A Thing I've Been Working On · 12:20am Jan 31st, 2015
(The following is a short story written by The Pirate King to be published in this semesters literary journal for his university's creative writing program. Feel free to critique and give opinions as he would like some other than his own for polishing.)
Gone Away
By Pirate King Fowler
I awoke to the sounds of nothing but my watch pitter pattering monotonously, as though time itself were all but too lazy to slink by. The oddity of silence had been lost on me since I had arrived at Arcadia; the old military school had a habit of rising early to the sounds of bugles and roll calls. Yet on this solitary day, I experienced not a sound, but a light to act as my bed nurse.
I rolled from my sheets and had just pressed my socks to the ground when lethargy’s fog lifted and the surreal realization of being woken far past dawn hit me full force. In panic, I looked about the room for my boarding mate, Thomas. He was a junior cadet like me, only in his second year. Though we had commonalities therein, Thomas always displayed the bearing of a peacock and drew even older students with a magnetic and infectious draw.
“Thomas?” I called out to him, unsure where he could be. “Thomas, where are you? It is I, Arthur.” I was remaining deftly vigilant of my noise, lest I accidentally draw attention to my tardiness for roll call.
The fact occurred to me that since I had awoken, not a single soul could be heard moving about. Indeed, I didn’t hear anything; none of God’s creatures that walked, crawled, flew, or slithered could be heard. Only my own voice and the watch, still counting out like a peevish drillmaster.
As there was no sign of Thomas, I left my room, sulking silently so as not to draw the attention of any senior cadets.
“Tommy? Eli? Cullen? Where are you all?” I whispered just loud enough to bear an audible witness to my solitude as the even quieter hollow echo of my voice was the only reply I received. I went into the room of a couple other boys in our barracks. Their names were William- though he preferred Bill- and Jonathan- who likewise preferred Jon- if memory served, but given they were so far down the hall from Tommy and I, doubt made the matter murky.
Entering, my situation became even stranger still. One of the boys had left their beds completely unmade, an offense deserving a hefty punishment if uncorrected, and a drill uniform, still pressed and clean, lay untouched on the unmade bed. Stranger still, the boy’s own watch was still at his bedside, but I couldn’t hear it. It didn’t chirp with the lively energy that my own watch possessed, but instead lay dormant, unmoving and mute.
Determined to find the truth in this once and for all, I hurriedly made my way out of the building and across the parade field. Suspicion peaked as the grounds were devoid of even one solitary soul. By this hour, even if the entirety of my barracks had received some message abandoned by my memory to rise early and meet elsewhere, the senior cadets should have at least one platoon out on the field drilling and training their physical abilities. For but a moment I entertained the ludicrous idea that Commandant McCammon had altered the schedule of the entire base, but its welcome was briefly worn out. Instead, once more, the only noise to bid me welcome was the machinations of my watch.
As I walked, the mess hall gave me the briefest moment of hope that this whole thing could be some misunderstanding of the most vast and ridiculous variety. The wafting scent of warm food pierced through the light gulf breeze. Perhaps the commandant had called for a holiday; as a man of devout catholic faith, it would be improbable but not impossible for him to make an exception to the itinerary of the base. However, my hopes were dashed as I peered in through the wide windows of the dining hall. A bounty of warm food, still giving off steam, sat on the serving tables; grits, eggs, fresh biscuits, all lay there for the taking. Some had even been already served onto plates eagerly waiting in a row. Still, I saw no trace of another person to enjoy the feast.
I began to truly worry. Was I going mad? Were my comrades and their officers really there, and I was merely unable to see them? Or was this perhaps some cruel jest at my solitary expense- an expense I could no longer afford while maintaining my sanity? The possibility’s claimed my composure as I began futilely running across the field, calling out the names of anyone I prayed could hear.
“Tommy! Eli! Buchannan! Commandant McCammon! Lieutenant Grady! Anyone, please, for the love of God, answer!”
The Gulf of Mexico gently washing over the Mississippi coast provided the ambient accompaniment to my watch’s rattle, growing louder and more frustrating the longer it provided me with my only company.
