CHAPTER 1

Manuscript

For the tenth time in as many minutes, Vince Parker rearranged the stacks of his latest novel on the table. Feeling the disapproving gaze of Seymore Jessop, the book shop’s owner, who he had persuaded to let him hold a book signing, upon him, he avoided looking in his direction. So far, only two customers had brought a signed copy, far removed from the fifty to a hundred copies he had told Jessop he would likely sell, which now seemed as fictional as some of the events in his novels.

While wondering how long he should suffer the embarrassing experience, he picked up his signing pen and twirled it in his fingers. His gaze flicked to the entrance when the bell above the door chimed to announce a customer entering. It was an older lady, late fifties, early sixties, Vince thought. Though she didn’t seem like someone who would read his books, he wasn’t one to assign labels to people on first sight. Her gaze around the store ended on him with a smile. She took a bee line across the room and held out a hand when she reached the table.

“Greetings, Vince Parker. I’m Elizabeth Hardy, a big fan of yours, but you can call me Lizzy.”

Vince smiled as he shook her offered hand. “Hello Lizzy, that makes three today.”

The woman glanced around the shop. “It does seem a bit quiet.”

“Deathly so,” agreed Vince, taking an immediate liking to her. “I heard crickets and glimpsed tumbleweed rolling by a few minutes ago.”

Lizzy laughed as she picked up one of his paperback books. “I’ve been waiting to read this but held off buying it when I learnt you were holding a book signing here, it’s only a short train journey from where I live.”

“Something I’m starting to regret but thanks for making the effort, it’s appreciated.”

“Good things come to those who wait,” said Lizzy with a smile. “Which brings me to another reason why I was eager to meet you, but first, can you sign my book.” She held out the paperback.

“I’d be happy to.” Vince took the book and opened it to the title page. “Would you like it to Elizabeth or Lizzy?”

“Lizzy, please.”

Vince wrote a short dedication, signed it and handed it back.

Lizzy read the inscription aloud, For Lizzy, who brightened my day. She closed the book and smiled at Vince. “I’m hoping that rings truer than you presently think.”

Slightly confused by Lizzy’s cryptic remark, he was at a loss as how to reply.

“Oh, you can lower those confused bushy eyebrows of yours, I’m not your greatest fan like Annie Wilkes from Stephen King’s, Misery.” She pulled a folder from her handbag and placed it on the table. “Inside is something I believe will intrigue the author in you. If you meet me in the Fawcett pub just along the street when you’ve finished here, where I am heading for a spot of lunch, I’ll explain everything. They do a lovely steak pie and creamy mash there. I’ll wait for two hours and then I’m gone.” She held out her hand again. “Goodbye Vince and I hope you come. It’s been a pleasure meeting you.”

For the second time, Vince shook her hand. “Likewise, Lizzy.”

Without further ado, Lizzy turned away and headed to the counter to pay for the book. Vince returned the wave she gave him when she headed for the exit.

Vince groaned when he spied the owner striding purposefully over.

“Well, Mr. Parker, it’s not the rush of fans I was led to believe would descend on my shop to purchase your book, is it?”

Vince shrugged. “It could be worse.”

“Worse! How? You’ve only sold three copies.”

“Less would be worse,” offered Vince.

Jessop snorted. “Only barely.” He picked up one of the books and stared disapprovingly at the cover.”

“Would you like me to sign it for you,” Vince asked, feigning innocence.

Jessop promptly returned it to the stack. “How much longer do you intend to prolong your embarrassment. I ask, not to save your discomfort but that it reflects badly on my shop. Also, you’re taking up a lot of room with your display. Room that could be used for books that actually sell and make me money.”

Vince glanced around at the two sandwich boards with his book posters on them. He’d have to haul them back to his car which was parked a couple of streets away. He looked at Jessop sheepishly. “Another hour, tops.”

Jessop nodded. “Unless we are inundated with your book sales, which seems an impossibility, not a second longer.” He turned away and returned to his command post behind the counter.

Vince sighed. His dreams of becoming an A-list author seem to slip farther away to the land of wishful thinking every day. Remembering the folder Lizzy had left him, he opened it and stared at the photocopy of what seemed to be the title page of an old document. The neat, legible handwriting was easy to read, The True Catastrophic Events of the Dutchman as Witnessed by Tom Hardy, the Cabin Boy Aboard the Aforementioned Vessel.

