Within my head the doubts were increasing, my anxiety was rising. I was moving from the town I grew up in and experienced so much, to a city by the ocean which I barely knew. I loved the ocean that is true, and the job was enticing, I was hired as an investigative journalist by the top newspaper in the region. I had some success before this move, as a soldier and after as an editor, for I studied english and literature before the war. Now even after being hardened by life quiet a bit, I still had this unexplainable anxiety. I’ve always had anxiety, but when ever changes came it got worse. It effected not just my mind, but my whole body as well. My thoughts were chaotic, I constantly imagined failure as an outcome. I had no idea how to combat this crazy feeling. Praying inside a church helped me sometimes, so I did before finally driving out in my car. Most of my belongings were coming by train, I only took a few things in the car, very important objects. Like my guns for instance.
Most of the drive up north was by the coast and time to time I stopped and got out to look at the cliffs and the waves. I found myself looking over my shoulder at each stop, thinking that someone might rob me. There it was again, the expectation of the worst outcome.
The fact that I was able to drive all the way up without imagining myself in a car crash was a miracle within itself, for usually I couldn’t drive for more than an hour without that thought popping up in my head.
It was a city split up in four major parts. I know that sounds funny, because you’d assume that it’s the basic directions, but actually it was layered. The port and harbor were the more gloomy and dangerous parts, that area was called Dreamport. Then it was followed by a section of apartments and townhomes called Midtown, followed by so called city center where my new job at the newspaper was located, also museums, town hall, police station and hospital. The top part of town consisted of manors and larger homes, where the rich lived, was called Lancewood. When I entered the Eagle Chronicle, the newspaper building, the first person who approached me was a pretty, short, dark skinned woman. She spoke softly and calmly and knew exactly what she wanted. Her name was Marylin and she was my new boss. Marylin filled me in on the details about the city parts and said that she had a job for me already. A famous jazz musician, Been, was admitted to the cities’ asylum and she wanted me to see if he’d talk to me and tell me what happened. I of course agreed, I had to make a good first impression and in fact I went to the asylum right after situating in my small apartment right on the border of Dreamport and Midtown.
The asylum was located on the east edge of Midtown, right next to the water. It was quiet easy to find for it was a tall dull white building. I showed my new professional ID inside and the doctor allowed me to meet with this jazz musician, Been.
Been was an older african american man, I never heard his music, but I have heard of him, some people that I knew even said they’ve seen him perform.
He sat there at a corner table with a gloomy look on his face, but by no means he looked crazy. As I sat down at the table with him he was very pleasant and polite. I asked him if he could tell me why he was taken here and to my shock his answer was that he wanted to be taken here. To be safe from “him”. I asked who he was referring to and he said the boatman. As he mentioned the boatman his eyes got big and he began to shake, I didn’t want to cause any more distress, but had to ask where this boatman was, he simply said that I’d find him at Dreamport harbor and that I wont mistake him for anyone if I see him. Then he completely broke down, it seemed he wanted to tell me more, but couldn’t.
It was getting late and I headed to my apartment. On my walk back my heart couldn’t help but ache for the poor talented man. I thought of what this boatman could have done to scare him so much. Perhaps it was a codename for a gang leader. Either way, I had to get sleep before doing anything further. Just before my new place I saw a typical eatery and went in. It was white and red with tall round bar stools. I sat on one of those and ordered a coffee with some sausage and bread. The eager owner, Frank, mountain of a man, gladly to served me, I was the only one inside.
I rather enjoyed my simple meal and thanked Frank before heading out, he gave me a simple advice and that was to not go out much in these parts at night, unless I had a gun. I was grateful for this tip and grateful for owning guns. I figured it would be a while before I could afford to upgrade my living space higher up the city.
I had a small balcony and despite imagining worst possibilities, like someone shooting at me at night, I still went out and sat there before bed. It was rather quiet. Here and there I could hear a stray cat or a dog. I saw a few filthy rats run across the street barely illuminated by a small street light. Further down the road the light of the eatery was still on. I wondered if it was always open. I expected more activity, but the lack of it was a good thing and I began to relax, as my eyelids got heavy I realized that it was time to sleep. I went inside and laid in my hard bed with short sheets. I knew what was the first thing I was going to buy when I reported back and got my payment.
