I have written you a story!
Username: Cicadetta
Submission: The Missaukee
SPOILERX
Brilliant blue waves flowed rhythmically over the stony beach, the water sounds accompanied by smooth limestone and granite cobble gently clattering together. Over eons they would add to the sand, littered with sparse grasses and sharp zebra mussel shells, a few yards further inland. And then there came the upland, held together by the roots of hardy wildflowers, and taller beach grasses, and the even some of the mixed evergreen and deciduous forest that grows in the far northeast of lower Michigan. And in an area where the trees had been replaced by tame, manicured lawn, there was a lighthouse.
It was a bright clear day at the lighthouse. The lighthouse itself, far from majestic, was a boxy, red brick building, practical and comfortable. Part of it did serve as a home for the keeper of the bright, reliable light. The rest was a museum, as was the boathouse, and the grounds both rested on. Really, it was more of a park than anything, a safe and popular destination for tourists and locals alike.
Today, though, only one family frolicked on the beach. Three children, clad in bathing suits and water shoes to protect their feet from the stones, splashed in the cool water as their parents looked on, perfecting their tans. Lake Huron was calm this time of year, and a welcome haven in the midsummer heat. There were no undertows to worry about at this beach, so long as the children didn’t go too far from shore. There were no giant waves on a day so fair that only a few sparse white clouds drifted in the azure sky. There were no dangerous creatures to worry about so long as Laila, the five-year-old, didn’t try to put one of those sharp little shells in her mouth. Seagulls screeched over the water, more melodic land birds sang from the inland direction, and distant sailing vessels seemed to fly silently along the horizon.
Then came the deep drone of a horn, startling everyone from their beach hypnosis. There, in the near distance, closer than the ships on the horizon, was a vast, long, steel-hulled shadow, creeping through the waves. It seemed to be traveling through a sort of mist. Perhaps it was a cloud of accumulated vapor from the smokestack near the bow. It made the ship seem translucent, whatever it was. This was no ferry and no barge. Nothing the beachgoers really recognized. The children and their parents all stared slack-jawed. They couldn’t believe their eyes.
Then Ellen, the eldest at fifteen, decided, “I think it’s a pirate ship.”
“No it’s not,” Eddy, the middle child, retorted. “It doesn’t have sails! Or cannons!”
“Somali pirates don’t have those.”
“Those aren’t real pirates.” Eddy, who had developed a Jack Sparrow fixation years before, and had even stolen his mother’s best eyeliner for the purposes of play-acting, had very definite ideas about buccaneers. The TV news had nothing to do with them.
“Are too!”
“Are not!”
“Big boat!” added Laila, pointing, even as she felt her father’s protective hand on her shoulder.
“Yes, it is a big boat,” Jeff, the father agreed.
“Oh, that’s the SS Missaukee,” said a weather-roughened voice, approaching the family from behind. He was a short stocky man, with an equally weather-roughened face, and he talked through a thick, graying beard. “It was 1915, and she was hauling limestone to Chicago, like she usually did. But she hit a bad squall up by Bois Blanc Island, and crashed ashore near Pointe Aux Pins. About thirty men died. Real tragedy.” He adjusted the collar of his red flannel shirt, his eyes sparkling with barely hidden emotion. “She attempts her run once or twice a year now. It always ends the same. Rare treat to see, though.”
The family turned around stared in curious silence. Who was this man? The lighthouse keeper? He didn’t look like a lighthouse keeper.
Then, after the long silence Laila asked, “What’s a limestone?” She imagined citrus fruit sculpted from shiny green rocks.
“I’ll explain later, honey,” replied Susan, ushering her daughter away.
“I told you it wasn’t pirates.”
“Can we go to Mackinac Island now?”
“Let’s go back to the hotel and get cleaned up first, okay?” said Jeff, nodding his thanks to the old man as he herded the kids back to the bright red mini-van. His wife rushed between children, wrapping them in bright rainbow towels and brushing off sand in an effort to preserve some of the vehicle’s interior. It was a losing battle.
“Yay, fudge!” the kids cheered, anticipating the ferryboat ride and forgetting all about storms and limestone. Whatever that was.
The old man watched them go, and wished them the best.
--
As the van drove off onto the meandering coastal road, the old man turned back toward the lakeshore, then looked up at the patient little lighthouse. “Kids today,” he lamented, shaking his head, “just don’t appreciate a good, honest ghost ship.” And then he disappeared.
Final notes: The location described in this story -- Forty Mile Point Lighthouse, near Rogers City, Michigan -- is real. Great Lakes maritime history is full of real shipwrecks, but this one is as fictional as the characters depicted. Enjoy!
Last edited by Cicadetta; 07-21-2010 at 05:22 AM..
I have written you a story!
