Phantom Nightmare

Mesmerized by the rise and fall of the sea, Erik had lost track of time. Meg might have stirred. He took several deep breaths before setting off across the deck toward the galley.

The deck rolled, but he was adept at keeping his balance from his time walking along the flies above the stage. He had nearly reached the door when he heard the crack of timber and a startled cry.

A crossbeam had snapped in two, the broken end hanging loose, battered by the wind. A taut rope stretched across the deck and trailed over the side of the ship. Erik headed back into the wind, cutting a path across the slippery planks to the spot where the rope disappeared. He peered over the railing at the young sailor clinging to the end.

Voices behind him signaled that help was on the way, but the deckhand who had gone overboard would not last. Erik flung off his cloak and threw one leg over the wooden railing. Someone at his back shouted for the boy to hang on. Erik saw the bleached hand, the eyes black with terror, the gaping mouth struggling to breathe as the waves pounded his body.

“Rope!” Erik yelled over the roar of the sea. A sailor handed him a thick cable whose loose end Erik secured around his waist. Then he swung his other leg over the ledge. Lashed by rain and wind, Erik blinked the water from his eyes and stared down into the churning sea. His feet braced against the hull, he checked his hold on the thick cord and nodded for them to lower him. Inch by inch, he descended until the boy was within reach.

“Grab on,” Erik shouted as he seized the boy by the waist. But the young sailor was locked in terror and refused to let go of his rope. A wall of water slammed into Erik, ramming him into the hull. The boy thrashed in panic, his hold on the rope lost. Erik’s arm strained under the boy’s full weight. His fist tightened on his own rope as water swept down the hull.

“Pull!” Erik shouted to those above. The rope tugged hard, and Erik and the boy rose several inches. The mounting roar warned Erik that another wave was about to break upon them. He folded the boy into his body, wedging the two of them flat against the hull. The shipped leaned to the side and the ocean rose and engulfed them. Submerged, the boy struggled, but Erik tightened his hold. Then the boat rolled free, and the water receded. Erik gasped for air. The men’s efforts redoubled, heaving them, in fits and starts, up the side of the ship. The bottom of the railing came into view. The waves surged and reached for them again. Several hands hauled the boy from Erik’s grip. Then they dragged Erik, too, from the maw of the ocean, over the railing, and to the floor of the deck.

Prone on his back, Erik coughed and wiped the water from his naked face.

The deckhands backed several feet away from Erik. They stared down at him, faces grim, eyes wary. His mask was gone. The sea had stolen it. Not far off, the boy knelt, retching salt water and bile onto the deck. Erik searched in vain for his cloak. Having no other recourse, he took several deep breaths, rolled to his knees, and then stood, facing them.

From among the deckhands, an older man came forward. He held Erik’s cloak in his outstretched hand. Erik had seen the man of an evening smoking his pipe while mending sails, but they had not spoken. Glancing into the man’s eyes, Erik reached out and took the cloak. He put it on and raised the hood to shadow his face. The men stepped aside, giving him a wide berth as he made his way across the deck toward the galley.

Meg would be waiting for him.