Deck 13: Second Sight

By Ethan Somerville

At Long Beach in California, lies moored a great ocean liner. Once she carried the rich and famous, ordinary travellers, and even soldiers and refugees across the Atlantic. Now she is a thriving hotel and tourist attraction.

But why is she haunted by so many ghosts? Why is she frequented by so many ghost-hunters, determined to contact these restless spirits? Why is one particular cabin home to so much supernatural activity?

Captain Smith asks Carrie, Joseph and Dylan if they can visit the ship to investigate. They soon discover the entire vessel to be enclosed by a gigantic protective barrier. It appears designed to keep all the ghosts trapped inside.

Carrie, Joseph and Dylan figure out how to start freeing the spirits, but the architect of such a diabolic rune is not about to let his prizes – or the newcomers - leave.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Storm Publishing
• Release date: Dec 31, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005128784

Ethan Somerville

Ethan Somerville is a prolific Australian author with over 20 books published, and many more to come. These novels cover many different genres, including romance, historical, children's and young adult fiction. However Ethan's favourite genres have always been science fiction and fantasy. Ethan has also collaborated with other Australian authors and artists, including Max Kenny, Emma Daniels, Anthony Newton, Colin Forest, Tanya Nicholls and Carter Rydyr.

Book preview

Deck 13: Second Sight

By

Ethan Somerville

Copyright © Ethan Somerville 2021

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Cover art includes brush articles from Brusheezy

www.brusheezy.com

SMASHWORDS EDITION

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PUBLISHED BY:

Storm Publishing on Smashwords

Deck 13: Second Sight

Copyright © 2021 by Ethan Somerville

www.stormpublishing.net

Smashwords Edition License Notes

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Prologue

Little Jacqueline Torin loved to swim, and took every opportunity to visit the first-class swimming pool. It felt like a giant bath tub. But even more she loved the slide that ran down into that water. It was by far the most enjoyable thing aboard this boat. Much to the consternation of her parents, she could spend hours slipping down it, always tumbling into the water with a shriek of delight and a big splash. The pool rules stated that a parent always had to be present to watch a small child and make sure they didn’t get into trouble. Unfortunately, neither of Jackie’s particularly liked swimming, and they never ventured into the water. They always watched impatiently, constantly asking if she was tired and wanted to get out yet.

But Jackie didn’t feel that she was too small. She may have been only seven years old, but she could already dog-paddle quite happily from one end of the pool to the other. She always made sure to stay close to the side, so she could grab the wall if she got into any difficulty, but that was still more than most other kids could do. Children even older than her clung to the steps and railings and whined like babies if they ever got out of their depth. It seemed with each visit Jackie grew stronger and faster, and one day soon she hoped to swim away from the side and all the way across the middle of the pool.

One afternoon, while her mother was taking a nap and her father was off somewhere, probably down in one of the cocktail lounges, Jackie decided to venture down to the pool all by herself. She was tired of listening to her mother snoring, and waiting impatiently for her to wake up. She knew better than to try and wake her. That would make her angry and yell and not let her swim at all. So, she kissed her teddy bear goodbye, pulled on her swim-dress, still damp from her last dip, and padded down to the pool.

There were a few people swimming when Jackie arrived, and a couple of teenage boys mucking around on the slide. Jackie loved to play with other kids, but didn’t fancy joining those big lads. They were quite loud and rough, used lots bad words, and would probably push her into the water and laugh about it. So she amused herself by splashing around the steps, and practising her paddling along the side. She sang songs and nursery rhymes to herself, and told herself a story. Eventually, the swimmers finished their laps and got out. Jackie waited impatiently for the boys to leave too, but it seemed they would never finish their stupid horsing around.

But only a few minutes later, a moustachioed man in a suit appeared, and he did not look happy. He planted his hands on his hips. There you are, Harold! Get out now! It’s time to get ready for dinner!

One of the boys said a really bad word and pulled himself out of the water.

We’d better go too, said one of the others, and with that they dispersed, leaving Jackie all by herself.

Squealing with delight, the little girl clapped her hands and scuttled over to the slide, leaving wet footprints along the tiles. She knew she ought to return to her room and get ready for dinner too, but she just had to have a couple of turns first. Just one or two, then she would hurry back to the cabin before her mother woke up.