Username: Vix Viral
Submission: Treading Water
SPOILERX
The year is 1889. A rudimentary ice breaking ship slowly carves its way through the floating chunks of ice that clutter the Beaufort Sea. Her name is the Durandal. She was once a proud whaling vessel, however, after being sold off, the Durandal’s hull was reinforced with steel and she was converted into an ice breaker. The only pieces of her previous life that remain are the two large harpoon guns located on her deck. She was purchased by Vincent Humboldt, a self-proclaimed explorer of worlds unknown. Also on the ship are a number of deckhands, including one of the Durandal’s former whalers, Sebastian Galloway. This is his story.
…I wish you could see how beautiful the ocean is, Beatrice. The ice bergs resemble large clouds albeit extremely cold. I will be home soon, my love, and then I can tell you of all the things that I have seen on my journey.
Your Beloved,
Sebastian
Sebastian drew his quill back from the paper with a soft sigh. It had been approximately two weeks since he had sent his last letter home and in that time he had written two more. The short paragraph he had just finished made up the third. Sebastian missed his Beatrice dearly but life is a gamble and he had decided to place on last bet before submitting to the duties that were expected of a proper husband. If he and the crew of the Durandal could complete their journey, they would be the first to successfully navigate the Northwest Passage and would gain fame and fortune.
I’ll be able to retire a rich man…Sebastian thought to himself with a smile as he placed his writing materials in a small black chest with the rest of his belongings. He watched his fellow novice explorers retreat to their cabins for the night as he awaited his orders.
“Galloway! It’s your shift!” Called a voice from the deck. Sebastian recognized it as Humboldt’s, the expedition’s leader, and quickly made his way to the Durandal’s bridge where he was greeted with Humboldt’s cold stare. “I don’t have to remind you that the ice here in the Beaufort Sea is a death trap and that this is the most important voyage you’ll ever be on, do I?”
“No, sir.” Sebastian willed himself quiet as Humboldt continued issuing thinly veiled threats. It was only after he had repeatedly reassured Humboldt that he would not sink the ship that he was finally left in peace. The first few hours passed quietly. Only the sound of splintering ice filled the night air and Sebastian’s thoughts turned to his beloved Beatrice. If all went according to plan, they would be reunited in a few short weeks and married soon after. It was during one of these daydreams that Sebastian spotted a patch of ice directly in the ship’s path. The ice flow was far too large to sail around, it was time for the Durandal to really put her new hull to the test and plow her way through the frozen mass.
“Alright, girl. Easy does it!” Sebastian said, his voice barely a whisper. The ship’s hull made contact with the sheet of ice and held fast for a moment before the ice began to crack and give way beneath the pressure. Sebastian could not help but flinch as the piercing sound made its way down his spine and through his body. And so the Durandal continued to press forward through the ice flow for the better part of an hour.
The sun was beginning to rise when the ocean began to churn and bubble around the vessel. The movement caught Sebastian’s attention for a moment but he attributed the water’s strange behavior to the shifting of the ice. Suddenly, a long, pale tentacle snaked its way over the deck and curled itself around the bow of the ship, causing it to pitch forward.
“What the hell’s going on?!” Humboldt cried as he appeared on deck followed by the rest of the previously slumbering crew. Then he caught sight of the mass of semi-translucent flesh encircling the front of the Durandal, “…Dear God…”
Before Sebastian could form a response, another appendage appeared from the depths and took hold of the ship’s stern. The vessel rocked back and forth as the suckers on each limb felt and tasted every object they came across. The ocean continued to churn as the body of the creature broke the surface accompanied by several more of its arms. An enormous golden orb came up level to the ship’s deck and seemed to lock onto Sebastian. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He was looking into one of the eyes of the infamous Kraken of lore. It seemed…Angry.
All of a sudden, a loud crack filled the air and the beast’s tentacles tightened around the Durandal. Wood began to snap and splinter and steel was bent as though it were little more than a piece of straw. The cephalopod was dragging them under! Freezing water began to wash over the deck and flood the cabins as the ship and her crew were pulled under the surface.
Sebastian soon found himself underwater and quickly being pulled into its dark depths. He held his breath and looked up at the surface now bright with sunlight. He tried to swim upward but his chest began to burn, he was running out of oxygen. The sunlight at the surface was growing fainter and fainter. Then, as if sent by the Angel of Mercy, there was Beatrice just above the surface, beckoning Sebastian to go to her.
“Beatrice!” As soon as the name was spoken, Sebastian’s lungs filled with water and he sank back down, down into a watery grave at the bottom of the Beaufort Sea. There would be no escape for the Durandal and her crew, no glorious return home. Disturbing the Kraken had marked the end of their journey.
Final notes: I enjoyed writing this, I just wish we had a larger word limit :)
Precarious Fool:
The contest ends when the event does...
