“In their defense, science has a lot of explaining to do as far as this ship is concerned,” Finn said.
The circumstances regarding the
Guinevere
were truly unusual. She’d been commissioned before the Great Depression, not to be the biggest ship on the transatlantic trail, but the finest. Built in Belfast, she had been a marvel of her day. Designed to carry no more than six hundred passengers and three hundred crew members, she had the largest and most luxurious cabins of any ship, a magnificent ballroom with chandeliers and windows by Tiffany’s, a “cathedral” restaurant designed with elements from the ruins of a medieval church, and a bridge that offered every possible navigational and steering mechanism known in her day.
Despite all this, she had disappeared on her maiden voyage, taking nine hundred lives with her. She’d been traveling the North Atlantic—much like the ill-fated
Titanic
—when she had simply disappeared. She’d never called for help; to the best of anyone’s knowledge back then, she hadn’t struck an iceberg—she hadn’t struck anything.
She had disappeared. There had been no radio communications from her, and certainly, no sightings of her.
Then, just six months ago, when a group of British scientists had been monitoring climate change and the rate an ice cap was melting, the ship had just appeared. Granted, great chunks of glacial ice had fallen in the area—the entire geography of the Pole had changed. Global warming—whether enhanced by the careless practices of man or not—was as real as every change that had already taken place through the millennia. Mini–ice ages had hit medieval Europe, and the earth’s climate was really an ever-altering system.
But thus far, no one had figured out how the ship hadn’t been crushed by the pressure of the ice all around it. Why hadn’t it suffered more damage through time and the elements? Where had it been? Some argued that massive prehistoric creatures had been preserved in ice—why not a ship? Finn’s perspective was that none of those “massive” creatures came near the size of the ship, nor had they been found in such pristine condition, but the ship being found—weathered but in full condition—was a fact; an unexplained fact. So how much could they really knock the Ghosties?
Anita waved a hand in the air. “The thing is, Finn, science will show us how she was preserved—eventually. She might have been caught in some kind of a shelter by ice blocks that rose around her, keeping her protected. The temperature of the water might have preserved her organic and inorganic structure. Science will find the truth.”
“Anita, what do you think happened to her passengers and crew?” Finn asked. There had been no sign of bodies on board—which, according to her reasoning, should have been preserved by the severe cold as well.
“That’s simple,” Anita said.
“Oh?”
“They abandoned the ship and tried to escape.”
“The lifeboats remain on board.”
“Another ship must have come by.”
“There’s no record of such a thing.”
“Not everything was recorded back then!” Anita said with exasperation. “You’re just defending them—because of that silly girl. Oh, Finn, don’t look at me like that. Anyone can see that you practically drool over her. You really need to get your tongue off the ground before you trip on it. It’s quite embarrassing, really.”
Finn was startled. He’d been polite to all the Ghosties—born and raised in Lafayette, Louisiana, he’d have his mouth washed out with soap if he hadn’t learned common courtesy. But he’d never imagined he’d given away the fact that he found Devon enchanting.
Then again, whether he did or didn’t was really no concern to Anita.
So he smiled. “I’m so sorry. I’ve got no scientific explanation for the fact I find her extremely attractive.”
Anita stood impatiently. “Men. Educate them to the nines, and they’re still nothing but walking penises.” She walked away. He assumed she was leaving the lounge to spend some time in her favorite company—her own.
Granger Whitby, who had been sitting next to Anita, cleared his throat. “Um, if it makes you feel any better, Finn, I believe that Miss Adair seems to find you quite attractive as well.”
Finn felt his face break into a sincere grin. Granger was a good guy; he loved history because he loved people, and he explained history by explaining people. Good, bad, or indifferent, people altered history with their behavior, and Granger could explain why those who looked bad through the eyes of time were often not so evil. He knew dates like the back of his hand, but his expertise was people. He and Finn had worked together often before—Finn liked people, too. He liked the physical differences, the way climate had affected the growth in people, how diet had formed their bones, how society had sometimes brought about their demise.
