The Collector of Remarkable Stories

by E. B. Huffer

  "What do you want?" he called out. "You have no business here!"

  "We want to get to the island," shouted Black Adam.

  The man stared at Margie for the longest time, his eyes boring into her. Eventually he nodded for them to board.

  "If you think you're ready to sail in her," he hissed as they walked nervously past him, "you'd better be willing to sink with her. And don't you dare touch anything," he added. "Not a damn thing!"

  Black Adam and Grandma Doyle exchanged nervous glances and boarded the decrepit, weather-worn vessel. Feeling much better, Margie tentatively explored the slime-covered deck whilst Black Adam (under the glare of the Top Hat) made his way straight for the Captain's Cabin.

  As expected, the inside of the cabin was a mini palace lined with mahogany panels and equipped with nothing but the finest furniture, carpets, and drapery. However, this state-of-the-art room, which would once have been coveted and admired now lay rotten and decayed like an old disused asylum. Drained of colour and sheathed in mould and rot, the air was heavy with centuries of grief.

  The three of them sat awkwardly at the Captain's table, politely ignoring their surroundings and waited silently for the ship to set sail. They didn't have to wait long. With a long creak and a screeching sound (that would have set their pulses racing if they'd had one) the ship lurched forward.

  Sitting in the windowless room, the sea didn't feel as calm as it looked when they'd boarded. The thwuck thwuck of the sails suggested the wind was picking up as the ship slowly headed out - unbeknown to the passengers - into a heavy, rolling sea.

  The boat made its way through the water, up and down for hour upon hour, the sea growing ever more angry. Black Adam, Grandma Doyle and Margie barely clung on as the ship lurched helplessly from side to side. The contents of an old shelf - a barnacle encrusted ceramic jar and a small blue ware bowl - crashed to the floor as the ship battled against the elements; her billowing sails nothing but a red flag to the bull.

  Co-conspirators, the wind and the sea continued their heartless attack on the vessel. Like killer whales toying with seal cubs, they battered the ship from every angle until finally, bored of their game, they picked her up and threw her down in a final show of strength.

  The ship listed heavily to one side and the trio found themselves tumbling about in an upturned room with an avalanche of freezing water rushing in.

  "To the door," screamed Black Adam, but the door was nowhere to be found.

  "It's under the water," yelled Grandma Doyle, "we're trapped!"

  It took only a matter of seconds for the cabin to submerge and then, with a terrifying suddenness, the ship plunged beneath the waves. There was no time to think; no time to take a gulp of air as it plummeted into the murky depths. Once the cabin had filled with water, an eerie silence took over.

  Margie could see Grandma Doyle and Black Adam banging, clawing and scratching at the walls; their eyes wide with fear and panic as they searched for a way out. There was something about the way their hair and clothes danced in slow motion that both captivated her and frightened her.

  By now, her lungs were beginning to burn. Oh, for one tiny breath of air, she thought as she turned her back on the macabre ballet and swam towards something that resembled a small window. She almost wept when she realised that it was indeed a window; moreover it was open. But Margie's joy was short lived. As she reached out and grabbed it she heard a high pitched wailing sound, like an African ululation.

  She snatched her hand away and turned her head quickly to see if the noise was coming from Grandma Doyle or Black Adam. But they were still desperately grappling to find a way out, seemingly unaware of the strange sound.

  Again Margie pressed her fingers against the window and again she heard the wailing, only this time she was also gripped by a sense of helplessness and despair. In her mind's eye she was soaring through the sky, like an eagle drifting on a breeze. And then, just as suddenly she was being dragged to the bottom of the ocean. For a fraction of a second Margie wondered what she was picking up. Was this someone who had died on the boat? A sailor or a passenger? Whoever it was, they wanted her to know how they'd felt. They wanted her to feel their anguish as the boat plunged into the ocean's icy depths.