In the morning I was obviously stiff. Previous night Frank told me about a market near by and I went there to get a few products, on the way I stopped by the Frank’s eatery to get a coffee and a waffle, he was gone, to no surprise, but his daughter, a lovely brunette, took over the morning shift. I made some small talk with her and then hurried to the market. After buying some dried foods and cans I brought them back to the apartment.
It was time to go to the Dreamport harbor and look for the boatman mentioned by jazz musician Been. The day was somewhat sunny, which I figured was a rarity for this city, most of the people’s faces showed almost an offense at how bright it was, although it was just average amount of sunlight. I smiled watching the gloomy people, somehow it made me feel better about myself.
The streets at Dreamport were not properly aligned, their structure was crooked and at times I’d run into a dead end. I figures this made Dreamport even more dangerous at night, if one had to escape from danger. After much frustration I finally reached the harbor, which was actually well guarded and beautifully decorated. To my wild surprise I saw crowds of tourists there! Balloons, kids, families, pony carriage rides. This wasn’t a horrific place I pictured after speaking to Been. As far as boatmen, well there were dozens of small ships, large ships and row boats that someone could pay for. I had my hands full to say the least. As I walked along the water and observed, none of them looked scary or menacing, one sailor had a large scar on his face, but when approached, he was very friendly, obviously wanting to make money. I didn’t have much, but I gave him some cash in exchange for information. He told me about other boatmen around there, said that few had past criminal records and the most popular one was named Peter, who only used a row boat, but somehow always had customers.
I went to see this Peter and he was easily spotted. A tall, handsome blonde young man, he wore a nice dark blue suit and a large brim fedora of same color. He smiled as I approached and revealed a row of perfectly white teeth. His english was perfect, so were his manners. It was no surprise that he was most popular here. I figured I could get some good information from him and went ahead and paid for a boat ride with him. He welcomed me to his slightly larger than average rowboat with soft seats and took the rowing positing. We immediately departed. My first question was silly, I asked him if he was ever worried about large waves, or waves from other ships. He said that on this side waters were always calm and still and that he rowed in a different direction of the larger ships. He also told me that harbor was active at night as well and that some people took customers and went out into ocean with lamps and candles. Sometimes customers wanted to stargaze, which was a great attraction according to him.
While talking with Peter I lost track of time and when I looked back the harbor was far away. I could see an island in the distance as well. Peter noticed my gaze and told me that it’s called the Unlucky Island. As I asked why, he said that a serial killed left bodies there and that the case was never resolved. He said it with absolute calmness and a hint of nostalgia, which made me uncomfortable. He noticed and laughed, Peter proceeded to joke that he could shake or tip his boat in a way that customers could fall and apparently there were sharks in these waters. I forced a smile, but the joke made me even more uneasy and nervous, I was already imagining the worst outcome, him feeding me to the sharks, or killing me and stacking my body on the island.
Peter’s smil was gone and he was very serious, then he proceeded to tell me that he could read customer’s minds. I laughed and asked him to tell me what I was thinking of, he said I was imagining him killing me and dumping my body on the island. I froze and fear took hold of my body. He laughed hysterically and told me that it was a joke and that he could tell by my expressions and staring at the island what I was thinking, but this did not ease me out of my horror. Peter proceeded to turn around and on the way back he told me his experiences during the war. He talked about how the enemies would put kids and women in front line and thats who they had to shoot first to get to the soldiers. I made no mention to him about me ever being at war, but I found it strange that he talked about the experience that traumatized me the most during my time there.
Upon my arrival back at the harbor I got away from Peter as fast as my nervous and stressed body could carry me. I was certain this guy was a psychopath, but was he the one I was really looking for? I wasn’t sure.
Nevertheless, I went back to the Eagle Chronicle and told Marylin details of my chat with Frank, then I proceeded to tell her of crazy boatman, but told her that I wont use the name, she was fine with it and very pleased with my work. I was paid a good sum of money, she said I could take a few days off, but since I clearly had the right skillset, she wanted me on a recent missing people’s case and gave me the file.
