The Monster Man of Horror House (18 page)

There
was nothing left of me. Nothing but pain, but I hung onto the chains as they
dragged me through the waters and implored myself to move. If I stayed where I
was, I would’ve probably passed out after another few minutes and dropped into
the big sleep without ever realising it, but I’d come too far for that.

Not
here. Not like this. I’d simply been through too much to chuck it in now, so I
started to climb.

Now
I won’t pretend it was easy. And I won’t pretend the black fins in the water
behind the boat gave me an added incentive, but working hand over fist and cursing
the Almighty every inch of the way, I managed to drag myself up out of the
water and up the chain’s links.

It
sounds impossible I know, particularly from the position I’d found myself in, but
youth, fear and a precious toehold can sometimes be enough. Of course, irony had
played her part, as I would later discover, but I gave it little thought at the
time.

After
the most energy-sapping hour of my life, I finally reached the winch arm and looped
a leg around it. A few deep breaths and I slid down the arm until I crashed
into the deck. I landed on my shattered ankle, and this, combined with the inhuman
expectations placed upon my body put paid to me where I fell.

*

The sun crystallised the salt against my skin to burn what was left of me to a
frazzle. It might have even finished me off had a bank of high clouds not blown
in from the south to shield me while I slept. But typical of this voyage, these
clouds were far from benign and during the course of the afternoon they blew in
a squall to buffet the
Folly
and
shake me from my slumber.

I
awoke to decks awash with rain and great waves sailing past our rails on either
side, throwing the bow sideways against their peaks and troughs.
 

I
hauled myself to my feet, testing my weight on my game ankle and finding to my
surprise that it held – though it let me know all about it and no
mistake. The
Folly
was floundering
out of kilter, pitching ever more starboard as huge grey rollers turned her
around on her keel and the weather was only getting worse.

I
dragged myself towards the Bridge, clinging onto the rails for support, and clambered
up the steps on all fours, eventually righting myself against the Captain’s
wheel. The front windscreen was gone, and the rain lashed in to make my job
more difficult, if that was possible. I’d not steered a ship before, not even a
pedalo, so I had no idea what I was doing. I knew you had to steer into the
waves in order not to capsize but I wasn’t sure how to do this. I turned the
wheel, but nothing happened; the bow ignored my requests and continued to take its
orders from the seas.

I
figured we needed more power to match the force of the waves, but none of the
switches seemed to make a jot of difference. The
Folly
had chucked in the towel even if I hadn’t.

At
that moment a rolling wall of water crashed across our bow from the portside,
swamping our decks and threatening to push us to the bottom. The wave continued
along the ship, smashing through every porthole and funnel and almost knocking
me back out the way I’d crawled in, but I held on with grim determination and
eventually saw the bow surge up through the surf once more.

The
next wave wasn’t so massive, but it still threatened to fill our pockets with
seawater if I didn’t get us moving, so I crunched dials and threw levers, but the
chug-chug-chug of our engines was no more, in its place only the roars of Mother
Nature and the crunch of steel on steel. The
Folly
was dead in the water.

Another
wave knocked us sideways, sending us careening into a second roller that swamped
us from starboard. The deck disappeared beneath all this water and I waited to
taste the torrents, but once again we came through it, rising to coast the next
few peaks and floundering into the beyond.

I’m
sure the Captain would’ve said they didn’t build them like they used to but the
truth was I had a hand in my own salvation. See, by barricading the hatches as
I had, hardly any water made it below, so no matter what we crashed through
during the storm, we always rose up again to crash straight through the next,
like a cork in the surf.

I
hung on to the wheel, throwing it this way and that even though it did no good,
but heartened by the endeavour anyway. In fact, I was just starting to allow
myself the extravagance of confidence when an almighty crash to the stern once
again snatched all hope from me.

The
aft mast came down.

It
was the obvious weak point and was washed from the decks by fast-moving wave that
ripped across our stern. But worst was yet to come. The cables that spanned the
two masts refused to break, so the forward mast bent towards the sea and
tumbled over the side when the next wave sheered it from our decks.

My
sanctuaries were gone.

I
stared at the decks and at where they’d used to be as I tried to take in what
this meant, but it was too much. My last hopes were gone. Now even if I
survived the storm, I would not be able to survive the night, not now I was
within Khan’s reach. This was a disaster, the worst thing that could’ve
happened bar finding out that there was an eternal After Life – and that
this was it.

I
was sunk.

I
couldn’t tell the time, the skies were too black for that, but I figured we had
only an hour or two of daylight left.

But
what to do?

What
could I do?

I
was all in, dead in all but name and once more thrown to the wolves – or
moreover, the wolf. I simply couldn’t see a way out.

But
then it occurred to me. There was one way out and it was my last and only
option.

I
had to kill Khan. And I had to kill him now.

xii

The storm was still wailing, though we’d come through the worst of it, with the
waves now dropping back below the railings. The damage to the
Folly
had been considerable, with half
of the containers washed out to sea and two of the remaining life rafts smashed
beyond repair. There was now only one left, although even this one had its
shortcomings, being that it was stacked full of rotting arms and legs. I
couldn’t understand how this had happened but then it struck me.

Khan
was packing to leave.

The
little sneak had decided his time on this ship was at an end, so he was fleeing
the scene of his crimes in the hope of making land or chancing upon another
vessel.

We’d
come full circle.

His
putrefying picnic was intended to sustain him for a few days adrift, and
anything he didn’t eat he could simply pitch overboard at the first sign of stack
smoke. It was perfect.

