Murky Waters

Murky Waters
By: Jeff Fields McCormack

The waves were crashing against the side of the ship, the prized possession of the Captain, threatening to capsize the enormous vessel, and take all of its crew under with it. The slapping of the waves was like thunder against the woodwork of the ship. The ship was swaying back and forth like the pendulum of an old clock, sending the crew helplessly flailing from one side of the boat to the other. A few of the crew had already slipped over the sides of the great vessel, disappearing into the roaring waters that lay below. Their blood curdling screams were in- audible over the crashing of the waves against the hull of the ship.
Now, the Captain was not a man that possessed a kind heart by any means. A heavy stench of rum and soot pervaded over him, making him quite unpleasant to be around for even the shortest stint. His long, button-down overcoat had many ragged holes where moths had taken up residence, leaving patches of the coat in ruins.
Half of his teeth were rotten, moldy stumps, and the other half were like shards of glass, hanging at odd angles all throughout his mouth, without any rhyme or reason. His hair was an unruly mangled, coarse, black mop sat atop his balding head.
His lower left leg was missing from the knee down. In its place stood an old, wooden table leg, secured into place with long, sharp, wooden stakes, which had been driven deep into the meat of his upper leg. The peg upon which he now rested had many small holes all throughout it, where a multitude of termites had a great interest in taking up lodging in.
His right hand was cut off in a duel that he and another member of his crew had gotten into some years back; the latter of the two not living to tell the tale. In the place of his long since coagulated bloody stump of a hand rested a crescent shaped hook, which gleamed at the very point, shining some of the many moonbeams cast on the sailors back to their creator.
The crew feared and hated the Captain, silently wishing him dead after their every move. The only reason they did not retaliate was his inhuman, brute strength, matched only by his superior size. His muscles bulged from his many harsh years manning the wheel. He was a formidable foe when faced himself, due to his size, but add in his fierce temper, and few could bear to stand a mere conversation with the monstrosity of a man without quaking in fear. He constantly demoted and oppressed his crew, but on this one night in particular, upon which this storm rolled in, he drew the last straw with his crew.
A particularly hearty wave came cascading from the ocean and rocked it feverishly, as if there were some large, invisible baby on board, and the ship was its cradle.
The Captain retired to his quarters to attempt to give his ears a rest from the constant pounding that they were receiving from the storm, and to give him a chance to think about how to keep his ship afloat, at any and all costs that he deemed necessary.
Finally, with a grim look on his face, he called out in his deep, guttural voice, “Throw off the weak amongst us, men. We have too much weight.”
Though a fierce storm was billowing all around them, every member of the crew heard his astounding proclamation of how he wished his crew to act to save the ship and his miserable, selfish self. It was as if the Captain’s voice had frozen the storm where it stood for just long enough for the crew to hear him, as if his thunderous voice scared even the storm that was raging around them.