Vexatious~Venom, Esmme, Rainbows, Cicadetta, and Vix Viral:
Thank you for your submissions...
I realize my limit is a bit restricting... However this assures that all winners will receive their prizes quicker than if you had all written me novels...
I will be adding all the submissions to the front page now... Enjoy viewing your competition. *chuckles*
I have written you a story!
Username: nvs
Submission:
SPOILERX
As the woman entered the ballroom, her eyes immediately scanned her surroundings. Subconsciously making a mental note of the placement of the two doors, five windows, she elegantly walked towards the center. She felt the curious eyes, some jealous but most with interest. To her, all attention was nothing but a nuisance. She glanced at a handsome young man in a tuxedo, standing against the fireplace, who was staring attentively at a blonde young woman. The latter was dressed in a tight red dress and carried two glasses of champagne with her. The woman smirked, mocking their conspicuousness. She knew they wouldn’t be hindrances to her.
With the hint of a smile that lingered on her face, she walked towards Anthony Merritt, the owner of the villa where the social gathering was taking place. He was a rich man in his early sixties, who enjoyed an opulent lifestyle full of parties, women and alcohol. The woman observed that he was talking about one of his prized paintings to a business associate. That particular painting depicted a shipwreck in a violent storm. The painting’s artist was called Ivan Aivazovsky, and the woman was well aware of this. However, its significance to her would only be temporary. She did not value names the way most humans did.
“My name is Evelyn Wright.”
The name that mattered the most then was not hers.
“You must be Anthony Merritt. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said with a gleaming smile. “I’m an art appraiser,” she told him with a well-practiced confidence.
The grey-haired man let his gaze slowly slide from her head to her toes, then back to her eyes.
“I’ve already had all of my paintings checked by a professional, but if there is anything else I can do for you…?” His voice was loud but strangely compelling.
“Your collection of paintings by Ivan Aivazovsky was analyzed by expert Geoffrey Turner, correct? He has sent me here because recently one of Aivazovsky’s works you possess has been seen in the Royal Museum of Fine Arts in Brussels. It is necessary to check which painting is the original.”
Before Merritt could answer, the girl holding the glasses of champagne appeared next to him and handed him one of the glasses.
“Here you go, Anthony,” she said with her face turned to him but her eyes on the woman.
Unaffected by the girl’s arrival, he asked: “Which painting are you talking about?”
“The Ninth Wave,” the woman replied, paying no attention to the girl.
A small crease appeared on Merritt’s forehead. “I am quite certain that I possess the original, but if you insist… Please follow me to the study.” He led the woman towards a door at the back of the room, which was noted by both the alarmed young girl and the man at the fireplace. The woman was not concerned by this. Merritt held the door open for her and then followed her inside, closing the door behind him. He gestured towards the opposite wall, were Aivazovsky’s masterpiece hung with its owner’s pride. Vivid colors illustrated the bright sunset and a sparkling ocean, soothing the men hanging onto the remnants of a wrecked ship.
The woman placed her handbag on a small table next to the door after taking out from it a pencil and a small notebook. She advanced towards the painting and started making annotations, scrutinizing the painting from various angles.
Merritt sat down on a couch opposite the painting. He was used to this procedure. His consciousness began drifting away. Closing his eyes, he attempted to remember how much champagne he had taken in that evening. Too much, he concluded. But not enough to make him fall asleep. He slowly breathed in, not hearing the woman’s footsteps approaching.
She raised her left eyebrow. She hadn’t expected this, but it was no surprise. The young girl must have put something in the man’s drink. Not that it mattered. It only made the woman’s job simpler. She walked towards the door, took her handbag, and then moved towards the couch.
“It’s a fake,” she whispered in Merritt’s ear.
Surprised, the old man awoke from his slumber. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He barely had the time to process the situation he was in, but he felt the danger. He felt the cold metal against his forehead, between his two eyebrows. He saw it, smelt it, tasted it. Fear crept in his eyes, taking over his entire body. And the fear would dominate his eyes forever. Because that’s what the woman had silently decided.
“Not that you’d care about that anymore,” she added with a crooked smile.
As she cautiously slid the gun back in her handbag, she heard the door creaking and looked up to see the younger woman staring at her with anger. Not three seconds later the girl was followed by the handsome young man, who stared at Merritt’s lifeless body with shock for a split second, morphing into an expression of frustration. He raised his eyes to the woman.
“So, you beat me to it?” he stated, rather than asked, with a cold smile.
“Guess so,” the woman answered with a tone of triumph.
She was not scared, but she could see the girl was. The younger woman had not anticipated the arrival of a third person, and her anger turned to anxiety. She nervously turned her head from the woman to the young man, then back again to the woman.