I
wondered how many ships he’d got through so far. And how many more there would
be to come. It was then that another thought struck me.

Khan
didn’t know I was back onboard.
 

He
couldn’t. He’d seen me jump from the porthole and could’ve only drawn the
obvious conclusion because he wouldn’t be bugging out if he knew he was leaving
me behind to tell tales. He must’ve missed me climbing back up the winch
chains. It was an understandable mistake, but a mistake all the same and it
handed me gilt-edged opportunity. Working quickly, I hobbled to the maintenance
shed, grabbed a crank brace and returned to drill three small holes in the
bottom of Khan’s life raft. I stuffed these with oily rags and concealed them
with his cargo, then I put everything back as it was before slipping away to
hide. If all went to plan, Khan would put to sea and get a hundred yards from
the
Folly
before he realised his
socks were getting soggy. But by this time it would be too late; he’d be too
far from the ship and suddenly up to his neck in open ocean. And in these
infested waters, you really didn’t want to find yourself thrashing away
alongside sixty pounds of assorted fresh meat.

I
chuckled to celebrate this unexpected good fortune, only to go and spoil things
when I slammed face-first into Khan as he was leaving the Shelter Deck with the
Boatswain’s torso under his arm. Khan rubbed his head and vented his
frustrations, barking a chorus of “bings” and “bongs” at me to damn me for my
persistence.

“You
said it, corky,” was all I could reply, hurling the crank brace into his face
and racing to find something to kill him with.

Khan
fled over the Boatswain’s chest and back into the ship. I hurried on after him,
collecting a fire axe and swinging it at his back whenever I got close enough.

Which
was surprisingly often. Khan seemed to be as invalided as I. I guess he had the
ability to soak up everything you could throw at him at night, but his body
still had to pay the price the next day. Not the ultimate price though. Nothing
he sustained seemed to threaten his mortal coil, but he still looked as though
he could use a night off.

“I’m
gonna kill you!” I screamed, launching myself down the steps and after Khan as
he ran into the shadows. Most of the lights below had shorted out, but a couple
of emergency reds had come on to turn everything a sickly monochrome.

I
swung the axe as Khan ducked into the boiler house, only to knock myself
sideways with a blast of steam as I hacked through one of the cooling ducts.
 

Khan
seized the opportunity to grab a crowbar off the wall and flung it against my
rotten ankle. I howled with despair as pain ripped me to the DNA, but somehow I
found the strength to respond, thrusting the axe head into his face to knock out
the last of his smile.

Khan
cried with anguish. He wasn’t used to fighting at close quarters in his scrawny
state and he clearly didn’t like it. He could feel pain. He could feel fear. And
he could be flattened by anyone bigger than the ship’s cat. He really wasn’t a
day sort of person.

I
pushed myself to my feet with the axe and thrust it at Khan’s chest but he
tumbled out of the way at the last moment and scrambled towards the air vent on
the far bulkhead. If he made it I’d have no chance of following him and I’d
lose him to the ship once more. And that couldn’t happen. Not now that he’d
seen me alive.

I
went to swipe him off the wall, but the axe was embedded in the deck and I had
no strength to pull it free. Khan saw his chance and looped both arms into the conduit
and kicked his legs to wriggle inside.

He
was getting away! My last hope was slipping from my clutches.

I
leapt at his trailing leg and just managed to snag a foot, pulling him part of
the way back, just as he’d tried to do with me only hours earlier. But Khan
grabbed something inside the conduit to stop me from dragging him out and we
ended up hanging there in deadlock, him half in the pipe, me half on top of
him.

What
could I do? I couldn’t bite him as he’d bitten me. I couldn’t savage him and
eat him and squeeze him out in a great big sticky mess as he had a mind to do
to me later, so what could I do?

If
I’d had a gun I could’ve popped him nice and clean. Bang, job done. Or a knife,
I could’ve cut open his belly. But I had neither of these things. Just an axe I
could no longer lift and a rapidly failing grip. So I reached for the one
weapon that was still within my reach and slammed it into the small of his back
with all of my might.

My
crowbar.

I
stabbed it in point-first, driving it through Khan with everything I had until the
clank of steel on steel told me I’d run him through.

Khan
screamed like a steam whistle, flailing and lashing out at me in as I stirred
the bar into his back, but this was the moment I’d dreamed of and I’d show him as
much mercy as he’d shown my pals. Thick black blood splattered my arms and face
and ran down the walls to leave us both writhing in a slick of gore, but Khan would
not succumb. I gave the bar another sharp yank and was eventually rewarded with
the crack of his spine as it split in two. Khan’s legs fell limp, but his wailing
continued and I was just wondering what I had to do to kill the bastard when a
carpet of bristles burst out along the length and breadth of his body to
complicate matters.

xiii

I let go of the crowbar and stumbled towards the hatch as Khan sprouted out all
over. I’d seen this happen before and as mesmeric as it was, I had no one else
with me to soak up the claws so I doubled back towards the top decks as fast as
my injuries would allow.

I
heard Khan crash and smash his way out of the now tightly fitting conduit, and
land with a thump on the boiler deck. He roared a catalogue of savage promises
after me but I dared not look back; I simply staggered on in confusion and
terror until I realised I’d taken a wrong turning.

I
was in the Engine Room.

This
was a calamity because unlike the boiler room there was no way out of the
engine room. No second hatches. No air vents. No portholes or trap doors
– just one hatch in and one hatch out. If I was truly determined, I could
climb into the diesel tanks and feed myself through the carb’s to be blown out of
the stack as exhaust smoke but this was truly the only way out.