At this the crew had finally put up with all that they could endure. They refused to sacrifice their friends and family just for the well being of their captain.When the Captain had returned to his study, to make sure that they were going according to their charter path, the crew all huddled into a close circle and discussed what their next move would be.
“Get back to work, men! I expect to see half of you bobbing in the ocean when I come out!” he thundered at his crew in a warning, and shot his pistol at one of the crew members through a porthole, killing him on the spot. “Now, unless you all want to end up like him, I suggest you pick a few of your filthy bodies to throw overboard, before I shoot each and every one of you!” he continued in a gruff tone, making it clear that this was no boast, and daring anyone to attempt to quarrel with him, or challenge this threat.
The crew stood in stunned silence, gaping down at the body of their fallen comrade. A pool of blood was starting to creep out from all sides of where he lay, face down, his nose bent slightly as it was being pressed against the sodden wood of the deck. The first mate rolled his limp body over, and, after yelling many horrid curses at the wind, slipped his hands over the face of his fallen friend and shut his eyes, which were left gaping open in fear and shock.The first mate and another crew member then picked up their deceased and tossed him overboard, which was followed by a silent prayer shared by all of the crew that he would go onto a better place than that from which he had departed.
The storm was raging on at a feverish pace now, and gave the crew barely enough time to crawl up off the deck from the force of one wave before another was driven into the ship’s side, which was now weakening due to all of the impact the storm had placed upon it. The waves kept crashing against the ship, knocking the poor crew men trapped aboard from side to side as if they were rag dolls. On many occasions, when hurled against the side of the vessel, these men would hear a sickening “snap” or “crack”, followed by astounding pain in the area that had made contact with the ship.
In all the chaos and mayhem that pursued this storm, someone had left the large metal trapdoor that covers the hull open. This person had been trying to get a lantern to see by, but to no avail. All that they could see by was the sporadic streaks of lightning which temporarily illuminated the sky, and that which lay below it. It was almost as if the heavens had a strobe light behind the clouds, and were flicking it on and off for their amusement.
The Captain, very perturbed at the fact that his men, minus the one he had wasted a ball bearing on himself, were all on deck, and were directly disobeying his orders. “These scoundrels will learn the hard way to never mess with the Captain of a ship,” he muttered under his breath, inaudible to all others but him due to the violent clashing of thunder overhead.
He ran in the direction of his first mate, oh so eager to give him a piece of his mind, when the edge of his boot caught in the grate of the trapdoor, and sent him reeling forward, falling face first into a soggy pile of ropes, which stuck to his body. After extracting himself from the tangled mess, he attempted to stand once more.
To his utmost worst possible luck, at the exact moment at which he had decided it safe to stand, for he had falsely thought he had seen a slight break in the storm, a tremendous wave crashed into the opposite side of the ship, sending a resounding “crack” reverberating all throughout the ship.
The force of this wave made the Captain loose his footing, slip on the wet surface of the deck, and tumble over the edge of the ship. In the fall, he smashed his side terribly, and he felt as if his rib cage had been shattered on one side, which it very well may have been.
If not for the curved lip on the edge of the ship to grab onto, the Captain would have fallen to a watery grave, and that would have been the end of him. However, since there was a lip on the ship for him to grab onto, he was saved from drowning in this way. He screamed and screamed, first demanding that his crew help him, then finally begging, as if he were a little child at a store begging his mother for a toy.
He reached his one good hand, with fingers, over the edge, in an attempt to slip over, and back onto the safety of the ship’s cold, wet deck. But, to his horror, as his fingers slid over the side, groping for anything to grab onto that he could pull himself back on, a large, rough leather boot came down on top of them. The dark brown boot, soaked through with the liquid of the storm, made the Captain’s grip that much weaker.
As he moved his gaze slowly upward, he noticed long, black pants, followed by a tan, button up long sleeve shirt, and then he recognized the familiar face of his first mate. “Please, help me up now like a good lad. You have aided me in the piloting of this vessel for several years. Surely you can lend a hand to your pal and help him aboard, to keep him from drowning in the horrid waters below our ship.” If he was trying to flatter his first mate, it was not working at all in his favor. If anything, he was making him more agitated by the minute.
“You evil scumbag. First you murder my own brother for not sacrificing his friends to comply to your fiendish orders, and now you want me to save you? Are you really that stupid? Honestly, after dealing with your rubbish for all these years, I thought you came across as someone who had more sense than that. Well, I guess I was wrong,” he said with a mock tone of surprise.
To the Captain’s utmost horror, his first mate pulled out a pistol from his pocket, which was followed by a powder horn that he pulled out of his shirt. Once he poured the powder into the gun, he slipped a ball bearing down the barrel that he had kept in his pocket. Having kept all of these items stowed away in his clothes made sure that they could fire when and if needed.
“You bet I will help you, you evil, scheming monster! I will help you go right down to spend Eternity with the Devil, where corrupt people like you deserve to go.” With this he cocked back the hammer, and, with a cruel grin, and a madman’s glare that seemed to be acting like an enamel over his bright auburn eyes, pulled the trigger.
The Captain saw a bright flash of smoke and fire, and then a small, dirty, metallic ball planted itself firmly between his eyes. His grip loosened and his eyes went wide, then glazed over. The last thing that he saw before he was killed was his first mate’s angry face, the face which exactly matched the face of the man which he himself had murdered less than an hour ago.
The Captain fell for several feet before plunging to a watery grave.
The crew sailed on without looking for him, most likely glad to be rid of the tyrant, and to the day, the Captain still lurks in the murky waters where he was so violently slain, eternally waiting for his crew to return.