They call me ‘the watcher’.
It’s not as sinister as it sounds, I promise. In truth, I’ve been more of a distant observer all my life. It all started when I was but a small child, very much wet behind the ears. My father was a sailor, a captain no less, and the Aurora was his ship. I could have told you every little detail about that boat down to the last splinter of wood. It may have been my father’s ship, but it belonged entirely to my memory.
Every few months, my father would gently grab my mother by the waist, kiss her tenderly, and then then ruffle my hair just before he left our home. I didn’t know what my father, or his crew, did when they ventured out to sea, in fact, as far I was aware, none of the children did. It was a closely guarded secret held by those deemed old enough to bear it. I was curious, but no more so than obedient as a son should be.
I never had any need to know otherwise, for my father would always return from his voyages, even if it took weeks, months, or even once a year. He would arrive, and I would be waiting. But one cold winter’s morning when I was standing in my usual spot atop the very peak of Moor’s Fist, one of the great jagged cliffs of Moortown, I felt a sudden terrible plunging in my gut as I stared out into the misty shores. At that moment, I felt then what I now know: my father was never coming back. No body was ever found, and not a word or whisper shared of what tragic fate had befallen him. He had simply disappeared, along with his crew, snared by the mist.
The strangest part though? The ship ventured back to our shores on its own eventually. Yes, you read that right. On. Its. Own. Unmanned by man, nor beast. It had been carried into the harbour by naught other than favourable winds and dumb luck. The Aurora was thoroughly inspected we were told, but all came to the same conclusion: there was nothing wrong with the ship, there was no plausible explanation as to the crew’s sudden disappearance. At least none they would share with the youth. The elders whispered among themselves, hushing whenever I walked by, peering at me quietly through weary eyes. But they knew something, they must have.
No one set foot near the Aurora ever again. Indeed, there it remains to this day, untouched, tethered to Moortown’s harbour, an eerie reminder of an impossible mystery. But I knew in my heart that If I could just get on that boat somehow, I would solve it. It belonged entirely to my memory, I knew it inside out.
-FK-
Email: farrell_keeling@hotmail.co.uk
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Aggressively Opinionated 