I have to say though, as the storm approached it was sometime near evening and the sun was setting. It was painting silhouettes in the sky, and the clouds were colors I’d never seen. I mean I’ve seen them individually, but never all together like that. They were pink and red and orange and purple and gold. I had to just sit out on the deck, despite the captain’s warning about staying in our cabins, and just admire their beauty.
For those of you that have never experienced a storm at sea, I’ll explain it to you (after all, that’s why you’re reading this blog).
The first thing you notice about a coming storm is the silence. The air grows completely still to the point that if a dog is barking on land a mile away you’ll hear it on the ship. Then the air grows charged, like it’s carrying a vibrant electrical charge, and you can actually feel the difference in it on your skin. After that, the silence slowly begins to break because of a distant booming. The booming grows louder and louder and the anticipation is enough to kill you.
As rapidly as the booming starts, the storm breaks just as rapidly without warning. The waves begin to churn and fall over each other until water that was perfectly still grows into a violent, devouring monster.
That’s when the wind kicks in. It was so powerful I saw 200 pound crew members barely able to keep on their feet.
I’ve experienced all this before. But one thing I hadn’t experienced was the sea-fog. White, wet, billowing clouds came pouring in and over the land, so damp and icy my clothes felt like they’d just been through a cold shower. And then as it rolled over us, we could see lightning in the distance, and the thunder would shake the boat.
The storm grew so violent we had to head for the nearest pier. Luckily, the Mexican mainland wasn’t too far and we found a pier that let us dock. That’s when we noticed the ship off in the distance. It was about a quarter of a league out and heading straight for us. It would disappear in the sea-fog and as the clouds parted we’d see it again. Everyone was on the deck now, watching the ship. It didn’t respond to any hails so we just stood on the deck like kids watching an inevitable accident (the same thrill I would get when my brother would try and jump off the roof onto a trampoline).
As the ship neared, no one could see any crew on the decks. The captain thought he saw someone near the port side, and as we looked closer we saw it was a corpse lashed to the ship.
You didn’t misread that: a corpse was tied to the ship. How did we know it was a corpse? We didn’t until later. At the time, we thought it was a mannequin.
The ship passed by and no one attempted to stop it. How could we? It was barreling forward at top speed. We notified the coast guard and I hope they were able to stop it to see if anyone was on board and whether they needed anything. A few people on the deck had snapped photos and we looked at them on their smart-phones. The man’s hands were definitely tied together and to a metal rod sticking out of the ship. He was holding something but none of us could tell what. One of the women, an older one, said it was a crucifix but it was too difficult to tell.
We were able to trace the ship based on its name. And get this my bloggie doggies: it’s a Russian ship. What the @#$$! A Russian ship in Mexican waters. The Reds are going Hunt for Red October on us. I heard from one of the crew that the manifest of the ship had stated they were just carrying boxes of dirt. Why would anyone need that?
That isn’t the weirdest part. As the storm passed the next day we started on our journey but all anyone could talk about was this ship we’d seen. We kept digging around. We found an actual log from the ship that had been sent to us by the Russian embassy (my guess is they meant to send it to the coast guard).
Now, I probably shouldn’t have read that email but I’ve been on this ship for over six weeks and have made some good friends on the crew. So, after a few games of poker, and many more shots of tequila, one of the crew opened up the email with the log so we could see it and, of course, I just happened to forward it to myself. I’ve reprinted here for your eyes only, and please note we had to translate this with Google Translate so it may not be perfect:
LOG OF THE DEMETER: Varna to the Gulf of Mexico
July 6: Finished dropping off cargo from previous job. Crew: five hands, two mates, two cooks and myself.
July 11: Entered Bosphorus at dawn. Customs officials had to board. Everything good.
July 12: Through Dardanelles. More customs official. Want us on way soon.
July 13: Pass Cape Matapan. Crew seems uneasy but won’t tell me why.
July 16: Picked up new cargo in Los Angeles: earth and crates.
July 18: Mate ask crew what wrong. Crew only say something is on ship. One man make sign of cross and carry cross with him. All else silent for night.
July 19: Petrofsky, one of crew, has gone missing. Relieved of duty for the night but did not show up at bunk. Men say something is aboard with us.
July 21: One of crew came to me and said he saw a man onboard my ship. He was a tall man in black leather pants and a leather jacket. He walked from the back of the ship to the front. My crewman follow him but did not see where he went. I promised crewman we will search ship from stern to stern. Mate thinks this is bad idea but I think would make men happy. We search ship and found nothing. Crew seems in better mood.
July 24: Bad weather past three days. Men working too hard to be frightened. Praised them all on their work in the harsh weather.
July 25: Another man has gone missing. Came off his shift like Petrofsky and was not seen again. The men are frightened and want two men at a time as they are frightened to be alone. The first mate is worried violence break out. When men scared, they get violent.
July 28: Fierce storm, no one can get any sleep. The ships flies from side-to-side.
