Chapter 38

Elsewhere

He was nothing. He was nowhere. Until he opened his eyes.

The sky above was dark, dotted with faint stars that were strangers to him. He had spent his life learning the stars while aboard ships, yet these ones were new, their patterns strange and unsettling.

The air, thick with a stale yet calming scent, filled his lungs and left a lingering unease as it was an aroma he could not place—a scent he had never encountered. As he lay on his back, he noticed the soft splash of water against his ear and felt it around him with his fingers. He expected the sea to be deep, but it was shallow, only reaching his ankles.

Rising to his feet, Carrack looked around. The water stretched out to the horizon, with no end in sight. The whole of it was illuminated by a lingering twilight from an unseen source beyond the horizon.

Carrack wobbled as he found his footing, his mind grappling with the reality of solid ground beneath him, even as water stretched endlessly around. He slid his foot across the surface, searching for dips that might betray deeper waters, but found none. Taking a hesitant step forward, he braced for a fall that never came, his mind dominated by the fear of sinking.

Carrack’s thoughts turned to his whereabouts, the last memory before awakening here being a vivid recollection of lights. Could they have been responsible for his transport to this place? Doubts of his location surfaced—was this an afterlife, or some realm in between? A sharp pain clenched his head as he dwelled on his arrival, a sensation that eased when he ceased to chase these thoughts. But returned when he started to think about it again, and then receded when he stopped.

With a sigh of resignation, Carrack released his pent-up frustration in a single gesture, his hands flinging wide as if to cast away his confusion. “All right,” he muttered, a wry twist to his voice acknowledging the absurdity of his predicament, “just don’t dwell on it. Focus on what’s next.” He glanced around the barren world. “Well, what is next?”

Staying still wasn’t what he wanted to do, so he picked a direction and started walking. Slow to start with careful steps soon turned into a normal pace, wading his way as best as he could through the water toward the horizon.

As time stretched on, Carrack’s steps through the shallow waters became the sole sound in the stillness, each splash resonating in the quiet. Doubt shadowed his mind, while fatigue weighed on his limbs, slowing his pace to a laborious shuffle. Breathing in the odd air made him ever more conscious of his disconnection from this place. He also noticed something else—a peculiar sensation in the air, like the touch of a breeze where no wind blew.

This invisible presence flowed gently around him, ebbing, and weaving with a subtle force. At times, Carrack found himself halting when it intensified, though it was never painful or uncomfortable. What could this be?, he wondered in silent contemplation.

The passage of time felt elusive to Carrack, its measure lost in this place. In search of answers, he drew out his pocket watch. But the sight that met his eyes defied all reason—the minute hand was retreating in its journey, dragging the other hands in its wake. Was time itself reversing? The thought unsettled him, but before he could ponder further, the invisible current began to stir, intensifying around him and with it, the watch hands whirled forward.

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His eyes widened, fixed on the watch, as he tuned into the ebb and flow of the unseen force. It seemed, impossibly, that with every shift of the current, the watch responded, its hands swaying like a flag in the breeze.

“Am I … touching time?” Carrack whispered, fingers tentatively reaching into the air. “What is this place?”

His question hung unanswered, soon overtaken by a soft tune that drifted to him, the clear notes of a violin. The sound tugged at his attention, leading his gaze to a hazy outline in the distance, shimmering like a heat mirage but shaped like an island. The wet squelch in his boots and the raw sensation on his waterlogged feet gave him all the reason he needed to head toward the promise of solid ground.

Carrack stepped onto the island, which felt land beneath his feet, a welcome change from the water. The ground was spongy, a marshland with soft earth and tall reeds waving gently. Ahead, lush trees in full leaf formed a gateway to a dark, ancient forest. Though the landscape seemed known to him, doubt lingered. This doubt vanished as he spun around to find that the endless sea had transformed into a wide, dark green river, its banks clear on either side.

The air was alive with the usual sounds of nature—birds calling and water rushing—yet the violin melody threaded through the cacophony. It carried a tune Carrack knew well—“The Saints of Evermore”, a piece he had often played himself. But the melody twisted into something grotesque, the notes slowing, warping off-key into a screech that grated on his ears.

He scanned the shoreline for the musician behind this disturbing rendition. His search abruptly ceased when a dark shape appeared at the edge of his vision on the river. Then, a sickeningly familiar smell hit him, and he turned to face the riverside strewn with blackened figures. They were bodies—swollen, disfigured, bloodied, their faces obliterated by decay.

Struck dumb, Carrack couldn’t muster a word as a scream swelled within him, pressure mounting behind his eyes and skull. He stood frozen, witnessing more horrors unfold, the dissonant melody now burrowing mercilessly into his mind. The putrid stench of decay mingled with the acrid bite of smoke, stinging his nostrils.

Then, a riverboat carcass drifted into view, its frame consumed by flames. As he watched, the fire seemed to intensify, its glow searing into his retinas. Yet, he couldn’t tear his gaze away. Amidst the blaze, haunting silhouettes stood aboard the vessel, eerily still and unaffected by the inferno that enveloped them.

The figures’ stares were like daggers, their piercing gazes locking onto Carrack with an intensity that felt almost physical. He shuddered, the weight of their eyes compelling him to avert his own. Turning to the land for escape, he was instead met with the ghastly sight of wraith-like forms, distorted echoes of people enacting scenes of unspeakable horror upon one another.

Screams mingled with the sound of slashing, the echo of gunshots, and the indescribable noise of other atrocities, all underscored by the relentless, discordant screeching of the violin. The melody continued, undisturbed by the chaos it accompanied.

Carrack tried to flee, but the earth held fast, sucking him down like quicksand. Panic seized him, logic lost in the futile struggle for freedom. His cries for help were strangely dampened, as if the very air swallowed the sound. The ground claimed him to his waist, a sensation of countless hands dragging him further into its grasp.

A specter emerged, its presence ominous, in its hand a long, blade-like object. It towered over him, postured in an eerie stance that sent a wave of cold dread through Carrack. A twisted smile seemed to play across the specter’s face. With a swift arc, the figure brought the blade down towardsCarrack’s head. As the edge met its mark, a scream tore from Carrack’s throat, a scream that pierced the silence before darkness consumed everything.