Dark Seas, Dark Skies Page #2

I wrote this story because I enjoy horror and history, and wanted to combine the two genres in an eerie setting which I am familiar with.

• History
• Horror
• Fiction

								

“So, we’ve lost them,” Boris uttered over the howl of the wind. He emerged from his hiding place and returned to his prior station at the foot of the platform. “We’re alone.” 
Nikolai let out a heavy sigh. “S’pose we are.” He winced at the notion. “Now turn away, I’m going to flash the signal.” Boris did so. 
With dread gnawing in the pit of his stomach, the signalman flipped the switch of the searchlight, turned it to port, and, opening and closing the shutter repeatedly in a pattern of morse code, flashed the fleet’s recognition signal and the message prescribed by the captain. The searchlight’s beam cut through the blackness like a saber of harsh, white sunlight. Raindrops winked through its blinding glare. With his hand cranking the shutter up and down, he repeated the message once to port, then fore, then starboard, then aft three times each, then powered off the searchlight and returned to clinging to the platform rail to wait for an answer — and, now that he knew something was surely afoot on the bridge, listening. Boris saw his intent and fell silent. Not thirty feet fore of his position was the bridge, a narrow platform open to the elements and much like his own. Normally, the men on it would be well within earshot, yet, ironically, when he hoped to hear their stern commands most was when it was most difficult to do so. The rain and the sea were deafening. Though he could barely make out the captain and his officers crowded around the wheel, one thing was clear — they were speaking louder, and more frantically, than ever. He could sense the ship turning; to starboard for several minutes, then to port. He could hear the engines steaming up as they strained through swell after crashing swell. The air was thick with spray.
And through all this time, nobody returned their message. Not one vessel. The world around their little warship was nothing but darkness, darkness, darkness . . .
“Flash it again!” Boris suggested, his tone grave.
Nikolai muttered a prayer, then nodded. Feeling nauseous but not from the rolling of the vessel, he switched the searchlight on and repeated the message. His hands shook at the shutter knobs — and, much like his twisting guts, was not a sensation attributed to his frigid environment. Their ship was tiny. Vulnerable. Of course, a squadron of torpedo boats working together could take down any battleship. This was their purpose. But if the Stariyy was caught alone in the sea by a Japanese Squadron without the support of their fellow ships, it was all over.
Nikolai and Boris waited, heads on a swivel. There was no reply. Not a single spark of light. Minutes passed, but they felt like hours. Neither man could find the will to speak.
With a shuddering breath, Nikolai turned his eyes back to the bridge. 
Something was wrong. 
Only officers and the captain were permitted on the bridge. Every man aboard the Stariyy knew this. Nikolai could see those four men through the gloom, if only just. Along with Vlasenko himself, there were three uniformed officers who stood alongside him both day and night.
Their vessel’s rules were set in stone — four men. And as the bridge was an almost sacred space, Nikolai could think of no individual aboard the vessel who dared to challenge Vlasenko. 
In no circumstances would a fifth person be allowed to join them.
Which is why Nikolai felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as he watched a figure, barely visible through the gloom, reach up to the railing of the bridge and begin to climb. Hand over hand the silhouette rose, rung by rung, silently as a cat, with the apparent goal of attaining the platform where the officers stood. 
It seemed to exert very little effort as it climbed, pulling itself upward like an ape with arms that seemed, although little could be made out in the darkness, too long for any man Nikolai had ever seen. But he said nothing. Made not a sound. He thought he ought to alert the men on the bridge, but, when he opened his mouth, no words came out. All he could do was stare on in cold bewilderment. 
The figure, seemingly unnoticed by the officers and the captain reached the top of the railing and perched atop it, knees to chin, as if contemplating the scene before it. 
It crouched, and watched — completely unnoticed. 
Still Nikolai couldn’t bring himself to speak. The strangest thing about it all was that he himself had to hold on to the platform railing to avoid being toppled each time the boat crested a wave, and the deck shifted, but the lanky-armed figure did not seem to require such an aid. It moved sinuously in its crouch, swaying to and fro with each roll of the vessel. It reminded Nikolai of a crow perched upon a telegraph pole on a windy day. With each sway of the platform, its head remained fixed towards the officers — totally stationary.
Then, as Nikolai looked on in cold bewilderment, the figure leapt at the uniformed men.
Bang.
A gunshot, then screams. The bridge became a blur of movement through the murk. Nikolai felt a pang of fear drive deep into his stomach at the bloodcurdling wails of the officers, made more so by the fact that he couldn’t even see what was happening. Another gun went off, and another — the officer’s pistols. Their flashes illuminated nothing of clarity. The men were firing and cursing and moving about so desperately that Nikolai could barely make out a single figure amongst them. He was frozen, staring, his stomach sinking through the deck of the torpedo boat.
“It’s them!” Boris snarled an instant later. “It’s the Japanese! I’ll rally the men — take my sword!” He tossed Nikolai his saber, and the signalman momentarily broke his reverie to catch it.
He turned back to the bridge just in time to see a large, dark shape hurtling towards him from the direction of the bridge. He ducked. The object struck the fore funnel not ten feet behind him with a dull, wet crunch.
It was a gut-wrenching sound. 
Nikolai let out a pained whimper, eyes glued to the floor of the signal platform. He knew exactly what had struck the funnel. He knew what he would see if he turned around. He knew.
But despite himself, that was exactly what he did. 
He saw the crumpled body of the Lieutenant, still minus his hat, who had spoken to him not minutes before. A long streak of crimson ran down towards his corpse from midway up the funnel. His arms and legs were bent in all the wrong directions, and Nikolai felt bile rising in the back of his mouth. He willed himself not to vomit as a cold serpent of disgust and fear slithered up his spine.
Just then, the hatch leading belowdecks flew open and the ship’s entire contingent of twenty marines scrambled up onto the deck and assembled before the signal platform, weapons at the ready with bayonets fixed, a thirst for Japanese blood burning in their eyes. Boris fronted them. As soon as he laid eyes on the pulverized corpse of the Lieutenant, he looked up at Nikolai and called: “Nikolai! Illuminate the bridge!”

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