The Fate of the Black March Read online

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  I awoke with a start, jostling myself from my tangled position in the net, as the shouts of land-ho echoed from the Crimson Wraith to the Black March. The calls of the men below boomed as they bellowed heartily at the sight of the island that no doubt brought with it treasure in heaping mounds.

  That was when the cannon call sounded. The lookout aboard the Red Wraith began hollering to roll out the guns; a French Privateer was anchored just off of the island. I rolled off of the rigging and dropped the deck on my hands and knees as I raced up to the bow to help roll out the long nines. The two massive cannons of the Black March were beautifully etched with designs of mythical women of the sea. The cannons had a greater range than the arsenal of carronades on the broad side of the Red Wraith. The Commodore Mackett fired his pistol in to the air, an easily heard call for the Black March to sail ahead and take the target in range.  The sailors hoisted more canvas to the air as we swooped in front of the ponderous sea faring giant. The Black March shot ahead with the speed she was renowned for and quickly pulled the privateer vessel in to view.

  The vessel that sat to the fore was a cruiser that was easily a match in size for the Crimson Wraith. The ship sat still in the rocking surf, no signs of crew crawling about the vessel. The usual sense of life and motion seemed to be lacking from the cruiser as it bobbed in the surf. The top deck sat without any commotion and it seemed to suck the energy from the air around it. The dark vessel sat silent in the water under the glare of Commodore Mackett. His voice had a strange air of maddened fury as he called us to board the vessel and see to the deaths of anyone who might be trying to snatch his long sought treasure from beneath his gaze. The men readied about with boarding gear, tossing supplies across the ship with the unpracticed flair of the well-trained but make-shiftily crafted crew that they were. The men stood ready to board the vessel as the Black March pulled lazily in the windless night alongside the floating vessel.

   I sat on a munitions barrel as the men flung grappling hooks aboard the vessel and climbed up, some cutlasses at the ready. I should have known at that point, with the chill of the air and overwhelming sense of dread that something was amiss; I however took it for my normal ill-ease with conflict. A vile stench filled the air. I saw no movement aboard the vessel but assumed it empty or awaiting in ambush. The cries of the men who boarded the vessel first confirmed my second theory but it was then dashed to pieces. Some of the men hollered for me to come aboard quickly, others chortled that perhaps it was a priest we needed. How right they were.

  The top deck was strewn with the body parts of at least five men that I could tell at first glance.  The blood soaked in to the sealed planks of the ship crept in to my boots and I worried that they might be ruined, but I lost all worry as the rest of the crew moved farther in to the ship, gasping and making the sounds of terrified men as they cleared the ship plank by plank looking for survivors. The hairs on the back of my neck pricked and rolled as a gentle wind blew across the bow when I noted for the first time a figure that sat at the helm.

  I wish now that my eyes had gone black, cursing me never again to see. The visage that I soon made clear standing behind the helm in some mocking pose of captaincy sent chills through to my core. I looked on in horror as the eyes of a demon stared back at me. I dare not even think how I could have mistaken the beast for man now as I think back upon its vicious features. The nose protruded like that of some back alley dog. The thing had matted fur that glistened with red splatter in the pale light of the full moon. I cursed the clear night sky and I cursed the Crimson Wraith for holding back as that would have lent credence to my madness if anyone else had seen the demon figure that lurked on the deck with me that night. If only I had called for help summoning the crew to look and perhaps to understand my fear. I however could only stand in paralyzed shock as it gazed at me with all the cunning hunger of a church mongrel.

  The thing watched me for what seemed like an eternity before leaping head long in to the sea. As the Crimson Wraith pulled about to broadside and the crew returned from below. The pale faces told me of what had occurred below deck. I dared not speak of the thing I had seen, looking back it was a foolish notion, for fear that I would seem to have taken to the carnage with weak stomach. The men of the crew that surfaced parted in to two groups, those that sat surveying the bloody mess and those that cleaved to the rails as they chucked their insides at the sea.  I dared not go below deck; visions of the beast from the helm stalking me beneath the deck of the vessel haunted my visions. As foolish as I felt I dared not tempt fate by venturing to the dark spaces. Besides I doubt the crew would ask me to venture below looking for survivors. I examined the pieces of the crew that littered the deck. Torsos lay here and there with jagged wounds that appeared to be from a sword and not cannon shot, but pieces appeared to be missing entirely from certain parts. Not sure where the carnage had scattered them and still afraid to think on the possible repercussions of the thing that had stood at the helm, I gathered my wits and stood with the crew.

