From nowhere something slashed at my arm, ripping through my woollen sleeve and tearing into my flesh. The knife fell from my grip as the searing pain forced the breath from my lungs.
It struck at me a second time, a solid weight thudding into my shoulder and sending me sprawling to the deck amongst the mutilated heap of crewmen. My hands slid across the planks, thick and sticky with their blood and gore.
Looming over me, its face twisted into a grisly smile as it regarded me with eyes whiter than bleached whalebone. Its head twitched from side to side in a persistent tic, staring down at me with the cold, hungry gaze of a shark circling its wounded prey.
Scrambling among the filth, I shoved myself backwards with a desperate kick. My spine collided into the freezing bulkhead with a jarring thump. It knew it had me now. It knew I was trapped between its claws and the rough-hewn oak.
The meagre light spilling from the companionway caught its face, glinting off its sharp, jagged teeth. The face looking at me wasn’t the face of Samuel but that of his brother, the corpse I had carelessly brought onto this ship, the draugen I had so foolishly invited amongst us.
Suddenly, with a guttural hiss, it lunged forward, jaws snapping wildly.
My hand swept blindly, splashing through the slick mess, urgently seeking my dropped weapon. But it wasn’t the smooth blade I felt beneath my palm but the rough, pitted iron of a heavy marlinspike.
Muscles screaming, I frantically hauled the mass of iron into both hands and thrust it out in front of me. The draugen’s body slammed into the spike with an unexpected weight. With a primal grunt, I drove the iron spike forward, piercing skin and crushing bone, impaling the creature.
Broken yellow teeth gnashed furiously, just inches from my face as it fell on top of me. Its breath, reeking of old fish and decay, filled my nostrils.
The spike had driven deep into its chest, but it felt no pain. Instead, it hissed, clawing savagely at the iron with elongated, deformed fingers. Its broken nails screeching against the metal with a sound that put my teeth on edge.
Its weight was immense. I tried to heave it off with all the strength I had, but it wouldn’t budge.
Slowly it pressed down on me, the butt of the marlin pressing into my own chest. Desperately I gasped for air, desperately I tried to lift the thing off me, but it was too much.
I could feel its teeth grazing my skin. A thick, viscous brine drooled from its hideous, gaping mouth, running down my cheek.
Suddenly the crushing weight lifted, rough fingers grabbed my shoulder and yanked me upright.
“Captain,” Bjorn said in an urgent voice. “Are you alright?”
Fighting for breath, sucking in short, wheezing gasps, I glanced at the creature writhing on the floor. Its hands clawed fiercely at the heavy marlinspike embedded in its flesh, trying to wrench itself free.
“Bjorn…” I choked, my voice barely above a whisper.
“We can’t stay down here,” he said, glancing at the creature thrashing violently on the deck. “Iron can’t stop those… things. They say the only way is to destroy its godforsaken soul with fire.”
“The oil?” I muttered.
“It’s our only chance, Captain,” Bjorn said, looking back at me. “The ship’s lost, but we can still save ourselves.”
The draugen gave a sudden, bone-crunching snap, its body jarring into a ninety-degree angle. Its shoulders and hips disjointing with a wet pop as it pulled itself onto all fours. With the marlinspike scraping and gouging the deck, it dragged itself slowly towards us, skittering like some monstrous spider crab.
“The scuttle door,” I gasped, nodding towards the small, iron-bound hatch set low into the aft bulkhead.
Bjorn wasted no time in slamming his heavy boot into the iron latch and kicking it open.
His big hand clenched my collar, shoving me forward into the narrow, suffocating blackness of the lazarette. The stale, musty air pressed against my face, while the ceiling, barely three feet high, forced me to crawl on hands and knees.
Hauling myself through the claustrophobic space, Bjorn’s frantic shuffling followed close behind me, accompanied by the slow grinding drag of a marlinspike and the disjointed snapping of limbs in pursuit.
“Keep moving, Captain,” Bjorn panted, his broad frame scraping against the wooden beams.
My fingers tore against old, frayed ropes, the coarse canvas of spare sails and rough, jagged splinters, until they suddenly grasped empty air. I had finally reached the end, the ledge of the cargo hold.