Though longwinded, it seemed to be the title of the document absent from the file. He turned the A4 page over, the back was blank. When he reread the words, something dawned on him. Tom Hardy had the same surname as Lizzy. They must be related.

Vince had researched the Dutchman legend for a planned novel he never got around to writing, one of the many he had started but never finished. The ship is nowadays referred to as the flying Dutchman because some of its early sightings reported the alleged ghost ship as flying above the waves. This spectacle is often experienced today when the weather conditions are right and is called a Fata Morgana. The optical phenomenon can sometimes create the illusion that a ship on the horizon is floating above the sea.

Lizzy was correct, he was intrigued. He’d stick it out for another hour, clear his stuff and head for the Fawcett pub to meet with Lizzy. Hopefully she’ll have the full manuscript with her and let him read it, why else would she mention it. It could prove to be an ideal subject for his next book.

Though perhaps not as much as the more modern-day Mary Celest, Vince thought that most people must have heard the Dutchman legend. Everyone enjoyed a mystery, and this was one that had never been solved. It could prove to be popular. Perhaps the number one best seller he, and most authors, yearned for.

If Tom Hardy had been the cabin boy aboard the Dutchman and somehow survived, it was possible he had recorded what he had seen. But why wasn’t it published and why didn’t he come forward to let people know he had survived and what truly happened? Was Tom the only survivor or were there others?

His eyes focused on the True Catastrophic Events section of the title. It could only mean something disastrous had happened onboard. His author’s imagination went into overdrive as he trawled through different violent scenarios. He glanced at the clock. In about forty minutes, he’d hopefully find out.

*****

Vince placed the photocopied manuscript he had just skimmed through on the table and looked at Lizzie sitting opposite.

“Well, what do think,” asked Lizzy.

“I think it’s a fantastic tale.”

Sensing Vince’s skepticism, she said, “But…”

Vince took a deep breath. “It seems a bit…let’s put it this way, and I mean no disrespect, it sounds more like a sailors ghost story than anything that actually happened.”

Lizzie was unperturbed. “Oh, it happened all right.” She fished a hand into her handbag, pulled out a slim wooden box and placed it on the table in front of Vince.

Vince studied the box. It looked old, antique. Dovetail joints on the corners and a slight curve to the lid held closed by a simple brass clasp. He tilted it slightly to see the faded image painted on the lid. Though faint, it depicted strange creatures climbing the side of a ship. Its crew fired muskets and stabbed at the creatures with swords and flaming torches in an attempt to ward them off. He recognized the scene from the manuscript he had just read.

“Tom made the box and painted the picture,” said Lizzie. “Once he arrived back in England, he never went to sea again. He recorded the terrible events he had witnessed aboard the Fortuyn to try and quell the recurring nightmares that plagued his sleep. Eventually they did pass, but he never forgot those terrible events.”

“What’s in the box,” asked Vince.

“Proof,” Lizzy replied. “Proof that Tom’s story is true.”

Vince’s eyebrows rose as he wondered what could be inside the box that would prove such an unbelievable and fantastical tale was factual. He released the catch and raised the lid. Inside was something wrapped in a piece of sail cloth. He folded back the edges and with mouth agape, stared at what he had uncovered. After a few moments of letting the vision sink in, he raised his head to Lizzy. “Is this real?”

Lizzy, obviously pleased with Vince’s reaction, nodded. “It is. Tom brought it back with him. It’s the arm he chopped off one of the creatures in the story you just read.”

Vince returned his attention back to the mummified arm chopped off below the elbow. Though only about six inches long, its sharp claws were frightening. According to Tom’s account of events, the creatures had six claw-tipped limbs, making them formidable foes indeed. He scrutinized the limb for any signs of tampering, the finding of strange beasts had been hoaxed before by joining pieces of different species together. Though he was no expert, the claw was like no other he recognized. They had tiny, almost scalpel-sharp teeth, running down their cutting edges. They would rip through skin and flesh like the preverbal hot knife through butter.

Now believing at least the monsters in Tom’s story was true, he rewrapped the limb and closed the box.

