“We’ve had fine weather and a great trip. I will take your wager. I have enjoyed these last few days,” Astor said. He took his wife’s shaking hand and clasped it tightly before planting a kiss on her knuckles.
I had made people uncomfortable.
Mr. Stead, Mrs. Brown, Jenny, and John gave me smiles of support, so I felt a little better but was sorry Mrs. Astor was frightened.
Thomas Andrews frowned and said, “I have slept fine. I say you are affrighting the ladies, Sir.” He did not say it rudely but casually, and he looked at Mr. Stead as well, to show the story of the mummy was disquieting. It was his reminder that most ladies were not accustomed to such tales at dinner.
Maggie Brown was an exception.
I was not there to argue. I apologized under the glare of Aunt Annie and the frown of Aunt Delora. I considered that Stead had been the one who told the story of the Egyptian curse and said that the mummy was aboard; I had only commented upon the idea of curses being phantasmagoric.
Mr. Stead cast me a devilish grin, and I knew all was fine.
After dinner, I strolled along the deck alone, looking out to the water. The sea was like glass, calm, dark, and reflective. It was like nothing I had ever seen. The ship cut a trail through the black glass with no moon to light the way, only the ship’s lights to break up the pitch-black ink of the night.
There, just out of the corner of my eye, what did I see?
It looked to be a giant fish, a shark perhaps, but it was too big. The dorsal fin (or I supposed it to be) was a tall, dark triangular shape that cut through the water quickly, and then I saw what might be his tail or caudal fin, and it was large as well. One determines a fish’s size by the length of fin to fin and by my estimate, this monster was a hundred feet long or more.
Impossible, a whale, then?
But when he swam by, keeping up with the ship, I knew he was real and fast to be keeping our speed of twenty-two knots, whatever he was. He was a leviathan.
I could hardly believe my eyes. What a chance of my lifetime this was.
However, despite my excitement, I felt the most terrible dread as I watched the shark swimming in the gloomy waters. It was more than a question of why a fish would want to follow a loud, large ship as this. How was he so massive?
He was a titan shark, and I was aboard a titan of a ship. Explicable as it was, I felt the creature came to issue a challenge; I felt he was malignantly aware of us and was a threat to us.
And there in that strange, yellowish mist, what was that? We were at sea and nowhere near land, and yet I could swear there was a landscape in the mist, a place with diseased trees that dripped with ichors, and a hazy, soggy bog as the ground.
In the reddish sky, terrible bat-like creatures with beaks of molded green chased yellow-winged, bird-like things that were sharp angles and pudgy white flesh. When the bat-things snatched the birdish creatures from the air with terrible talons, dark red blood and pieces of gossamer flesh fell to the damp ground to be sucked and slurped into the miasma.
I could faintly hear horrible shrieks and an incessant buzzing. Far away, out of my sight, I heard the clumping of heavy feet and a wail so high-pitched and mournful that it made my ears ache. I was almost out of my wits with fright, wondering what prodigious beast might make such a clamor.
My skin prickled, and the nape of my neck broke out in chills.
“Go away, foul things,” I whispered to myself.
Beneath the gnarled trees were boughs and deadfalls from which creatures peeked. They were not soft furry animals but absolute visions from hell. Fangs sprouted from long, oily snouts, and they raked long, steely claws when they spied onlookers.
Three crew men stared at the mist as well, jaws agape. I knew, now, that I was not seeing with the sights of a madman, as they, too, saw the landscape wafting and juxtaposed over the sea. The great fish swam between the ship and the landscape that followed. I had no doubt that they were somehow, infernally connected.
“What is that?” the man asked as he clutched his head as if viewing the other world caused tremendous headache and nausea. He gagged. “And the feckin’ fish…the boat is mor’n ninety feet abeam, and he’s longer. D
o you see ‘im?”
One of the crewmen ran to the railing and climbed up on it to better watch the enormous fish. “Look at ‘im.”
“Climb down,” I urged him, “or you will fall.”
He chuckled at such an idea, but as the ship normally shivered as she sailed, he went wide-eyed with panic and fear before he plunged over the railing and into the sea.
We must report it as a man overboard and call for help although he would have little time to survive swimming in the frigid water, but we stared, frozen.
“There he is,” one of the other crewmen called, and I suddenly did not know if he meant he saw his crewmate or the big shark.
I watched as the fallen man showed as a small dark spot on the white of the wave-wash; he was afloat and struggling against the iciness of the sea. The poor devil must be mightily cold.
“Eh?” one of the men made a sound between a groan and a yelp.
Bursting like a grape, the man in the water suddenly split open as several of the shark’s teeth snagged him. The fish made a jerk to the side, and the wet, split crewman flipped into the black maw; the beast swam under the waves and off to the side. Had we not been watching, we would not have seen the terrible creature make a meal of the poor sod.
But the horror was not ended.
I had hardly accepted the huge shark and what he had done as my attention was drawn back to the fog lying on the water.
I saw a figure in the fog, his legs heavily plated with flesh-armour, the color of unwashed linens. There were spiraling horns and a little sucking, grasping, round mouth with rows upon rows of sharp teeth; he looked at us hungrily. His gelatinous, rheumy eyes followed our movements. Despite the armour, hunger, and his ferocity, I felt he was a weakling and a coward in a fight and would behave slug-like.
That repulsed me.
With a look of hatred, he (it was a male creature, for he had prodigious male genitalia) spit a wad of phlegm at us, and it sailed across (what I imagined were) dimensions and time to land right on the deck. The slime reeked of rot and vomit. Any predator would take one whiff and flee from the creature so repulsive was his spittle.