  Margie didn't have time to think about it any longer. Her lungs were screaming out for air and her mind was focussed on one thing only and that was finding her way out of the boat and swimming up to the light; towards that precious air. She wanted to breathe. Needed to breathe.

  Pushing any fear to one side, Margie pulled herself through the window. But instead of finding herself in the open sea she found herself in another room. A smaller, darker room. There was no time to be disappointed. Margie turned but there, guarding the exit, was the man with the top hat. His waxen, bloated face twitched uncontrollably with a venomous fury that bubbled and bulged and although his mouth appeared to be moving his voice came from all around her, as if the water was made of words.

  "You want to leave my ship without paying?" he bellowed. "You're all the same! Take, take, take! Well for your information, when you sail in my ship you abide by my rules. You stay on this ship until I tell you otherwise."

  The urge to breathe was almost unbearable now. As was the urge to scream.

  "You're just like all the rest," continued the man, his eyes almost bulging out of his head. "You're nothing but a mutinous snivelling coward."

  He was, by now, almost uncontrollable in his wrath. Barely inches from Margie's face his mouth seemed to be moving at a hundred miles an hour: "Don't listen to anything they tell you. It's all lies. Lies! None of them tell the truth. They're nothing but a bunch of filthy bilge rats. A dirty bunch of animals! I hate them! Hate them."

  Margie wanted to scream at him to stop; to leave her alone. But there was no time. She had to get out. Get up. Reach air. Breathe.

  Margie scrambled to get past him but he grabbed her by the throat and held her at arm's length. "Don't touch anything!" he screamed. "I told you not to touch anything."

  The man's attack took Margie completely by surprise. As she fought and struggled to free herself she accidentally took a sharp intake of breath. The water filled her lungs, which caused a searing pain to shoot through her head. At the same time, she saw a large dark shadow moving towards her from one corner of the room. It was the same shadow that had taken The Giant. Then everything went black.

  The ship shuddered as it hit the sea bed.

  Margie's eyes flicked open. She was in the same room as before only this time she was alone and, more importantly, her lungs no longer hurt. "You can breathe," whispered a iridescent voice that ebbed and flowed like the sea. "You always could."

  Margie couldn't see who the voice belonged to but she knew instinctively that it was the boat. The voice was deep and calm, dark and warm. It wrapped around Margie like a warm motherly arm.

  "The only reason it hurt before was because you thought it would. You must not allow those thoughts to hurt you."

  Margie shook her head. She simply couldn't bring herself to inhale the water; her brain simply wouldn't allow it.

  "I know what you're thinking," said the voice. " But it's not a trick. I promise. You should know by now that nothing is as it seems in Limbuss."

  Overwhelmed by fury and frustration, Margie shook the window frame violently until bits of wood started to fall off and float away. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't. By now, she was gripping the window frame so hard that long clouds of red smoke billowed out of her fingers.

  "I'm not trying to hurt you. I told you not to go into that room. But you ignored me."

  And that's when it dawned on Margie that the voice she'd heard; the anguish she'd felt was the boat's. She loosened her grip.

  "Do what you're afraid to do," said the voice with reassuring earnestness. "Breathe."

  Margie's mind and body were so exhausted that the promise of passing out again was enough of an incentive. Margie braced herself and took a breath. Only this time nothing
happened. Nothing at all. No coughing, no choking, no burning lungs. In fact, as far as she could make out there wasn't even any water in her mouth or lungs.

  An overwhelming feeling of relief surged through her body quickly followed by a feeling of regret for the damage she had inflicted on the ship.

  "You mustn't feel sorry for me," said the voice. "I am but an old wreck. And what are a few extra scratches between friends."

  Margie thought it strange that she didn't need to speak in order to be heard.

  "I can sense what you are thinking," confided the ship. "The water that touches me, touches you too. We are bound as one through the physics of the universe. I can feel what you are thinking and likewise. You are sensitive to that. Not many people are."