“I didn’t know Merritt’s head was wanted in France, Jerome,” the woman continued, not losing sight of the young man she had met in one of her many lives.
He stared at her with weary eyes. “You know how it goes…”
Both of them reached for their gun as the girl’s eyes widened. Then she shut them. She waited, knowing the opponents were oblivious of her. And as the silencers did their job, she smiled to herself.
“Child’s play.”
Final notes: I wanted to do something of a completely different genre :3 The characters are fictional, but the paintings, artist and museum all exist. My vocabulary is limited because English is my third language.
I've written two-thirds of it on paper, now I'm typing it up and I hope it's not too long.
edit;
I'll be fine, I'm well into the story and it's only at 600 words.
As a point of discussion, what is everyone's favourite story about a shipwreck? Mine is a kid's book, Kensuke's Kingdom, by Michael Morpurgo. (He's a highly acclaimed children's author, at one stage he won the accolade of Childrens' Laureate)
It's very short, so if anyone has the chance, get it. It's about an English boy with sailing parents, and they take him out of school for a couple of years for a round-the-world trip. One night he gets washed overboard, and ends up on a small tropical island. He discovers a mysterious old man is already living there...
@Pearl: I can't think of any story's--LIES! I don't know if anyone has read Peter and the Starcatchers by Dave Barry and Ridley Pearson (I'm a big Peter Pan fan), but that is one of my favorite books and it involves a shipwreck... :D~! But the story you mentioned sounds interesting :)
@ Heartages - when you said Starcatchers my eyes snapped to a book on my shelf, thinking I had it. But I have Starseekers, which I bought in hardback years ago but never read. xD
Never mind, my parents would happily give me extra pocket money to buy books. I could have spent it on anything I suppose, but when I was about 12 I read all the time, and loved going to the book shop and selecting 3 or 5 I'd never heard of, based on the blurbs.
Then by the time I was 14 I'd almost stopped reading... and it's only now I've started uni that I'm getting into reading for pleasure again. (Not including my old kids books that I still love to re-read, Kensuke's Kingdom included!)
Here's a link on his website with a bit of K'sK info: Michael Morpurgo — Welcome
I quite liked the Horatio Hornblower series. The last book wasn't my favorite, but then I suppose it's because it was the first the author actually wrote. (Out of the series, anyway.) I can't say it's quite about a shipwreck, but it's got some in it! Lots of sea-faring and such at any rate. I can't think of any that I've read that are actually about shipwrecks.
Kensuke's Kingdom sounds interesting though! I'll have to see if I can find a copy.
Is Peter and the Starcatchers the same Peter of Peter Pan? I didn't know there were any other stories besides the one!
I have written you a story!
Username: Winter Wind
Submission:
SPOILERX
“Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate’s life for me!” Waving a black flag with a skull on it, a boy’s voice rang out in the clear blue sky. His matted golden hair sparkled in the sun, and his deep emerald-green eyes took in his surroundings.
His little yellow wooden ship was floating in calm waters, and the lazy breeze slowly pushed the ship forward. He took a swig from his flask, then lowered himself down onto the deck. There weren’t any other passengers, but his trusty mates Sammy and Todd came along on the journey. They were looking for something special – a hidden treasure that his father always talked about. Many a night had this dream of finding the treasure crept into his mind, and now it would finally be a reality. He closed his eyes and breathed in the warm, salty air. He spent a fortune on his boat, and he’d been planning this journey for ages. It’ll all be worth it at last, he thought.
Lost in his dreams of happiness, he was startled when a shadow passed over his face. Just a small bird, he mused, nothing to be alarmed over. He settled back into his dreams, only to sense a bigger shadow loomed over his face. He cracked open an eye, and suddenly he was up on his feet, dashing about and fixing everything in place.
“Sammy, Todd! Major storm approaching, major storm approaching!” he cried as he fastened the ropes to the masts.
A heartbeat later, Sammy and Todd burst from the doorway, and all three frantically tried to prevent things from getting wet, blown off, or thrown off. The boat was rocking violently, and he was finding it incredibly hard to not fall off –
A shriek rang out, and he caught Sammy just in time. He pulled her back in, and unceremoniously stuffed her into the cabin.
“Todd, move her starboard, move her starboard!” he cried frantically, trying to use his weight to turn the helm. Todd dashed over to his side to help, but their efforts were futile – the ship was headed straight for the storm!
“No chance Cap’n, we’re going to have to take it!” cried Todd, clutching onto the helm.
“Blast! Back into the cabin, Todd!” With that, both of them let go of the helm and dashed into the cabin.
Huddled together under a blanket in the dark cabin, the three soaked, cold, and frightened shipmates hoped that the storm would be over soon.
Please, please, please don’t blow us too far off-course! I must get to that treasure, he prayed.
