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Count me in. Can't be a coward all my life.
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Aug 7, 2013 19:06
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| # ¿ Apr 18, 2024 12:59 |
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The Dutchman (1192 words) A casual glance would not have betrayed him. His name was typical of a Dutchman: Jan, I believe. With his graying brown hair and lean frame, he was mostly unremarkable in appearance, save for the darting brown eyes of a hunted deer; a normal, if nervous, old man to any passing stranger. You'd have never guessed he was but 34 when he passed from this realm and, one can only hope, to his just reward. No, none could have accused him of having lived an typical life. He didn't care for beer, plays, or games, and if he ever had a wife, she'd long left him. His house was by the church and if the window was dark, he was haunting the pews for prayer was his sole comfort and pasttime. Many of his former friends wondered what caused such a change in him, but those who knocked on his door were met with only a fervid volley of prayer and dishes for their trouble. I alone was privy. Carrying a cross, I waited beside the church and when that prematurely hoary head peeked out of the arch, I greeted him with a blessing and the proof of my earthly origin and righteous alignment. The fear left his eyes, however momentarily, and I was allowed into his dark, cluttered home to hear the tale of what had turned him from rowdy youth to pious old man in less than two seasons: “I was a deckhand aboard the accursed ship [Editor's note: he would not speak the name of the vessel, though I asked him many times]. I had heard tell it ran to Java and back in a mere 3 months and some odd days, a pace unmatched by any other ship in the Dutch East India Company and, for that matter, any God-fearing craft in the world. There were rumors. But don't people always talk? Big mouths vomiting the half-digested thoughts of small brains. “Well, perhaps gossip's not always wrong. “It was 1678, I was twenty and looking for work...and perhaps some adventure. My father was a deckhand before me and I'd had enough experience in ropes and 'Aye, Captain' at his knee to earn myself a place on...his ship [editor's note: “His” in this case refers to a Bernard Fokke, a captain of some renown]. “Well, I was 'in luck'. His mettle was being put to the test by no less than the governor of Java himself! Determined to see if this reputation was deserved only in the minds of commoners, his Honor asked that some letters be delivered on that run. Oh, he was to have his letters in short order. But in truth, there were only two cargo of import on that vessel: vindication and damnation. “I learned of the wager the first night at sea and marveled that he would take on someone as untried as myself. A pale, thin hand to my right looked up and sighed, 'It doesn't matter.' “I wondered at this reply. But not for long. The answer came on our third day. The air was still and fetid as a charnel house. Yet we furled the sails. I thought it odd, but they had made this journey before, not I. Nudging one of the other deckhands, I said with a fool's laugh, “Captain won't protect his reputation with winds like these!” “He said nothing, only looked up. The air was even stiller than before. “It was getting dark and nothing was more welcome than the nightly painting of the heavens. You must understand how dull it is on a ship with no work. And the men were a lifeless, timid bunch: no songs, no laughter, and eyes cast skywards like the old paintings of the saints. Or the refugees as they fled from Sodom and Gomorrah. The stars were a welcome diversion. “But a heavy footstep from above roused me from my awe. “'Captain?' “'Go to bed, fool!' a voice from the barracks screamed. “It was too late. I was gone. “On the deck, I saw the black figure of...him. He whipped around and grabbed me with uncanny speed. I was inches from stark, piercing, unholy eyes. A madman's eyes. “'Looking for a little bedtime story, son?' he hissed. “He dragged me to the bow, pressed my throat into the hard, wet wood. Words in some language alien to me and, perhaps to all mankind, were shouted above my head. The sea began to swirl beneath, the waves growing bigger and darker, lapping at the hull like thick black tongues. The wind picked up and a horrid smell came up from the churning darkness. I panicked, thinking he meant to throw me into the jaws of some sea beast. Struggling was in vain for he was stronger than I. The air became scarce and mercifully, consciousness left me, the hellish scene fading to peaceful oblivion. “One by one, my senses returned and I awoke on the deck to sunlight and wind, the sails still furled. It occurred to me, in the haze of returning consciousness, that I had a madman for a captain and it was best to stay out of his way. I started towards the barracks to sleep away my bruised throat and perturbation of mind. But there was no harm in