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DRUNK MONKEYS IS A Literary Magazine and Film Blog founded in 2011 featuring short stories, flash fiction, poetry, film articles, movie reviews, and more

Editor-in-chief KOLLEEN CARNEY-HOEPFNEr

managing editor

chris pruitt

founding editor matthew guerrero

FICTION / Seasick / Blake Gidley

Tuesday 22, 1933, 2:04A.M.- W.M. 

The light appeared again tonight. The orange light moved from left to right under my cabin door. The constant slush of the ocean crashing against the hull of the boat. The sickly pale moonlight beaming through the window in my room. My room lurches from left to right, the nauseous swaying of the sea. I hate the ocean and its constant confusion of the senses. I never had the sea legs for much travel. This is my third sleepless night aboard this cursed ship. My sickness is overwhelming and constant. The lightbulb in my room flickers on and off with the leaning of the metal. The lights on this whole ship seem faulty. I have resorted to candles for my writing. Thankfully this voyage does not contain many passengers. The only people I’ve seen were oil covered sailors scoffing at my constant discomfort. But I have been awake these past two nights. There is a light. This light continues to appear beneath my door frame. I can hear loud boot thumps. This light stops in front of my door and lingers for close to a minute. I have used my watch to keep but its length is never consistent. I worry someone knows why I am here. I will not let them find it. Not now. 

 

Tuesday 22, 1933, 3:30 AM-W.M. 

I ventured out of my cabin to find the captain. I needed to know who else was on the ship. When I opened my cabin door I froze in the frame. The hallway was consumed by darkness. The electrical problems must extend to the whole floor rather than just my cabin.  I grabbed the half-used candlestick from my desk and stepped into the hall. I began to walk with the rhythm of the ocean tides. Walking with the sway was slow but let me keep my lunch down. I checked both sides of my cabin for signs of life. My cabin was huddled in between two other passenger cabins. However, nothing seemed to stir behind either door. Working my way towards the ladder I could hear some sort of commotion from the deck. I pushed my way up the stairs to find a greying sailor arguing with the captain, “He’s a Jonah! That’s all it could be. He’s nothing but back luck. He’s the reason for the sunrise.” The captain looked at him for a long moment and right before he could respond they noticed me emerge from below. I said, “A bit of chilly evening tonight, isn’t it?” The old sailor laughed and said, “Just wait, you’ll be cold soon enough.” The Captain stepped forward to cut off any possible path between the old man and me. The captain said, “Don’t mind him sir, he is an old sailor and superstitious at that,” the Captain pointed toward the horizon, “You see that, that is going to be a red sunrise. That’s bad luck for a sailor. But it is nothing to be concerned over. Not unless you considered yourself captured by the supernatural.” I was unsure if The Captain knew about what I had brought aboard. There is no way. But I must avoid any mention of the supernatural. I blew out my candlelight in favor of the sunrise, I said, “I appreciate the warning. I have never been one for the paranormal Captain. No offense to you of course sir.” The old sailor locked eyes with me. His gray steely gaze sunken into his cheekbones. He seemed almost frozen in time, more ship hull than human. The old sailor said, “You just watch. Something bad is happening here. I warned you.” The old sailor sulked away into the darkness below. The Captain took out a cigarette pack. He held the pack toward me, and I graciously declined. I did not need to make my ailments even worse. I said, “Excuse me Captain, I don’t know if it is rude to ask, but how many people are on this boat? For such a large cruise I haven’t seen anyone.” The Captain took a long drag on his cigarette. The faint golden amber illuminating the wrinkles in his face. The Captain said, “Yes, we are traveling light on this voyage. Essential crew, mainly. I was surprised when you came on board actually. We normally don’t carry any sort of passengers.” I stiffened at his question. I said, “Yes, thank you for allowing me on board. It is very important I bring some legal papers promptly to America.” The Captain chest seized with a hearty laugh. “I should have taken you for a pencil pusher. Don’t worry about my crew. They are rough superstitious men, but they’ll get ya there. I must return to my duty sir, but if you’d like to meet in my quarters, I would enjoy breakfast with you.” Said the Captain. He gave me a grin and threw his cigarette off the side of the boat. In that quiet night I stood motionless, the trunk pulling me towards its gravitation. My sickness growing stronger.  

Tuesday 22, 1933, 4:25 PM-W.N. 

The angry red sun beamed into my bedroom porthole. The heat was dreadful. The walls sweating and oozing humidity. The trunk under my bed seemed to breathe. The leather cracking and undulating under the golden metal straps. Scraping sounds echoed from deep inside. It hurt my head. The Captain summoned me up to his quarters. Drenched in sweat and fatigue I trudged up to the top deck. The Captain was already eating when I opened the door. He motioned me to sit down. His cabin was furnished with royal blues and gold, several windows with ornate curtains around the room. His bed large although still bolted to the floor. I began to eat when he asked, “So, I understand its none of my business, but what exactly is so important that you be here?” I was concerned he knew about the trunk. I said, “I have an urgent real estate matter. If I don’t get the signee the papers soon the whole deal is done. It is imperative I get there as soon as possible.” The Captain sat there and thought on this. He seemed to almost see the words suspended in the air. The silence was stark but not uncomfortable. The Captain seemed to be a lonely but trusting man. The Captain spoke, “Hmm, I could never be in that line of work. This boat is my home, and the ocean my country. All sailors say this, but once you become in tune with the sea its impossible to leave. No escape for any of us.” The Captain’s last words trailed off into shadows. There was a hollow sadness in his sentiment. He was right about one thing, none of us can escape.  

