Fear the Abyss: 22 Terrifying Tales of Cosmic Horror (6 page)

The man sat back on his own bed and rested, adjusted the wires, smoothed them over his chest.  The dark female figure resumed her work at the lighted panel.  The man's touch was like a drug.  Better.  The pain was vanishing.  He didn't need the call button.  Or perhaps he was just living with the pain, he didn't know.  One more night, he thought.  One more morning, maybe.

Maybe there were things he could do for her and the boy that he hadn't done, things to make it better.  But he needed to let go of that now.

He dreamed of a Ferris wheel.  Only there was no wheel.  He dreamed of a thousand wheels intersecting.

He stepped down and up and forward and side to side.

Nelson W. Pyles

Nelson Pyles currently resides in Pittsburgh PA.
 
He has written numerous short stories and is currently at work on his second novel.
His response to the Twilight series, “
Where the Apple Shine Won’t Reach
”,
appeared in the Post Mortem Press Anthology
Mon Coeur Mort
.

Frank Ridgeway wince
d
as the ship violently lurched against the crashing waves. He cursed himself for booking a ship across the Atlantic. He had suggested it as a sort of second Honeymoon; a cruise to the Caribbean would be "romantic" he had said to his wife. He cursed himself again for thinking it was a good idea.

*****

He also thought that taking the cruise three months after her death was a good idea too.

He thought about her as he lay sprawled on his cabin bed, always on the verge of throwing up, but never quite able to do it. The storm had been going on for an hour and wasn’t getting any better. Sometimes, the lights flickered on and then off. He couldn’t even watch the flat screen TV as a distraction because they had opted out of the closed circuit and satellite networking to save money.

"Why get TV on a ship?" Candace had asked, unsmiling. "We’ll be having too much
fun
."

He laughed a little, thinking of that conversation when they were booking the trip.

Then, he started to cry.

They’d been married for ten years and although some patches had been rocky (
like the discovery that he would not be able to father any children
) he’d thought it had been a decent marriage. He had watched in growing horror that all of their friends were getting divorced while they just "kept rocking on" as Candace had put it. There wasn’t anything wrong in their little world at all.

The three months since her death however had brought the reality a little more into focus.

Candace was a stunningly beautiful woman; honey blonde hair, a very fit figure and ice cold green eyes. She was a confident, brilliant scientist.

Frank was very average in every way; slender, nearly pale in complexion, balding prematurely and slouched a little. Candace had said he was a milquetoast.

And Candace hated him.

Her accidental death at the pharmaceutical research company, though, had just about killed him too or so it felt. The details of the accident were sketchy at best and Frank was considering suing the shit out of them, but the life insurance settlement and the additional financial amount given to him by the company had held him off for the time being.

"It was a freak occurrence," Stephan Bosen, the company’s CEO had told him. "As safe as we try to make radiation research, sometimes…" And he just waved his hand dismissively as if to say "
You know what I mean
."

Frank still didn’t know what he meant.

All Frank knew were that the last things he’d said to her were in anger as were the last things she’d said to him. He’d never argued with her before (
as much as he’d wanted to
) but she had always liked to yell at him. He had always been hesitant to argue with her and yes, he knew she pretty much walked all over him, but she was still his wife and that needed to count for something.

And
God
, she was angry that morning. She’d mentioned calling her mother in Ohio and that maybe she was going to move out for a little while.

Maybe for a lot longer.

He tried to block that conversation out, which was easy as the ship lurched to the right. He heard something move in his room and then heard a thud. He pried his head off of his pillow and looked in the direction of the noise. His suitcase has fallen over and spilled out some clothes.

And the box of Candace.

He bolted upright and got out of the bed. The room wobbled and he wobbled with it as he made his way to the suitcase. Dropping to his knees, he picked up the box with Candace’s ashes and cradled them like a baby.

He sat on his knees and looked at the little cardboard box. Inside was a sealed plastic bag and in the bag was his wife--all that was left of her; a small pile of ash. He choked a little but didn’t start crying again. He was thankful for that at least. He was tempted to open the box, but he didn’t want to see her like that again. It was bad enough when he had collected the bag in the first place. He had cried until it hurt and the funeral home had to call a cab to take him home.

The ship rocked again, but the sick feeling had stopped when he held the ashes. He stood up and although the boat still wobbled, he wobbled a little less.

The stateroom was small, but had several places to sit other than the bed. He’d been in the room two days already and had only left for dinner. He decided to take the box over to the little desk in the corner and sit down. He carefully walked over; trying not to fall as the ship still tilted and rested the box near a small clock radio. He pulled out the chair and sat, turning on the little desk lamp.

The radio was off, but he heard a humming sound. The digital number display was flickering. Puzzled, he moved the box away from the radio to see what was wrong with the radio. He picked it up and held it to his ear.

Nothing.

He looked again at the number display and it read 5:34PM and it was not flickering. Shrugging, he put the radio back in its spot. He figured it was just the power as the ship negotiated its way through the storm.

He reached for the box (
of Candace
) and slid it in front of him. Almost instantly, the radio began to buzz again. He looked at the radio and the display again was flickering, although softer than before. Frank frowned at how odd this was and without thinking, he slid the box slowly closer to the radio. The closer the box got, the louder the buzz was and the more the display flickered.

He slid the box away from the radio slowly and the radio adjusted itself once again-quiet and non-flickering.

