“It was there, Mr Selkirk. I could see the ship. Some of it, anyway. Enough, perhaps. I could just make it out. The prow, part of the foredeck, a stump of mast. I turned around and raced back inside for my clothes.
“Then I ran all the way to town. We never kept a horse here, Charlie didn’t like them. The strangest thing was this sensation I kept having, this feeling that I’d gotten lost. It was impossible; that path out there was well-traveled in those days, and even now, you had no trouble, did you? But I couldn’t feel my skin. Or . . . it was as though I had come out of it. There was snow and sand flying all around, wind in the dunes. So cold. My Charlie out there. I remember thinking, This is what the Bruxsa feels like. This is why she torments travelers. This is why she feeds. You know, at some point, I thought maybe I’d become her.”
Pursing his lips, Selkirk stirred from the daze that had settled over him. “Brucka?”
“Bruxsa. It is like . . . a banshee? Do you know the word? A ghost, but not of anyone. A horrid thing all its own.”
Was it his imagination, or had the dark outside deepened toward evening? If he didn’t get this finished, neither one of them would make it out of here tonight. “Mrs Marchant, perhaps we could continue this on the way back to town.”
Finally, as though he’d slapped her, Mrs Marchant blinked. “What?”
“Mrs Marchant, surely you understand the reason for my coming. We’ll send for your things. You don’t have to leave today, but wouldn’t that be easiest? I’ll walk with you. I’ll make certain—”
“When I finally reached Winsett,” Mrs Marchant said, her stare returning as that peculiar, distant smiled played across her mouth, “I went straight for the first lit window I saw. Selkirk’s. The candle-maker. Your uncle.”
Selkirk cringed, remembering those hard, overheated hands smashing against the side of his skull.
“He was so kind,” she said, and his mouth quivered and fell open as she went on. “He rushed me inside. It was warm in his shop. At the time, it literally felt as though he’d saved my life. Returned me to my body. I sat by his fire, and he raced all over town through the blizzard and came back with whalers, sailing men. Charlie’s father, and the Kendalls’ older brother. There were fifteen of them, at least. Most set out immediately on horseback for the point. Your uncle wrapped me in two additional sweaters and an overcoat, and he walked all the way back out here with me, telling me it would be all right. By the time we reached the lighthouse, he said, the sailors would already have figured a way to get the boys off that sandbar and home.”
To Selkirk, it seemed this woman had reached into his memories and daubed them with colors he knew couldn’t have been there. His uncle had been kind to no one. His uncle had hardly spoken except to complete business. The very idea of his using his shop fire to warm somebody, risking himself to rouse the town to some wealthy playboy’s rescue . . .
But of course, by the time Selkirk had come here, the town was well on its way to failing, and his aunt had died in some awful, silent way no one spoke about. Maybe his uncle had been different, before. Or maybe, he thought with a sick quivering deep in his stomach, he was just an old lecher, on top of being a drunk.
“By the time we got back here, it was nearly dusk,” Mrs Marchant said. “The older Kendall and four of the sailors had already tried four different times to get the rowboat away from shore and into the waves. They were all tucked inside my house, now, trying to stave off pneumonia.
“ ‘Tomorrow,’ one of the sailors told me. ‘Tomorrow, please God, if they can just hold on. We’ll find a way to them.’
“And right then, Mr Selkirk. Right as the light went out of that awful day for good, the snow cleared. For one moment. And there they were.”
A single tear crept from the lashes of her right eye. She was almost whispering, now. “It was like a gift. Like a glimpse of him in heaven. I raced back outside, called out, leapt up and down, we all did, but of course they couldn’t hear, and weren’t paying attention. They were scrambling all over the deck. I knew right away which was Charlie. He was in the bow, all bundled up in a hat that wasn’t his and what looked like three or four coats. He looked like one of my nuns, Mr Selkirk.” She grinned again. “The one with the bandeau that hides her face? I was holding her in my lap before. I made her in memory of this one moment.”
Selkirk stared. Was the woman actually celebrating this story?
“I could also see the Kendall boys’ hair as they worked amidships. So red, like twin suns burning off the overcast.
