Titanic 1912: A Lovecraft Mythos Novel Page 13

  All around, the field of bodies had thinned as the fish fed. In some ways, it was amazing to see the shark taking the dead as it did normally, in private and in moderation. None had ever seen an animal feed so methodically. It was a sleek, eating machine, enormous and powerful. He cleared out many of the bodies.

  “That is all he does: swim and eat, I suppose,” Jack Thayer said.

  “Normally. But I would gamble this arsehole enjoys what he is about tonight,” Lightoller told them.

  He and Gracie told stories, they sang songs, and the two men kept everyone focused and positive as the time passed. At one point, they had thirty- five standing on the overturned hull, but the shark teased them, making waves and eating those falling into the water.

  He never bumped the boat although he could have. He did not swallow the boat whole although he could have.

  As soon as they were farther away from the wreckage, he stopped collecting his meals, but there were twenty-four left standing. As the boat lost the air pocket beneath it, it slid deeper into the water.

  After a while, the survivors stood in a few cold inches of water, but it could have been far worse. Later, it was over their ankles, making it more difficult to keep their balance, so a few slid off and floated away. In a few hours, the water was to their knees, and they were barely able to stay on the hull; more slipped off.

  Later, when they were found, the shark was forgotten, and they were thinking about the losses they suffered, there were fourteen left standing on the boat. Mr. Gracie, Mr. Daly, Harold Bride, and Officer Lightoller managed to stay on the hull.

  Jack Thayer, also saved, never stopped praising Officer Lightoller for his heroics and intelligence during a catastrophic event. Had he remembered the shark, he would have appreciated the Officer even more.

  Lightoller never knew why he suddenly developed an interest in sharks, but it became a subject he enjoyed reading about and studying.

  He liked the normal ones.

  Chapter Thirteen: Boat C

  Howard’s Account

  In our boat, there were many who could not speak English but instead, spoke other languages we did not know. We spoke by pantomime much of the time because some gestures are universal in meaning. Some of those who could not speak English were probably used to using gestures and hand movements to indicate what they wished to say.

  There was a family: the mother had a small babe in her arms and two children barely old enough to speak, but she tried to keep track of her children. Several other children cuddled against their mothers as well, hiding their faces from the cold, from strangers, and in fear. How helpless they must feel, all alone and terrified, unable to communicate easily.

  Most all had come from third class.

  In pieces, we understood that Mr. Stead and Mr. Daniels had found them and brought them to the boat at some point. How like those two for them to have gone into the lower decks to search for women and children at the risk of their own lives. Even after getting them onto the boats, the two men had refused to join us, going back for more who needed help.

  I would never forget the bravery of those men and hoped, each time we saw a floating, waving survivor, he would be Stead or Daniels.

  As the flooding spread, stewards locked gates to each deck so the monsters could not swarm those atop deck. They did not know monsters were everywhere, but they did what they thought was right in that situation, knowing that many people were caught below and left to drown as they closed the gates.

  Stead and Daniels climbed down and found those who had survived the water, vermis, and other beasts. The pitiful survivors were wet, dressed in clothing that was a little too thin, shivering under blankets, and pressed against the black, steal gates. Their fingers held the grating, and they cried out for help in many languages besides English, but no one was still below to help them.

  As the water rose, the women held their children as high as they could to avoid the cold; small children would die quickly if exposed. The women crammed themselves at the tops of the stairs, looking back as the sea lapped at the first step.

  When they saw Stead and Daniels, at first they did not raise their heads, afraid to hope. They had seen one steward come down, headed for the kennels to release the dogs. With luck, some might find a way to float to an open stairway and climb upwards. No one ever saw the steward again, but they heard some of the dogs barking.

  Daniels opened the lock and motioned them to follow. He asked, as best he could, where the others were. Were they still locked in the lounges? The people told him the rest were locked away and afraid, but they were more terrified to come out. The water had reached the stairs already, blocking the way down or up.

  “You came out, however, and waited for help. That was brave,” Stead said to them sincerely.

  “Seulement enfant,” one of the women said, hoping they understood.

  “Your only child,” said Daniels as he nodded, “we need to go now. It will not be easy, but we must go.”

  They had waded through flooding, climbed ladders with children, and fought things that wanted to eat them; they were almost exhausted. Some of the men whispered last minute sentiments and waved them all away, saying that the women and children had to escape.

  The men said they would stay and guard the gates so no one tried to over run those trying to escape and no abominable creatures came through. “Le garde,” the woman said, “monstre.”

  Some of the men had makeshift weapons, but some faced the threats below with nothing more than scared, barred fists. The woman showed us how the men stood, fists raised and ready to fight, “Pour combattre.”

  I cannot imagine the bravery and fortitude of those men who had nothing but fists and wits but did not hesitate to defend their women and children from anything that might come. In other circumstances, it would have been enjoyable to see how trials made heroes of men.

  The woman who barely knew French sat back with a small child in her arms and waved everything away. I did not know the words, but I was aware of their meaning: she was too tired and raw to think about what happened.

  Another woman tried to tell the story.