This was odd, Frank thought, but nothing that unusual either. Most things had some sort of electrical discharge. Candace had taught him that early in their relationship. They were at a carnival, years before getting married--when things were good and happy. She had taken the balloon he had bought for her and rubbed it on her head. Frank had laughed.

"Now, check this out," she said gleefully and held the balloon over her head. Frank laughed harder as her thin brown hair rose up from the static electrical charge. "That’s pretty damn wicked, right?"

"No one says wicked, Candy."

"I do," she replied, rubbing the balloon on his head. "All the cool scientist chicks are saying it." 

She held the balloon up and Frank’s longish black hair had stood up as well. She giggled at the look on his face.

"I only know one scientist chick," he said grinning down at her.

"Yeah, but I am the only one you need to know," she replied and kissed him, letting the balloon go.

If a stupid red balloon could do that, Frank rationalized, then why
not
a box of scientist chick ashes? He chuckled and moved the box back and forth from the radio, hearing it buzz on and off as it neared the radio and then away.

After a few minutes of this, he decided he would leave the room for a while and try to get up to the dining deck. It sounded like the storm was backing off at last and he was feeling a little less nauseated and slightly hungry.

He stood up and left the box on the little desk.

"I’ll be back, Candy." He said. He slipped his shoes on and left the room.

When he came back an hour later, the first thing he noticed besides that he’d left the light on, was the buzzing. He closed and locked the door. The storm had indeed ended and the Captain assured the passengers that it would be relatively smooth sailing for the rest of the trip there and possibly on the way back. Frank was half-resigned on catching a plane ride back though, but he decided to wait until he got there.

He walked over to the desk and the buzz coming from the radio was louder. The display of the time was worse. Not only did it flicker, but it was displaying the incorrect time. It read 9:43AM.

The box, however, was on the far side of the desk.

He sat down and picked up the radio. It was buzzing, louder than before, but the box was further away. He put the radio down and slowly slid the box closer to the radio. The buzz increased in volume and the display began to flicker once again, but this time the numbers changed.

The display was churning out random numbers. Sometimes it would seem to count down slowly and then quickly. But it was moving the numbers around in no discernible pattern.

Frank slid the box away from the radio and it calmed down, but it did not stop. The clock went back to reading 9:43AM.

Frank leaned back in the chair and rested his chin in his left hand. Candace used to call it his ‘ponder face" and that what he was doing.

Pondering.

He sat like that for a minute and turned the radio on.

There was a screech of electronic noise; static, but somehow worse. It didn’t sound like white noise. It sounded almost like a scream and it was nearly deafening. His head began to pound and he shot a hand out to turn the radio off. The scream sound stopped and the buzz returned. He looked at the radio again and saw the volume knob on the side. He turned it all the way down and turned the radio back on again, this time, ready for the sound.

He could still hear the screaming electronic noise, but the volume control lessened it-even though it was all the way down. Slowly, he turned it up to a comfortable level-as comfortable as the screeching sound could be.

He listened carefully to the sound. It really did sound like a scream, but there seemed to be something else behind it.

He looked at the box (
of Candace
) and slid it closer to the radio. As he did so, the scream seemed to change. Not in intensity, but in pitch.

He slid the box right next to the radio. The digital display again jumped to 9:43AM, but the last number kept flickering to the number 4 and then back to 3.

The scream stopped and a voice came out of the radio.

"
Frank?
" the radio asked.

Frank’s face went pale and he felt seasick again. His stomach began to swing.

"
Frank, can you hear me
?" the radio asked.

He opened his mouth to speak, but that was absurd. This was not happening. There’s no way it could.

"
Frank, its Candy. Can you hear me
?"

Frank’s world went black and he slid off of the chair.

When he came to, he found himself half under the desk in the stateroom. His mouth was dry and it felt like he’d eaten a pair of socks. He pushed himself off of the floor. The ship was rocking again, but he felt a little better.

He pulled himself in the chair by the desk and looked.

The box of ashes (
Candy
) was still next to the radio. The radio display still read 9:43AM and the radio as far as he could tell was still in the on position, but he couldn’t hear anything.

Frank sighed and chuckled.

"My wife is a radio," he said aloud. "That’s almost funny."
"
I’m not a radio,
" the radio said. "
Frank
,
I need your help
."

Frank stared at the radio.

"I don’t believe this," he said. "You’re dead."

"
I still am
." The radio with Candace’s voice said. "
At least I think I’m dead. I don’t really know for sure what I am
."

Frank began to weep. He was going crazy, he was sure of it. He was talking to the fucking radio now, on a cruise he was taking with a box of his wife.

"I’m talking to myself," Frank said, almost laughing. "Or, I’m talking to the box of ashes with you in it, but it isn’t you."

"
Frank, you need to listen
," Candace’s voice returned. "
I know this is hard to accept, but you are hearing my voice and I need your help
."

Frank looked around the stateroom and as he thought, he was still all alone.

"Where are you?" he asked.

"
I’m not exactly in the room with you
,’ his dead wife said. "
You can’t see me
and I can’t see you
."

"No," Frank said softly and put his head in his hands. "It’s not possible."

"
Frank? I don’t want to scare you
."

Frank, still holding his face in his hands laughed.

"I don’t know if it’s fear or misery, Candy. I really don’t." His laugh turned into a sob. "I don’t want you to be dead and I don’t want to be crazy."