"An Encounter at Sea" by Z.K. Sanderson
An Encounter at Sea
by Z.K. Sanderson
The sea is rough, and I hold onto the handrail for dear life. I’m trying to make my way to the smoking room but am making little progress against the ship’s incessant rolling. It’s a good thing I’m not hungry; I don’t think I could eat anything. My stomach has been churning since before I boarded the RMS Berengaria three days ago.
Leaving New York and sailing past the Statue of Liberty, I felt a weight lift. The hustle and bustle of the city, and the scene of my crime, slowly faded as we leisurely made our way out to the open ocean. Too bad the Berengaria started her famous roll soon after.
Even so, I still can’t believe I’m here aboard one of the most opulent ocean liners ever built. And in First Class no less! The old lady’s money has certainly been helpful, and I’m thankful to her for that. And by the time the authorities find out, I shall be across the Atlantic living it up in London or Paris until her money runs out.
This last time, though, was different. As she looked at me with silent, pleading eyes, I felt something new: remorse. Even after all the previous times. But what choice did I have by that point?
To paraphrase the Bard, who would have thought the old woman to have had so much blood in her? It made me retch.
Finally making my way to the smoking room, I settle down in a plush armchair and breathe deeply. I pull out a cigar, light it, and look around. Although now a British ship, the room’s decor belies its origins as the German liner Imperator before the war. The heavy wood timbers make me think: should I go to Munich instead?
My thoughts are interrupted when a man wearing a black suit and round, horn-rimmed glasses takes the chair beside me. Although annoyed by this presumptuousness, I keep my manners and temper in check as he sits.
“Pardon the interruption,” he politely says while pulling a cigarette out from a blood red case. It has a gold sigil on it that I cannot recognize. “I saw you sitting here and thought that you might want some company.”
“How thoughtful,” I say, trying to hide my annoyance. “But I’m really quite fine being alone with my thoughts.”
“Yet you look troubled,” he says with a measure of concern. “I’m pretty perceptive about these things. And I don’t think it’s seasickness either.”
“I’m fine,” I say flatly after a pause. I was starting to feel uneasy around the stranger.
“Are you?” Taking a drag of his cigarette, he leans in close to me. An acrid stench suddenly fills my nostrils. “You’re not at all troubled by what you did to that old woman?”
The color instantly drained from my face. How did he know?
“No, I’m not a detective,” the man said, seemingly reading my thoughts. “Nor am I here to blackmail you. I’m simply here to deliver a message.”
“W-what’s that?” I croak.
“Just that you’re never going to hurt another innocent person again. Your unfettered reign of terror is coming to an end, Lyle Stanley.”
“How do you know my name?” I demand hotly, my spirit finally coming back. The man smiles crookedly, and says nothing as he stubs out his cigarette and stands up. Turning to leave, he chuckles to himself. It’s a rich, low, and deeply unsettling laugh. I shiver involuntarily and toss my half-finished cigar onto the dish. He walks away smoothly, as if unaffected by the Berengaria’s roll.
Thoroughly unnerved by my experience in the smoking room, I instantly make my way back to my C Deck cabin. The ship feels like she’s trying to knock me off my feet, which only heightens my agitation and uneasiness.
Back at my cabin, I lock the door and decide to turn in. As I’m getting undressed, I’m thinking about the stranger and shivering fiercely. While buttoning my silk pajamas, I notice the mirror and freeze. The reflection shows me as I am, but there’s another figure standing there too.
The old lady. But that was impossible!
“A-Alice?” I stammer.
Smiling malevolently, another woman appears beside her. Then another. And another. I turn and look behind me, but I’m quite alone in my well-appointed stateroom. When I turn back around, the old women are still there. Their faces, however, have changed into twisted versions of themselves. Skin is melting off as they taunt me in a macabre chorus.
I want to turn away, but am unable to stop staring at them. Their ghastly faces laugh at my horror. Then the cabin lights go out, and I scream as I lose consciousness.
I wake up outside, covered in blood. It feels like my gut has been sliced open. Exactly like I did to Alice and the others.
I have no idea how much time has passed, but the sky is still dark as I gaze up at the moonless expanse. It’s freezing cold on deck and I feel weak and groggy. I try to move, but find that I’m unable to. It feels like I’m frozen to the spot; I’m only able to move my eyes. I try to call for help but nothing comes out.
I hear heavy footsteps to my right.
“Lyle Stanley,” a voice says. The stranger from the smoking room crouches down beside me, “your time has come.” That acrid stench has returned, and it overpowers my senses.
Silently pleading to him with my eyes, he laughs that unsettling laugh again. The man easily lifts me up with one hand and holds me over the ship’s railing. I hear the churning sea and hum of engines quite clearly; I must be right above the Berengeria’s fast-turning propellers.
He lets go. And I fall into the deep, black abyss.