  Stead and Daniels gathered blankets. They took a few minutes to rest and drink from a pot of hot tea in one of the lounges before going any farther.

  Someone had made the tea and left it with cups, sugar, a pitcher of milk, and lemon. Daniels, just as he had trained in true British spirit, wanted everyone to share cups, and to drink.

  We did not understand all of the words from the woman who explained she was from Egypt or somewhere in the Mediterranean. Her words made no sense to us, but using her hands and face, she explained. She nodded and smiled a little when she realized we understood that Daniels had been adamant about the tea.

  All was not all right. As they wrapped themselves in blankets and drank the warm tea, some smaller worms appeared, ones with many legs, and I think, perhaps, chitinous bodies. They stood straight up, and many of the women and children screamed with terrible fear.

  Lilia, or so we called her, held her ears to show the creatures made a terrible noise, like rats or mice squealing. She pantomimed that the sound hurt her ears terribly and made some of the women run away. Everyone panicked, but those who ran away, flew right into the rising waters.

  “And the vermis…worms,” I said as I made the motions of a worm crawling, “they came from dry areas?”

  Lilia finally understood and nodded; the worms came from the dry areas. That meant the monsters did not rely on water to appear. She showed us that in the water were small but vicious fish that attacked those who ran that way. To my astonishment, her description of the fish was horribly familiar.

  Jenny frowned, “Does that not sound like….”

  “It does,” John Morton agreed. He motioned for Lilia to slow down and use her hands to describe the fish again.

  She took my arm and used my skin as a kind of paper with her finger as the pencil. Making sure we were watching, she traced the shape slowly upon
my flesh, and besides seeing the shape take form, I could feel it. I admit it gave me chills.

  She drew a jutting snout, a slim-lined body topped with an over-sized dorsal fin, a slender lower half, and a sharp-finned tail, muscular and strong. When she knew we understood the shape, she drew an eye with her finger, a simple dot that she made by pressing hard into my skin. She meant that it was very dark, very plain, and most frightening.

  The eye was dead looking and evil.

  Lilia pointed to the mouth or where it would be if she had left indelible marks behind. She brushed my arm as if erasing the fish. Now, she drew a mouth full of sharp teeth, rows and rows on each jaw.

  “How long?” John Morton asked her, spreading his arms and looking puzzled.

  Lilia nodded she understood. She held her hands to show something a little less than a yard long. We nodded we understood what had attacked those who ran into the water. She made it clear that there were many of the small sharks.

  “What of the worms?” Jenny asked, her eyes huge.

  “We have another,” Peter Cavendar called. While we were catching up, Jenny’s father and several others were rescuing those who had fallen into the cold water and were alive, calling for help.

  At first, there was groaning-buzz as many moaned and called for help, but it settled into a weak throb of sound, deep and somewhat like the lowing of cattle.

  With much effort, we understood that at first there were a few worms, half as tall as a man, but more came, one that was taller and thicker. They stood erect and waved their legs, but a few of the men used chairs and table legs to fight the things, breaking off legs like tiny twigs and pounding at the strong shells of their body segments. The worms bled a disgusting fluid that smelled like death and putrescence.

  The screams of the dying worms were like a baby wailing with pain.

  One of the women and two of the men used broken glass to slash their own arms or throats. They slumped to the floor in a puddle of their own warm blood because they could not bear the sounds any more. Stead and Daniels gathered the rest, and they ran, locking gates behind them when they found survivors.

  One of the women suffered a sting by a worm as they ran. Stead knocked it away from her, and Daniels smashed it to a pulp, but the woman fainted with horror.

  “What happened to her?” Jenny asked.

  Lilia pointed to her own arm, made a motion like a barb going into her skin, and pretended to faint. She pointed to John and made motions as if he were picking someone up to carry her.

  “A man carried the injured woman to the next deck,” John said.

  We understood the gate was locked and that they again had to rest as they climbed and struggled with all the children. Some of the women and men with them were carried as they had suffered broken legs, ribs, and arms in the fight against the worm-creatures. Using their bodies, the biggest worms violently knocked people into the walls.

  “Did anyone survive the small sharks?” I asked, using my hands.

  Lilia shook her head. She made biting motions with one hand and used her other arm, legs, and body to show that all who ran into the water were bitten and eaten alive.

  She described a final attack by things we could not quite comprehend, but it was not a lack of language skills or Lilia’s fault; the things were so terrible that if one did not see them, then they could not be imagined.

  It seemed the beasts were four legged, but of a bird-like type. Lilia could not explain what they had other than feathers because she did not, of course, understand them. It was perhaps fungus or fur or maybe nothing that we have a name for.

  They had something on their heads not unlike small horns, but certainly not that simplistic. For mouths, they had large beaks full of tiny, sharp teeth, but the creatures were no larger than a fat duck. Luckily, they were easy to dispatch and of no more trouble than large rats.

  The woman who had been stung was the concern now.

  Lilia shuddered and wept, but she put her arms by her sides and showed us a sort of melting or fusing. She did the same with her legs. Then, with her fingers, she mimicked little legs creeping forth.

  “No,” Jenny said, shaking her head almost violently.