“ ‘Bailing,’ Charlie’s father told me. ‘The ship must be taking on water. They’re trying to keep her where she is.’ ”
Again, Mrs Marchant’s smile slid, but didn’t vanish entirely. “I asked how long they could keep doing that. But what I really wondered was how long they’d already been at it. Those poor, beautiful boys.
“Our glimpse lasted two minutes. Maybe even less. I could see new clouds rising behind them. Like a sea-monster rearing right out of the waves. But at the last, just before the snow and the dark obliterated our sight of them, they all stopped as one, and turned around. I’m sorry, Mr Selkirk.”
She didn’t wipe her face, and there weren’t any tears Selkirk could see. She simply sat in her chair, breathing softly. Selkirk watched her with some relief.
“I remember the older Kendall boy standing beside me,” she finally said. “He was whispering. ‘Aw, come on boys. Get your gear on: The Kendalls, you see . . . they’d removed their coats. And I finally realised what it meant, that I could see their hair. They hadn’t bothered with their hats, even though they’d kept at the bailing. Remember, I’ve been around sailors all my life, Mr Selkirk. All the men in my family were sailors, long before they came to this country. My father had been whaling here when he sent for us. So I knew what I was seeing.”
“And what was that?”
“The Kendalls had given up. Less than 100 yards from shore, they’d given up. Or decided that they weren’t going to make it through the night. Either rescue would come before dawn, or it would no longer matter. The ship would not hold. Or the cold would overwhelm them. So they were hastening the end, one way or another.
“But not Charlie. Not my Charlie. He didn’t jump in the air. He just slumped against the railing. But I know he saw me, Mr Selkirk. I could feel him. Even under all those hats. I could always feel him. Then the snow came back. And night fell.
“The next time we saw them, they were in the rigging.”
Silently, Selkirk gave up the idea of escaping Winsett until morning. The network of functioning lights and functional keepers the Service had been toiling so hard to establish could wait one more winter evening.
“This was midday, the second day. That storm was a freak of nature. Or perhaps not natural at all. How can that much wind blow a storm nowhere? It was as though the blizzard itself had locked jaws on those boys – on my boy – and would not let go. The men who weren’t already racked by coughs and fever made another five attempts with the rowboat, and never got more than fifteen feet from shore. The ice in the air was like arrows raining down.
“Not long after the last attempt, when almost everyone was indoors and I was rushing about making tea and caring for the sick and trying to shush Luis, who had been barking since dawn, I heard Charlie’s father cry out and hurried outside.
“I’d never seen light like that, Mr Selkirk, and I haven’t since. Neither snow nor wind had eased one bit, and the clouds hadn’t lifted. But there was the ship again, and there were our boys. Up in the ropes, now. The Kendalls had their hats back on and their coats around them, tucked up tight together with their arms through the lines. Charlie had gone even higher, crouching by himself, looking down at the brothers or maybe the deck. I hoped they were talking to each other, or singing, anything to keep their spirits up and their breath in them. Because the ship . . . have you ever seen quicksand, Mr Selkirk? It was almost like that. This glimpse lasted a minute, maybe less. But in that time, the
hull dropped what looked like another full foot underwater. And that was the only thing we saw move.”
“I don’t understand,” Selkirk said. “The sandbar was right there. It’s what they hit, right? Or the rocks right around it? Why not just climb down?”
“If they’d so much as put their feet in that water, after all they’d been exposed to, they would have frozen on the spot. All they could do was cling to the ropes.
“So they clung. The last healthy men came out behind Charlie’s father and me to watch. And somehow, just the clear sight of the ship out there inspired us all. And the way the mast was tilting toward the surface got us all angry and active again.
“We got close once, just at dark. The snow hadn’t cleared, but the wind had eased. It had been in our ears so long, I’m not sure we even realised it at first. The sickest men, including the older Kendall boy, had been run back to town on horseback, and we hoped other Winsett whalers might be rigging up a brig in the harbor to try reaching Charlie’s ship from the sea-side, rather than from land, the moment the weather permitted. I kept thinking I’d heard new sounds out there, caught a glimpse of the mast of a rescue vessel. But of course it was too soon, and we couldn’t really hear or see anything but the storm, anyway. And in the midst of another round of crazy, useless running about, Charlie’s father grabbed my wrist and whirled me around to face the water and said, ‘Stop. Listen.’
