yessleep

Long ago, I used to love the sea. My father was a longshoreman, and everyday he would be down at the docks loading and unloading ships. He would come home each night smelling of brine and sea salt. He’d take off his cap, kick off his muddy boats, and spin us tales from the sea.

He’d bellow out stories of serpents and mermaids, of storms and perilous seas. Of pirates, and treasure. But the thing I always loved the most, were the songs. Every night he would sing us a song the sailors would sing. Songs of home, of deep blue water, of ghosts and legends. I would dream of the sea and it’s bountiful splendors.

But one day, father came home and refused to sing, or even speak of the sea. He sat in his chair, his eyes distant with a hint of fear in them. My siblings and I were startled, as we had never seen this side of my father. He gripped his mug so tightly, his knuckles were white and I thought the wood would splinter. Since that day he got worse and worse.

He grew quieter, until he didn’t speak at all. His body grew thinner and paler, his eyes sunken and shallow. He was a husk, and he sat in the center of our living room every night. Then one day, he didn’t come back at all.

Mother said there had been an accident, but by the look in her eyes I could tell she was more trying to convince herself of this instead of us. At night I could hear her sobbing from her bed, gripping one of fathers old coats. At my young age I wasn’t sure what to think, but I knew what I felt. Rage.

Rage at whatever it was that took my father from me. Anger at all the silence and side glances. Frustration at all the pity our neighbors sent our way. I was young, and naive, a deadly combination.

All I had to go on were the docks. That’s the only place my father would be other than home, so it was the only place that could have changed him. While my mother forbade us from wandering too far out of sight, I had to see for myself what could have possibly happened to my father.

I snuck out during the night, knowing I’d only have so much time to investigate. The light from the moon was bright, casting away the shadows of the night. But in some cases, it enhanced them. Long spindly shadows reached out to me as I walked the quiet streets. I clutched the strap of my satchel, wringing it in my hands as my eyes darted from right to left.

The town was silent, almost barren. It was as if all the people had left and left nothing but empty buildings and ghosts behind. I swallowed my fear, and pressed on towards the harbor.

I heard the sound of the sea before I saw it. Crashing and whispering on the rocks. In my mind’s eye I imagined a beautiful blue, glistening in the moonlight. White fluffy foam caressing the rocks. Stars twinkling high above, guiding sailors to safer shores.

What awaited me was a scene from a nightmare. The water was murky, almost black. The foam looked green, and was full of seaweed and dead fish. A fog hung so densely around me, the stars were impossible to see. I pinched my nose to try to keep the scent of dead fish and mold at bay, but I could taste it. I stifled a gag, taking a small step onto the wet, sagging wood of the dock.

The sight of the dock bashed all the childhood dreams of wonder my father had instilled in me. I had dreamed of mermaids and crystal blue sea, but all that sat before me was decay and dark water.

I started my walk along the docks, my footsteps echoing down below me. I was sure where to begin, I could barely even see my hand in front of my face. Moaning and creaking of wood echoed around me, and vague silhouettes of towering ships rocked just out of view. I could walk off the side of the pier, and have no clue until I felt the freezing cold water.

This place… this dark and horrible place, was where my father went to work everyday. He got up, came here, and still managed to come home and tell us such magical tales of this awful place. My love of the sea… my love of water and stories…. My love of songs all started to wilt. Then I heard it.

I stopped in my tracks when I first noticed it. A sharp pang of fear pierced my heart, and I frantically looked for a place to hide. There was a man’s voice, speaking and growing louder. I could make out his heavy footsteps as he approached, and a faint eerie yellow light swayed in the fog. I took a step back, then another, and bumped into a large wooden crate. I quickly went to hide behind it, and saw there was just a sliver of dock left to sit on, before it ended and dark water splashed below. As quickly and carefully as I could, I slipped behind the box and squatted down.

The sound of the voice grew closer, and the light from his lantern crept closer and closer to where I hid. I covered my mouth with my hands, stifling a cry as my left foot slipped on the wet wood and almost sent me falling to my death. I could make out now what the man was saying. Instead of speaking though, he was singing.

His voice was deep and wet, almost like a drowned man with lungs full of water. He walked slowly, jerking his way forward, causing the lantern in his hand to sway sharply from side to side. The light from it threatened to expose me, but would pull back at just the last second. I wanted to cover my ears, shield myself from the cursed voice that came from his lips, but I couldn’t. I was frozen in fear, and forced to listen to his song.

“Day by day, year by year, I can never leave.

Although it calls, I cannot answer, for I am trapped here.

Here I walk, here I stay, while the sailors sail away.

The Dock needs a master, and that master is me.

I shall never, ever be free.

To those that hear, my haunting song, you too are cursed to always long.

Long for the sea, long for the waves,

Long to see the day.

The night is endless, and the water deep

So to those that listen, forever weep.”

I could feel tears rolling down my cheeks, and urine running down my legs. A deep primal fear was taking over my body, and my mind fought over running or hiding. My breath was harsh and loud, and I could hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears. Suddenly the song stopped. Everything was quiet, all I could hear were the crashing waves, and my frantic heart. The light of the lantern was gone, and the fog swirled in the silver moonlight. Slowly I looked up from the rotten boards.

Above my head, peering over the wooden crate, was a face that will forever haunt me. The skin was gray and splotchy, swollen with sea water. It had a large unkempt beard that appeared black in the dim light. Small crabs, and crustaceans I had never seen before scitter in and out of the wild hair, crawling over the dead skin and plucking bits of flesh with their pincers and claws. The face… had no eyes. Black sockets stared blankly at me. Gray goo seeped from the sockets, pouring down its cheeks. A bandana held together by strands of fabric was tied around its head, concealing any hair it might have had. The left ear was gone, and I gagged as a long centipede like creature crawled out of the hole where the ear should have been.

“Child, do you hear the call?” As it spoke, water poured from its mouth and splattered across my face. The smell was rancid, and congealed muck matted into my hair. Suddenly a long gray arm grabbed the back of my shirt and yanked me upwards. My feet dangled and kicked wildly, before the thing set me down on my feet beside it. Now standing on the dock, the thought of escape flashed through my mind. Until I realized it was still holding onto my shoulder.

In its other hand was a crooked lantern, hardly in the state to give off any light. It was smashed in the center, as if someone had stomped on it as hard as they could. The metal was bent and rusty, barely holding together. Inside a dull yellow light flickered, but there was no candle.

“Are you listening to me?!” The thing screamed, sinking its blackened nails into my shoulder. I cried out in pain, fresh tears coming to my eyes. “Do. You. Hear. The. Call?” It said through rotten teeth. The smell coming from its mouth was that of death and sea water. My throat was clenched shut, so all I could do was shake my head violently. The thing seemed to relax, and let go of its grip on me.

As soon as it’s hand dropped away from me, I was running. I heard no sound of pursuit, but on I ran. Through the dense fog, through the empty streets, up the hill, and straight through the door to my home. My mother sat by the fire, awake and knitting shakily. As soon as I burst through the door she threw down her needles and swept me into her arms. She caressed my head against her chest, enveloping me in her warmth. I wrapped my arms around her, sobbing into her chest.

I had seen what my father had, only I got away. I am still haunted by that night, and every night since I’ve heard his song. It calls me, but I refuse to go. The sea is a cursed place, and sings to those who listen. But there are some who will not, or cannot answer. I am old now, and my will is weakening. Soon I will not be able to resist. The only question is, will it let me go or will I be forced to stay? Listening to its song forever and always.