  John hugged her close to his side and said, “Shhh. It’s okay.”

  “Howard, make her explain. That is…I cannot accept that. What happened to the woman who was stung?”

  “Lilia…slower….” Was all I could think to say.

  Lilia showed us again. It was clear that she meant the legs had fused, and the arms had become one with the woman’s torso. We understood that something like legs appeared and wriggled disgustingly.

  “And her head?” I asked.

  Lilia sighed, closing her eyes for a second. She pressed her hands over her own face, as if wiping away her nose and moving her eyes. Then she shrugged and explained that they had all run with Mr. Stead and Mr. Daniels. The woman’s oldest son stayed behind, and Lilia knew nothing more about the injured woman and her son. They made their way to the boat deck.

  “What does it mean?” Jenny demanded.

  “The poison must have caused great changes. We are assuming the worst because it could be possible, we think, that maybe the skin weakened and infused itself.” “Do not even think the worst,” I said.

  Jenny did not look any calmer, and John and I looked at Lilia. Her eyes betrayed that she too thought the poor woman below decks had begun somehow to alter her shape and being.

  We continued to search the water for survivors. Some we found were terribly wounded, and their legs were chewed away; I was relieved they were dead when we saw the injuries.

  This was a malicious intent. What cruel creature would chew away the lower parts and leave a whole person to bob on the water and let us think he was alive and savable? I felt we were being terrorized.

  A man came aboard, and all he could do was moan. His body was locked in a fetal position, and his fingers were chewed away. What savagery was this?

  “What did this, Sir? Can you tell us?”

  “Rats. No. Teeth. Legs. So many legs,” he said.

  Quartermaster Grimes whistled, garnering our attention as he pointed to a ship some distance away that looked to be glowing. In the light, we saw one of the lifeboats had caught a rope, and they were checking out the ship. I felt a distinct dread when I viewed the other ship.

  In front of us was the terrible yellowish mist, and some of us begged not to go near, but Mr. Grimes ordered the boat to be steered in that direction. He said we must empty the water that we had taken on. In truth, we had suffered quite a bit of water pouring in at various times, and many of us were miserable with our feet in the freezing water.

  Mr. Grimes waded into the stinking ooze of the shoreline, “We shall unload everyone. Stay right here close, and do not wander away. We shall empty the boat of water, load up, and wait for help. It will only be a few moments.”

  “I beg of you, Mr. Grimes, to please not make shore here. There are horrible creatures about,” I asked.

  “Monsters? No. And do not frighten the women, Sir.”

  “It will be quick, and we shall watch for trouble. We will be away from here soon,” John Morton said. He helped Jenny onto one of the many large stones that formed a shore so we could avoid the slimy ooze and mud. All around were large boulders some rounded and weather beaten, and others strangely looked like box-shapes.

  I could not discern any cohesion of the elements. The designs did not seem random, and yet they fit no pattern.

  “Mr. Grimes, you know there is no land here in the sea. Does this not strike you curious that it should be here suddenly?” Peter Cavendar asked.

  “I am quite amazed and concerned, I assure you, Sir, but if we do not empty the water from our boat, I fear we will be in more danger. Let us make haste.” Grimes, let show for a second that he, too, was frightened by the strange land.

  I did not want to be here. I was very frightened, but since I was here, it seemed to me that I should never again have
such an opportunity as this to see this other world. In any case, there was nothing we could do but empty the water so our feet would not freeze and hope we might go unmolested in the strange place.

  There were the boulders, and far away, I saw spirals of rock that went far into the sky. They were hatefully built and would not be found made by man, natural creature, or elements. They were foreign. Trees, blighted with fungus, dripped ichors on the stones, but they were not dead, only curious growths.

  “Don’t lean on the trees, or go close. I fear they are not safe,” I said.

  In a few seconds, I made out that some of the stones upon the ground were not random but formed a sort of path, weaving this way and that, following no proper order.

  “Where are you going,” John asked.

  “See this, a path. And there, is that a statue?”

  “No…oh…look at it from this side, Howard,” Jenny said.

  It was a four-legged creature, but the legs were fused and hard to determine. The legs and body took shape as I looked at the creation; it was of a large monster made only of bone, rough-edged and raw. No flesh or other covering represented itself in the stone. The head and neck of the thing bent over as if in respect or prayer.

  I made my way under the statue and was able, in the dim light, to make out the face of a spider carved crudely, complete with fangs. “Horrid,” I said as I returned to the path, “but if you look at it from beneath and then from specific angles, the features are discernible.”

  “It reminds me of how these terrible things are sometimes hard to really see when looked upon straight ahead. They are best seen from the corner of my eye or as I blink,” Jenny said.

  “If this makes sense, I feel our minds have issues with attempting to understand what we see; thus, we can’t quite see the things clearly,” I said. Jenny and John nodded that they understood what I was trying to explain.

  John Morton was a very intelligent man, and if he had cause to bury himself in books instead of cattle ranching, he would have been a most formidable philosopher. Jenny Cavendar, like her father, Peter, was also brilliant; sadly her gender kept her from deep discussions with like-minded people that would have allowed her to blossom.