u/SammyFilming

They call it the Ghost Fleet.

A collection of downtrodden, rusted, barnacled commercial ships that are anchored and left to rot just where the mouth of the Chesapeake Bay kisses the Atlantic Ocean.

I’d always heard the tales of them being haunted. Men with slippery fingers sneaking onto the boats, trying to steal old relics of maritime past are met with the woe and weary spirits from that ship’s hellish history.

I have always fancied myself a burglar and scoffed at notions of damned souls lingering for a laugh, so when I became privy to the spoils left over on some of these old ships and tankers, I gassed up my skiff.

“Fortuna, hold my eggs in the mornin’, girl”, I yelled to my missus.

“Where you gonna be?”, she sang from her boudoir in that southern twang that won me over so many years ago.

“Going to the duck blind. Staying the night.”

“It ain’t duck huntin’ season.”

She had me. Astute like no other.

“Will you leave me be!? I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She just shook her head at me with a grin as I walked out the door. I’ve always regretted not making an honest woman out of her. My swimmers sink like an anchor so I’ve never been able to give her the family she wanted…

…but she’s stayed with me. “If I’m able to find this sailor’s tidal clock”, I thought, “I’m gonna sell it and take her to a resort that the high and bow-tied frequent…amongst other spoils.

I wish I could tell you it was a struggle, but I puttered up to that derelict collection of ships in the night like a darn professional. I climbed up a ladder 40 years gone, and walked right into the barracks and snooped around, before heading to the Captain’s quarters. Was there anything scary? Certainly not.

When I opened the door, there she was. Cobwebbed and rusted from the muggy air, but there was the tidal clock. “Junk” to Johnny-Come-Lately, but to the collector, a prized piece. I scooped her up and headed right back out the way I came. Police boats do patrol the area, so I won’t gonna linger.

I hopped in my skiff and like I told Fortuna, headed to my duck blind to escape the night. I built it in a marsh just off the Crook Narrows. Perfect for a spot of fishing and duck hunting, but also for privacy and to wait out the night.

As I pulled up, a storm began to holler.

I climbed into the small blind (a tiny wooden house-like structure on pylons sticking out of the marsh, if you’re not familiar), grabbed my lantern from the small box of supplies I keep there and lit it just as the thunder rang and the skies began to pour.

I took out the tidal clock from the black sack I had put it and marveled at the craftsmanship. Some old sap like myself used this to guide themselves through God-what-have-you decades ago. I wondered if they had themselves a woman like Fortuna…

WHEN…

I heard HER singing.

At first it was light. I barely could make it out through the rain, but it grew.

“Tickle they tender, beholden me; fire, it rages, under her sea; Blow the man down, cry for his crowns; His lovey held under, she shines, she drowns…”

I quickly put the clock back in its sack and peered out of the duck blind’s door.

THERE…

A silhouette moved through the water just in front of me.

“Good evenin’ to ya! Do you need a reprieve from the storm!?”

The figure stopped. They turned and waded through the waste high water toward me. Eventually, they found the light of my lantern…

A woman, cloaked in brown and a wooden crab bucket floating next to her, a rope tethered from it to her.

I was taken aback, as she smiled. She was beautiful.

“Please come find some warmth, ma’am. I appreciate crabbin’ when you have the time, but this is treacherous.

She didn’t speak, she just smiled again and made her way up the ladder. She came inside and sat down.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have any provisions. Not even a towel to dry you.”

She didn’t respond. She just sat on the floor and looked up at me curiously.

“You sang awful pretty. Without that I’d probably-a-found some fright seeing you out in this marsh at this time of night.”

She shook her head.

“What?”, I said confusedly. She shook her head again.

JUST THEN…

Blood began to trickle out of her mouth.

“Ma’am, you bleed…” — I lost my breath when she opened her mouth wide, revealing a freshly cut out tongue.

I ripped my coat off and tried to hold it up to her mouth.

Suddenly her eyes WENT WIDE, as she caught sight of the tidal clock. She began to flail and I panicked along with her, before she finally threw me up against the wall. I toppled to the ground in some mixture of shock, confusion and horror…

“Ma’am, I’m a friend, please, I…”

“THEY USED IT TO FIND US…”

That same voice from earlier spoke from just outside the duck blind. The woman in front of me just stared at the tidal clock in its black sack, tears starting to run down her face, mixing with the blood from her mouth.

“There are more of ya…who’s out there!?”, I pleaded.

“They used it to know when our waters would be low. When they could take us so.”

“Who!?”, I yelped.