  There was a moment of silence before the voice spoke again. "I know you've been tortured by the voices of others, like I have. You've been tortured by millions whilst I've been tortured by one."

  Margie knew instantly that the ship was referring to the man in the top hat.

  "His name is Captain Roberts," continued the voice. "He has blood on his hands. Killed everyone on board. Poisoned them with strychnine then scuttled and sunk us all. Ever since, I've been forced to relive that day over and over again. Dragging unsuspecting victims to the bottom of the ocean to satisfy his ungodly desires. There's an evil about him that's impossible to escape. I've tried for decades. Half this ocean is made of my tears alone."

  Margie would have cried if crying under water was possible.

  "You are the first person who's ever heard me. You could have broken me into the tiniest fragments of firewood and I would still be grateful to you. You showed me that I do have a voice. I do."

  "I can hear you," mouthed Margie, though no sound was made. "And if you really are grateful then tell me how to get out of here. Help me find my friends."

  "People don't usually survive his rage. There must be something special about you."

  It sounded more like a question than a statement.

  "The shadow that came for you wasn't a Herder; it wanted to ensure that your journey wasn't interrupted."

  "Where is the captain now?"

  "I don't know where he is. But I know he will be back. The shadow told me that the captain would be back soon and that ..." There was a hesitation. "I don't recall any more."

  "Help me get out of here," pleaded Margie.

  "There is no way out. Roberts made sure of it."

  "You do know. I know you do," insisted Margie. "The water that touches you touches me, remember. You know what you have to do."

  "I can't. What you're asking me to do will make Roberts angry." The voice was beginning to sound strained."You don't know what he's like. He will take it out on others. It will cause more misery that you could ever know."

  "But you're already putting more than just me in danger."

  "It's not me," cried the ship, "it's him. It's Captain Roberts. It's him who controls everything."

  "But he's not here!"

  "It doesn't matter. He will return."

  "Please," begged Margie. "If I ever make it home I will make sure that everyone hears your story. I promise."

  For the longest time there was nothing but silence. The voice that had never been heard had nothing more to say. Filled with sadness Margie pulled herself through the small window into the cabin where she found Grandma Doyle and Black Adam floating lifelessly.

  Margie grabbed them and pulled them near. "Breathe," she whispered silently, hugging them both tightly. "Breathe!" She wished they'd never joined her on her journey across the Sea of Sorrow and longed to tell them how sorry she was. She didn't blame the boat. She was as much a victim as Margie was. She would still share her story if she ever made it home. In the meantime, with no idea how long it would be before Roberts returned; or what fate would befall them once he did; or if the Shadow Herders would come for them all before then, Margie closed her eyes.

  The second her eyes shut, the boat shuddered then surged upwards to the surface, leaping out of the water like a gargantuan whale before splashing back down. The boat landed first followed quickly by Black Adam, Grandma Doyle and Margie who crashed to the floor in a crumpled wet heap, writhing and gasping for air like freshly caught fish.

  The rest of the journey remained uneventful. They huddled together in shocked and stunned silence on the deck watching the cruel, schizophrenic sky transform into a beautiful shade of blue.

  A short time later; battered, bruised and thoroughly exhausted by their journey on board the ghost ship, Grandma Doyle and Black Adam could only watch helplessly as Captain Roberts - a gibbering shell of his former self - rowed Margie on the final leg of her epic journey.

  Darkest of All Places

  The second Margie stepped foot on the island, she was swathed in a dense blanket of fog. Unable to see anything and shivering violently she stumbled forwards hoping desperately that she wasn't walking into some kind of ambush. In her mind's eye she was inside a huge mouth and at any moment the teeth would snap down like a huge Venus fly trap. She was terrified of what she couldn't see; of what was hiding in the mist; watching and waiting. What sustained her was the thought of Spider Beast waiting for her at the Emporium. It was all the incentive she needed. She would do this for him and she would do if for The Giant. She would. And she would find his twins for him too.