He and Granger were both tenured professors; they’d been sent on East Asian and African expeditions together. Anita had come on a few, and he had also worked with both Suzie and Marnie before. They weren’t, however, as close-knit as the Ghosties—which was now making them feel, of course, in their own minds, that they needed to pretend that they were.
“Thanks, Granger,” Finn said.
“You’re really a handsome guy,” Marnie put in sweetly. “I mean, especially for a …”
The “Science Guys”—as his crew called themselves—now minus Anita since she had walked off, all looked at her curiously.
“A scientist,” Marnie said, blushing. “Hey, now, we’re not known for being cover models, you know.”
Finn grinned at that. “I don’t think it’s a requirement that we be ugly, either, Marnie, and you’re the cutest little thing in the world, yourself.”
Marnie flushed. She did have a really pretty face. At twenty she might have been a real beauty. She was just tiny, with a figure like a boy’s.
“Other than that I feel like Scarecrow in
The Wizard of Oz
—if I only had some boobs!”
They all laughed at that—scientific types weren’t really that different at all, Finn decided.
The Ghosties looked over at them. Maybe scientific types weren’t known for laughing.
Michael Corona looked suspicious, frowning at them. Hampton Jones and Brigitte Sloan just looked confused.
Devon Adair smiled brightly, as if glad to see that they were having fun.
“What are you up to over there?” Devon asked. “Solving the mystery of the
Guinevere
?”
“No, I’m afraid we haven’t managed that!” Marnie said.
“There are possibilities out there,” Granger said.
Finn looked at him curiously. Suzie Brandt—a marine biologist and really one of their own—groaned. “He’s about to tell you that H. P. Lovecraft had it all right in his novels—the aliens landed millennia ago and kept the ship in decent shape.”
“Aliens!” Michael Corona scoffed.
“If ghosts exist, why not aliens?” Granger asked.
“Well—hell! You’re the scientist,” Michael told him. “Time, for one. Where did these aliens come from—how did they travel quickly enough to get here in a lifetime. If they were here, why have we never known? Why haven’t we found alien corpses?”
“If ghosts exist, why don’t the murdered just tell the cops who killed them?” Granger asked in return. “It’s been proven—right, Suzie?—that animals we thought were extinct have suddenly appeared from the depths of the ocean—or that they’ve been discovered deep in an Amazonian rainforest. We don’t know everything. And time can be elusive. What if their lifespan was thousands of years rather than decades or a bit over a century at best?”
“H. P. Lovecraft was a novelist!” Brigitte Sloan said. She was a truly attractive young woman. Maybe ghost-hunters—or ghost-hunting women—came that way. They might have gotten together hoping to be the next crew to be on a ghost-hunting show.
“Novels are often based on what was real; novelists base their stories on information they pick up speaking with other people in bars—or bowling, maybe,” Granger said. There was anger in his voice.
Michael Corona chortled. “Oh, yeah! Let’s see, we’ll have all kinds of alien monsters aboard. Oh, yeah, I get it. Ship stuck up at the Pole.
At the Mountains of Madness.
Cthulhu rising!”
Granger sat very straight. “Though the ‘spawn’ of Cthulhu is mentioned, the
Mountains of Madness
actually features Elder Things and shoggoths and the Evil Beyond,” he said.
“Uh, yeah. Fictional shit!” Michael said.
“Fictional, if you will. But if you’re going into fiction, my friend, you might want to actually read the fiction you intend to reference,” Granger told him.
“Well, here’s something cheerful—our ship was caught up at the North Pole,” Suzie said cheerfully. “
At the Mountains of Madness
was about an expedition to the South Pole—Antarctica—where the giant blind penguins were kept as fodder for the shoggoth—oooh! Giant sluglike or blob creatures with eyes all over that were like blob-slaves until they arose. We’re so far north—we should be just fine.” She offered everyone a giant smile, trying to ease the tension that had risen between Michael and Granger, the Ghosties and the Scientists.
Finn knew that Granger believed that there
was
something they didn’t know about that lay behind the ship’s survival in the ice, and that Granger did believe there might be a species of man or beast that had caused the survival—scientifically possible.
He didn’t quite understand Michael Corona’s conviction that ghosts could exist—but not aliens. Certainly, there were beasts upon the earth they had yet to discover or assumed to be extinct, but most probably nothing that could preserve a ship throughout a multitude of decades.