  We disembarked the vessel with a reduced vigor as the Crimson March pulled alongside the floating ghost ship, Captain Mackett’s engineers thirsting for new parts. The gruesome cadavaresque nature of the ghost ship made the scrapping process seem a lot more ghoulish and the Black March wheeled off to a distance away from the two larger vessels. I decided to go await the dawn below deck amongst the men in the galley cots.

  The wretched horror aboard the ghost vessel filled my visions with blood and guts as I tossed in the suspended cotton wrap. The other men aboard the ship moved about with deliberate pace, no doubt reviewing in their own minds the horrors that had been present aboard that horrid vessel from the bowels of hell. Mackett was dancing with dangerous forces by scrapping such a vessel with the bodies of the crew not even buried, no doubt he was having the men pitch the bodies to the waves, a gruesome offering to Davy Jones.

  I knew not the hour of my waking but I knew that I would not be sleeping again for some time. Shots rang out from the Crimson Wraith, I groggily thought of the vessel from last night figuring that another French vessel had arrived as backup.

  I fell out of the cot with a sudden start. The explosions were small arms fire. I saw gnashing fangs and rending claws tearing through the dark as I thought back to the thing mockingly manning the helm. I tore myself from the floor and poured out on to the deck amidst the hurried rush of the others. We watched from a distance as the Red Wraith sat quite on the water, the occasional pistol bark the only sign of life we could hear from here. The first scream was the awakening. A man form the Crimson Wraith cut loose with a scream that was nearly earsplitting even at this distance. Captain Williamson took the deck like an impending storm. Sweeping past the crew in his ankle length black coat he strode to the helm and tossed his hat to rest next to the spokes.

  With brazen shouts the Irish man called orders to raise anchor, drop sail and run out the cannons. The men felt renewed in their duties as Williamson shouted from the helm. I stood stupid on the deck as we headed towards the dark vessel, the full moon overhead giving a silver wash to the scene. I knew of no way to tell the crew what fate awaits us without sounding mad.

  The Black March pulled along the broadside of the Red Wraith. Captain Williamson was no fool and had pulled far enough out that we would have to use grappling hooks from the boarding gear. The men gathered on the deck looking over at the now silent body of the Crimson Wraith. The still night air hung heavy with the smell of powder and blood. The men aboard the ship could feel what I already knew. The crew of the Crimson Wraith lay dead. Not a single person thought of treasure, but solely on the immense terror that must surely lurk aboard the vessel.

  Breaking the silence a body flew from the deck of the Crimson Wraith, splattering blood across the deck of the Black March as it landed, sickly, amongst the riggings. The crew burst in to a panic, some trying to board the Crimson Wraith and some trying to return below. I quickly tucked myself in to a corner behind a barr
el. I now know that my cowardice saved me, but at the time I felt that I was betraying the crew. Lord knows I was cursed for it.

  The crew members who boarded the Crimson Wraith began to scream and shout. Some begged for mercy, cries of terror cut short by some invisible demon. A vicious sound, a snarl that I had heard from street hounds back in England during my youth, bubbled through the air. The sound came from below deck. I heard the screams and gurgles of men cut down mid scream. The voyage had become a slaughter. I had no idea how many of the crew were left standing. I sat there absolutely frozen in terror.

  There is no way to put in to words the pure terror one experiences knowing that something is about to kill them and has just got done slaughtering the people you know.  The churning in your stomach makes you want to cast out your innards. Your hands take on the feeling of oaken limbs. You lose all sensation, a numbing of your senses that must be merciful if you can maintain the peace of mind to be thankful of such things. I however did not. I hide in the corner behind a munitions barrel and an old crate hoping against maddening hope that the monsters did not find me and that if they did I did not feel it when they feasted upon my flesh.

