Day 12 at Sea: The Arrival
The lay of the land and a whispered warning
Paranormal Dinner Club is a work of fiction told in dispatches from the Invisible Man’s brother as he explores a mysterious and deadly island.
New to the project? You can find a Table of Contents here.
Brother,
The island has been sighted.
A wonder.
How it has eluded explorers for so long off the coast of Africa is still a mystery.
I know you are eager for details. Few have seen this and left again.
The morning sun shines gloriously upon it, and the coast is bare and bright with swirling mist hanging over the island and an enormous peak rising high above it.
Imagine a watch face. We are positioned at 6:00, furthest south, where there is a horseshoe-shaped bay and where they’ve built a serviceable dock. Yet the approach is slow because the entrance of the bay is treacherous.
Then to the west side of the island are a series of sharp cliff faces. The water there is rough and impassable and approach from that side apparently results in certain death. In the north, the cliff face rises even further into a craggy mountain point, looking like a fist thrust into the air from the sea floor. Its peak, at noon on the watch face, is wreathed perpetually in mist—yet we can see it rising in a fragile mix of fearful size and majesty. Then to the east at 3:00 there are beaches, yet not the white beaches of a holiday at sea. They are black beaches of volcanic rock with reefs and sandbars extending from there.
From what we understand from our guide, the island is roughly also split in two. Imagine a pear shape. The bottom half of the pear is the more explored region, but the further north you go the more treacherous it becomes. When you arrive at the upper and narrower half of the pear as you move north, there is a mountainous region where mist and rainfall are almost constant.
And yet with each description of the island, our guide lets slip that there are dangers here.
— “Of course, we are quite safe in the south where the Lodge is, at least until dark of course.”
— “The beaches in the east are beautiful, to be sure, but not at all suitable for a larger settlement due to…various….environmental conditions.”
— “The cliffs to the west have little scientific value and any efforts made there so far have resulted in…limited data…”
But he did let one interesting thing slip, saying, “There are of course adequate scientific facilities for your needs in fact some of the most advanced instruments are below —”
And here he was cut off by the strong hand of the huge bearded enforcer being laid forcefully on his shoulder. He recovered saying, “Of course below…below…below the standards of the your laboratories in Europe. This is only an island outpost after all.” And he finished with uncomfortable laugh.
I’ve decided that the only way to form any conclusions about this place is to see it with my own eyes.
And yes, I am checking and re-checking my equipment’s security. It never leaves my cabin. It is checked and re-packed methodically each evening.
We made it through the bay and are preparing to dock. A smiling porter in a smart white linen suit is standing on the dock waving us in. A dozen porters stand at attention on the docks, wearing cream-colored clothing with pleated pants and matching short-sleeved shirts. The process is slow and careful, and the captain tell us it must be this way for there are sharp rocks lurking just underneath the surface of the pristine bay.
There were only three other ships here in the bay—a larger vessel which apparently is the main vessel of our host. A smaller ship. And then a small cargo ship.
Every other port I’ve ever sailed into has been accompanied by the furious sounds of dockworkers calling and responding, the clatter of carts, the squawk of seagulls, the crank of gears.
Yet, this place seems as silent as a grave. A mood of quiet awe has overtaken the ship’s company as we sail in.
It was only in the recent silence that I heard banging from the captain’s quarters. It sounded like muffled yelling. The “guest” we’d picked up from the shipwreck had not been heard from, but I guessed that he could now see the land from the small windows in the captain’s quarters just like the rest of us. And rather than elated, he sounded distressed.
Very odd. I had assumed that after a day or two of recovery that we’d see him on the deck, but he’d remained in the captain’s quarters the entire time. Was he still mad and being restrained? Perhaps it was for his own good.
I wandered closer to the captain’s cabin only to find the Viking enforcer’s suddenly in front of me. He put his finger to his lips with a menacing smile.
“Say nothing to distress the others. He suffers from a fever. The best doctors will care for him on the island,” he said.
“Of course,” I said feeling his grip. Trying to lighten the mood I said, “I’m sure you’ll be happy to have the ship back to yourself soon.”
“Oh no,” he said with a smile, “I’m coming with you. I was merely assigned here for the…safety…of the passengers on the voyage. My employer wanted to assure all arrived without incident.”
Then released me and walked away.
Well, the docking is complete. The sun is shining. The trees near the beach moving softly in the breeze. The water of the bay gleams brightly.
But I can’t help but wonder what may lie below the surface.
Paranormal Dinner Club is a work of fiction in process with help from readers. Comment with a suggestion, an idea, or a question. Know anyone who would like this project? Forward it along to them.