“A thief in the night can set us free. Give us the clock, and a wish you’ll see.”

“A wish?!”

“Whatever it may be.”, the voice said. It felt witch-like, it felt evil, as the tongueless woman now stared at me. I had found my fright. I was petrified.

“Take it, TAKE IT, I don’t have a bother ‘bout it!”

“And your wish, thief?”

I was so scared, I only could play along. Even though amidst the demonic hullabaloo my mind searched for reason.

“My wife and I to have a child.”

There was silence…BUT THEN.

The most blood curdling, ear piercing scream from outside as the tongueless woman smiled. I covered my ears as she lurched toward me and kissed me.

If you had doubts about me before now, would you believe that at that moment I jerked awake. It was morning. The storm had passed. I was still in the duck-blind and the clock was still there in its sack. I took a deep breath and chuckled to myself.

I whistled and let the salty air flow over my grin as I made my way home to Fortuna.

Just then…

A KICK…then another…and another.

Something knocked about…in my stomach.

I lifted my shirt and pure horror fell across my face. I went straight to the sack with the tidal clock…

The most pristine, modern, electronic tidal clock.

What happened after that is between myself and Fortuna.

I can still remember the sound of my sister humming, as our Mom tied our Dad to the pier behind our house. The marsh grass rustled in the wind, almost humming along with her.

“Connie…damnit. I said with gusto, girl….”

Mom nodded and obliged to Dad’s request, making the ropes tighter. He laid on his back with four ropes strung from each foot and hand to a wood pylon.

Their serene calmness and acceptance of the matter is only now strange to me. Dad even giggled as her hair brushed his face when she leaned over him.

“You still teasin’ and ticklin a man straight to the end…”

Mom, slapped his chest playfully.

“You bad…”, but then she leaned in for a real kiss, one bursting with true love, albeit troubled, before coming back up. “Thank you, our King…”

“You live…you find solace in Mother’s mercy, in her newfound fruit.”

She didn’t cry, she just smiled proudly. “We will.”

Just then…

The tidal clock began to ring.

Dad shouted to us, “Your fortune cometh, my angels. Live in light.”

“Yes, Daddy.” “Yes, Pa”, we both squeaked out.

“COMMENCE!”, he bellowed.

Our Mom stood up and walked back over to us. We held each other and swayed as we sang…just as we practiced.

“Mother drink from our wine;
We’re gonna let it shine;
Mother drink from our wine;
We’re gonna let it shine;”…

WHEN…

The water began to rise.

From a foot beneath the pier, steadily, it came up an inch…and then another…and another.

We continued….

“Mother take this man of swine;
He scorched your Earth time and time;
Please take this man of swine;”….

Dad kept the same grin, the same easy, content breathing as the water rose over the wooden planks of wood, up the sides of his body and, finally, over his face.

“He scorched your Earth time and time;
Time and time, time and time, take this swine;”

And with that, the water at our knees on the pier, we trudged back up to our risen house and had a dinner of potatoes and beans. The only food that could grow. Then we took turns reading from Mother Natures hymnal*.*

Ten years later, I miss my father and we are no closer to appeasing the Queen. If you think me false because your water, wherever you sit, has not risen…I fear for the eye that has not opened.

I can tell you from experience that Her wrath is resistant to any promise, sacrifice or act of fortune. I asked my Mother just this morning if she thought Father’s sacrifice was for nought, and she simply scoffed and said, “We still livin’, ain’t we? Man has done wrong by Her and she will take every last one.”

“Why does she toys with us though? Why not create a wave or fire to end it in one fail swoop?”, I asked.

“I do not bother myself with such quandaries, those that provide little salt to our means.”

I am starting to doubt my family’s path, but I have to keep my family alive, as long as I can. My teenage sister, my aging mother.

We live in this Crab Boat now, awaiting the great rise of the tides that will eventually come. I am the captain now and we will persist.

I can still remember the sound of my sister humming, as our Mom tied our Dad to the pier behind our house. The marsh grass rustled in the wind, almost humming along with her.

“Connie…damnit. I said with gusto, girl….”

Mom nodded and obliged to Dad’s request, making the ropes tighter. He laid on his back with four ropes strung from each foot and hand to a wood pylon.

Their serene calmness and acceptance of the matter is only now strange to me. Dad even giggled as her hair brushed his face when she leaned over him.

“You still teasin’ and ticklin a man straight to the end…”

Mom, slapped his chest playfully.

“You bad…”, but then she leaned in for a real kiss, one bursting with true love, albeit troubled, before coming back up. “Thank you, our King…”

“You live…you find solace in Mother’s mercy, in her newfound fruit.”