All of a sudden, the ship stopped rocking. After waiting anxiously for a couple of minutes, he decided to check for damage. Pushing open the door, he couldn’t believe his eyes! There it was, shining in all its glory –
“TIMMY! Dinner!” shouted a female voice.
“Aw man…I was so close too,” muttered Timmy. He clambered out of his yellow inflatable boat, taking Sammy the Triceratops, Todd the plastic striped sailor, and his now-wet blankie. He was drying himself off with a towel when his mom came into the backyard.
“How many times do I have to tell you to stop bringing your blankie into the pool? Now we’ll have to wash it for the 4th time this week.” Shaking her head, Timmy’s mother led Timmy back into the house, and the screen door shut on his dreams…for now.
Final notes: Something to contrast the rather dramatic nature of shipwrecks and oceans. xD
I have written you a story!
Username: Nolori
Submission:
SPOILERX
Gayle was quite certain she was awake. There was an unexplainable certainty in the fact. When dreaming, Gayle had never questioned whether she was dreaming or not, she had simply gone along with the course of the dream until it ended. When awake and confronted with things she did not understand, she questioned her state. The question itself proved that she was conscious.
This settled, Gayle turned her concern to the wavering form of the wrecked ship on the coastline. It was a monstrous thing; rust covered the once white bow, metal moaned under the weight of the water, its sheer titanic size split into two by the ravaging of time. The destruction of such a beast was not uncommon. It was the edges of the ship that shimmered in and out of existence that bothered Gayle. But even this was not her foremost concern; her unnatural calm was a far greater worry than the ship. Did anyone look upon such a sight with so steady a gaze?
Gayle approached the vision, expecting it to vanish under her touch. It did not. The door leading into the wrecked pleasure ship opened easily, as though it were as corporeal as she. Old metal, weakened in its age, complained under her weight. Its previous passengers were not nearly as heavy as she. Their skeletons lay washed about the floor. Had the tides drifted the bodies from their death beds into the halls? She wasn't allowed much contemplation on the subject – the ship gave a lurch and a loud cry. Gayle stumbled backwards, but, much to her logic’s chagrin, she made no attempt to leave. She found it difficult to believe that a place as ethereal as this could do her harm.
The sound came again. The screeches of entwining metal echoed through the hall. The ship gave another lurch. Regaining her balance, Gayle moved through the labyrinthine corridors until she reached a large room, free of debris and death. The ship's steel girders were reaching out to their broken halves and, with a final concussion of sound, the ship had pulled itself back together. There was something comforting about the way the ship had healed itself, though Gayle could not express what it was. It soon became quite apparent that she was not alone in the thought.
Men and women had begun to gather in the great room, now restored to its full measure of size and splendor. Long coats and thick dresses brushed past her. Gayle turned to see them come out of the hall. Light gleamed off the white walls as the gala attendees gave her passing pleasantries. She understood the invitations to join their festivities, though the guests spoke no actual words. Before she turned to join them, the hall captured her attention. It had always been bathed in this light, hadn't it? Gayle couldn't remember anything different. Why did it attract her attention?
Turning away from the hall, she followed the guests into the great room. She brushed against their cold bodies and stopped at their touch. The dancers were calling out to her, though they used no words. They communicated to her through their actions - their arms reaching out to embrace her, their faces smiling and bodies swaying to some music that Gayle could not quite hear. What she did hear were the hoarse whispers that came from the dancers, as though they had long since forgotten how to speak. Were the dead dreaming of life? Were they calling her into their dream?
Gayle was quite certain she was awake. That certainty roused the panic of madness, of the dead and unknown. A scream locked itself in her throat. Unable to vocalize it and unable to be rid of it, she was choked to silence as she ran through the winding hallways of the ship. The shout swelled in her throat, making it difficult to breathe. Her lungs burned from suffocation as much as exertion. The white walls wavered between the lie of cleanliness and the rust of reality. The dancers continued to call out to her, their voices a buzz of white noise and twisting metal.
Gayle tripped over something as she ran. The obstruction was a corpse. Not the skeletal remains of a long dead passenger, but the body of some newer explorer, like herself. It quickly vanished into the lie. The dancers were approaching her. There was no anger in their false faces, only kind forgiveness.
She scrambled to her feet and continued down the hall. The door that led her into the madness of waking dreams came into view. The scream finally escaped her throat, in relief as much as fear. She made a final sprint for the door, only to find it locked. In this hallucinatory world, where the dead were healed with lies, the locks had been repaired. Another cry spilled from her lips as she threw her weight on the door.
The white noise of the dancers grew louder as they approached. Gayle looked over her shoulder to see them swaying towards her. The dance was unending. Despite, and perhaps because of, their wholly unnatural outlines, they were entrancing to the eye. Their arms were still held out to her – soft and inviting.
