Саймон Бествик - The Devil and the Deep - Horror Stories of the Sea

I heard another person run past in the corridor, this time shouting—a deep, tearing, guttural noise. It sounded like a man’s voice, and he stopped to hammer on the door of the restroom with a truly terrifying degree of force, before running on. “That may not be a straightforward undertaking. Sounds like things are pretty fucked up out there.”

“Rick— get off the boat .”

The smell was truly appalling now. I’d stopped noticing the warning sound of growling from the stall and further splashing sounds. The last couple of pints I’d drunk had come home to roost, too, and I felt muddle-headed, off-kilter, unprepared. Really drunk. So much that it took me a couple of seconds to get my head around the fact my phone was vibrating, again, and work out what that meant.

Another incoming call.

The screen said: PETER???—LONDON

“Hang on, Shann. Don’t go away.”

“What are you—”

I muted her and accepted the call. “Pete?”

“Where are you?” Pete said. He sounded terse and clipped and pretty drunk but a lot more together than I felt.

“The john.”

“Which one?”

“The small one you showed me. Near the bar.”

“Is the door locked?”

“Oh yes.”

“Good. Keep it that way.”

“What the hell’s going on? Where are you?”

“Up on top. Of the boat. Came up here with Inka to… doesn’t matter.”

“Is she there with you?”

“Not anymore. I pushed her down the stairs.”

“You… what ?”

“We left the bar because she was feeling queasy. I assumed it was just jetlag combined with a truly astonishing amount of vodka, and also perhaps she had something else in mind—but no, she genuinely wasn’t feeling well. So I escorted her to the restroom. When she came back out she said she felt better and so we came up on the top deck for some air but then she started behaving extremely strangely and…”

“Pete, wait one second. My PA’s on the other line.”

I flipped over and said: “Have you heard anything new?”

“No,” Shannon said. “They’re recycling the same clip.”

“Are you still driving?”

“Yes. And Rick—”

I cut her off and flipped back to Pete. He’d evidently missed what I’d said and just kept talking in the meantime. “…blood dripping down my fucking cheek. I had no choice— she was trying to bite my face off .”

“Christ,” I said. “Is anybody else up there?”

“No. Hang on, shit. I can smell burning.”

“What kind of burning?”

“The burning kind of burning, Rick. I… oh. In the fog… there’s a glow. I think the burning smell’s coming from the shore.”

“Where the walkways are?”

“No. The other shore. Where the city is .”

I abruptly remembered there was one thing at least that I could do to improve the situation. I pulled out my cigarettes and lit one.

“You can’t smoke in here,” Carl said from the stall. His voice sounded weak.

“Seriously? Have you even been listening ?”

“It’s no-smoking in here.”

“This room smells like I am literally inside a turd , Carl. That’s on you. So deal with the fucking smoke.”

“Who’s that?” Peter said in my ear.

“Carl. From Boston.”

“I know Carl. But what was that about a smell?”

“He’s… Carl’s experiencing intestinal difficulties.”

“Oh fucking hell. Get out of there,” Peter said, very seriously. “Get the fuck out. Now.”

“You told me to stay in here.”

“Yes, but that’s what happened with Inka. Weren’t you listening ?”

“I missed that part—I flipped across to my PA to check she was okay.’

“Inka’s stomach… It gave out. When we were up here. It growled and then there was a flood of—it was truly disgusting. But then she said, “Oh, I feel a lot better now,” and that’s when she came at me and tried to bite my—”

“Carl,” I said. “How’re your guts feeling now?”

The answer came in the shape of a sound in the stall. Not a growl, but an explosive impact of something in water.

“Oh no,” he said. “There’s more blood in it.”

“ More blood ?”

“It’s everywhere.”

I took a cautious step back from the cabin door. From this angle I could see a patch of the floor within the stall. It was liberally splattered with red. I looked up and saw there were splashes of blood all the way to the ceiling too.

“But… I feel better,” Carl said. “A lot better.”

I heard running feet again outside the cabin. More than one set. A distant shout, and broken, high-pitched laughter.

“I think it’s over,” Carl said. There was a strange, dreamy quality to his voice. “Yes. I feel fine.”

I’d lowered the phone but I could hear Pete’s voice from the speaker, still shouting at me to get out. “Uh, maybe you should stay where you are,” I told Carl. “And I’ll go find a doctor or something.”

“I’m good.”

“There’s blood all over the place .”

“That’s okay. Honestly, Rick—it’s all fine.” His voice sounded normal. Strong, confident. “And thanks for being a pal. Is that Peter Stringer you’re talking to? From London?”

Stringer, that was it. “Yes.”

“He’s a solid guy. We should go find him—and work out what the hell’s going on out there.”

I heard Carl sliding the latch on the stall door, and mainly I was thinking: Yeah, that’s an actual plan. Three of us, three guys together—that had to give us a decent chance against… whatever the hell was going on out there. Right?

But then I saw that while Carl was approaching the door inside the stall, his pants were still down around his ankles. That seemed weird to me.

When he opened the door I semi-recognized him. We’d met before at some event or other. Though not like this. His lower half was naked and awash with red and brown liquids, and his eyes were bleeding down his face.

“I’m hungry,” he said, looking at my throat.

I kicked the stall door back at him as hard as I could.

He was knocked back into the stall, banging his head hard against the tiled wall. He stayed on his feet, however—slip-sliding in the confined space because of all the stuff on the floor, but remaining upright.

I heard Pete’s voice shouting at me to tell him what was going on, and put the phone back to my ear.

“Carl’s… I don’t think he’s okay anymore,” I said.

“Knock him out,” Pete said. “Do whatever it takes. Keep doing it until you’re sure it’s done. I had to kick Inka down the stairs three fucking times before she stayed down.”

I realized Carl was coming at me again and I slammed my foot into the stall door even harder this time. He crashed back down into the narrow space between the toilet and the wall. Started to move again, but sluggishly. As he turned his head I saw that the back of it wasn’t the normal shape. Impact with the wall had broken his skull.

He was still trying to get up, though, reaching out with hands that were trembling and shaking.

“Pete—what the hell are we going to do?”

“We’ve got to get off this boat,” he said.

“ How? ”

“Come find me up top.”

“Can’t you come down here instead?”

“Look, mate, this ship is full of people trying to kill people. I’m up for working together on this but I’d be out of my fucking mind coming back down to where you are.”

“Nice. Seems last year’s team-building weekend was a waste of money, hey.”

“There’s no ‘i’ in team, you twat, and I do not want to get fucking killed .”