reassuring myself that my tormentor had only the force of his own flesh, bone, and brain, was there? I staggered back to the bow and glanced down. A great slimy mass of green serpents slithered over the surface of the water, no- above it! The ship sailed faster through those diabolical coils and loops than it could through any Godly substance! All was black again. “I was carried below and couldn't be dragged back above until we docked, sails in position, a normal ship to all but ourselves. Governor van Goens got his letters in 3 months and 4 days and he his glory. I ran as far inland as my weak body would allow, to a church, pleading for sanctuary. Someone left my pay with the pastor, but I waited 3 months to catch the first God-fearing vessel back home. So here I am, never straying far from the protection of the Lord lest that man, his vessel, and his infernal master lay claim on my soul.” That was all, for he fell silent and I thought it best to leave him. A very strange tale, indeed. And even stranger is that within a week of relating it, this man who never veered from home and church was seen by numerous people to leave his hovel and walk out into the sea. He was said to scream like an animal at slaughter and disappear, leaving nothing but a brief reddening of the water and ringing silence. A girl of nine insisted she saw green eels rise up and fall on him. But there was no lingering evidence of that. I suppose we'll never truly know how that unhappy wretch met his earthly end. And maybe that's all for the best. Who could bear such knowledge of those three grand arbiters of men: heaven, hell, and the sea? Cervid fucked around with this message at 07:41 on Aug 10, 2013 |
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Aug 10, 2013 07:30
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sebmojo posted:
Hey, I'll have you and Mercedes know I read your comments and I only cried for twenty minutes! Cuz I'm rock hard, motherfuckers! But seriously, yeah I agree with you guys' observations. I know I have a long way to go.
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Aug 14, 2013 01:16
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THUNDERDOME WEEK 53 JUDGMENT
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Sign me up.
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Aug 14, 2013 02:08
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sebmojo posted:
Hey, sebmojo. I am taking all your criticisms into account because I know I have a lot to learn as a writer. The following is me trying to answer your questions, not dispute your judgement. If you or anyone else would like to show me how to get these points across effectively, I am all ears. Well, I meant the implication to be that the sailors knew they were all marked men and would die if they told the story to anybody because either  or  . The reader can decide for themselves. That's why they acted weird but said nothing to the protagonist and that's why the protagonist was claimed when he did tell. His desperate scramble to religion was his way of fending off those feelings of being the walking damned that the others simply surrendered to. As for the beginning, I tried to build it up and make you curious about my protagonist: why does this guy look so old at 34? Why he does he pray all the time and throw dishes at friends he doesn't want to see, or else, things that he thinks aren't really his friends? How did he die and why? A little character investment and suspense. I just assumed that the first few paragraphs would fall into place at the end. The narrator is there because everybody in the town wonders about this guy. This person is a local who wanted to know his story and figured out a way to do it. They tell everybody else word for word, including the reader. But if I failed to make all of the above clear, then yes, I deserved to lose. Absolutely. I will work on making myself clearer in the future. I was going for more of an atmospheric horror rather than a graphic one. I must have misunderstood what was expected and if that's the case, I also deserved to lose for that too. As far as the ed note thing, unterrifyingness of eels, formatting, misuse of barracks, and not quite hitting the Lovecraft mark, I agree totally. But drat, do I love me some Lovecraft. Had to try.
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Aug 15, 2013 01:06
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Duly noted.
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Aug 15, 2013 01:21
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| # ¿ Apr 18, 2024 12:59 |
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Well, unfortunately, I must withdraw my entry. I have real life problems that I'd rather not tell the internet and its unlikely I'll even be online for about two or three weeks, much less be able to write, and my story isn't near finished. You guys kick each others' butts! 
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Aug 18, 2013 00:22
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