Wharfinger Yarns

THOSE DAYS IN OCTOBER...
by: Ralph E. Ahseln  10/2010

Part 4

October 26th

October 26th through October 31st

        Every day for 4 or 5 days, Newspaper accounts and the talk on the docks, confirmed that an awful lot of boats and marinas had had accidents resulting in damages. Vandals seem to be a major part of the trouble as well. Oddly, the events seemed to have happened all over the area at the same time. Most of them during a few hours at night. Video cameras hadn’t caught a thing. Some places had hired private cops to keep watch. Even with all that, boats and marinas continue to be targets.
The local police seem to be powerless to do anything about it.

        Yes, there HAD been a lot of unusual things happening. And sure as heck, the Black Boat with the “Foreign woman” was an “unusual” event.
As well, the lady apparently preferred to sail at night. Maybe SHE had seen something.
He made up his mind that he’d wait around and try to catch her tonight. “We can have a little chat. Just so’s I can find out a little more about her.” He said out loud to himself. “Stumpy”, under the desk, gave a weak mew.
        He figured that if he got to the Black boat around midnight, he’d have a chance to talk to her. It was high time. He wanted to find out more about her and maybe help. After all, the woman was “damaged” and probably needed some friendly company. The rest of the day passed slowly. He was anxious for night so that he could have his ”little chat” with the “Foreign lady”.

        Late in the afternoon, he climbed the Ramp of the marina to put the day’s trash in the big brown dumpster sitting in the parking lot. As he got to the top of the incline he spotted Angela the old bag lady. She was hurrying away from the dumpster as fast as her feet could move.
“Hey, Angela, Where ya goin’ so fast. I haven’t seen ya for a week.” he yelled at the retreating figure.
“Don’t wanna stop there NO more. Youz gots Bats! I hates Bats! “. Her voice faded as she moved away.
The old Wharfinger yelled after her, “We don’t have Bats around here. What the hell are you talking about? “
Angela either didn’t hear him, or didn’t want to.

        Back at the office, the old man set his alarm clock for 11:00 pm, he ate a small dinner, stretched out on his cot and promptly fell asleep. He didn’t sleep well. His dreams were bad. In them, the old man dreamt of sinking boats, boats on fire, masts and booms falling and bats flying around it all. Really, a sailor’s nightmare.
        At the jangling of the alarm clock, he opened his eyes half expecting to see the office in flames. It wasn’t, but the old man was shaking with fear. He grabbed the tin cup that still had the remains of morning coffee. Gulping down the cold brown liquid help chase the “heebee Jeebees” away. Grabbing his old watch coat, he stumbled out into the night. Finally, he’d get to chat with the lady.
        As he turned the corner of the dock, his heart sank. Moving out into the channel he saw the stern of that black boat quietly motoring out into the dark night. He’d missed her again!

        The following days were the worst days of his life!
Each night he tried to catch the lady in the Black Boat. He tried different hours. One time he waited until 3:00 am. But, no matter what he did, he would be just in time to see the boat leaving its slip and moving away. It was like she knew he was coming and had slipped the lines before he could get there.
        Each morning the old man would walk the dock only to see the black boat secure in its slip. There WAS some change. Each new day he noticed the boat was dirtier. It had added some new trash to its rigging. Some of it, disgusting.
He started leaving notes pinned to the lifelines. They were notices that said “An owner must keep their boats in presentable condition while a guest of the marina”. Each day the note was gone, but the boat got more trash.
And the whole area began to smell.

        Les called every morning to tell him about the increasing news reports of destruction and oddities that had happened to boats on the rivers and bays close by. Some minor damages, others with near disastrous outcomes. It was like some kind of virus had infected the boating community.
        The Wharfinger’s own marina hadn’t been left out. There was much wrong on the dock.
        Sails ripped, Life lines cut or pulled so hard the stanchions had bent. One boat had sunk and several had been “painted” with that oily goo. Even though he made rounds at different hours now, the vandalism continued. The smell was getting worse.
        Dana Shepherd, one of the owners of “Shepherd’s Security came by. He told the old man that they had been working 24 hour shifts because of complaints from area businesses and private boat docks. All of them had experienced damages. Dana said they were stumped and couldn’t figure out how it was happening.

        It all was sounding like the Nightmares the old man had been having each night. The only things NOT in his dreams were the Black Boat and the lady who owned it.

        Why hadn’t he thought of it before? He’d wait until dark then STAY alongside of the Black Boat. All night if necessary. Then she’d have to talk with him. If she wanted to do her Night Sailing, she’d have come outside to drop her mooring lines. When she did, he’d be standing there. And, he had a lot of questions to ask her.
It was perfect.

        Before he left for his vigil, he tried to get “Stumpy” to eat a little. The cat only shivered, mewed and rolled up tighter into the space under the desk.

