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Jeffrey P Kosh

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Black Brig
by Jeffrey P Kosh   

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Books by Jeffrey P Kosh
· From Beyond the Grave
· Feeding the Urge
· Home Invasion
· Tales from the Dead
                >> View all



Publisher:  Jeffrey Kosh Type: 

Copyright:  Jun 29, 2012 ISBN-13:  9781476457598

Join the crew of the Damned with this short tale from Jeffrey Kosh.
Originally released as ‘Black Schooner’, Black Brig is an edited, restructured, and made more fluid, set now in the same alternate universe of Dead Men Tell No Tales. And Free!

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 Join the crew of the Damned with this short tale from Jeffrey Kosh.

Originally released as ‘Black Schooner’, Black Brig is an edited, restructured, and made more fluid, set now in the same alternate universe of Dead Men Tell No Tales. And Free!


Awakening in Hell

Feverish, I see the infernal ship’s black sails flailing in the yellowing sky, remembering the stench of burned black powder, men’s innards, and offal. The heads stand nailed on the prow’s rim, as obscene hunting trophies, they seem to look down to me, at least those, which still sport eyes. Gull-eaten, caked with ocean’s salt, mouthing wordlessly: “Everything’s lost!”
The waters about me are horribly warm, reddened by blood spilled from uncountable men, yet the Black Brig’s hideous crew keeps calling out further.
“More Blood! More Blood!” they croak; their crusty voices grating on my still ringing ears.
The Black Brig’s tarry hull rolls over me, plunging me down in the crimson foam, forcing me into despair, praying the Almighty to have mercy of my soul. Scarlet, iron-tasting waters fill my lungs as I sink deeper into the blackness below…
Only to awake in a worse nightmare.
I find myself upon a gloomy shore, among the carnage of butchered dead men. Andrew Fitzpatrick lay nearby; birds are eating his memories from his wrecked brains, while his swollen tongue has become the allure for meat-craving crabs.
Everywhere similar scenes play out, showing horror after horror to my already weary eyes. I’m in Hell, where at last the gull’s hunger is gratified.
As for me, I beg that they will soon take away my eyes, thus sparing more awfulness. I try to recall what happened, but my head is aching, and a hazy fog has taken residence in my memories.
Seabirds ignore me, preferring unmoving morsels, and I stand in the waves, weeping, unable to bear my conditions. Eventually, tears end, dried out by despair.
A sudden memory of me clinging to someone after the ship’s destruction flashes out of the resident fog, and I scour frantically the dread landscape in the vain hope of finding someone alive as me. And I see her, much to my disappointment.
The figurehead lay at my feet, blindfolded by seaweed; alone on that dreadful shore, she’s smiling. Her moist embrace prevented me from disappearing forever into the cold, dark waters, but she isn’t much for company now.
I stumble on the ruined corpses of comrade mariners, pieces of men among pieces of jetsam. Then, suddenly, the mind’s mists part, revealing truth behind their hazy veil. The brig’s vicious ambush had surprised us.
We’d been blasted to nothingness before we could send a warning to Drakestown, alerting our home of the marauders approach. They had fallen on us with such a feral savagery that our ship had been splintered into fragments by their cannons’ powerful blows. And, I’m all that’s left of the Perseverance’s crew, on that remote, dismal beachhead.
My mind runs to my family: vulnerable, unwary, and unsuspecting that a murderous crew of beastly rejects is heading their filthy sails towards them. Maddened by impotence, I curse God and weep, wondering if the Almighty is also weeping. My own sobs frighten the gulls, and they depart…
And in the terrible silence of solitude, I understand the true value of the word “isolation.”

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