She didn’t cry, she just smiled proudly. “We will.”

Just then…

The tidal clock began to ring.

Dad shouted to us, “Your fortune cometh, my angels. Live in light.”

“Yes, Daddy.” “Yes, Pa”, we both squeaked out.

“COMMENCE!”, he bellowed.

Our Mom stood up and walked back over to us. We held each other and swayed as we sang…just as we practiced.

“Mother drink from our wine;
We’re gonna let it shine;
Mother drink from our wine;
We’re gonna let it shine;”…

WHEN…

The water began to rise.

From a foot beneath the pier, steadily, it came up an inch…and then another…and another.

We continued….

“Mother take this man of swine;
He scorched your Earth time and time;
Please take this man of swine;”….

Dad kept the same grin, the same easy, content breathing as the water rose over the wooden planks of wood, up the sides of his body and, finally, over his face.

“He scorched your Earth time and time;
Time and time, time and time, take this swine;”

And with that, the water at our knees on the pier, we trudged back up to our risen house and had a dinner of potatoes and beans. The only food that could grow. Then we took turns reading from Mother Natures hymnal*.*

Ten years later, I miss my father and we are no closer to appeasing the Queen. If you think me false because your water, wherever you sit, has not risen…I fear for the eye that has not opened.

I can tell you from experience that Her wrath is resistant to any promise, sacrifice or act of fortune. Man has done wrong by her and she will take every last one.

I do wonder why she toys with us though. Why not create a wave or fire to end it in one fail swoop.

But I do not bother myself with such quandaries, those that provide little salt to our means.

I have to keep my family alive, as long as I can. My teenage sister, my aging mother.

We live in this Crab Boat now, the tides covering most dry points…and we will persist.

I can still remember the sound of my sister humming, as our Mom tied our Dad to the pier behind our house. The marsh grass rustled in the wind, almost humming along with her.

“Connie…damnit. I said with gusto, girl….”

Mom nodded and obliged to Dad’s request, making the ropes tighter. He laid on his back with four ropes strung from each foot and hand to a wood pylon.

Their serene calmness and acceptance of the matter is only now strange to me. Dad even giggled as her hair brushed his face when she leaned over him.

“You still teasin’ and ticklin a man straight to the end…”

Mom, slapped his chest playfully.

“You bad…”, but then she leaned in for a real kiss, one bursting with true love, albeit troubled, before coming back up. “Thank you, our King…”

“You live…you find solace in Mother’s mercy, in her newfound fruit.”

She didn’t cry, she just smiled proudly. “We will.”

Just then…

The tidal clock began to ring.

Dad shouted to us, “Your fortune cometh, my angels. Live in light.”

“Yes, Daddy.” “Yes, Pa”, we both squeaked out.

“COMMENCE!”, he bellowed.

Our Mom stood up and walked back over to us. We held each other and swayed as we sang…just as we practiced.

“Mother drink from our wine;
We’re gonna let it shine;
Mother drink from our wine;
We’re gonna let it shine;”…

WHEN…

The water began to rise.

From a foot beneath the pier, steadily, it came up an inch…and then another…and another.

We continued….

“Mother take this man of swine;
He scorched your Earth time and time;
Please take this man of swine;”….

Dad kept the same grin, the same easy, content breathing as the water rose over the wooden planks of wood, up the sides of his body and, finally, over his face.

“He scorched your Earth time and time;
Time and time, time and time, take this swine;”

And with that, the water at our knees on the pier, we trudged back up to our risen house and had a dinner of potatoes and beans. The only food that could grow. Then we took turns reading from Mother Natures hymnal*.*

Ten years later, I miss my father and we are no closer to appeasing the Queen. Her wrath is resistant to any promise, sacrifice or act of fortune. Man has done wrong by her and she will take every last one.

I do wonder why she toys with us though. Why not create a wave or fire to end it in one fail swoop.

But I do not bother myself with such quandaries, those that provide little salt to our means.

I have to keep my family alive, as long as I can. My teenage sister, my aging mother.

We live in this Crab Boat now, the tides covering most dry points…and we will persist.

The blood poured from my ears as I held my daughter for the first time.  I could no longer hear her cries.  I did my best to cradle her without disturbing the cuts etched into her back.

…..

“What kind of man paddles into a pea soup like this just to rake for some clams?”, shouted the Choptank Marina steward Honty — her hands on her hips as I climbed into my boat.  

