The Call
Macabre Monday: Sepulchral Roots
This is a submission for
’s “Sepulchral Roots” joint world project, more details for which you can find here. This song also provided some inspiration. Hat tips as always to the Macabre Monday Crew: .He is carrying a surfboard to the beach. The sun, hot on his back; a mist of sweat sticking to his skin; sand caking his toes with each step.
As he walks to the water, the pacific deep-blue turns grey, and the waves begin to thrash and intensify. A cold wind blows from the south. The sun is hidden behind clouds.
He looks back at the sea, a stone plinth is there that wasn’t there before. He sets down his surfboard, and walks towards it.
The stone has a hideous, tentacled figure carved into it; it’s eyes begin to glow red. “Harrison,” came a voice, like it is in his mind, but not—it fills him with dread.
He reaches out his hand to the statue, it’s eyes glowing brighter as his hand approaches. “HARRISON,” comes the voice, more urgent this time.
“HARRISON,”
“HARRISON, buddy, you were asleep.”
Harrison Lanford blinked dimly, and took his headphones off. He was back—back in the cramped diving bell, Für Elise tinkling playfully over the speakers. Chuck was looking expectantly at him, holding a deck of cards. “You want us to deal you in?”
“You woke me up for that?”
“We got no game with just the three of us, we need you.”
“Why don’t you sleep? It doesn’t take that long to get to 200 meters.” Harrison sat up and stretched. “Seeing as I’m awake now, fine, deal me in. But I’m not gonna go easy on you chumps.”
Chuck smiled, “Atta boy!” he said, and began to deal cards.
Harrison shook his head, the dream fading rapidly, as he turned his attention to the cards. He had begun using the headphones while he slept to avoid these dreams. They were adapting—every time, the stone plinth. Every time, the hideous face. Every time, calling.
Harrison rubbed his eyes, tiredly. Now, he was back on duty. He always slept terribly in the habitat. Maybe that meant he wouldn’t dream.
“Where’s your next contract?” she’d asked. Elise, his Wellington girl. He was driving behind her in traffic when her tire blew out, somehow. He followed her to the curb, and helped put her spare tire on. They’d gotten to chatting, exchanged numbers. She liked his “American accent”, he liked her “New Zealand accent”.
“New rig down south.” Harrison replied, terse. He hadn’t slept well. The dreams.
“Why do you do it?” she asked. She had looked at him with those beautiful, big, doe eyes. She wasn’t like the others, she wasn’t the type to do flings. Harrison told himself he was the same way, and yet still wound up with a different girl in his bed in every city he visited. But Elise—no, this was different. She was sincere. It wasn’t an act. She liked him. And that sent a chill up his spine.
“It’s a calling, I guess.” It was a half truth. The true part was that he loved it. He was good at it. The part that wasn’t true was that he knew it was dangerous. He knew he could die at any moment. It’s why he had no roots. It’s why he didn’t stay anywhere long. It’s why the way she looked at him was terrifying. He was going to break her heart, one way or another.
She rested her head on his bare chest, her ear over his heart. “Is it scary?” she asked, listening intently for whatever his heart was whispering to her. He ran his finger tips along her back, swirling shapes and designs, random eddies and currents of thought he traced up and down her spine.
“It is, the first time,” and the second, and the third, and every time. Every time, Elise.
“How long will you be?”
His heart clenched. He thought she could hear it. “Couple months.” He said. “What do you want for breakfast?”
“What’s the plan?” Harrison asked. The dive crew were gathered around a tiny table in the cramped pressure of the habitat.
The GM had an engineering drawing taped crudely to the wall. “Regular maintenance, checking the extraction pipe, checking the anchor contacts. You know the drill.”
Chuck turned to Harrison and whispered, “Another routine day in the life of a saturation diver, eh?”
Harrison didn’t smile, his heart was beating loudly in his ears. “A walk in the park,” he replied.
“Rough weather out there today,” the GM continued. “Storm coming in at the surface. Generally not too bad but we’ve had occasional strong currents. Nothing alarming, just keep your head on a swivel out there. Better to be safe than sorry. Check your contacts, communicate. Understand?” he looked at all the faces in the room, and waited for each person to nod.
