hull.
I force my eyes open, and the swaying sensation stops immediately. The banging, too. Turning, I look across the dark kitchen, and suddenly the overwhelming sense of quiet in the apartment feels as if it’s growing, as if it’s going to be broken at any moment by… something. I take a step forward, feeling the hairs on the back of my neck starting to stand up. I don’t know how I know, but I know something’s about to happen. I look around the dark kitchen, trying to work out what’s causing the sense of panic that’s gripping my chest, making it hard to breathe, but there’s nothing that stands out. Looking toward the shadows in the far corner, I wait to see if I’ll see her again. She comes sometimes, late at night, and watches me. As I continue to stare, I realize I can see the faintest outline of a human shape in the darkness.
A child.
The longer I stare, the more visible she becomes, and I can hear the worms and other parasites chewing through her body until -
Suddenly I turn as my phone starts ringing. Looking over at the counter, I realize I must have left it here when I went to bed, and now it’s buzzing as the screen lights up, flashing slowly in the darkness. I step over, and somehow I know – before I even see the name – who’s trying to get hold of me. I look back at the corner, but there’s no sign of the girl now, so I glance back down at the phone.
It’s 1:05am.
Mark Phillips is calling.
I haven’t heard from Mark Phillips in a long, long time.
Reaching down, I pick up the phone and hold it for a moment, watching as it rings and vibrates. I briefly consider not answering, as a chill runs up my spine, but I know that I can’t ignore something like this.
Mark wouldn’t call me.
Not at 1:05am.
Not unless something was wrong.
Tapping the screen, I raise the phone to my right ear and immediately hear what sounds like a storm on the other end of the line.
“Sophie?” he asks suddenly, his voice filled with urgency.
I open my mouth to reply, but no words come out.
“Sophie?” he asks again. “Are you there?”
“Yeah,” I stammer. “Hi.”
“I’m sorry to call you so late,” he continues, “but I need you.”
I frown. “Uh -”
“Have you seen the news?”
“What?” My mind feels foggy, as if I can barely concentrate.
“The news, Sophie!” He sounds frustrated. “Have you seen the news?”
“Uh, no. Why?”
“Turn it on. Any channel.”
“But -” I pause for a moment, hearing someone shouting on the other end of the line. Realizing that something’s wrong, I hurry over to the kitchen table and open my laptop, quickly bringing up a browser and checking the BBC news feed. My fingers are trembling as I grab the mouse, clicking on a couple of links before -
Suddenly I see it.
In white letters, against a red background:
Live: Emergency Rescue Operation Off Cornish Coast.
I freeze for a moment as I look at a video feed, already starting to load up.
“Sophie?” Mark shouts over the phone. “Are you still there?”
“I’m here,” I reply, trying to switch into the emergency mode that used to help me through crises. I scroll down the page to find text updates. “What am I looking at?”
“You know what you’re looking at.”
“No,” I reply, “honestly, I -”
Stopping suddenly, I realize he can only mean one thing.
“I think it’s the ferry,” he continues.
I open my mouth to reply, but fear has strained my chest so hard, I don’t think I can even speak.
“Sophie? Are you still there?”
“Yeah,” I whisper, staring at the screen.
“There’s a hell of a storm building here,” he continues, “and I know this is going to sound crazy, but I think somehow the ferry got caught out in the worst of it. It’s almost tipped over a couple of times already, and the waves are getting stronger.”
I nod.
“Sophie?”
“Yeah,” I say again.
“We agreed I’d call you if it ever showed up again,” he adds.
I nod.
Silence
I force my eyes open, and the swaying sensation stops immediately. The banging, too. Turning, I look across the dark kitchen, and suddenly the overwhelming sense of quiet in the apartment feels as if it’s growing, as if it’s going to be broken at any moment by… something. I take a step forward, feeling the hairs on the back of my neck starting to stand up. I don’t know how I know, but I know something’s about to happen. I look around the dark kitchen, trying to work out what’s causing the sense of panic that’s gripping my chest, making it hard to breathe, but there’s nothing that stands out. Looking toward the shadows in the far corner, I wait to see if I’ll see her again. She comes sometimes, late at night, and watches me. As I continue to stare, I realize I can see the faintest outline of a human shape in the darkness.
A child.
The longer I stare, the more visible she becomes, and I can hear the worms and other parasites chewing through her body until -
Suddenly I turn as my phone starts ringing. Looking over at the counter, I realize I must have left it here when I went to bed, and now it’s buzzing as the screen lights up, flashing slowly in the darkness. I step over, and somehow I know – before I even see the name – who’s trying to get hold of me. I look back at the corner, but there’s no sign of the girl now, so I glance back down at the phone.
It’s 1:05am.
Mark Phillips is calling.
I haven’t heard from Mark Phillips in a long, long time.
Reaching down, I pick up the phone and hold it for a moment, watching as it rings and vibrates. I briefly consider not answering, as a chill runs up my spine, but I know that I can’t ignore something like this.
Mark wouldn’t call me.
Not at 1:05am.
Not unless something was wrong.
Tapping the screen, I raise the phone to my right ear and immediately hear what sounds like a storm on the other end of the line.
“Sophie?” he asks suddenly, his voice filled with urgency.
I open my mouth to reply, but no words come out.
“Sophie?” he asks again. “Are you there?”
“Yeah,” I stammer. “Hi.”
“I’m sorry to call you so late,” he continues, “but I need you.”
I frown. “Uh -”
“Have you seen the news?”
“What?” My mind feels foggy, as if I can barely concentrate.
“The news, Sophie!” He sounds frustrated. “Have you seen the news?”
“Uh, no. Why?”
“Turn it on. Any channel.”
“But -” I pause for a moment, hearing someone shouting on the other end of the line. Realizing that something’s wrong, I hurry over to the kitchen table and open my laptop, quickly bringing up a browser and checking the BBC news feed. My fingers are trembling as I grab the mouse, clicking on a couple of links before -
Suddenly I see it.
In white letters, against a red background:
Live: Emergency Rescue Operation Off Cornish Coast.
I freeze for a moment as I look at a video feed, already starting to load up.
“Sophie?” Mark shouts over the phone. “Are you still there?”
“I’m here,” I reply, trying to switch into the emergency mode that used to help me through crises. I scroll down the page to find text updates. “What am I looking at?”
“You know what you’re looking at.”
“No,” I reply, “honestly, I -”
Stopping suddenly, I realize he can only mean one thing.
“I think it’s the ferry,” he continues.
I open my mouth to reply, but fear has strained my chest so hard, I don’t think I can even speak.
“Sophie? Are you still there?”
“Yeah,” I whisper, staring at the screen.
“There’s a hell of a storm building here,” he continues, “and I know this is going to sound crazy, but I think somehow the ferry got caught out in the worst of it. It’s almost tipped over a couple of times already, and the waves are getting stronger.”
I nod.
“Sophie?”
“Yeah,” I say again.
“We agreed I’d call you if it ever showed up again,” he adds.
I nod.
Silence
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