Gayle couldn't believe her eyes. She wouldn't. Shutting her eyes and backing up against the door, she relied on her other senses. The ship groaned in its age. The rough texture of the invisible rust scratched against her fingertips. The scent of decay overpowered the perfumed dancers. The rust scratched her back as she slid down the door and wrapped her arms around her head, trying to take refuge in reality.
She focused on what she knew to be real. The white noise died as the dancers did. The pungent smell of death filled the air. She had never been so glad to smell squalor. It gave her the courage to open her eyes. The ship was wrecked.
And Gayle was quite certain she was awake.
Final notes: My word count is exactly one-thousand, but I've checked elsewhere and some count it 1005. It seems to be because of grammar though (I use dahses), so I hope that's alright.
@Nolori: Peter and the Starcatchers is the first in a series about a possible way he BECAME the Peter Pan we all know today :3 I adore it! It adds a whole new element of emotion and understanding to Peter's story. There are 3 books following Starcatchers, though, but I haven't finished them yet.
Last edited by heartages; 07-23-2010 at 02:48 AM..
@heartages: That sounds so interesting! Are all three books different possibilities or are they a trilogy following a single way? And are they children's books like the one Pearl mentioned or YA or adult?
I'm afraid to read the other entries - especially Nolori's - for fear of a blow to my confidence/realisation my piece is lame.
Is 1,056 too long? It's nearly a page and a half on Pages.
Ok, cut out those scandalous 56 words.
I have written you a story!
Username: Pearl
Submission:
SPOILERX
It was shortly after sunrise and the naval hospital was stirring. Nathan was dimly aware of the nurse who came through the door and briskly drew apart the curtains - the same routine for ten years. Nathan had been at the hospital ever since a shipwreck had left him dumb. This ward was reserved for officers, and as the son of one, he had been lucky. His trauma also manifested itself relatively calmly; not every patient in the ward could be left with an unlocked door overnight.
The nurse then broke her usual routine to tell Nathan he should dress for a visitor. His face did not easily express emotion, and although there was just the faintest twitch in his expression, the nurse read surprise and curiosity on his pale face as she straightened up the room.
The visitor was a young man in good clothes. He removed his hat, and Nathan sat on the bed. The stranger hesitated before taking the chair opposite. “Don’t you recognize me?” He smiled. Nathan was startled with a memory from ten years ago. He glanced to check the door was shut, then nodded. He couldn’t believe his eyes. It was George, a cabin boy and the only other survivor of the sinking. The two boys had drifted on a piece of wood all night long - one of them of the lowest rank, and the other the son of the dead captain.
“You didn’t talk much even then did you?” Nathan’s expression was hard.
“I’ll be frank, Nathan. I know that Fortitude wasn’t an accident, and that there are just two people behind it. One of them is dead, I saw him go. Of course, I haven’t come out with this because it’s just my word to say what happened and what didn’t, and who’d believe me? No one would have even paid much attention to the sinking if March hadn’t been captain. It wasn’t a warship, was it? It only had two cannons, and two barrels of gunpowder. On the night she sank, I went below deck to get something from storage - rum. There I saw Whittingstall light two short fuses, one for each barrel, stashed either side of the hull. Seconds after the explosion, with cold seawater flooding over our ankles, I had the scrawny bastard by the neck, my knife balancing on his jugular. I expect he had wanted to make a quick getaway. He spilled everything.”
George checked to see if his audience was paying attention. “According to Whittingstall, it was your uncle, Arthur March, who put the scum up to it. The Arthur March who married your mother a few years ago.” Nathan’s eyes were red and he was physically shaking by this point. Then he spoke, hoarsely, surprising even the relaxed and jocular George. “Why,” he breathed, “are you telling me this now?”
The visitor had placed his hat back on his head and was at the door. “First I had to find March and blackmail him for all he was worth.” He smiled broadly and seemed to leave, but one last thought struck him. He slipped a small object from his waistcoat, a solid gold ring, which he tossed towards Nathan. “Whittingstall’s payment, I found it on his body. It’s probably the least I owe you.” With that, he left. Nathan sat and examined the ring which had been left with him, noting the initials engraved inside the band. He stood. It was time to leave.
With information acquired from the hospital, Nathan sought out a house on Liverpool Street. The door to his dead father’s London residence was opened by a suspicious maid, and she asked him to wait outside. A minute later, the door was opened again and March rushed forward to greet him. “Nephew! Son! How happy this makes me, to have you back home once again. Of course, your mother is not in London, she dislikes living in the city immensely.” Nathan smiled and shook his uncle-father’s hand.