“And I understood finally that I heard nothing. Sweet, beautiful nothing. Right away I imagined that I should be able to hear Charlie and the Kendalls through the quiet. Before anyone could stop me, I was racing for the shore, my feet flying into the frozen water and my dress freezing against my legs, but I could hardly feel it. I was already so cold, so numb. We all were. I started screaming my husband’s name. It was too shadowy and snowy to see. But I went right on screaming, and everyone else that was left with us held still.
“But I got no answer. If it weren’t for the swirling around my feet, I might have thought even the water had had its voice sucked from it.
“And then.”
Finally, for the first time, Mrs Marchant’s voice broke. In a horrible way, Selkirk realised he envied her this experience. No single hour, let alone day, had ever impressed itself on him the way these days had on her, except perhaps for those few fleeting, sleet-drenched moments with Amalia. And those had cast an uglier, darker shadow.
When Mrs Marchant continued, the quaver had gone, as though she’d swallowed it. “It was to be the last time I heard his real voice, Mr Selkirk. I think I already knew that. And when I remember it now, I’m not even certain I really did hear it. How could I have? It was a croak, barely even a whisper. But it was Charlie’s voice. I’d still swear to it, in spite of everything, even though he said just the one word. ‘Hurry.’
“The last two remaining men from Winsett needed no further encouragement. In an instant, they had the rowboat in the water. Charlie’s dad and I shoved off while they pulled with all their might against the crush of the surf. For a minute, no more, they hung up in that same spot that had devilled all our efforts for the past thirty-six hours, caught in waves that beat them back and back. Then they just sprung free. All of a sudden, they were in open water, heaving with all their might toward the sandbar. We were too exhausted to clap or cheer. But my heart leapt so hard in my chest I thought it might break my ribs.
“As soon as they were twenty feet from shore, we lost sight of them, and later, they said all they saw was blackness and water and snow, so none of us knows how close they actually got. They were gone six, maybe seven minutes. Then, as if a dyke had collapsed, sound came rushing over us. The wind roared in and brought a new, hard sleet. There was a one last, terrible pause that none of us mistook for calm. The water had simply risen up, you see, Mr Selkirk. It lifted our rescue rowboat in one giant black wave and hurled it halfway up the beach. The two men in the boat got slammed to the sand. Fortunately – miraculously, really – the wave hadn’t crested until it was nearly on top of the shore, so neither man drowned. One broke both wrists, the other his nose and teeth. Meanwhile, the water poured up the beach, soaked us all, and retreated as instantaneously as it had come.”
For the first time, Selkirk realised that the story he was hearing no longer quite matched the one Amalia had told him. Even more startling, Amalia’s had been less cruel. No rescues had been attempted because none had been possible. No real hope had ever emerged. The ship had simply slid off the sandbar, and all aboard had drowned.
“Waves don’t just rise up,” he said.
Mrs Marchant tilted her head. “No? My father used to come home from half a year at sea and tell us stories. Waves riding the ghost of a wind two years gone and two thousand leagues distant, roaming alone like great, rogue beasts, devouring everything they encounter. Not an uncommon occurrence on the open ocean.”
“But this isn’t the open ocean.”
“And you think the ocean knows, or cares? Though I will admit to you, Mr Selkirk. At the time, it seemed like the sea just didn’t want us out there.
“By now, the only two healthy people at Cape Roby Point were Charlie’s father and me. And when that new sleet kept coming and coming . . . well. We didn’t talk about it. We made our wounded rowers as comfortable as we could by the fire on the rugs inside. Then we set about washing bedding, setting out candles. I began making this little sister here—” as she spoke, she toed the doll with the white bandeau, which leaned against her feet “—to keep him company in his coffin. Although both of us knew, I’m sure, that we weren’t even likely to get the bodies back.