In less time than Harrison liked, he was in his suit, in the water, the deep twilight blue engulfing him.
Chuck was on pipe-maintenance duty, Harrison was checking the anchor contacts. On a sunny day at the surface, the light would filter down to this depth and give it a kind of magical air; a surreal, unearthly feeling like it was another world, or beyond this world. With the stormy weather topside, the light was more dim—a dusky twilight. Only the faintest hint of waves could be seen, the rig itself loomed dark and monolithic, casting a bleak shadow which blended seamlessly into the black depths. Chuck swam off towards the shadows of the rig to find the pipe and perform his inspections. Harrison swam away from the rig, towards one of the cables that reached down from the heavens and clung desperately to the surface.
The anchor-points were always spread out, a wide circumference around the rig, to help keep the rig more or less in the same spot. The cables were massive, thicker than Harrison’s leg, and when they jolted in the currents, it always made his heart skip a beat. Forces more powerful than anything comprehensible to a human mind were at work in the deep.
He did a close inspection of the anchor contact. Normal wear and tear from sea water and currents—but it was designed to withstand that, with plenty of redundancy. Off-shore oil platforms were not new things. Harrison took photos and took some measurements. It was strange, quiet work. Everyone was focused.
When he was finished with this anchor point, Harrison looked off into the deep—the sea floor sloping down and away all around him. He felt it again, the sensation from that dream. Harrison. The call. The urgency. Harrison shook his head, and looked around to find the next anchor point.
Harrison traced the condensation from his beer over the bar, swirling shapes and designs, random eddies and currents of thought traced over the polished woodgrain. Chuck clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re distracted, mate.”
Harrison shrugged his friends hand away. “Yeah,” was all he said.
“Don’t tell me you’ve got nerves?” Chuck drank deeply from his glass.
“No, no,” he replied tersely.
“What’s got you in your head? Lay it on me. We gotta have each others backs once we’re under, I need cool, clear Harrison back, right?”
Harrison smiled. Chuck was always a willing talker, a contrast to Harrison who preferred to say as little as possible. Perhaps that’s why they worked so well together. “I don’t know,” he said.
“Sure you do, you just haven’t had enough to drink. Stop playing with your food and drink up!” Chuck forcibly clinked his glass against Harrisons, and tipped his glass into his mouth again. It was an unspoken rule—Harrison followed suit.
“What about the easy, routine, day in the life of a saturation diver has you worried? No risk, simple work. Oceanside villas.”
Despite himself, Harrison chuckled. “Cut the crap, Chuck. Just a lot on my mind.”
“What? Not letting you run from this one. What’s the worst that could happen? What’s your biggest fear?”
The question caught Harrison off guard. It was oddly philosophical for Chuck, or maybe it was the beer. What is my biggest fear. The voice from his dream echoed momentarily—HARRISON—and a chill rushed from the base of his spine up to his neck. He shuddered involuntarily.
“Oy I’ve really got you in your head, haven’t I?”
“I’m afraid of losing…” of losing my friends. Of losing my job. Of living. Of dying. Of having anything long enough to care about it. Of staying still. Of moving too much. “…everything. I’m afraid of losing everything.”
“What’s there to lose?”
“Everything, Chuck. Every time we go down, I wonder if I’ll come up again.”
Chuck turned unusually thoughtful in response. The thought hadn’t occurred to him. He was a live-in-the-moment kind of guy—it’s what made him a good diver. He was great at his job, ignored distractions.
Chuck took another deep draught from his cup, “I’ll drink to that.”
Harrison followed suit.
It had been hours. Six contacts had been checked. Radio chatter picked up a little as the weather worsened. Currents occasionally pushed hard against him, it was easy to lose his footing. Harrison looked up occasionally, and felt, dimly, as if he could tell the water at the surface was choppier and worse. In the distance, the shadow of a supply ship loomed.
“How’s everyone doing out there? Quick roll-call, four hour mark.”
Everyone sounded off. Chuck said, “Chuck here, all good.”
Harrison was last: “Harrison, making progress.”
