The spirit of the sailor

The one thing Paul couldn’t stand was lateness. He considered lateness to be the absolute pinnacle of disrespect. On this particular occasion it was Scott Jefferson, the night watchman of the Hunters Point Maritime Museum that had incurred the wrath of Paul.

Paul paced agitatedly in circles around the tiny security room. Every now and again he would anxiously scan the many CCTV screens that covered an entire wall of the room. At last he spotted Scott casually strolling through the front gates, sipping a coffee like he had all the time in the world. Paul stood watching the door waiting for Scott to stroll in. His face, a picture of displeasure.

“Where the hell have you been!” He shouted as Scott opened the door; causing him to spill coffee down his front in surprise.

“You’re nearly an hour late and I have to pick my mother up from the airport in ten minutes. That’s an hours drive from here you selfish bastard!”

Scott rubbed at his coffee stained shirt and mumbled, “Sorry, I didn’t realise.”

“Forget it, I don’t want to hear it,” said Paul trying to get his jacket on and get out of the door. “We’ll discuss it tomorrow. I have to get out of here.”

Paul thrust his arms into his jacket, grabbed his bag off the table and ran out of the door, slamming it behind him.

Scott watched him leave on the security monitors, feeling slightly annoyed about the burning sensation on his chest and stomach. The room was quiet now. As was the rest of the museum, just the way he liked it.

This was the perfect job for Scott. He had never been the motivated type and dropped out of high school at fifteen. He was now twenty five and more than a little overweight with a greasy complexion and greasy black hair. Too many days spent eating junk food and playing his beloved video games had seen to that. Exactly the way he planned to spend tonight.

The reason this job suited Scott so well was because he spent his work time doing what he would have been doing at home anyway. Generally eating potato chips and playing his hand held video games.

Hunters Point Maritime Museum had not seen an act of vandalism or theft since the day it was built and would probably stay that way. The town itself was just too small and sleepy for anything beyond the occasional drunk driver for the local police to deal with.

Situated on the south west coast of England overlooking the sea, Hunters Point was the very stereotype of an English fishing village. Most of the townsfolk were retired and those that weren’t were either fishermen or small shopkeepers. A very small population of young adults ensured the place stayed quiet and for the most part, people liked it that way.

Shortly after Paul had left, Scott stood down at the main gate. He pulled the huge iron gates closed and fastened the collection of large padlocks. The museum had never needed any more than this as protection.

He turned to face the old museum. It was not large, Just a square, two storey building made of old brick. There was a stone pillar on each side of the door with a triangle archway above them. In the middle of the triangle was a small alcove containing the statue of a boy sailor. He wore a blue sailor’s uniform and a tri corner hat. Whoever sculpted the statue obviously thought he wasn’t a happy sailor as they had given him a rather menacing facial expression.

Scott looked up at the statue as he came towards the front entrance. “What the hell are you looking at blue boy,” said Scott. He had never liked the statue. There was something about it that just gave him the creeps. The statue carried on staring out towards the front gate and the harbour.

Once inside the building Scott did his usual rounds of checking the fire escapes and locking all the outside doors and windows. This never took more than ten minutes. The museum was relatively small and only contained one main room accessible to the public. The ground floor was one big square room with a central staircase that led up to a landing that circled the interior of the building. This housed various pieces of maritime memorabilia and information boards. A small door led off the corner of the landing into a short corridor which housed the security room and toilets
Scott meandered back to the security room. No need to hurry, he had all night and it wasn’t like anyone was around to discourage his slacking attitude. He slumped down into his revolving chair and reached for the oversized bag of cheese puffs on the desk.

As he was eating and daydreaming happily away he had been staring at the security monitors. Nothing unusual going on, there never was, until something caught his eye that he hadn’t noticed before. The alcove that contained the statue of the sailor was empty!

Scott jumped upright in his seat and stared in disbelief. Could it be that the museum had actually had something stolen? In the entire time he had been working at the place he had barely even seen any customers come in. The occasional school trip or group of tourists was about as exciting as it got.

“For god’s sake, why tonight?” said Scott as he struggled to find his flashlight in the mess of his locker. “Why did they have to pick tonight? All I want is to be left alone in peace. It’s bad enough that I have to work while every other sane person is sleeping.”