Wednesday 23, 1933, 1:30 AM- W.N. 

The light returned again. A tangible evilness filled the air of my cabin. The heavy thuds pounding against the metal of the floor. I know now I am alone on this deck. Who is responsible for this light? I will try to stay awake and capture this phantom lantern. 

Wednesday 23, 1933. 5:34 AM- W.N. 

I am even more vexed than before. I stayed awake for the second light appearance. While it does not have a discernible time, it does seem to come twice. I heard those noises again. THUMP…THUMP…THUMP. There seems to be a dragging between these loud noises. I looked for the light again. There it was. The ghostly orange casting its long shadow beneath my door. I stood up and slowly walked towards my door. I yanked my door open to darkness. The hallway before me was empty. The abyss of the night swaying in front of my confusion. I grabbed my candle to search the hallway. When I turned back to the doorframe, I was surprised to discover melted wax drippings at the threshold of my door. They were freshly burnt. In that moment, a gush wind blew out my light and loud footsteps returned. The shuffling seemed closer than ever. I slammed the door closed and latched it tight. There was no light, but the sounds continued to grow louder and louder. The trunk under my bed began to shake. Its violent seizing moving it from under my bed. The metal latches slowly shaking themselves open. I fell onto the trunk to prevent its opening. I cannot bear to witness again the horror. In a moment everything stood still. The sound disappeared and the trunk became still. I can see the sun rising again. My head feels dizzy. My body feels hollow.  

Wednesday 23, 1933, 2:54 PM- W.N. 

Time continues to melt away as I sit in this room. I am too fearful to see The Captain today. I fear he is on to me. The sun laughs at me dangling in the sky. Its constant evil rays blaring into my pores. The trunk continues to mock me. Constantly shifting each time, I look away. Soon I will not be able to contain it. God help us.  

 

Wednesday 23, 1933, 11:50 PM- W.N. 

I will find the light tonight. It is imperative. The trunk cannot withstand more of this. 

 

Thursday 24, 1933, 4:44 AM- W.N. 

The night began again with the aggravating repetition. The same sounds, the same images. But tonight, I found the source. The source of my waking nightmares. The light is not what it seems. Tonight, I sat waiting for it, the cabin door open. The light would have to pass by unobscured. I was sitting in my cabin, peering into the darkness. The slosh of the ocean the only soundtrack to my anticipation. The burning candles of the nightly stars illuminating the insanity of this ghost ship. That’s when I saw The Captain, at least something with the visage of The Captain. When the orange glow trailed its way towards my door, I feared the worst. Imagining all types of horrible phantasms. But to my surprise, it was him. The Captain stood there with his eyes closed. He seemed to have a powder-like aura around him. The glow from the candle danced off his eyelids and exposed a nasty gash on his cheek. His cheeks were caved in as if hollowed by some force. Only tethered to his cheekbones. His mouth was agape in a twisted horror. He seemed to be screaming but nothing sounded on than the dragging of his feet. The Captain beckoned me to come with him. Extending his hand palm forward. I walked over gave him my hand in return. Once I had gotten close to him more peculiarities emerged. He seemed to have broken chains shackled around his feet. The candle in his hand burned rich with orange. The wax melted down nearly to the end of the stick. I follow his guidance. We walked down the dark hallway in tandem. I could not see behind or in front of me. The only thing illuminated was the pale skin of The Captain. Towards the end of the hallway, we stepped into a large room. He let go of my hand and slowly made his way towards the middle of the room. He seemed to glide through objects as he found his way towards a candelabra. He stared down at the candle set, with a snap the candles lit up. The flames burned in a deep royal blue. The sapphire hue giving him an oceanic reflection. Then in a sudden moment the rest of the room lit up in a stunning blue burst. The room felt like standing at the bottom of the sea. All around me specters started to appear. Dancing slivers of translucent splendor dancing in opulent outfits. I had been taken to some velvet past. Couples dancing togethers in shawls and dress suits. I did not know what it meant, but The Captain stood alone like a statue in the middle. Music rang out in my ears. Waltzes long ago danced skipping all around. History is made at night and this ship is just a memory. Time has no hold on the members of this ship. Lost in time upon the seas of infinity.  The ghosts began to spin faster and faster until they all seemed snuffed out like the smoke in the darkness. The room returned to its bleak darkness. The Captain rose the candelabra, and, in a moment, he was gone. I stood stranded in total darkness. When I found my way back to my cabin my trunk lay open. Cold fear ran through my bones. I was worried the item was gone. I lurched toward the open box. It was still there, but there was no closing the box. I know I will not make it to shore now.  

 

Thursday- NM 

This will be my last entry. I hope if anyone finds this, you’ll find me. I went to find The Captain, but his quarters are empty. I suspect all of them are. They have gone beyond. I must follow them. I need the box. There is a world beyond this, deeper than any ocean. I hope you can find me there. It feels like drowning. W.M.  

These diary entries were found among the remaining items from SS Cronos. They were written by English Lawyer William Niven who was not listed among the passenger manifest. There is no crew along with the ship. Among the items found among the ship were theses remaining pages of his diary. The pages pinned beneath a pair of broken eyeglasses. His body has still not been recovered. 


Blake Gidley is a writer and 2022 recipient of the University of Kentucky’s Dantzler Award for Fiction. He spends his time happily with his fiancé and three cats.

ESSAY / Fuckuasaurus / Jason K. Bussman

ART / Figures on a Footbridge / Steven Ostrowski

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