Finn didn’t really believe in ghosts, or aliens either. He did, though, love a good ghost story—or a good sci-fi story.
As if she, too, wanted to break the tension in the room, Devon Adair rose and stretched. “I think I’m going for some air before dinner. Anyone want to join me?”
“Not I,” Brigitte said, shivering. “It’s freezing out there.”
“Really, Devon,” Michael said. “You’ll catch your death of a cold!”
“I’m going to live dangerously,” Devon said dryly.
“I’ll join you,” Finn said, surprising himself. He wasn’t a coward—but he also wasn’t known for being bold. Especially with women.
But Devon smiled. They looked at each other across the several lounge tables that separated them.
For a moment, meeting her eyes, Finn imagined what it must have been like when the ship had departed for her maiden voyage, years before. Handsome men in formal attire would have flirted with beautiful women in sequins and diamonds. He almost pictured—in his mind’s eye—the two of them meeting that way. Guests all around chatted, music played, and they saw each other across a crowded room.
But, of course, the room wasn’t crowded.
There were only nine passengers aboard the
Guinevere
—the Ghosties and his own crew of science geeks. Only their staterooms, the lounge, and the dining room were open, but they were free to wander the decks—that is, when they chose. They were following the North Atlantic route and it was bitterly cold outside.
“Come on!” Devon said enthusiastically.
As they left, Finn could hear Granger continuing along in his vein. He wasn’t talking about Lovecraft anymore, though—he was on to mentioning various symbols cut into the earth and only seen from the air, ancient societies with building abilities unknown to man, and the very real scientific theory that wormholes might exist.
It was crisp and cold outside; frost clung to the rail. Devon didn’t seem to care. She walked to it. The wind caught her hair, and she looked out on the vastness of the sea with enthusiasm written beautifully on her features.
She glanced over at him as he joined her. “Haunted or not, the ship is beautiful and it’s incredible to be on it and be part of this voyage,” she told him.
He had to say something, though he was feeling extremely tongue-tied.
“Definitely fascinating—it’s like being a part of history,” he said. He leaned back against the rail, his leather jacket protecting him somewhat from the cold. “So—have you seen or spoken with a ghost?” he asked her.
She smiled. “Like a ghost—a full person—just stepping into the light and saying ‘Hi!’? No, I can’t say that’s happened. But I have heard plenty of unusual sounds…. I’ve really felt cold spots! And, yes, Mr. Science, I do believe that there is more out there than we know.”
“I believe that, too,” he said earnestly.
She gave him a wry smile. “Science as yet undiscovered,” she said.
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you’re an anthropologist,” she said.
“I am that, yes. I am fascinated, studying ancient people.”
“That’s cool,” she told him.
Cool? Was she mocking him?
“Well, I do something that I really do love for a living,” he said.
“I meant that it really is cool. Definitely better than being a bartender.”
“You’re a bartender?”
“You really don’t make money chasing ghost expeditions,” she said. “Unless—and this could help, maybe—we were picked up as ghost hunters for a TV series.”
“Well,” he said awkwardly. “I—um—hope that you are.”
“I do, too.” She smiled at him and smoothed back a lock of dark hair that the wind had taken. “I wish … oh, well, I wish I’d been a better student, that I’d gone on to college, that I’d been interested in more than clubs and football games when I was in high school. It’s all fun then—but you grow up and the nerdy kids have jobs and incomes and we gossip girls wind up being … bartenders.” She frowned suddenly and then laughed. “I was about to say that I don’t even remember those books you were talking about—or that Michael and Granger were talking about. I mean, I’ve heard of H. P. Lovecraft and I’ve seen some creepy horror movies based on his work, but … so, what are Elder Things?”
“Ah, Elder Things,” Finn said. “Basically, ancient aliens, large, intelligent beings. They raised what they called the shoggoths to be their slaves, but then the slaves revolted. They’re both from a novella called
At the Mountains of Madness.
The novella is about an expedition to Antarctica and another expedition to Antarctica, but the second time around the narrator knows that everything will go to hell.”