        The old man was sitting in a rickety folding chair alongside of the Black boat just as the sun went down. He had a thermos of hot Gin Toddy next to him.
“Just to chase the cold” he thought to himself. He knew that it was to screw up his courage too. “They call Gin Dutch Courage don’t they?” he laughed at his own joke.

        It was going to be an ugly night. Rain and a cold wind continued causing him discomfort . The old man huddled tight against the cold. But he couldn’t get warm.
His thermos was emptied in a very short time. It WAS very cold, He told himself.
Sometime around midnight, he jerked awake. He’d fallen asleep, who knows how long ago. His vision was blurry and his brain muddled. He had slept hard and it was taking a while to get to a full awareness.
That awful odor was there. A smell that was heavy and choking.
It was like a whole box of matches had been struck at the same time.
“Sulfur, its Sulfur”, his brain told him. Jumping up from the chair, he turned around just in time to see the foul Black Boat pulling away from the slip. Silently leaving him behind.
“Stop, stop, I need to talk to you” he shouted. “Ahoy there, you MUST return”
Then over the howl of the wind he heard it.
A Mocking, Cruel, Screeching, Cackling LAUGH! An obscene sound of the Foulest Evil.
It chilled the old man far more than the wind and rain could have ever done.
He stood there watching the lights of the boat slowly get dim. He stood until he no longer could make out the shape of that monstrosity. Then he knew he had to do something to stop that “Thing”.
At first he thought to call the local Marine Sheriff or perhaps the Coast Guard.
But what would he say?
“I …think… I know of a boat that... Might... be involved in the latest rash of vandalism…”
They would want to know facts and the old man didn’t have the slightest bit of proof. The only “facts” he had was that she was a disfigured woman, alone in a big boat, who likes to sail at night.
The whole thing would sound like a silly old man’s imagination.
Then he thought of something that might work. She was a foreigner. That would raise suspicion. Especially with the Homeland Security people. He’d get all the information about her from the Lease application in the office.

        Back in the warmth of his office, and after a few gulps of the last bit of hot Gin Toddy left in the pot, the old man sat down with the forms. Now he would know all about “That Woman”.
        The last page of the lease agreement had the all blanks for the Vitals. Name, address, phone numbers and other information needed. When he flipped the form to the last page another kind of chill ran down his spine.
ALL of the spaces were BLANK. Only her name and the name of the vessel were written in. He KNEW that the other blanks HAD been filled. He was positive of that. He always checked to make sure everything was in order. The insurance company had made that point strong when he first became Wharfinger of the Marina.
        All of the blanks were empty now. Except her name and the boat’s name.
They were there those scrawled letters in Black ink.

Name of owner……Marijn DeHeks…
“Vessel’s name…. Bezemsteel... 

        He could hardly sleep that night. His nightmares were of horror and continued all night long.
Early next morning he jumped out of bed and literally ran to the slip where the boat would be.
It WASN’T There!
All traces of it were gone. The smell was gone.
The boat and the woman were gone.

        As he walked back into the office, the phone rang. It was his old friend Les.
“Hey kiddo, how’s it going down there?” Les sounded chipper.
“Les, the damnedest thing, that black boat and the woman left last night and haven’t returned. I think they’re gone for good”

        “Great! It didn’t sound like a good thing for you, her being there”.

        “Les, there’s one more thing. I was going to give the Coasties the info on her, but it’s all gone from the lease form. All but her name and the name of the damn boat”

“Geez, old buddy, what IS her name? “
The old man told him and even spelled out the words.
Les giggled and said,
“Those names sound Dutch to me. I had some experience with a Dutch lady once and those sure sounds like the words she used to say to me”…Les chuckled again. Probably over some memories he had.

“Good hint Les. I’ll look them up on the computer. I was going to find what her first name meant anyway”

        It had been a while since he’d fired up his beat-up computer. He didn’t use it much anyway. It was making noises and he wondered if it still worked or not.
In a couple of minutes the Browser came up.

        He found her first name on a page of DUTCH names for girls.
Marijn .(Muh-rain). Meaning... “Of the Sea
“Well”, thought the old man, “At least that’s something good.
 

Then he keyed into GOOGLE TRANSLATE each of the other names on the lease form
“Google translate…. From Dutch to English”
DeHeks.. ?   De Heks....!!

“Google translate…. From Dutch to English”
Bezemsteel

Now He KNEW!
Now He understood

For a few minutes he sat glued to his chair. It was hard for HIM to believe.
Surely……No one else would believe it.

His thoughts were interrupted by noises at the office door.

Fearfully, he slowly turned to look.

“Stumpy” was at the door....... He wanted to go outside.

fin….
ralph e. ahseln
October 2010


Part 1

Part 2

Part 3