Scraping Bottom

By Michael J Allen

Death consigns a young man to life aboard ship. He struggles to learn the ropes as part of a lone ship crossing the Indian Ocean. Except, is his ship alone?

A strange fog stalks his ship. Sailors whisper of pirates and haunted derelicts. He must determine if the danger's real or a cruel joke on the new cabin boy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael J. Allen
• Release date: Jul 16, 2019
• ISBN: 9781944357511

Michael J Allen

Originally from Oregon, Michael J. Allen is a pluviophile masquerading as a vampire IT professional in rural Georgia. Warped from youth by the likes of Jerry Lewis, Robin Williams, Gene Wilder and Danny Kay, his sense of humor leads to occasional surrender, communicable insanity, a sweet tooth and periodic launch into nonsensical song. He loves books, movies, the occasional video game, playing with his Labradors - Myth and Magesty. He knows almost nothing about music. A recovering Game Master, he gave up running RPG's for writing because the players didn't play out the story in his head like book characters would - we know how that worked out. Suddenly fresh out of teenagers, he spends his days writing in restaurants, people watching and warring over keyboard control with the voices in his head.

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Scraping Bottom

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Michael J. Allen

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Scraping Bottom

A gloved thump drove the boy forward. The sailing ship pitched, throwing him harder against the rail. His feet left the deck, following his stomach over the edge. Ocean swelled toward him, a looming oblivion of reflected stars.

A hand grabbed the scruff of his coat and yanked him back. Wake up, Bilge! You’re learning to watch, not daydream.

Bilge hit the deck hard, sliding backward as the Avarta pitched the other way. Several other sailors laughed.

Bilge’s cheeks warmed. I was watching, Ratter.

Ratter seized Bilge’s coat and yanked him off the deck. He drew Bilge so close that the cabin boy’s entire world became Ratter’s dark eyes, pinched features and rank breath. "That so? Then tell me what’s six cables aft of Avarta."

Bilge’s eyes darted aft.

Ratter slapped the boy’s aftward cheek. Don’t look. I thought you were watching.

I don’t know.

Ratter drew Bilge even closer, the man’s fetid breath hot on the boy’s throat. Good looking out, boy. We’re all dead.

Ratter yanked him around and shoved Bilge aft. See that bank of fog in the distance? Know what it means?

Bilge wiped his nose then eyes with a glove, mixing snot and sleep. Pirates?

Ratter smacked Bilge again. "Means cold, hoarfrost, means danger to us and the Avarta."

Another crewman stepped up to them. Kid ain’t wrong about pirates.

Codswallop. Pirates can’t navigate fog any better than we can, Knox.

Knox cast his gaze aft, color draining from ruddy cheeks. "Flying Dutchman can."

Ratter sucked on his lip, exposing two prominent teeth. "Maybe, but what’re we carrying that the Dutchman would want?"

Knox tilted his head toward Bilge. The boy for one? The rest of us too an innocent soul ain’t enough to fill their hunger.

A cold breeze sent a shiver down Bilge’s back. Wh-what’s the Dutchman? W-Why woul—

Ratter smacked him again. You focus on watching, not ghost stories.

Ratter's..., Knox’s eyes lingered on the fog. Ratter’s, right. Best tend to watching, or Captain Toppe’ll take the lash to you for failing your duty.

Bilge swallowed. He stepped to the rail, staring at the thick swirling fog clinging to the dark waters aft. A gibbous moon lit it from above, swirling tendrils creeping across the ocean’s skin. Gooseflesh prickled his arms. Is there something in there?

Ratter jerked him back by his scruff, turning him around and planting a kick on Bilge’s backside. "Get down to the galley and bring us a hot ration afore