She clambered up the ladder and stood at the top. She spread her arms and whooshed down the slippery dip, faster than she had ever gone before, and hit the water with the biggest, mightiest splash ever!

Little Jackie Torin remains one of the ship’s most famous ghosts, said the pretty blonde tour guide in her smart skirt and fitted jacket. She is often heard in the pool area, giggling and splashing in the water. Sometimes she can be heard calling for her parents. People have reported seeing a seven or eight-year-old girl in the area, clutching a teddy bear. Others have felt her pulling on their clothes. She has even been spotted in other areas. But the strange thing is, there is no actual record of a child dying aboard this ship, and no mention of any girl named Jacqueline Torin. But her presence is unmistakable, and psychics have experienced the power of her energy. They feel that she is definitely here.

On a near-perfect afternoon on the 2nd of October, 1942, a large cruise liner was steaming along about twenty nautical miles off the Irish coast. She had been painted grey and converted into a troop carrier now affectionately known as the Grey Ghost. She powered along at top revs, reaching a fantastic speed of 28.5 knots. Fifteen thousand American soldiers of the 29th Infantry Division were crammed on board, on their way to join the Allied forces in Europe. The ship utilised a zigzag course to better evade U-boats and long-range German bombers.

Another troopship, a much smaller cruiser known as the Curacoa, was also travelling along the Irish Coast. At the moment she was ahead of the Grey Ghost, but the massive troopship quickly caught up with the escort vessel. Soon, the Grey Ghost prepared to overtake her.

On deck aboard the Curacoa, young seaman Edwin Adler was admiring the huge former cruise-liner’s majestic lines when he noticed the enormous bow swinging steadily towards them. He couldn’t believe his eyes. Surely someone aboard that behemoth had to realise what was happening and correct the mistake. But the gigantic ship continued to come about and was soon pointed directly at them, set upon on a collision course. With the gap narrowing steadily, another seaman finally found his voice, She’s going to ram us!

Adler and many others on deck were too shocked to move. They could only gape in disbelief as that gigantic pointed bow loomed larger and larger, twenty times bigger than their cruiser and still travelling at her top speed. Other men realised the awful truth, and grabbed hold of whatever they could.

Mere seconds later, the massive ship struck the Curacoa with a thunderous crash and screech of twisting metal. Steam escaped with a deafening roar. As the Curacoa reeled, Adler and many other seaman were flung into the freezing water. Screams resonated from individuals injured or trapped below. The sheer force of the impact swung the Curacoa broadside on, and then the Grey Ghost sliced right through her ten-centimetre armour plating like it was cardboard.

It was all over in seconds, and the massive troopship continued on her zigzag course as though nothing had happened. The impact hadn’t even slowed her down. Behind her the Curacoa wallowed, completely cut in two, the fore and aft ends divided by a hundred metres of oil-streaked ocean.

Adler managed to splutter to the surface in time to watch the stern drop beneath the waves, taking with it all the shrieking men trapped behind its water-tight doors. The forward section followed soon after, leaving Adler and a few fellow survivors floundering in the cold, murky water, surrounded by debris, oil-slicks and numerous drowned or mutilated bodies. Then survival instincts took over, and Adler splashed towards a piece of floating wreckage. Around him, others were doing the same.

Believing the Grey Ghost would soon turn back to pick them up, Adler could only watch in despair as the enormous ship disappeared over the horizon. How could her captain just leave them to drown and freeze in the ocean? How could he possibly not realise what had just happened?

Adler was convinced that this was the end for him. Already he was shivering from the icy water, his fingers and toes going numb. But he clung grimy on as around him others started to succumb to their wounds and the grim cold, and flop back into the water. I have to survive, he thought, I must. Betty is counting on me to return! She has a new baby now, a little girl I haven’t even seen…

About two hours later, two British destroyers appeared and started pulling out the last of the survivors. Only the hardiest lived long enough to land in Londonderry the next day. Of the Curacoa’s four hundred and thirty personnel, only ninety-nine seamen and two officers survived.

But ordinary seaman Edwin Adler was not one of them. His cold, blue body was pulled from the waves along with the others who didn’t make it.