“Great, keep up the good work guys.”
The gusting currents gradually became stronger and more frequent. He looked up, and occasional flashes told him that lightning was booming. He tried to imagine the sound of thunder—for some reason it escaped him.
He rode a gusty current to his next contact, let it push him the rest of the way, save some energy. He grabbed on to the massive cable as he floated past. The ship was closer to the rig now, they had probably already begun unloading their supplies.
Harrison began the painstaking inspection of the anchor point. Photos. Measurements. Suddenly, the cable jolted hard—he grabbed onto the cable fast enough to feel the strongest current yet push him and almost carry him away into the deep. Radio chatter picked up—people shouting. He looked up—there was an orange glow, the ship had been pushed into the rig! The ship was leaning at a disconcerting angle, debris was drifting down. It looked small, but as it drifted slowly out of the shadow of the rig, he could see a crane, a forklift, machinery from the supply ship glinting in the pale, stormy light.
“Chuck!” he called—he knew he was still under the rig, looking at the pipe. He couldn’t get through, there was so much radio chatter. Another massive current rolled through, so strong he almost lost his grip on the cable.
Harrison looked around—if there was another strong current, he wouldn’t be able to keep his footing—but he needed to get to Chuck. He took a deep breath, and trekked inward.
She wanted to drive him to the terminal, to see him off. No one had ever done that before. “I can take the bus,” he’d protested.
“Let me do this,” She replied, resolute.
“It’s…” he couldn’t bring himself to say it.
“I know,” she was determined.
“Okay.”
When they arrived at the port, the blue ship loomed large. Fore Ever, the ship was called. Harrison always wondered how they named ships, or why. It just didn’t make sense to him. She parked outside the port. Workmen bustled to and fro, focused on their work. Harrison suddenly felt out place. Harrison felt Elise felt out of place. He wasn’t sure what to make of this feeling.
“I guess this is it,” she said awkwardly.
“Only a couple months,” Harrison reassured her, despite himself. “Thank you for driving me.”
Elise fiddled with her hands. Her beautiful, big doe eyes looked wet. “Be safe,” she said.
Harrison smiled, “Always. You know me.” Elise smiled, and a tear dislodged from her eye and streaked down her cheek. “Hey, now, what’s all this about?” He wasn’t sure what to do. He wasn’t sure what this was.
“I had this…dream…anyway. I don’t want you to think I’m crazy just before you go.” Elise grabbed his hand, laced her fingers through his. “Just, be safe. And…I have a surprise for you. When you come back.”
Harrison’s heart clenched. “You’re gonna make me wait?”
“You’re making me wait,” she squeezed his hand.
“Okay.” There was an awkward pause. He supposed he should kiss her, for all this. But what if… he didn’t let himself finish the thought. He leaned in, and kissed her. Something to remember me, he thought, involuntarily. “Thank you again for driving. And, in advance, for this mystery you’ve got. I’ll see you soon, okay?”
She smiled, and nodded, as more tears escaped from her reluctant eyes.
“I…” he began. He felt like he was at 200 meters again. His heart pounded. “I’ll see you soon.”
He stepped out of the car, and walked towards the terminal.
The water was turbulent—but clear. The strong currents pushing the dust and silt away. Harrison kept looking up, checking for debris. The supply ship was visibly sinking, the orange glow was brighter, casting uneasy shadows into the deep.
Chuck’s voice, finally, came through the radio. “Help! Help!”
“Chuck, this is Harrison. I’m coming for you buddy, where are you?” It took a couple tries for Chuck to hear him.
“I’m…stuck! Debris fell from the ship. My foot is pinned.”
The ship above was sinking slowly, the fluorescent lights giving it a ghostly glow below the waves, flickering as they descended.
There! Harrison spotted his friend—a piece of the crane had landed, probably caught him by surprise. Chuck you idiot, he thought bitterly. A strong current pushed hard and Harrison was forced to drop on all fours and hold on to the ground. He crawled the rest of the way until he arrived at Chuck. Above them, the ship loomed, sinking against the orange backdrop of fires on the surface.