Without hesitating, I swung my legs over the edge and let myself drop the six feet to the floor of the main hold. Seconds later, Bjorn landed beside me with a thud.
The dark shapes of barrels of whale oil cluttered the hold, lit only by the meagre, pale white glow seeping through from the deck lights above.
Shoving past me, Bjorn snatched an iron crowbar from the cluttered heap of old tools littering the floor. With a guttural grunt, he rammed the cold metal bar firmly into one of the wooden bungs. The bung instantly vanished into the barrel with a sharp pop. A thick, sickly sweet smell immediately filled the hold. Slowly, dark, viscous whale oil began to ooze out, its glossy sheen spreading quickly across the deck.
Suddenly, a bone-snapping crack echoed from the scuttle opening. The draugen had reached the ledge.
“The matches, Captain!” Bjorn’s voice screamed raggedly.
Plunging my hand into the pocket of my oilskins, my numb fingers closed around a small copper box. Pulling it out and flicking it open with my thumb, I grabbed a rough, splintered lucifer. Hastily, I dragged the yellow head across the pitted iron hoop of the nearest barrel.
The stinging smell of sulphur cut through the stink of the whale oil. The match head spluttered, bright sparks flicking in all directions, leaving orange trails in the darkness. Then it ignited into flame.
“Now!” yelled Bjorn.
There was no time to spare. I tossed the match into the glistening black puddle. The oil caught instantly. Bright flames sprang up, licking at the cask, choking the air with thick, pungent black smoke.
The fire spread with terrifying speed, causing shadows to dance and twist across the bulkheads. Together we fled, scrambling through the maze of shoulder-high casks with the blistering heat never far behind.
From somewhere in the darkness, a bone-chilling scream filled the air. We didn’t stop. We didn’t dare delay.
Taking the lead, I clambered up the ladder, the creaks of the old wooden rungs mingling with Bjorn’s huffing and muttering, just below. Our boots and oilskins, thick with grease, made every step a treacherous gamble. With my breath held in my throat, I didn’t dare look down. One misstep would mean the end.
At last, with one last heave, I pulled myself over the lip of the hatch and onto the frost-covered deck.
Grabbing Bjorn’s hand, I pulled him up to safety beside me.
Far below, a flickering orange-gold glow engulfed the hold. As each cask caught with a sharp crackle, its contents adding fuel to the flames that would finally condemn the Håpet.
Already, tendrils of thick, black smoke were beginning to creep through the planks of the old deck, staining the white mist a dirty grey.
The thickening, acrid smog stung our eyes and filled our lungs as we made a bee-line for the bulwarks, desperate to reach the whaleboat hanging from the starboard davits.
“Jump in and secure the hand ropes. I’ll swing the davits out,” Bjorn called out to me.
Scrambling over the ice-covered bulwark, I stepped into the rowing seat of the small boat. My frozen fingers fumbled with the knotted hand rope, the abrasive hemp grazing my hands raw as I frantically fastened it to the fore rowing bench.
Above me, the towering davits creaked and groaned as Bjorn heaved on the lines. The small whaleboat swayed gently, side to side, as the massive oak beams swung it out into the grey void.
“Hand ropes ready, Captain?” Bjorn’s voice bellowed as he appeared through the gloom.
“All set, Bjorn,” I called back. “Climb on over.”
Pulling his cap down and gripping the rough hand rope, he stepped up onto the bulwarks.
A cold chill seized my breath.
Behind him, the contorted shape of what had once been a boy materialised from the gloom. But this was a boy no longer. Its limbs twitched and twisted, snapping and jerking.
The damp, salty air filled my lungs as my mouth opened, but my words snagged in my throat.
Slowly the draugen reached out, grasping Bjorn’s head between its skeletal hands. With a single, sickening snap, Bjorn’s neck twisted at an impossible angle, his limp body tumbling backwards.
Cold sweat covered my forehead, running in freezing rivulets down my back. Lunging forward and tearing open the small locker at the bow, I grabbed the boat hatchet.
The creature turned to look at me, its pupilless eyes boring into my very soul as I hefted the hatchet high. With a desperate cry, I slammed it down onto the forward line.
The rope snapped.
The whaleboat plummeted, pitching me into the icy waters below.
Somewhere in the distance, the faint, muffled sound of a ship’s bell began to toll.