“My God, the sounds of that night. I can still hear the sleet drumming on the roof. The wind coiling around the tower. All I could think about was Charlie out there, clinging to the ropes for hope of reaching me. I knew he would be gone by morning. Around 2:00 a.m., Charlie’s father fell asleep leaning against a wall, and I eased him into a chair and sank down on the floor beside him. I must have been so exhausted, so overwhelmed, that I slept, too, without meaning to, right there at his feet.
“And when I woke . . .”
The Kendalls, Selkirk thought, as he watched the woman purse her mouth and hold still. Had he known them? It seemed to him he’d at least known who they were. At that time, though, he’d had eyes only for Amalia. And after that, he’d kept to himself, and left everyone else alone.
“When I woke,” Mrs Marchant murmured, “there was sunlight. I didn’t wait to make sense of what I was seeing. I didn’t think about what I’d find. I didn’t wake Charlie’s father, but he came roaring after me as I sprinted from the house.
“We didn’t even know if our rowboat would float. We made straight for it anyway. I didn’t look at the sandbar. Do you find that strange? I didn’t want to see. Not yet. I looked at the dunes, and they were gold, Mr Selkirk. Even with the blown grass and seaweed strewn all over them, they looked newly born.
“The rowboat had landed on its side. The wood had begun to split all down one side, but Charlie’s father thought it would hold. Anyway, it was all we had, our last chance. Without a word, we righted it and dragged it to the water, which was like glass. Absolutely flat, barely rolling over to touch the beach. Charlie’s father wasn’t waiting for me. He’d already got into the boat and begun to pull. But when I caught the back and dragged myself in, he held position just long enough, still not saying a single thing. Then he started rowing for all he was worth.
“For a few seconds longer, I kept my head down. I wanted to pray, but I couldn’t. My mother was a Catholic, and we’d worked for the nuns. But somehow, making the dolls had turned God doll-like, for me. Does that make sense? I found it impossible to have faith in anything that took the face we made for it. I wanted some other face than the one I knew, then. So I closed my eyes and listened to the seagulls squealing around, skimming the surface for dead fish. Nothing came to me, except how badly I wanted Charlie back. Finally, I lifted my head.
“I didn’t gasp, or cry out. I don’t thin
k I even felt anything.
“First off, there were only two of them. The highest was Charlie. He’d climbed almost to the very top of the main mast, which had tilted over so far that it couldn’t have been more than twenty-five feet above the water. Even with that overcoat engulfing him and the hat pulled all the way down over his ears, I could tell by the arms and legs snarled in the rigging that it was him.
“ ‘Is he moving, girl?’ Charlie’s father asked, and I realised he hadn’t been able to bring himself to look, either. We lurched closer.
“Then I did gasp, Mr Selkirk. Just once. Because he was moving. Or I thought he was. He seemed to be settling . . . resettling . . . I can’t explain it. He was winding his arms and legs through the ropes, like a child trying to fit into a hiding place as you come for him. As if he’d just come back there. Or maybe the movement was wind. Even now, I don’t know.
“Charlie’s father swore at me and snarled his question again. When I didn’t answer, he turned around. ‘Lord Jesus,’ I heard him say. After that, he just put his head down and rowed. And I kept my eyes on Charlie, and the empty blue sky beyond him. Anywhere but down the mast, where the other Kendall boy hung.
“By his ankles, Mr Selkirk. His ankles, and nothing more. God only knows what held him there. The wind had torn his clothes right off him. He had his eyes and his mouth open. He looked so pale, so thin, nothing like he had in life. His body had red slashes all over it, as though the storm had literally tried to rip him open. Just a boy, Mr Selkirk. His fingertips all but dancing on the water.
“Charlie’s father gave one last heave, and our little boat knocked against the last showing bit of the Kendalls’ ship’s hull. The masts above us groaned, and I thought the whole thing was going to crash down on top of us. Charlie’s father tried to wedge an oar in the wood, get us in close, and finally he just rowed around the ship and ran us aground on the sandbar. I leapt out after him, thinking I should be the one to climb the mast. I was lighter, less likely to sink the whole thing once and for all. Our home, our lighthouse, was so close it seemed I could have waded over and grabbed it. I probably could have. I leaned back, looked up again, and this time I was certain I saw Charlie move.
The Mammoth Book of Best New Horror 18 Page 53