Harrison was able to signal with his hands to change frequency so he and chuck could talk without interruption. “Chuck, can you hear me?”
“Yes, oh god, what is happening.”
“We gotta get you out of here without tearing your suit.”
Chuck looked quickly at me—the thought hadn’t occurred to him. “Oh god…”
Harrison tried lifting a piece of the crane, but he couldn’t move it on his own. “We just need a little give…”
Chuck desperately tried pulling at the piece of the crane too. Harrison saw silt blowing ahead of them, and knew a current was coming. “On three, okay?” Chuck nodded. “One…” Harrison braced, Chuck grabbed whatever he could so he could help push. “Two…” Harrison gritted his teeth and felt his body tense. “Three!” The current arrived, blasting the two men, and helping push the crane just enough to free Chuck’s foot.
Harrison grabbed Chuck and pulled him up, but Chuck screamed in his ear, not pain but terror.
He looked back out into the deep. A massive shadow ascended out of the darkness with glowing red eyes. A great clawed hand reached out of the dark, catching the strange light of the lightning and fire, and slammed into the ground, the force pushing Chuck and Harrison over. Chuck gasped in pain, his breathing shallow, and then quiet. The shadow ascended until the glowing eyes crested the waves, a giant black terror looming over the fiery rig.
Harrison clambered to lift up his friend—Chuck had fainted. Harrison’s heart pounded in his chest. He looked left—darkness sloping away. He looked right, ominous shadows of this eldritch beast. The radio was quiet now that they had changed frequency. He turned, they had to get back to the habitat and away from the sinking ship. He looked up, saw the shadowy figure swing its massive arms and smash the rig, an explosion of orange bursting silently out, no noise making it 200 meters down to Harrison. More debris splashed into the water. He looked over at an anchor contact, and saw it crumble with the force of the monsters blows, and break free. The life support umbilicals leading to the habitat listed terribly. Even from the deep, Harrison felt the creature roar, the water and ground resonating with the great and terrible sound. A jagged piece of debris was falling over the umbilical. No, no, no, no, no—It fell onto the cable, bending it in an agonizing, unnatural way, before the cable sheared through. He watched the habitat crush inward in a single gut-wrenching instant. Oh god, no.
This was it. This was the culmination of all his fears. Harrison looked around him, more anchor contacts had broken, and the rig was bending the oil pipe precariously.
There was no way up. The diving bell, the habitat, anything Harrison could use to depressurize was gone. The creature bellowed again, and more anchors snapped, and the oil pipe burst, belching black clouds into the sea.
The earth rumbled as this monstrous being, wreathed in flame and lightning, took one step, and then another, and then disappeared to the north.
And that was the last Harrison saw—the black cloud of oil enveloped him, and he was trapped in the deep, trapped in the black. The cloud of oil formed swirling shapes and designs, random eddies and currents of terror kaleidoscoping around him, obscuring everything beyond the tips of his fingers.
Chuck at least was unconscious. He set him down, and would let his air run out naturally. There was no way up, no way out. Harrison found a place that he could protect himself from the stormy currents, and sat down.
As his own oxygen gradually depleted, he became dizzy, and began to dream…
He’s on a beach. Carrying his surfboard. The surf is crashing insistently against the shore. He looks away for a second, he puts his surfboard down. He looks up—the stone plinth is there, in the waves, staring. It’s the face, it’s that face. It’s eyes glow bright red. Harrison, it calls. Harrison!
HARRISON! IT IS TIME.
The End
Thank you very much for reading! This was fun to write, and even better to tap into another wonderful Shared World Project. I hope you enjoyed it!
Please consider leaving a like, telling me what you thought in the comments, or sharing this story with a friend? If you would like to read more, please check out my collection of longer fiction at The Volume.
God bless!
AJPM
Well, that's unfortunate. Bet you anything Elise has a bun in the oven, as it were.
Drowning is number one of my list of worst ways to die, so this was extra distressing. My fears aside, this story was suspenseful even though I had a feeling from the beginning that this wasn't going to end well. It didn't help that I had that song you linked to playing while I was reading this, I had to turn it off because it was making me anxious. Well done.