She’d seen me get into “The Happenstance” and push off into all kind of conditions, so this was just normal fodder, even though I would be inclined to say the fog was unusually thick that morning.

“Quit yer guff…”, I muttered as I began to untie from the pier.

“Half the boys are in that marina back there three sheets to the wind at 7am just because their pecker felt damp wakin’ up in their cot this mornin, and so they call it day…but not you, Leamish…you a man of circumstance, ain’t ya?”

I huffed. “There a point to all this, Honty? Or you just trying to get me bothered for a giggle?”

Honty bent down with a grin.  “These waters are dyin’, Leamish.  Have been for a long time.  I guess I’m just curious why a man still slogs out in somethin’ like this for a dime-a-daisy bushel of clams…IF he’s lucky.”

I gazed at her deeply for a moment.  She’s always been one of the few women, if not the only, to find light in my coldness.

“I’ll see you ‘bout noon…”, I said as I took my Jim rope off the final peg and pushed away from the pier.

“I know I will.  Certain as the frog croakin’ on a Sunday.”, she said in that jovial twang.

I turned in time just to see her wave, as she and the pier disappeared into the fog.

…..

The bow of The Happenstance pushed up onto the sandy shoal in the middle of the Choptank Bay.  

I raked for a good portion of time.  No clams, but I found fortune in the quiet of the eerily calm water that morning. Only the sound of the errant gull and my rake going along the sandy shore.  

I even sang lightly.  An old sailor’s tune from the South long gone that my Momma was fond of…before she found one of the plagues that rang about.  

“Barnacled Belinda beholden the; bountiful beauty, serenade me; the siren song lingers, it coils, it crusts; Her sunken chest opens, O’Belinda he lusts;…”

BUT THEN…

A cry.

I thought perhaps it was a bird or maybe even my rake coming over a shell, so faint in the distance….

I stopped to listen.  There was nothing.

I began to sing again…”O’Belinda…”

Another cry.

I stopped again.  I could still see not a foot in front of me, but even so, I peered my eyes and leaned in.

AGAIN…a faint cry.

I was certain this time.  The cry of a child…a baby even.

“Who’s ‘bout yonder!?”, I screamed.  Quickly going quiet to listen for a response….but nothing.

“M’name’s Leamish….Can I lend an aid to ya!?”, I tried again.  Nothing…

I rose up from my nervous stance…

But there, A cry, again!  There was no doubt now and the direction was clear.  I begin to trudge towards it, off the sand bar into the shin high water.

It gets a little louder, I know I’m getting closer.

“CAN I LEND AN AID TO YA!?”…

**WHEN…**I drop to my knees.  A pain, a fire, scorched throw my ears.  I dropped my rake out reflex to cover them.  I don’t know how to tell you, but those were the cause…They began to seer my ears, stinging like something unholy…

But I was certain there was a baby yonder and it cried something fierce.  I grimaced and pulled myself back to my feet.  I left my rake, so I could keep my hands cupped over my ears, but as I moved closer it made no difference.

“IS THERE SOMEONE ‘BOUT WIT THE CHILD!?  I HAVE A…”

Another piercing wail sent me tumbling forward into the water, which somehow grew heavier and heavier just like the razor blades cutting into my ears.

It’s then that I looked at my hands…they were covered in blood.

The fright on my face washed away as I looked up…

THERE…something dark was through the fog…something.  I threw off my bucket and crawled, again finding my feet moving quicker.

SUDDENLY…

The cries went quiet at the same time a horror spread across my soul.  I breathed heavily, my eyes wide…

A crab pot lay just ahead of me.  A new born child lay atop it.  I SPRINTED towards them just as they began to cry again.  Now, if not before, a wail like no creature has ever fathomed, but the pain had now become secondary.

I came to a halt a foot from the crab pot, in disbelief at what lay before me:  a fresh out of the womb baby girl laid completely bare on top of a very rusty and heavily barnacled crab trap.

She screamed and squirmed causing the barnacles to cut into her back.

I quickly reached for her…

WHEN…

I was sent to the ground, my ear drums bursting along the way.

There was silence.  No cries, no wind, no voice.

I found the strength and I stood.  I reached down with the utmost care and gentle touch, I scooped up the baby girl.

I held her to my chest, blood trickling down her back from the cuts of barnacles, starting to mix with that from my ears. 

I spun around with her, trying to see if I could see something through the fog that could be responsible.

I screamed, albeit silent to me.  “HELLO!? HELLO!?”

Nothing.

I named her Hephziba.  A gift from Mother Nature.  I am to raise her.

She is to end mankind.