“Okay, I’m convinced, but why come to me? You could take Tom’s manuscript and the box to one of the major publisher houses, who would probably jump at the chance and possibly pay you a huge fee for the rights to publish.”

“If I wanted money that’s what I would have done. As I said, I’m a big fan of your books. I like your writing style. You get to the point and keep the story moving along without stuffing the pages with wasteful filler. I know when I pick up one of your books I won’t want to put it down until I’ve read the last word.”

“Thank you, Lizzy.” He tapped the photocopied manuscript. “Tom’s account is very factual and will need dramatizing up. I’ll also have to create some of the events preceding Tom’s encounter with the creatures, but I promise I’ll do Tom’s story justice.”

Lizzy smiled. “If I thought otherwise, I wouldn’t be here.”

“Again, thank you. This could be the big break I need.”

“Nothing would please me more and in my humble opinion, you deserve to be read by a wider audience.” She pulled a package from her bag and handed it to Vince. “Tom’s original manuscript.”

Vince reverently accepted the package. “Thank you. I’ll be sure to return it when I’ve finished with it.”

“No need. Keep it. I’ll likely be dead by the time you’ve finished writing it.”

Stunned by the news, he looked at Lizzy with concern.

“Damn cancer has me,” Lizzy explained. “Six months, maybe a year if I’m lucky, and I’m gone.”

“I’m so sorry,” said Vince, genuinely sincere.

Lizzy tutted. “What will be, will be.”

Vince nodded a little sadly.

“Now you know why the money doesn’t interest me. I won’t be around to spend it and I’m the last of the Hardy line. Something wrong with me below, meaning I can’t have children. My husband died a few years back so I’m looking forward to being reunited with him in the afterlife, if such a thing exists. If not, I suppose I’ll be none the wiser.”

“I’m sorry, Lizzy, but I’m at a loss at how to respond.”

Lizzy reached across the table and laid a hand on his. “A response isn’t necessary, just write the book as fast as you can and then perhaps I can read it before I go.”

Vince placed his other hand on top of Lizzy’s. “I promise I’ll do my best.”

Lizzy smiled warmly as she retracted her hand and sat back. “I know you will, Vince. You seem like a nice guy and I hope Tom’s story helps you.”

“I’m sure it will. There’s one thing I’d like to ask, though.”

“Ask away.”

“It’s been what, about four hundred years since Tom was shipwrecked. Why didn’t he or his family release the story earlier?”

“You have to remember the era when this happened. Back then, sailors were a highly superstitious bunch. Ship owners already found it hard enough to hire crews to risk the long journey to Africa and round the infamous Cape that had claimed so many ships, if the story got out there were real life sea monsters attacking ships in the area, even fewer would want to risk the voyage. Even with the evidence of the creature’s arm to back up his unlikely tale, Tom was worried, and with good reason I suspect, that if he reported monsters attacked his ship and slaughtered all his shipmates, he’d be ridiculed or accused of madness by the wealthy shipowners and merchantmen, who would do anything to protect their lucrative trades. That’s why he decided to keep quiet and move on and better everyone outside his family believed all aboard the Hannibal had perished.”

“I feel for Tom,” said Vince.

“Oh, he had a good life after the nightmares stopped. He married, had kids and lived to a ripe old age.” Lizzy glanced at the wall clock and stood. “Time for me to go, hospital appointment.” She took a piece of paper ripped from a small notepad from a pocket and handed it to Vince. “My details if you need to contact me.”

Vince climbed to his feet. “You’ve been so generous and if I can do anything for you, just ask.” He took a business card from his pocket and gave it to her. “Now, can I give you a hug?”

Lizzy spread her arms. “Hug away.”

They hugged and separated.

Vince picked up the box from the table. “Don’t forget this.”

Lizzy shook her head. “It’s yours now to do with what you will, as is Tom’s manuscript. Goodbye Vince and good luck with your writing.”

“Thanks again, Lizzy. Goodbye and I promise to get the book written before…quickly.”

Lizzy laughed. “I’m sure you’ll do your best.” She gave him a little wave adieu and walked out onto the street.

Vince sat down, looked at the box and manuscript and let out a deep breath. He had a good feeling about this. The break he had always dreamt of, thanks to Lizzy, might have just landed in his lap. Keen to get started on this new venture, he gathered up everything and headed home.

Next Chapter: Chapter 2