  I was processing my fear when I noticed the movement on the deck. I saw a figure in a long black coat dart across the deck. Captain Williamson had survived the ordeal. His cutlass gleamed in the silver moon light. I saw him watching the riggings, but for what I do not know. I saw movement from the railing of the ship. A dark mass clambered up over the railing of the vessel towards the crouching form of Captain Williamson. It seemed to pour across the deck silent and furry like a dog beast possessed of hell. It made one error as it closed. Just shy of the perfect hunting machine, it growled a few feet away from the good Captain. An error that got it a cutlass swung towards its face by the Irishman.

  The beast snarled and jumped away as the Captain brought his cutlass to bear. I was startled from my terror by the sight of Williamson standing up to the demon.  Williamson swung at the demon creature with his usual fury and speed, splattering the things wretched blood across the deck. I saw with my own eyes as the gash on its arm knitted itself closed like demon magic before my very eyes.

  Captain Williamson saw the wound heal and bellowed with rage as he lunged forward plunging the cutlass in to the creature’s chest. The cutlass protruded out the backside coated in a thick red ichor, for to call the substance blood was to do no justice to the vile matter dripping from the end of the blade. The monster made no moves to suggest that it had just been run through with four feet of steel. It grabbed the steel and ripped the cutlass sideways from its body, cleaving it half way in two. The flesh stitched and knitted back again, furry clumps of skin recovering the bleeding wound.

  I, at that exact moment, completely lost my senses. All I remember of Captain Williamson was him exchanging punches with the beast, a death befitting a man such as himself. I clambered from my hiding spot like a cornered rat and bolted for the riggings. I climbed like a ship rat across the ropes connecting the two vessels towards the Crimson Wraith, with no idea as to what I sought to gain. I just wanted to be far away from the beast. As I crawled along the rope I barely witness the thing below beginning to feast heartily on the remains of Captain Williamson.

  When I clambered aboard the Red Wraith the thunderous reality of my situation hit home. The deck was strewn with bodies just has the other vessel had been. It was littered with the remains of crew mates that mere hours ago I had shared drink and tales with. I was completely doomed at the hand of these wretched mongrels. The calm windless air hung still as I heard a gurgling voice from the aft of the ship. I headed towards the noise, moving as low to the deck as possible trying to keep my head down. I saw a sailor laying with most of his limbs nearby, but clearly not attached. His head rested on a pistol that he probably hadn’t had time to discharge. I wish now that I had not gotten so close to the half dead man. Without him I may not have made the connections in what happened next, I might still have some glimpse at sanity. Now I doubt I will ever be able to fully trust another human being again. I would have been unaware of what was going to happen to me.

  The young sailor managed to gargle out the word Mackett as a heavy thud sounded behind me. I whipped about from my half concealed position to see one of the demons wearing a red coat and an unmistakable eye patch. The horror of the thing rocked me to the core. My mind could hardly process the thing that stood before me. It was fur matted and coated in blood, looking like some demon from a preacher’s depiction. Parts of it were still recognizable however. The face elongated as I stared at it, taking on a more dog like visage. The thing that had been Commodore Mackett stared at me with the same hunger I had seen earlier that day. The hunger that come from a being who eats and eats without knowing a full belly. It was a hunger that was a gate way straight to some hellish domain where demons reigned and darkness spread the expanse of the sky and mortals are doomed to be feasted upon by ravenous fiends for all eternity.