  At last, after wandering aimlessly for an hour or so, the mist cleared momentarily and there in front of her was a large iron doorway crisscrossed with hefty rusted chains and padlocks. It was still enveloped in fog but she could see that daubed sloppily in red paint across the gate was the word DARKNESS.

  Was this really it? Had she finally arrived? She couldn't even summon up the energy to feel happy. She didn't know how she felt. She barely even knew who she was anymore. Cold, wet and exhausted she shuffled forward and banged heavily on the door. At once the chains fell off with a deafening clatter, slithering down like giant serpents before disappearing into the fog. Then the door crumbled like ash and instantly Margie was blasted by an icy wind that whipped her face and sucked the breath from her very lungs. Her wet clothes, or what was left of them, instantly froze to her skin and her lips glistened with tiny ice crystals. Protecting her eyes from the blizzard that was attacking her, Margie could see nothing but an endless wasteland of snow and ice.

  Margie stood shivering for a long time, the cold air snapping at her naked limbs like half-starved hyenas. With no obvious landmarks in sight, she had no idea which way to go. There wasn't even a doorway anymore. It was gone. Blown away in the wind. Just like the optimistic determination she'd felt moments earlier. Unable to move any further, she toppled over, her body frozen. Covered in a fine layer of frost, she tried to recall the story of an aborigine she'd read about in the Emporium. She'd been amazed that he could sleep naked - naked! - in near freezing conditions and not feel the cold. She tried hard to remember how he did it; what his secret was, but her brain kept on stalling.

  She was fading fast and not just because of the sub zero temperatures. The Big Invisible was taking its toll. It was draining her of all energy. As its strength grew, so Margie's diminished.

  For hours, Margie lay paralysed, her skin almost as pale as the snow that surrounded her. She'd long since drifted off; bathing in the warm summer rays of a golden sun in a field full of daffodils. Nearby, a squirrel scratched at the soil. At first it seemed to be looking for something. But very quickly the squirrel become agitated; its digging became louder. Angrier. The sun disappeared behind a cloud and the air grew quickly cold. And then Margie's eyes snapped open. In the freezing cold, she could hear the same scratching sound only this time it was coming from beneath her head. Still unable to move, her stomach twisted with fear. What was that? She didn't have long to wait for an answer because the ground opened up and swallowed her whole.

  Down she fell for what seemed like a mile, her arms flailing, until she landed with a hideous thud. And there she lay still and silent, exhausted and frozen, u
nable to believe that she was still intact. The light was bright and burned her snow-damaged eyes. She rubbed them feverishly but this did nothing but intensify the pain. Eventually she could just about make out that she was lying at the base of a deep crevasse, the sides of which were so narrow they'd slowed her descent down until she'd neared the bottom. She felt a glimmer of hope, especially when she saw that the crevasse extended as far as the eye could see either side. She instantly made the decision that once she had gathered some strength she would make her way along the narrow gully. Right now though, barely able to see and still frozen solid she closed her stinging eyes and drifted into a fitful sleep.

  When she woke up, she was no longer frozen but her body felt every bit as battered and bruised as it was. She sat up slowly, her eyes still adjusting to the light and tried to get her head around the events of the last few days. Her frostbitten lips burned and as she tentatively touched them her thoughts quickly turned to Archie. Had he been thinking about Nyabinghi at the moment his lips had touched hers? She couldn't allow herself to think too much about it. He had already broken his promise to accompany her across the Sea of Sorrow. She had a whole new battle ahead of her now. She had no idea what she would do next. She knew nothing about the world in which she found herself. Had only vague memories of the world which she had left behind. And absolutely no notion of the world in which she was heading.

  As she pondered her next move she thought she heard something. A cold wave of fear rippled down her spine. It was the same scratching noise she had heard in the snow. And it seemed to be coming from somewhere close. Margie pulled herself up and pressed her back tightly against the crevasse wall.

  "Who's there?"

  There was no reply, only the sound of scratching and scraping on the ice.