The Ladies of Horror
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Preserved  
by Kendra Smart  

Scritch.  Scrritch. Scritch. 

The same noise. 

He had heard it for months now, that same noise, always accompanied by the night. 

There, behind the deteriorating but life left in them wooden hinged doors. Somewhere down there in the lower part of the ship, was something yearning for freedom the way he longed for land. 

He knew the other sailors aboard were as aware as he, they whispered about it in small groups. 

But even being aware and possibly even as curious as he, they followed the Captain’s order with an iron fist. 

No one was to go below decks. Not for any reason. The doors were to remain barred and locked for the whole of the voyage.

The voyage had seemed simple. Transport of market goods across the sea from one port to another. A half to three quarters of a year in exchange for more than fair wage. 

Enough for him to prove to his love that he was in fact worth her time, her hand. That he could provide, if her heart could wait. 

And he had been sincere. He genuinely had not expected the trip to tear away at his sanity in such ferocity. 

But every night of this voyage, something odd occurred. Never the same but always a feat that raised the hairs on his arms and made his flesh crawl while his senses became hyper aware. 

One night, not even two weeks after The Clarity of Dawn had set her sails and left port, a young boy had a grievous accident. Known for his ability to climb and maneuver on the many ropes and pulleys, suddenly lost his balance and his life. 

It was the first of many odd deaths and yet he could only remember being present for a few of the sea burials. 

Looking over the misshapen burlap bag that stripped any bit of humanity that was left to the person inside. The heaving had taken five men just to lift the dead weight, and it had not felt like any body he had ever laid his hands on. 

The rocks were for drag, so the bodies didn’t float on the surface but were quickened in their journey down to the locker. But he had felt only rocks in his hands. 

Night after night, it became incessant. 

Scritch.  Scrritch. Scritch. 

How long would they have before whatever was down there broke through? 

A knife through the eye from pure unfortunate bad luck. Drowning because you were caught in the ropes by an ankle and under the boat wasn’t willing to let you go. That man had come back shredded from sea life. 

Each time his hand had met with worn burlap and the weight and jagged sharpness of the wrapped rocks. Each time he mused on the weight he bore. 

Because the weight just didn’t feel heavy enough. 

But he stayed silent, not wanting to become one of those who faced the odd and unusual. He had something to go home to. And that thought had held him to the mast, had kept him steady in the drift.  

Especially when the voyage just kept going and land was something remembered in dreams and walking flights of fantasy. Three months had been the promise to get to their port but days had turned to weeks, and then those weeks became a month. 

The men had started to slowly outcry as excuses of storms and poor navigating began to falter. These were strong hearty men yes, but these were not necessarily sea faring men. There was no dedication to the wheel, no staying of the course. They, like he, were here to provide for their families. 

He would day in and day out do the tasks required of him, and night by night he would hear the growing resentment and discord. Attempts at slumber were always met with the same end. 

Scritch.  Scrritch. Scritch. 

Over the months he had almost become numb to the sounds, able to grasp longer and longer moments of sleep where he was not disturbed. But whatever made the sounds seemed to grasp his tolerance and grew closer. The sounds growing louder. 

One night he could take it no more. It was as though the scratching and scrapping were in his ear canals and the warm blood seeping from his ears made him wonder for more than a moment if he had been wrong. 

He had to know, and had to stop the sound. He ran to the hinged door and pulled at the chains with all his might. The doors groaned in their denial of his strength. Even with the wear and tear of time they held fast in their endeavor to not open. 

The doors may have been solid but he heard the metal holding the hinges giving with each hard pull of his full weight. The chains clanked and he could hear the men yelling at him to stop but a few more pulls revealed what had been hidden in the darkness. The candlelight gave illumination as his stomach rolled. 

Hanging in neat rows were his crewmates, and with each glance between retches and gasps for breath he saw the bones…clean of meat. 

The turn around to face the Captain and crew was far worse though, they looked not horrified as one would expect but hungry and their next meal was laid before them. 

Fiction © Copyright Kendra Smart
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

More from author Kendra Smart:

Just Emotions:
A Gothic Bite Magazine Anthology

A collection of poetry.

‘Just Emotions‘ is exactly as it states, a group of writers who had feelings they wanted to express in poem form. Inside, there are a range of emotions to explore. Each writer has given a bit of themselves to you, each in their own way.

We hope that you enjoy these writings and that among the poems you may find some thing you can identify with or relate to. Thank you for giving us this chance to open the catacombs and share with you.

Available on Amazon!