  The thing that had been Captain Mackett stood still, waiting for me to move. I foolishly reached for the firearm not knowing if it had been discharged. I brought it up fast enough to squeeze desperately at the trigger. I was rewarded for my faith with a hellish howl and a deafening blast as the hand cannon slipped from my weakened hand from the force of the shot. The demon fled half of its face warping and twisting to retain its original shape as the bolt slammed through. I scrambled away only to come face to face with another horror. I recognized the thing from the helm of the French vessel as it tore out of the darkness beneath the deck. I slipped in my mad dash across the deck sending a jet of blood up from the puddle on the deck right in to the face of the enraged demon. It reached out in a clumsy swing ripping open a gash in my arm. It lapped at its lips and grinned in a way that belayed a sick and wicked intellect beneath the exterior of the beast as I escaped its clutches. I clambered up the stairs towards the helm, coating my hands in blood as I crawled.

  In a desperate attempt at life I grabbed the first thing I could find for protection, a still burning torch with which Mackett had no doubt been reading by. I waved the fire in front of me just as the first beast cleared the stairs. It was terrifying to watch the beasts in full light. They were not merely shapeless furry demon, they were dogs. Man sized dog demons that bayed at the fire from the torch. I waved the flame in front of me like a desperate man swings a cross against demons. I had no plan. No master scheme. I merely acted out terror and pain. I grabbed a large flask of rum that sat, all too conveniently enough on the map stand that Mackett had set up for himself. I flung the flammable liquid at the beasts and tossed the torch, a desperate maneuver of a desperate man.

  Without waiting to judge my handiwork I broke off towards the Black March again. Before climbing down the grappling ropes I examined the deck for the creature that had mauled Captain Williamson. Apparently the three that had been aboard the Crimson Wraith were all there were. I tried not to think of one laying below deck. As soon as I hit the deck I repeated actions I had seen done a hundred times before but never practiced. I dropped the sails, a mighty task alone but one I did with the fury of a man possessed and hauled up the anchor as I ran back to the helm to run about the rudder. All the while I half expected some flaming demon to drop to the deck and cut me down. My fears were unfounded. Half of the Crimson Wraith was in flames before I even got the anchor all way up.

  As I ran back to the helm I slashed off the grappling ropes with an axe that was still coated in blood. The Black March lurched away from the mighty pair of titans. The raging blaze on the deck of the Crimson Wraith cast a hellish light on the scene that will forever haunt my memories. Pulling away from the doomed giants I heard the tortured screams of the demons as the cleansing flames overtook them, the final desperate act of a desperate man, indeed. I took up an unlit candle from Captain Williamson’s helm desk and lit it, not wishing to make the trek to the bow by myself. I would spend the next two days clearing the deck of bodies and cutting apart any corpses that looke
d even half whole. The labor no-doubt drove me to further madness, but I felt the scratch of my arm burning in intensity the further away I sailed from that cursed island.

  I worked the helm steering with reckless abandon, I worked single mindedly to clear the deck. Perhaps I was working to make everything normal again, or perhaps there were darker forces at work. I felt the gash in my arm scratching and churning just beneath my skin. A strange feeling over took my being in those days and guided my movements and thought. I guessed at the time it was merely survival, but I look back now with darkened eyes. That is how I found myself here. Resting on the bow of the ship with my legs carelessly tossed over the side of the vessel waiting to arrive at my destination. Hoping my limited nautical training had served me well.

  ***

  I feel the crawling sensation under my skin. It nips and tears at my skin like a vicious animal; the feeling churns my guts like a sea thick with floundering fish. The entity whispers in my ear of safety. It tells me that I need not concern myself about my well being, that tearing in my arms and legs was natural and that the curse would protect me. I spoke not in words but thoughts that showed me that I could live a life eternal if only I kept myself and the crawling thing safe, secret and secure. I knew I could control myself, I would not, could not, become one of those fiends that I had set ablaze on the Crimson Wraith.

  The lights of the city ahead blaze with intensity to my sensitive eyes. The lights of the town make my candle look meek and insignificant. My stomach rumbles slightly at the smell of fresh bread wafting in the air. I knew that I would be safe. I could make it back to England and seek a doctor who might have a cure for the crawling thing, not that I truly wanted it gone now that it spoke to me in its kind song.  The feeling of safety crept over me. The glow of the city washes over the ship. At last I have arrived to my destination. The Black March lists lazily in to the wind and Port Royal lay ahead.