As I was surely going mad, I heard a sound most unexpected. A woman’s shout of shock, so loud it caused me to jolt in surprise, rang out from the chapel. Desperate for the sight of at least another person and perhaps an answer to all of this, I ran to the chapel, bounding up the stairs two steps at a time. The large oak double doors had already been propped open as I drifted into the large hall.
Inside, my eyes beheld two people, one a young man and the other a young woman, both standing in the center of the church. They were dressed in odd fashion; the man was wearing a baseball cap in a cathedral- an act that my seniors would consider most innapropriate- and the woman wore neither dress nor skirt, but instead a pair of frayed denim trousers as a man would.
“Don’t scare me like that, Bobby,” The young woman said in protest. She possessed the similar drawl I had heard from many of the local people of the area.
“Oh, relax, will you. I’m just messing with you,” The man said, having the same thick accent.
The young woman seemed adamant and not yet willing to forgive his tomfoolery. “Just take the freakin’ pictures already. This place gives me the creeps.”
The man rolled his eyes, grabbing a small metallic box with a long cylinder on it. He lifted it to his eye and pressed a button at the top repeatedly. “Yeah, this place is pretty spooky. Hell, I just had a chill run up my back.”
“Pardon me, but who exactly are you people? Why are you here?” I asked of genuine curiosity. The pair suddenly turned rigid as wooden planks, with a tension claiming the room that I didn’t feel.
“You heard that too, right?” the woman asked frightened. She turned her head and gazed into me, eye to eye. I’d never seen an expression like she had before. It was as though she had climbed to Heaven on hands and knees and God himself had just told her she was no better than the devil himself.
The man did the same. “Oh my God! What the hell is that thing?”
I looked at him, a plain query on my face. I couldn’t answer as the two ran out of the chapel, the door swinging shut behind them. What had made them react so strangely? I didn’t even-
“Did you see that? That was a freaking ghost! I told you this place was haunted,” I heard the woman shout as they ran off, their shouts growing distant as the watch drowned them out.
Ghost? What on earth were they talking about? I can’t be dead! For God’s sake, I’d know if I were dead! That can’t be true! Thoughts ran rampant in my mind, chaos swirling like a storm-driven tide.
Suddenly the room began to spin. The magnificent hall shriveled and rotted out visibly, aging decades in a matter of seconds. The mahogany pulpit and cross, once so beautiful and inspiring so much devout speech and steadfast worship over the years, crashed to the flower in a pile of dust. The beautiful stain glass windows all shattered, blowing out into the breeze. Even the sturdy beams buckled and cracked, leaving the disheveled hall desolated.
Looking around at the aged cathedral, I could only face the truth. I, Arthur Henson, just a thirteen year old cadet at Arcadia Military Academy, was dead. I tried to compose myself at the realization, but my knees failed me as I felt ill. I regained my stomach, but I couldn’t stop wetness from rimming my eyes, and as the tears began streaming down my cheeks, the most frightening thing of all occurred.
The watch froze in time and I was left in the dark void of silence.
Where is everyone would feel smother than ' whare are you all'.
2765247
Umm... No offense, but can you clarify? I can't tell what you're saying.
Sorry, sixth paragraph line 1 & 2. I was suggesting that 'where is everyone' would feel smother than ' where are you all'. Sorry about the confusion.
2765456
Oh, it's fine chap. I just needed to understand what you meant.
As for the wording, I appreciate the suggestion, but there's a few reasons I specifically chose to write it as "Where are you all?" First, there's the more physical reason of him trying to actually address them. When he says, "Where are you all?" he's literally calling out to his classmates rather than talking to himself, so while it would flow smoother as, "Where is everyone," it would not make as much sense as dialogue. Second, if you'll notice, Arthur's dialogue is very stilted and awkward. This is on purpose for a dual reason, the literal reason being that he's from the year 1907 and people talked much more formally back then and the metaphorical reason being that it flowing oddly is part of the intent I have to make his actions and dialogue feel increasingly uncanny.
That said, I do genuinely thank you for commenting your opinion and am not trying to blow you off.