He eventually found what he was looking for and checked the batteries. Still working, bit of  a surprise seeing as he couldn’t  remember using it in his whole employment there.

“Let’s go and find out what’s going on with these idiots, probably a bunch of kids playing a prank or something.”

He left the security room and followed the corridor out on to the balcony. He stood at the top of the central staircase and shone his flashlight down into the museum proper. The beam shone over the glass cases and information boards. He hovered for a while over the decorative ships wheel above the front entrance before having a final sweep round the room.

He headed over to the front doorway. “If anyone is there, I don’t think this is funny,” he shouted into the enveloping darkness as he reached for the light-switch. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing but the police won’t be happy if I have to drag them out in the middle of the night.”

He leaned out of the doorway into the chill night air. The wind was sweeping in off the harbour giving the air a salty twang. It looked like a storm was brewing. The wind was picking up and Scott could hear the sound of boats in the harbour knocking together like oversized coconut shells as they jostled for position on the waves.
A sudden thud caused Scott to whirl around frantically, dropping his flashlight in the process and shattering the bulb. The main chandelier was swaying from side to side like a pendulum, the shadows rocking back and forth in its disturbed luminescence. The ships wheel from above the door was lying in the open doorway.

He moved forward cautiously and bent down to pick up the wheel. “I’d better keep this door shut that wind must be getting strong.”

As he reached down there was a noise like the sound of a playful child running to hide. An ethereal giggle echoed ever so faintly around the deserted museum sending an icy shiver down Scott’s spine.

“What the hell was that?” He said, glancing around anxiously for the source of the ghostly sounds.

He raised his voice now, shouting somewhat nervously into the room. “Who’s there? Come on now, this isn’t funny any more. If you don’t stop fooling around I’m going to have to call the police.”

He was visibly shaking now. He had not relished the thought of having to face a group of vandals but this was freaking him out. He had not signed up for ghostly happenings of a maritime persuasion, or any other variety for that matter.

There was that running sound again. Like some mischievous child in a game of hide and seek. It came from the balcony this time. He glanced upwards.
There was an expression of sadness on the face of the boy sailor as he stood at the head of the stairs gazing down at Scott. He looked as real as any young boy, despite the fact that not ten minutes ago he had been made of stone.
The boy raised a hand and pointed at the wheel at Scott’s feet. Scott’s mouth went dry. He could literally taste the fear, he felt his heart was going a hundred miles an hour.

“Mine,” said the boy in a ghostly whisper that seemed to travel directly into Scott’s head rather than to his ears.

Scott was frozen to the spot, his bowels felt as though they would void themselves at any moment. He tried to respond but all that came out was a croaking sound from the back of his throat.

The boy continued to stare at Scott. “Mine,” he repeated, a look of confusion now on his face, as though he could not understand why Scott did not respond.
The boy began to descend the stairs. Scott could not move. He was absolutely paralysed with fear. The ghost of the sailor grasped hold of the ships wheel in Scott’s hands and stared straight into his eyes.

“Wh…wha… what do you want?” Scott finally managed to stammer.
The boy said nothing. He simply stared into Scott’s eyes, a look of relief on his ghostly visage.

The two of them stood in silence. A few minutes passed before the image of the boy began to fade and become nothing more than a scattering of dust motes in the light from the overhead chandelier. Scott looked down at the space where the boy had been and then at the wheel in his hands.

He suddenly realised that the wheel was also fading from existence but more shocking was the fact that his hands were fading with it! He tried to drop the wheel in fright to try and stop the process but it had already gone. He held his hands up to his face as they disappeared followed swiftly by his arms.

“No…wh..what’s happening? This can’t be real!” He staggered backwards, unsure if he should run or scream. His arms had gone; the rest of his body was fading fast. He could feel himself start to slip out of existence.

“No….no….help!” He managed to stutter before he too was nothing more than a swirl of dust as the air came in to occupy the space he had once filled.
There was one last sound in the silence of the deserted museum. The sound of a male child giggling gleefully.

“Mine,” said the voice in the silence with an air of satisfaction.

In the main hall, the wind continued to hammer against the building, battering the boats in the harbour and causing the front door to sway on its hinges. A single broken flashlight lay in the middle of the floor, rolling in the wind.

The statue of the sailor stood in the archway above the door staring out to sea as he always had and always would.

THE END