July 29: Another missing man. Had to go single man to a watch as the crew too tired for doubles. I called all men together. We will carry weapons and never be alone again.
July 30: Rejoiced that we are nearing Mexico. Have been off course past six days somehow. Perhaps storms affect instruments. Radio communication impossible through storms. Only five men on ship now. Everyone work quietly and don’t speak to each other.
August 1: Heard man cry out in the middle of night. I rose and went outside. It was so much fog I couldn’t see and ran into first mate. He said he heard cry too. The fog seems to move with us and we are not sure exactly where we are. Lord help us.
August 2: Went to relieve man on watch and no one was there. I called for the mate and he came up in his sleeping clothes. He came to me and said, “I have seen him. In the night. Tall and with muscles and wearing leather. I have seen him. I think he is down in those boxes. I will open them and cut him.” He pulled out knife and went down below. I think he is going crazy but I hear him scream. He ran up to me and say, “He is there! You must come with me, Captain.” Before I could grab him he jump into the ocean.
This man, this man has been killing my crew and now jump into the ocean. He is crazy. He is the killer. How am I to explain at port and customs where my crew is?
August 3: I see him. He is man, good-looking but white as paper. He walks my ship at night. I will not leave helm. I will tie my hands here. I wish I could jump into ocean but I am captain. I cannot leave my ship. I will die here.
Holy f’ing crap. How crazy is that? Of course, it could just be, and probably is, some sort of hoax. Now that I think about it the man tied to the ship didn’t actually look that real. I’ll bet the crew wanted to pull one over on us and tied him there and hid below deck.
Still have to say though, that this has been one heck of a journey so far.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Lucy’s Sleepwalking
Date: August 9, 2012
Hi Dr. Palmer, it’s Mina Murray. I just wanted to send you this quick note about Lucy. I know we’ve had her in treatment now for over a year because of her sleepwalking but the other night was worse than mo
st and I just wanted to tell you about it.
I got up in the middle of the night because I heard noises and I went to check on her (she’s staying with me now in Boston and has come back from New York). She wasn’t in her room. Sometimes she goes down to the kitchen so I went down there but she wasn’t there either. Then I saw that the backdoor was open. I ran outside calling out to her. I ran up through the garden and saw this stone table we sometimes use for picnics. Some black figure was there with a white figure. I ran up, thinking it might be Lucy, and the black figure was definitely something and it was bent over the white figure which I could see now was indeed Lucy. The black figure saw me and looked up but I couldn’t tell if it was some kind of animal or what. I glanced to Lucy and when I looked back, the animal was gone.
I ran up to Lucy and she was cold, almost like ice. I ripped off my pajama top and put it on her. She kept grabbing at her throat like she was in pain and there was some blood there. I think she must’ve cut herself on some of the rose bushes.
I know you said to never wake her, but I was so scared that I had to. Slowly, she came to her senses. I brought her inside, basically carrying her. I laid her down in the bed and she kept grabbing at her throat like she was in pain. I looked at the cuts and they’re deep.
But the next day she seemed okay. The thing is, we went out to a club and we were waiting in line to get in and this guy was standing across the street. It was like, just some guy I’d never seen before and Lucy said the weirdest thing:
“His red eyes again. They are just the same.”
I looked to her and she was in this like, half awake half asleep, dreamy phase. I looked back to the man across the street and he was gone. When I started talking to Lucy about it, it was like she snapped out of some dream.
We went to the club and she disappeared for a long time and when she came back she was in her dreamy state again. There was blood on her dress and I saw it was from those cuts on her throat which don’t seem to heal.
I’m really worried about her, Dr. Palmer. It seems like the sleepwalking is getting worse and I’m worried she’s cutting herself. Those wounds on her neck look like she jabbed them into her flesh herself and, like I said, they don’t heal so I think she’s doing it everyday.
Please let me know what you would like to do. I’ve spoken to Lucy’s mother and she’s fine with a commitment but I would like to avoid that if possible. Let’s just save that as a last resort.
Is there anything you can do to help?
HOLY CROSS OF MERCY MEDICAL CENTER
12 North Medical Center, Bel Air, CA 90077
Dear Ms. Murray,
I have left two voicemails and haven’t heard anything back. This letter is to inform you that we have a Mr. Jonathan Harker here at our hospital in Los Angeles. He’s been in our critical care ward for almost a week but is out now and recuperating. He was diagnosed with stroke and it was accompanied by an intense fever, but he’s doing better now and there doesn’t seem to be any permanent damage other than portions of his hair going grey, which he informed us was not so just a short while ago.
When I told him you didn’t answer your phone he asked that I write this letter as quickly as I could. He should be released in the next few days. He has asked that you join him here.
Yours with sympathy and blessings,
Sister Agatha
DR. SEWARD’S EVERNOTE JOURNAL
August 19
A sudden change occurred in Renfield last night. At about eight in the evening he grew excited and I was told he was bouncing around his cell and shouting. He kept saying, “You don’t count any more. The master is at hand.”