It was then that March noticed the ring on Nathan’s finger. His manner did not change much, but he dismissed the maid and opened the door to his study. Nathan bowed and went in, followed by the nervous man. Neither of them sat. March studied the young man cautiously, who was taking his time. He held up his hand and examined the ring, slightly theatrically. “This was my father’s wedding ring.” The statement held a sinister edge. March was silent. “It was found on the body of the man who blew up Fortitude. The question I want to ask is, how and why did he take it?” He chose that moment to draw his pistol.
March’s mouth curled in an ugly way. Still, he did not speak. “Now I’m not a very good shot, I admit. But as you’re two feet away from the end of the barrel, I expect you to choose your words very carefully.”
March shrugged. “Nothing can be proved.”
“Except, my father was supposed to be the only person on that ship who knew where the ring was kept. Why did you tell Whittingstall about the ring?”
The name produced a spark of recognition in March’s eyes. Slight, but enough. The gun was still pointed at his chest. “I wanted the job done. I wanted the ring. The ring tied him to Marjorie, I needed her to belong completely to me. Of course, Whittingstall never delivered it.”
“He was stabbed by the fifteen year old boy who retrieved it.”
“Pity.”
“The man who’s been blackmailing you.”
“Yes, it’s true.” His eyes darted to the gun. “So shoot me.”
“Father was no saint. You’re worse. Give me enough money to get to France, I’m through with this family. My father is in hell right now, and I have no intention of making it a family reunion.”
Nathan had a safe passage to Calais, but it was the last time he ever stepped foot on a boat.
Final notes: There may be some British spellings dotted about, and there's one reference to Hamlet (two words) which I hope does not count as plagiarism.
__________________
The wagon jolted on ... I don't think I was homesick. If we never arrived anywhere, it did not matter. Between the earth and that sky I felt erased, blotted out. I did not say my prayers that night: here, I felt, what would be would be.
Finally! A date! Sheesh, it's almost as if it's a secret.:lol: I have a plot in mind, but I still need to write. >o> Now, if I can flesh it out before the deadline, all will be peachy! Any specific time on the 25th? Or just the 25th?
EDIT: Whoops! I forgot! The rating... I don't want to offend anyone. What I had in mind, isn't exactly a Disney theme. Not in reference to being sexual (subtle if any at all), but a dash of cursing, a shot of gore, and a smattering of violence. Will that bother Lise? o':
I would keep it tasteful, a "tame" horror story if you will. I just want to be clear that a bit of blood, violence, etc. is okay. :3
Last edited by Snowberry; 07-23-2010 at 09:16 PM..
I have written you a story!
Username: fairywaif
Submission:
SPOILERX
Ghost Ball
The ship rolled into port, majestic. It looked exactly the same as it had the day it came off the loading docks, and was lowered into the water. It was gorgeous. It's prow seemed to sweep towards the sky. It's sides were smooth and gleamed. Sara couldn't believe her eyes. The infamous Danse de Morta. The dance of the dead. The ship was slightly transparent, as were
the passengers boarding it, same as they had for hundreds of years. The streamed into the boat, waiting in line patiently. Old habits die hard. Non-corporeal, they could slip through each other. Sara waited just as patiently i line. A few f the ghosts whispered at the sight of her. Not because her body was see through, but because she was dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt. Not proper dress for a ball, and certainly not for a proper lady, they hissed. The boat was soon filled. Each dancer and their partner could fly across the room in twirls, without running 'into' a fellow dancer. Sara sat at the side and watched. The spirit orchestra tuned up their nearly invisible instruments, and began with a sprightly 4/4 waltz. Ghosts never get tired, but every so often a couple would leave the floor to allow another the chance to dance. Sara took it all in wide eyed. There were ghosts from every sort of death there. Those missing limbs from the war, ghosts with seaweed in their hair, some with bright red stains on their front, others who were stooped with old age but still loved to dance. And more! Here was one who had poisoned, another who had been trampled in a fox hunt. They all twirled and stepped lightly together. Even those who had killed each other, like these two in a duel. What a wondrous sight to see! Everyone dressed in silvery colors, their finest gowns and suits. Except Sara. The music begins to slow half a couple leave the floor.
"My partner hath retired before the moon ist half fallen. Thou art unaccompanied, fine lady. Prithee this dance?" A gentleman ghost of fine looks and sparkling air queried her. Sara nodded yes and they swept away across the floor. Sara found she could grasp his hands quite easily, insubstantial though he seemed. Perhaps just this one night he was closer to being alive. They traded small talk with each other, Sara trying to phrase things so he would understand.
"You go to a boarding school?"
"No, that is I don't board there. I only go during the day. And it's free."
"Strange wonders! Your vestments are traditional wear?"
"Yes. everyone wears something like this. Some wear dresses, but nothing so fancy as these."
