A Night to Remember

The cold seeped through, stirring Mikey’s conscious mind and slowly bringing him back to full wakefulness. He groaned as he remembered the vicious attack by those four cowards who had held him helpless as he was beaten into unconsciousness. Rolling onto his back, he allowed his right arm to flop to his side. As it landed, the small splash and the feel of water on his fingers brought him suddenly fully alert. Sitting up his eyes widened but closed almost immediately as it felt as though his head would explode with the pain. Slumping back onto his elbows, Mikey concentrated hard to slow his breathing and wait for the agony to subside. He knew within moments that that would be a very long wait and it was time he didn’t have.

Quickly glancing at his watch, he saw that it was twelve forty five. He gasped at the realisation that he had been unconscious for over two hours, and probably would be still had it not been for the water seeping in around him. The floor of the cell was covered in approximately half an inch of water and he was perhaps even more surprised when he realised that the terrible grinding noise it was generally assumed the iceberg had made as it scraped along the lower part of the hull had not been what had woken him. Oh, but this water, this freezing water could wake the dead. Pushing himself to his feet, he shivered and gripped his arms in a self-hug in an attempt to warm up. He had never felt water this cold before, not that wasn’t already ice. But he knew that the salt in the water lowered the freezing temperature and that it may fall below zero without freezing. Zero was bad enough though! His clothes were already soaked and he could already feel it affecting his concentration and mobility.

Edging to the bars, he peeled his arm away from his body and curled his fingers around one of the bars for balance.

“Help!” he called. At first, his voice felt quite weak from the cold and he had to dig deep within himself to use precious energy to shout louder. Calling repeatedly for a few minutes, his teeth chattering between shouts, it soon became apparent to him that no one was even there. No one could hear him.

*

Frank picked up the phone again, determined that this time he knew how to get the curator to the house.

“Hear me out!” he said quickly before the curator had chance to say anything.
“I’ll hear you, then I’m having you arrested! You think you can call me at five thirty and…”
“Listen! I’ll give you a thousand dollars if you come here right now and help us.”
“You’re serious?”
“Yes!”
“One of your party is really missing?”
“Yes! Please, we need your help. The site’s now saying they both died on the Titanic. She’s changed history, she’s taken Mikey and…”
“What did you say?”
“I told you before, Lady Alverton, she’s got him, he’s with her on the Titanic,” Frank’s voice sounded increasingly frantic.
“Hmmm…”
“What does ‘hmmm’ mean?”
“It means I’ll be right there.”

Frank stared at the phone as it went dead.

“Hung up again?” Gerard asked miserably.
“He’s on his way,” Frank replied with a relieved sigh.
"Probably just wants the money," Gerard scowled.
"Who cares, so long as he comes?"

*

It was just as she remembered it. First Officer Murdoch had just lowered the first lifeboat and even she could see that it was only half full. There would be a full enquiry after the few survivors reached New York. One of the main questions posed was why of the sixteen lifeboats mounted on the davits and the four collapsibles, only five were lowered with anything approaching full capacity, especially as the crew were aware that even fully loaded there wasn’t enough room to hold even half the number of passengers and crew. Of course, the answer was simple enough. It was cold, it was dark, the lifeboats were tiny and frightening. Above all, the popular opinion was that God Himself could not sink the Titanic and people believed that statement wholeheartedly. She herself had left the ship only on her husband’s insistence – a mere formality, he had told her. How wrong he had been, how wrong they had all been. She had spent the last hour trying desperately to convince her friends, acquaintances and anyone who even walked past her to get into the boats, they all ignored her; one commenting that if she were so certain the ship would sink, why didn’t she get into a boat herself and stop bothering people.

“Well,” she said to herself sadly, “I tried my best, they refuse to be saved, but there is one person on this ship that should not die. Must not.”

Turning to head back inside, she pulled aside a crewman on his way out to the boat deck.

“Pardon me, but where might I find the brig?”
“The brig, ma’am?” replied the shocked crewman.
“Yes, tell me.”
“Please, ma’am just get into the lifeboat, you’ll be fine.”
“Tell me!” she ordered.

The crewman frowned; he had things to do and this silly woman was asking stupid questions. Briefly giving her directions she headed off, hoping she wasn’t yet too late.

*

On one of the monitors, Bob noticed the main door to the house opening.

“He’s here!” he cried leaping to his feet and heading out to the entrance hall with the others.
“Which one of you called me?”
“I did,” replied Frank extending a hand. “Frank Iero.”
The curator nodded his greeting and shook Frank’s hand. “My name’s Barnes.”
“Which one of you yelled at me?”

Gerard raised a hand and looked up apologetically.

“Don’t worry son,” he smiled, “your brother’s missing, in your shoes, I’d yell too. Now, show me this change on the website and I want to see a picture of your missing friend.”

Frank led him to the computer and provided him with all he asked for. He watched nervously as Barnes chewed his lip.

“Okay, tell me everything.”

It took Frank a good ten minutes to cover all the strange happenings and discoveries they had made and afterwards a silence hung in the air. They still half expected him to simply laugh at them and call the police, but instead he nodded.