The orderlies here know that I have a scholarly interest in him and they called me. I was on a date at the time, so I did what any gentleman would do and came down to the hospital. He kept screaming about “The Master” and I immediately thought of religious mania. Inside a man who’s prone to violent outbursts, religious mania can be an extremely dangerous thing because anything can be justified.
I will say that he didn’t seem to notice the difference between myself and any of the orderlies and didn’t address us by name. I guess the difference from one man to the next doesn’t matter to an omnipotent being.
I watched him bounce around his cell for half an hour. My date, Mary something, grew bored and so I called her a cab. I’m guessing there won’t be a second date.
I sat with Renfield in his room when he had calmed down. The difference was so sudden it made me genuinely afraid and I made sure an orderly was standing right outside.
Renfield got a shiftiness in his eyes, not sure how better to explain it than that, and then sat down on the edge of the bed and stared at the floor. After a few moments, I started trying to talk to him. I asked him about his pets, usually a subject he loves talking about.
“I don’t give a shit about them,” he said, his voice flat. “You can do what you want with them.”
“Really? Not even your spiders?”
He said, “The bride maidens rejoice the eyes that wait the coming of the bride.”
He wouldn’t explain what he meant by this and started this slow rocking back and forth. I just couldn’t take any more. I wasn’t feeling well and I had expected some affection tonight from the date I was on but it looks like it’s another night alone for me. I’ve been taking Ambien to help me sleep but have been having the most awful dreams and I’m hesitant to take it now. Better no sleep than sleep filled with nightmares.
So I went home and lay in my bed for probably two hours just staring at the ceiling. I don’t think people who can sleep normally understand how difficult life is for those of us that can’t. You never feel refreshed and you have this gray, heavy weight around your neck from exhaustion all the time.
But tonight it turned out to be a good thing that I couldn’t sleep.
At about one in the morning I got a call from the hospital saying Renfield had escaped. I threw on some clothes and rushed down there as quick as I could. The orderlies were all standing around talking about how it could’ve happened.
“Dr. Seward,” one of them said, “I think it was the window. Look at it, it’s all damaged. I bet he slid through the window.”
Some of the orderlies had taken off after him through the front door and were scouring the neighborhood but I thought the quickest way to find him was to follow him out the way he had left. I was the thinnest man there so I had the orderlies help me out the window. It wasn’t far off the ground so I went feet first and landed outside.
“He went to the left,” one of the orderlies shouted.
I jogged at a brisk pace and at the far end of the property saw a figure dressed in the white gown of our hospital. It must’ve seen me because it bolted directly for the wall separating the hospital from the property next door, which is a foreclosed vacant house.
I ran back and told the orderlies which direction he was going and then I ran after him and climbed up the fence myself. I saw the figure running down the street and I chased him for about a block until we got to this old church. I followed him around the building and saw him pressed up against a massive oak door. He was talking to someone.
“I’ve worshipped you my whole life,” he said. “I’ve done everything that you wanted. I will do everything that you ask me to. I’ll be your slave but you won’t pass me by when you give out good things, will you Master?”
The orderlies arrived and we had him trapped. Someone asked if we should call the police but I said no, we could handle him ourselves. But I did wish later that we had called the police because he fought like a cornered tiger. I’ve never seen a patient with so much anger and hatred.
But we finally got him sedated and brought him back to the hospital. I’ve had to place restraints on him in case he thought about escaping again or hurting himself. I tried speaking with him but he just kept saying, “Master, master! It’s coming coming coming. Master!”
To: [email protected]
From: Mina.Murr
[email protected]
Subject: Jonathan
Date: August 24, 2012
Lucy, I can’t even tell you how relieved I am to be in California with Jonathan. The flight was fine except for a male stewardess that was really rude to me for some reason. But it didn’t matter when I saw Jonathan for the first time. I ran up to him and hugged him and kissed him and just held him for a long time. He looked so thin and pale that I was worried he was malnourished and told him I was taking him out for salads and burgers.
He says he doesn’t remember much about what happened. It’s funny that men think they can lie to us and we can’t tell. But he doesn’t want to talk about it for some reason and I’m not going to press him on it.
The next day he was doing better and could speak clearly whereas, according to the nurses, he was ranting and raving like some crazy person for the past few days. But when he sat up yesterday, he took my hand and he kissed it and said the only thing that got him through the past few weeks was the thought that I might be his wife. I felt so emotional I started crying like a fifth grader and we kissed and held each other a long time. Then he asked that I grab his stuff off the shelf. I did and he took out his Macbook from a backpack and opened it to a blogging app.
“Everything is in here,” he said. “I don’t want you to read it. I don’t want you to know anything about what I’ve been through and I don’t want to relive it. I don’t even know how much of it is true. The doctor told me I might’ve had a stroke and there could’ve been hallucinations from seizures. But I want to forget it, as much of it as quickly as possible.”
I closed his Mac. “I trust you. I don’t need to know and I don’t care. I’m just so glad you’re okay.”
Dracula (A Modern Telling) Page 6
