The Nightmare came to me in a darkness so black that the light penetrating out from the small three man sub served no purpose other than to highlight how small, insignificant and fragile I actually was as I sank further and further into the chilly darkness. I could feel the pressure growing around me, around my sub, ready to crush me should one thing fail on the sub’s system. To trust in technology so far down in the depth of the ocean seemed nearly impossible, and yet I had to, because I knew I had to see what was awaiting me there at the bottom of the ocean. There in the crushing darkness I knew there was something important, so important that I would risk everything to see it for just a second. I stared out the porthole watching, waiting for something. It was something important, so important to me that I couldn’t even turn my head for a second to see who was in control of the sub.
Slowly I moved forward through the crushing, all encompassing black, a black so complete that I have never seen the like since, watching eagerly to see what was there. And then I saw her, as majestic as the day she set sail on her maiden voyage from England to New York, a single voyage never completed. The Titanic. Her windows now forever dark and yet I thought I saw a glitter in one of the upper windows of the bow section. A warmth as out of place at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean as I was, but as I drew closer I saw it really was there. Like someone had lit an oil lamp and sat reading as fish, strange fish the like of which I had never seen, swam in and out of the window. The honey glow from the window seemed so welcoming that I wanted to leave the sub and swim over to it, join whoever was on the ship, maybe for an early tea. The light called to me like nothing had before, it warmed a place inside of me I hadn’t known was frozen. It ached my heart that I was apart from it; forced apart by the pressure waiting to strangle the life from my body should I try and reach it.
Then I came even with the ship, the wonderful welcoming light still flickering in the single salon window, an open flame exposed to the currents, maybe, or a breeze blowing over the top of an antique lamp causing the light to dance over the page of the book being read while awaiting my arrival.
Suddenly, so suddenly it made me spring back from my porthole in shock, a face appeared in the glowing salon window. A terrible face. A wonderful face. It was a face I longed to reach out and touch, to run my fingers and lips over the chiseled cheek bones, well trimmed mustache that in the honey light appeared red though I knew it had to be brown, brown as the slightly mussy hair that topped the lean and rugged face. His eyes were as dark as the water surrounding us, hidden, even pinned as he was in the light from the sub. I couldn’t make out an expression in the eyes that studied me intently, almost as if wondering if I could possibly be the one he was waiting for, had been waiting for all the long years. Was still waiting for because I could no more go to him than he could come to me.
He reached out for me, sensual mouth forming around a single word. Come. I pressed as close to the porthole as I could and just pressed my fingers to the glass as if trying to reach through when the face melted away and a skull hung in its place. Flames flickered in the sockets as the horror tilted back and laughed, laughed as the porthole opened and water poured into the sub and everything went black. As black as the water I had been staring through.
I'll answer comments on Sunday. It's a day off for me and I'll be able to sleep without worrying about work and should feel more like myself. ;)