“Now let me tell you what I know,” he began pulling up a chair. “As you know, Lady Alverton survived the sinking but lost her husband. But what the site doesn’t mention is that she was utterly distraught and over the eighteen months until she killed herself, had tried very hard to connect with her dead husband’s spirit. She repeatedly called in all the renowned psychics of the day and none of them could help. When it became too much for her, she killed herself. But even in death she couldn’t find him and roamed the house, constantly searching. Recent visits from psychic mediums have told us that she believes that it’s some sort of punishment on her and she’s searching for a way to go back and put things right.”
“Well,” Gerard cut in, “that’s exactly what she’s done and she’s taken Mikey with her.”
“He does look strikingly similar to Lord Alverton as a young man.” Barnes replied. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think you’re right.”
“Yes, thank you,” Gerard’s agitation was growing once more, “we believe we’re right too, but what can we do about it?”

Barnes simply stared; somehow he knew he should have been prepared for the question, but now it was asked, he simply didn’t have a response.

*

Mikey sighed with relief as finally he heard footsteps approaching.

“Please!” he begged as he saw Third Officer Pitman. “Let me out, the water’s coming in there’s not much time.”

Pitman reached the cell and stared with a mixture of uncertainty and concern. Drawing a gun from his pocket, he pointed it at Mikey.

“How did you know?” he asked. “Tell me!”

Mikey backed away from the bars before realising there was nowhere he could hide.

“Look at you!” Pitman continued. “Your hair, your clothes! I’ve never seen anyone like you before, and believe me, I’ve seen a lot of people.”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Mikey muttered.
“Try me!” The Officer waved the gun, clearly upset and agitated. “You know before it happens that the ship would strike an iceberg. What now?”
“It’ll sink with over half the lives onboard.”
“This ship’s unsinkable!” Pitman insisted.
“Yes, I know that’s what you think, but it will sink. Please, let me out.”
“God couldn’t sink this ship!”
“It’s not God that’s doing it. It struck an iceberg, took in too much water. It’s going to sink!”
“So,” Pitman pulled back the hammer of the gun, “this is your work?”
“No!” cried Mikey. “Who do you think I am?”

Pitman didn’t reply as a chair crashed down on his back. As he slipped with a grunt to the floor dazed by the action, Lady Alverton ran forward, lifting her skirt a few inches to trail above the increasingly rising water level. Mikey now stood at the bars, the water at mid-calf, his feet numb.

“Catherine!” he cried, glad to see a familiar face and one, it appeared, that was now helping him.
“Are you all right?” she asked. “I am so sorry about everything. I truly am, but perhaps helping you will also help me?”
“I hope so,” Mikey replied unselfishly.

He looked down at the dazed officer and noticed that his gun had slipped from his hands.

“You have to find the gun, so I can shoot the lock.”

Lady Alverton stared briefly; intoxicated by his resemblance to her husband. As she stared Third Officer Pitman began to rise to his feet. Turning, he stared wide-eyed as behind Lady Alverton, the bulkhead started to buckle and groan.

“Lady Alverton!” he cried. “The bulkhead is failing, you must come with me!”
“No!” she cried as she fought to pull out of his grasp.

Mikey reached through the bars, trying to help, but they were already out of reach. With a determined tug, she finally wrenched herself free and watched as, with a moment’s hesitation as the groan of metal straining against metal grew loud in his ears, Pitman ran, leaving her alone with Mikey.

“The bulkhead’s going to break, you have to…”
“I have to help you,” she interrupted.

A sickening grinding sound assaulted Mikey’s ears, it sounded to all intent and purpose like an agonised scream as the tortured metal tore away from it’s housing. Lady Alverton took his hands. As she did it was as if all that existed was her and Mikey.

“Thank you.”

As she spoke, the bulkhead collapsed and bitterly cold water poured in like a burst dam. Again, just like the time before Mikey’s world swirled and darkened.

*

“You don’t know, do you?” Frank asked unhappily.
“I… I’m sorry, I’ve never heard of anything like this. I…”

Barnes was cut off by the crackle of the monitors, as for a split second they darkened before coming back to life again.
All eyes turned back to the monitors, scanning them to see if anything had changed.

“There!” cried Ray, pointing to the master bedroom.

Sure enough, beneath the portrait lay a dark huddled form. Only the fortunate camera angle identified it as Mikey.

All of them raced to the bedroom; Gerard entering first and dropping to his brother’s side and pulling him onto his knees.

“Mikey!” he cried. “Oh God, he’s soaked!”

Mikey turned his eyes to meet his brother’s, his face pale, his lips almost blue.

“I’m cold, so… so cold.”
“He’s freezing! Grab that blanket!” Gerard ordered.

Within thirty minutes, the fire was lit in the bedroom and Mikey was bent over sitting with blankets wrapped close around him while his clothes dried.

“Are you okay, Mikey?” Frank asked.

Mikey nodded before looking up and fixing Frank with a serious stare.

“No more haunted houses, Frank,” he offered a thin smile, “I really have had enough now.”

Frank threw his arms around his friend, just grateful to have him returned safely.

“The site still says they both died on the ship,” Ray commented, checking the site with the curator.
“She did,” Mikey nodded. “She died sending me back. There was no way she could have got out.”

The back of Frank’s neck prickled in the same way it had immediately prior to seeing Lord Alverton. Looking up, he saw two spirits, smiling, arm in arm. His mouth widened into a broad grin,

“They’re together now, at last. Happy Birthday, Lord Alverton.”
“So,” Bob noted, “she did kill herself on Halloween – his birthday.”
“No,” Frank replied distantly, his eyes still fixed on the happy spirit couple. “They both died on the Titanic, just nearly a hundred years apart.”


THE END

Notes