Building 8 “Something on the Deck”

“The ocean rolls and bubbles and foams. I look over the edge of the deck of the ship, all alone. I told everyone I would be back. I notice that the radio keeps crackling and crackling.

I look over the side of the deck and to the water, the waves rising and falling. The ones under the water look up at me. A male figure looks over at me. He is a black shape set stationary against the water. And he is watching me. And he is getting closer.

The waves rise and he disappears.

The wave falls and he is closer.

He whispers and calls, his wet hair matted against his face and lips. Mumbling. Mumbling. I try the radio again, and he screams. I ignore him and try it again, but it is broken.

It keeps crackling and going silent.

I try to reach help, but they won't find me. I don't even know where I am. I look back to the deck. The lights on the deck have dimmed. I look off into the storm.

The waves rise and fall.

He disappears.

Then he is on the deck of the ship. He smells of black clay under the sand. He is mumbling.

I am tired. Tired of trying to keep all this together. To keep all this together. He doesn't want me to do this alone. The sky sinks to a deeper gray, and the storm grows, the rain falling as sheets across the steel deck. The black figure stands on the deck and looks at me.

The rest of the crew have already joined him. They are under the water, looking up at me, waiting for me over the railing. They couldn't find a reason to say no.

I am forgetting. There is a picture in my hand, and I am forgetting. A woman. I don't remember why she is important. She is lovely. She is smiling. And the man on the deck keeps telling me to give him the picture, but I won't. The picture is important. I need to keep it. The storm will pass. It will pass and then I can go home. I can go back to port. I just have to wait out the storm.

There is hail now, pattering on the deck. The dark void looks at me, his little red eyes set far into his sockets.

I need the picture. He wants the picture. My mind feels distracted. I can't focus. I keep looking at the picture. It is all I have left. The only thing holding any of this together. I can't remember anything else, but I know she is important. He wouldn't want it otherwise.

I can see the storm fading. The hail has stopped. The clouds are lightening up. I just need to hold onto the photo.

But my knuckles are white. My hands are shaking.

And I am tired.”

It is late. It's another nightmare. No one is up right now except those with something wrong. Some people are working right now. It's unnatural, but they make it work.

My dad did that for years. It eventually burnt him to a crisp. He is the strongest man I know, but you look behind the eyes and you can see the years you won't get back.

Loyd went out a little while ago. He will be back soon, and hopefully without bringing back something. There is a storm outside my window in the distance. It isn't here yet. May not get here either. Been quiet the last few weeks ever since they found the body on the tracks.

I promised Margaret I wouldn't drink anymore, but I didn't say anything about smoking. Feels like it is supposed to relax me some. It does in a way, but I keep it outside.

No need to keep her thinking about it.

Loyd is back. He is wet. Seems to be just water.

The lights are on in the neighbor’s house. That man from the train with the messed-up face and his wife are sitting around the table. Marital problems probably. No one talks to their wife at the kitchen table in in the middle of the night. Not those with good news at least.

I like these new neighbors mostly. Besides tonight, they are mostly unobtrusive.

Now that damn light from the kitchen is glaring.

My head hurts.

Margaret is sleeping soundly. She started taking sleeping pills. In between my nightmares and her infrequent night terrors, it became needed. My therapist says that is just stuff coming up. Making progress often brings up some of the things that have been hidden. Guess Margaret used to have night terrors as a kid. The attack by The Surgeon triggered something. Now she takes pills to sleep.

I don't like that I am finding out that there are things about her I didn't know.

She never told me about the night terrors.

The rain finally got here.

The light in the neighbor’s kitchen is out.

We have to try hard to avoid stagnation. You would think that with all the strange things that have been going on that it would be hard for things to get stale. However, when you spend time apart and don't get much time to connect, it happens. Especially when things are wrong.

The stuff that normally gets worked out gets put to the side until things are fixed.

Her and I. We are good together. We just need to get through this. We just need to get better and remember to also not forget why we are there in the first place. We will go to a movie or something this weekend.

I'll make it happen. Something funny, I think.

Someone is knocking on the door. Who the hell would be knocking on the door at this time of night? Whoever it is they can go bother the neighbor. I don't care.

I went ahead and checked. Some guy in a hat. Looks like he is homeless. Lots of those around here. He seems to be saying something, but I keep the light off and make sure he doesn't know I am watching.

He finally stopped knocking and is leaving.

I was walking home today when a plastic bag got caught on my leg.

It is raining harder now.

Margaret talks in her sleep.