Though this ship suffered some damage to her bow, she managed to make it to port without further incident, continued the tour guide. The loss of life wasn’t reported until after the war ended. And now this space, the rope room, is considered to be one of the most haunted areas aboard. She spread her hands to encompass the close, gloomy chamber with its thick coils of rope lying on the floor and bundled against the bulkheads. The only light came from a square shaft at the centre. Looking down the shaft, the tourists could see several storage decks below, descending into ominous darkness. Everyone shivered. It really was an eerie place. "People have heard loud bangs here, thought to be the sounds of collision, screeching, tearing metal, hissing steam and the cries of the Curacoa’s trapped and drowning sailors, calling for someone, anyone to save them."

In the early morning hours of July 10, 1966, yet another routine emergency drill was conducted to keep the ship’s crew in shape and on their toes. During these exercises, heavy steel hatches would rumble across the passages, taking sixty seconds to seal completely. In order to amuse themselves during these frequent and often tiresome drills, the crewmembers had started playing games of chicken with the doors. They would see how many times they could dive through the diminishing gaps before they closed completely, and dare each-other to take the last jump.

While near the engine room during the drill, eighteen-year-old crewman John Pedder was convinced he could make it through. He followed his fellows at a run towards the steadily closing door thirteen. The gap ahead of him was barely thirty centimetres wide. He lunged for the hole – and the hatch closed on his shoulders. Still sure he could squeeze through he twisted his body – and the heavy metal clamped down on his ribcage. He’d thought it would stop when it hit him, but the heavy steel was lot stronger than he’d anticipated, He opened his mouth to call out to his mates, who were already disappearing down Shaft Alley ahead of him, but couldn’t draw in a proper breath. His body felt like it was caught in a gigantic vice. He heard the unmistakable sound of his ribs cracking. He had never experienced such horrific pain.

When his fellow crewmembers realised Pedder wasn’t following them, they turned back to see what had happened to him. They found him stuck half-in and half-out of door thirteen, unconscious. When the hatch was released, they tried to revive him, but soon realised it was pointless.

The door had nearly cut the poor young man in half.

Today, ‘Half Hatch Harry’, as Pedder is affectionately known, is often spotted in the corridors and elevators surrounding the engine room, the guide continued. Those visiting ‘Shaft Alley’ here, she waved her hands to encompass the narrow, metal-floored passage that ran from the engine room to the stern, have reported seeing a bearded man in dated work overalls following them around, and then suddenly disappearing near this door. She patted it with one hand. Now the deadly hatch was locked in an open position. There have also been claims of clothing or purses being tugged on, banging on pipes, and greasy hand-prints appearing out of nowhere. She paused and clasped her hands together, looking around with satisfaction at all her charges. Some were glancing nervously over their shoulders, others looking more hopefully, wanting to see a spook or two. A few appeared openly sceptical, lounging off to the sides with their arms folded.

The guide smiled. I fact, I’ve encountered him myself, she continued. She hadn’t – she was just repeating a story told to her by someone else – but this was a ghost tour after all and it was her job to entertain. One afternoon, while I was alone down here by myself, something compelled me to turn around. I don’t know what – I was convinced I was by myself. But when I did look over my shoulder, I saw a strange man standing right behind me. She lowered her voice, adopting a deeper, more dramatic tone. He was wearing blue overalls, and they were dirty. He looked so real and solid – not like a ghost at all. My first thought was that he was an actual worker. But when I stepped aside to let him pass, he wasn't there anymore. He had simply disappeared.

There were a few shocked gasps at that, and even some of the sceptics looked worried. Only a couple remained stoic, trying to appear unconvinced.

The guide took a deep breath. Half-Hatch Harry might be another one of our more famous ghosts, but he is not our most famous haunting. That distinction is reserved for an entire room – the notorious cabin, B340. And now, if you will follow me, I’ll take you there. She turned on her heel and headed from Shaft Alley.

A few minutes later, the tour guide paused in the corridor outside the second-class cabin. The walls were wood panelled, the floor covered with rose carpeting. In the distance, the corridor appeared to curve slightly upwards, bending with the shape of the ship.

On the outside, the room appeared just like all the others, a plain wooden door. Most of the ship’s 355 rooms are considered haunted in some way or another, she continued. But of all twelve decks, the B deck is considered the most haunted, and this room, she rapped the door with the back of her hand, and several nervous people jumped, is considered the hub of supernatural activity for the entire vessel.

"In the old days, passengers complained endlessly about strange happenings in this room. Noises, footsteps, faucets turning on and off, hangers rattling in