The Island: Chapter 1

My name is William Bennet. What I am going to tell you will sound absurd, but as you listen, please remember that I have sworn to reveal nothing but the truth. I am a man of my word, this I can assure you, and I need you to know what really happened, no matter the cost.

***

I hadn’t had a job in months, but that all changed when I was offered this job. The opportunity fell into my lap, really, and it seemed simple enough. It had been a while since I had sailed, but I was confident that I could make this trip. 

The job was simple. We would start from a port in New York City and head South to a port in Washington. I was told it was roughly a two-day trip, but I wasn’t told what the job entailed until I arrived in New York. 

I was instructed to go directly to the docks where I would meet the crew and receive the cargo, but nothing could prepare me for what awaited me there.

The ship was called the Silent Siren. It was a triple-masted tall ship with three sails per mast. It was rather large—maybe a 35 or 40 footer—but only required a small crew for such a short trip. I was told I would have three mates and three corrections officers to oversee our cargo. Yes, our cargo was a person—a prisoner who was meant to be transported from a small jail in upstate New York to the Old Capitol Prison in Washington, D.C. I wasn’t told his backstory, and I did not know about his crime, but the officers assured me I had nothing to worry about. 

There were two decks on the Siren—the main deck and a lower, residential deck. A portion of the lower deck was made up of the captain’s quarters and the main cabin. The other part was a cell that was secured with an iron door. The COs would monitor the cell while the crew and I manned the ship. Although I wasn’t aware of these terms until I reached New York, I decided to take the job. At that point in my life, I had nothing to lose. 

After I met the crew, I set the men to work, and we shoved off the port. The deck was a circus with the hustle and bustle of the crew members. They traveled back and forth performing various jobs. The first and second mates raised the sails; they pulled the sheet and tied it down at the base of the central mast. Then, they pulled in the anchor and retrieved the mooring lines. Finally, the men placed their boots on the tall bitts and pushed off with all their might. 

As soon as the sail caught wind, we picked up speed and entered the grey Atlantic. 

The first mate’s name was Gregory Welsh. He was a hard-working man who had been a crewmate all his life. When I shook his hand, I could feel the calluses on his palms and his rough knuckles. But his personality was much gentler. He was a comedian at heart, but he was confident and steadfast at the wheel, and I instantly trusted him. 

I walked along the deck and surveyed the crew as they worked. The two deckhands moved the sail to match the constantly changing direction of the wind. They adjusted the boom, which moved the sail into the wild current and muscled their way against the wind to secure it. The three COs stood beside the stairs and nodded as I passed. All was in order, and I thought that perhaps my luck was changing. But the sea was unrelenting. 

The waves were wild and knocked against the sides of the ship. Each time we hit a crest, the Siren flew through the air and landed with a harsh bump that nearly sent us off our feet. 

It was early February, and the air was cold and cruel. The wind burned our skin and dried our eyes. It sent the sea spray through our hair and onto the deck, and the moisture that gathered on the wood crystallized into little pearls of ice. 

As I walked past the mast, I nodded in approval to the crewmates. 

“Mind your step,” one of them said. 

I looked beneath me and saw that I was standing on a grate. The sun cast shadows through the square holes and onto the lower floor, but it was too dark to see the monster held within. 

I stepped back to the safety of the planks. 

“Don’t want to provoke him,” the mate advised. 

“Of course. Thank you,” I said and continued. 

I heard the clang of the block against the mast as the wind howled in my ears. 

I had only walked a few steps when there was a loud thump and the release of the sail lines. The men lost the line in the wind, and as it slackened, it fell onto the deck. Then, we heard a loud grunt.  

“What in the world?” I asked. 

“Captain, it came from the lower deck,” observed the mate. 

The head CO stood up, and the other officers followed suit. 

“Wait!” I yelled. “Let me come with you.”

“But Captain, it’s dangerous!” one of the officers exclaimed. 

I shook my head. “This is my ship.” 

The head officer nodded.

I followed him down to the lower deck, and the other officers stayed close behind. 

He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked back. “Are you sure, Captain?” 

I nodded, and he turned back around. He slid the key into the lock, and we heard the click of the mechanism releasing. He pushed the door open and walked in. 

Moments after entering the room, the CO paused, and I almost walked into him. He was a large man, so tall that he had to duck beneath the ceiling.

I moved beside him, and I saw it.

The other officers asked, “What’s going on? Sir?”

The head officer didn’t answer, and he didn’t bother to move. 

The other officers peeked out from behind us. The room wasn’t wide enough for us all, but it was impossible to miss what lay ahead. 

Once the main officer recovered from his shock, he approached it. He crouched beside the central mast and surveyed the scene with one hand over his mouth. 

I stayed where I was, and yet, I couldn’t look away. 

The body hung limp against the mast, and the line from the deck above was strung around the neck. The skin was blue from affixation. The mouth was agape and let loose a lolling tongue. But worst of all were the eyes; they protruded from the sockets. They were bloodshot and eerily alive as they stared at the floor. 

The CO followed the dead man’s gaze to a spot on the ground, and the officer’s eyes widened. “You’d better take a look,” he said to no one in particular. 

The other officers came at once, but I stayed put. 

“Captain?” he asked. 

“Yes, I’m coming,” I said, but it took my legs a moment to move. 

I joined the officers but turned my back on the body—even though the image was already welded to my eyes. 

The head officer stood up. “Does this mean anything to you?” he asked, and I followed his gaze. 

Two words had been scrawled into the wooden floor: ‘the island.’

The officers awaited my answer. 

“No, I’m afraid I don’t know.” 

The head officer nodded. “Very well.”

“What now, sir?” another officer asked. “Should we turn back?” 

“We’ll continue as planned. When we arrive in D.C., we’ll just have to make a report, and this ship will be investigated as a crime scene,” the head officer explained. “So, no one can move the body until we arrive. We’ll lock the door and proceed as normal.”

“Like nothing happened?” I asked. 

The head officer furrowed his brows. “More or less.”

One of the officers signed the cross on his forehead. “Heaven help us.”

We didn’t treat the trip any differently after the incident. The CO kept the lower deck locked tightly and refused to give the crew much information. He only insisted that we keep moving, and we planned to arrive in D.C. the following night. The men threw themselves into their work, and I focused on the waves, letting their rhythm hypnotize me. It wasn’t the first time death had crossed my path, but I had hoped that this job would be different. It seemed I could not escape, no matter how far I ran. Perhaps I was cursed. The sea, itself, seemed to be against me. But what about the island? They were the last words of a condemned man, but why? Could it be a message to us? My confidence was beginning to waver. I prayed that the rest of the trip would go smoothly, but there was no comfort aboard the Siren.