"To see the day! Ladies in trousers."
They all dance until daylight begins to break over the horizon. Sara's dance partner, Richard kisses the back of her hand and leaves also. Then the ghosts all walk out again, the dance concluded. By the time the first fisherman arrives they are all gone, as if merely smoke and dreams. Sara is the only one left on shore, amazed by what occurred. And if you wait out by the docks one night late, perhaps you will see them faintly through the outline of the ship, dancing the night away.
Final notes: i was originally going to do a story about a ball AND a ship wreck, but it turned into simply a ball on a ship. Enjoy!
I have written you a story!
Username: [Pokered Face]
Submission: Grand Festival Ball: The most Epic Contest Battle ever.
SPOILERX
Caroline clenched her hands. Seeing that she won the first semi-final contest ball. She had to wait if either John or Ricky had won the second. She closed her eyes, then the screen backstage clicked on. The announcer, look as pretty as can be announced:
"It's all over folks, Ricky is our second finalist! Going against Caroline in the final battle. This is celebrating several years, so this will be the most epic Grand Festival ever. Wednesday will be the big day, everyone dress their best, this is one of the most extravagant ball ever, while being entertained with a one-pokemon Knock-out battle!" "Wow, Ricky won." Caroline said surprisingly. She couldn't believe her eyes, she was finally going to have the chance to see who was the best coordinator out of the two.
Caroline worked hard the two days she had to prepare, she failed to check on Ricky, but he was her least concern, she knew the pokemon Ricky would chose was Arcanine. She knew she had perfected the perfect move with Roserade, so she decided to use Roserade first. She tried to work out a battle plan to compete with Ricky. She devised her plan and her best combination to beat Ricky. She knew Ricky would go offensive and evasive. So she needed to make her moves defensive and flashy, don't forget quick.
xThe day for the contest came, everyone arrived at the grand ball, it was an amazing venue, out on a large venue in Jubilife City.
"Welcome to the Jubilife Finally! On the left, we have CA-ROOO-LINE! And on the right, R-R-R-RICK-CK-CK-Y!" shouted the announcer. Within seconds the battle had begun, as foreseen Ricky's first pokemon was his Arcanine. Caroline threw Roserade's pokeball releasing her in an array of petals.
"Aha, Caroline, why would you pit Grass against Fire?" Ricky said in a cocky manner.
"I have my reasons, just make sure to keep it fun for me, Mr. Snore." Caroline giggled.
"Ok, then. Arcanine, use Flamethrower." Ricky commanded his pokemon. The canine pokemon growled firing up his mouth sending the fiery blast towards Roserade.
"Roserade, use Poison Jab." Caroline said calmly. The Grass pokemon fist glew a bright purple as it struck completely dismaying the fiery blast unscathed.
"What? How did you do that?" Ricky asked in an surprised tone.
"Luck." Caroline said.
"Ah, whatever! Arcanine, Fire Fang." Ricky shouted.
"Roserade, hop in to the ocean!" Caroline called. Hearing everyone's gasp, Caroline then shouted, "Roserade, Petal Dance!" Popping out of the water with a large typhoon-like swirl controlled by the array of petals, the pokemon thrust toward Arcanine. Hitting Arcanine the large canine was unable to battle. Caroline won the Festival. Given her ribbon she went to change clothes. She slipped on a short-belle dress paired with some gray flats. Ricky had changed into a cream colored tuxedo. As Ricky came into 6 inches away from Caroline body, he offered his hand.
"Care to dance?" Ricky asked.
"Yes, I do care." Caroline said giggling. The two slow danced for the rest of the Grand Festival Ball.
Final notes: (Pokemon is just epic.)
Last edited by [Pokered Face]; 07-25-2010 at 09:16 PM..
@Pearl: D'aw, thanks Pearl. I wouldn't be so worried though. At least not about me. I don't particularly like my piece. I think zombies are easier for me to write about than shipwrecks. Haha.
It's Vix I think we need to watch out for. Her's gave me H.P. Lovecraft flashbacks.
@heartages: That sounds so interesting! Are all three books different possibilities or are they a trilogy following a single way? And are they children's books like the one Pearl mentioned or YA or adult?
The three books after Starcatchers are consecutive sequels, as far as I know. I know the second one is for sure, but I haven't finished it and I haven't read any of the other two. But my impression is that each book explains a bit about how Peter developed his personality and the little things about him and the island that are different and/or strange.
You usually find them in the children's section of bookstores. They are aimed at children around 12 years of age. They are chapter books, but they are so much fun. Of course, for an adult it's a pretty easy reading level, but that makes them easier to get through. :) For a Peter Pan fan like me, they're amazing... Well, I guess I can't say that about the ones I haven't read, but I get the feeling I'm going to thoroughly adore them :D