Things were moving fast for me in this city and after I had dinner, I sat in my crummy apartment with a lamp and read the files. By the look of it, most missing people were singles, either city dwellers or tourists. Half were reported last seen at the Dreamport harbor. This did not warm my heart as my mind straight away shifted to Peter, but I had to be professional and tell myself that there could be other possibilities.
I decided to ask a few witnesses or better to say people who saw the victims last. This time I had my revolver under my coat. The first eyewitness was an older married couple, their neighbor, a middle aged single man went missing. They last saw him in the tourist part of the harbor closer to nighttime, eating on a bench. This wasn’t all that helpful, neither were few other witnesses. I spent the whole day asking questions, but did not get the answers I hoped for, it was time to go the route that I should have started with, the police station.
Upon arrival, a cranky officer stared at me and was annoyed when I told him I was from the newspaper. He said they always made the police look bad and I apologized and assured him that I will make sure to have a good mention of him. This seemed to work as he found the papers I needed. I asked if any of the victims were found dead later, and he said no. Then I followed by asking if he thought that this was the same serial killer that dumped bodies on the island. He looked at me funny and said there have never been such a case and that someone pranked me. My blood chilled since as usual I pictured worse case scenario, Peter was a serial killer and gave me a hint. Either that was true, or he made a disturbing joke, either way I had to know.
Closer to nighttime I rented a small rowboat, I didn’t want to go out during bright time for I could be easily spotted. I rowed to the small island in the cover of darkness. The waters were calm and the sky was clear, I loved the view of the stars, but I had to focus on the task at hand.
I hid my boat in the bushes and creeped through the tiny island, trying to make no sound, then I heard something on the other side, it sounded like a short muffled scream. I crutched down and hid in the bushes as I peeked out to look upon the beach.
I will never forget what I saw next, illuminated by the moonlight on the sand lay a dead body of a young woman. Above it stood a tall creature with tentacles coming from the ribs and arms. It slowly turned and looked into my direction. It was Peter. I backed up, crawled out of the bush and out of sigh. As I did that I heard him laughing loudly. I ran, tripping, falling, and moving in a panicky and frantic way, yet I made it to my boat and pushed it out into the water. I began to row with all of my might, as I distanced myself from the island I could see his boat still on the sand, unmoved. I continued to row with a bit of relief, but then I heard a noise and something pumped the boat from below. Again in horror I began to row like a madman, with every drop of my strength, the island was becoming smaller as I knew I was nearing the harbor and then two tentacles emerged from the water and wrapped around the front of the boat. I was screaming for help, but no one was around. Peter’s head emerged next. His mouth was stretched out and filled with rows of needlelike teeth. He laughed and lunged at me. I was able to shoot my revolver just in time hitting his chest area and he back up, but then raised his head and let out a horrifying sound which I cannot describe. The port was near and being a good swimmer I jumped and swam to the closest docked boat. I climbed on top of it as I heard sounds in the water behind me, but I ran without looking back, I ran all the way to Frank’s eatery.
Once inside, I sat shaking and constantly looking at the door. Frank made a joke about me falling in a puddle and brought me coffee, I asked him to keep it coming, I did not intend to sleep that night.
In the morning I was jittery and not feeling like myself, but I walked to the police station and told them that there was evidence of wrongdoing on the island and that boatman Peter was the culprit. I did not mention that he transformed, for I’d be joining Been at the asylum if I did so. Police were skeptical as it was, but went there with me. They found skeletons and body parts. The handsome boatman and public’s favorite, Peter, was nowhere to be found and his apartment was empty.
The case made me popular and I got a promotion. I was able to move to the better part of town and thankfully further from the Dreamport harbor. However I did still visit Frank’s eatery time to time.
Last night I was walking back from work in the dark and behind me I heard a laugh that was eerily familiar, I quickly turned, but no one was there. I ran to my townhome and once inside I stood by the window peeking out and shaking in fear.
I wasn’t going to have peace after all
.