Children on land think they have things to worry about when they hear a bump in the night. They fear that strange creak from the floor, or scratching on the window. It is quite a different thing, and I must say, more terrifying to hear and feel a bump in the night at sea.
Most of the time, these bumps, creaks and scratches are completely harmless on land. The wind blows bush branches against a window. The house settles at night and groans a bit. A sister in the next room shifts in bed and bumps her elbow on the wall. But a bumping in the night at sea is something else.
I was seven years old on the Horizon with my parents, drifting in the South Pacific on a warm, calm night. The waning moon was high and surrounded by stars as far as I could see. The stars arced over our boat like the underside of an umbrella. If you stood while looking up for too long, you would become dizzy, losing all depth perception and feel like the stars are touching your nose. But those stars had an end. They ended where the sea began and at that point it was black.
“Indigo, you’ve been up there long enough,” Mother said from below deck. “It’s time for bed.”
I did not respond right away. When I turned from the ship’s bow to leave, I felt a distinct bump along the side of the boat. It startled me since it had been so quiet and still moments before. I held onto the lifeline of the ship and peered over the boat’s edge. The water fluttered and there was a bump again.
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| Artwork courtesy of Jochabel Reese - Copyright 2016 |
A child knows what fear feels like when their skin becomes all prickly, and their heart and the pulse in their limbs become noticeably rhythmic. I felt fear then.
“Indigo, come down here for bed right now,” Mother called again. Her voice snapped me out of my trance. I hustled to the cabin portal and went in, closing and locking the hatch behind me as was usually done at bedtime.
“Sorry Mother, I think I saw something in the water,” I said.
“There’s plenty of somethings in the water, Indigo,” Mother said. “The waters are full of life and mystery.”
“I know,” I responded nervously. “I just wish I knew more about those mysteries, sometimes.”
“In time, all mysteries will become known to the world and there will be nothing left to wonder about,” Mother said.
I didn’t quite understand what she meant. I only nodded my head and began to scoot under my covers. She kissed my forehead and went to her bunk with Father. We all drifted into sleep like the boat lazily drifted on those calm waters.
Bump!
I immediately awoke and sat up in my bunk nearly hitting my head on the low ceiling.
Bump!
Again I felt the vibration of a distinct thump against the side of the boat right where I was in bed. Then there was nothing, for a moment. I looked toward my parents in the glow of the dim cabin night light, and they were sound asleep. It was nearly silent, for all I could hear was their calm breathing.
I mustered some courage, or maybe it was curiosity and rested my ear against the wall of the boat. I could hear a swooshing sound and then a strange echo. I began concentrating my ear on that echo which began to sound like a voice.
“I know you are in there,” the voice uttered. “I know what you taste like.”
My heart was pounding and my breath shuddered in and out. I was frozen with my head against the cabin wall.
“You both will be my meal someday. I will drag you into the darkness and fill my gut with you.”
I suddenly screamed and cried. My parents woke and rushed to me. I told them what happened and they insisted that it must be a bad dream, a really lifelike, terrible dream. I forcefully argued back and sobbed. They held me until I calmed down and I slept in their bunk. We were crammed together like a can of sardines, but I felt safer.
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