The thirst, it was all that mattered at first. He was so thirsty. When you’re so thirsty that you feel as if you’re about to die if you can’t wet your tongue, that was how it felt to William. He couldn’t think of anything else, but after a time, he would be able to control that persistent craving. He had no instruction and no help, just a shackled box in the hull of a cargo ship that he was locked inside of. He had hoped that eventually they would pay him enough to sail to inviting shores. But not like this. It was never a guarantee, but he had made a plan. He had trusted them. Decidedly at this point he knew that had been a bad idea, but when you’re poor and desperate and everything in your life is falling apart, it’s amazing the lengths that a person will go to just to survive. He supposed that he had succeeded in at least that part, but he could feel the waves churning through the layers of wood in the crate that he was currently locked inside of, through the wooden hull of the ship that floated him into oblivion and through the clothes that he was wearing that he assumed were covered in all manner of gore and unpleasantries. He assumed all of this because it was pitch black in here, and all he had was his sense of touch and his sense of smell. Wherever he was smelled rotten.
It was desperate but it was innocent, the chain of events that led him here. He couldn’t find Aoife (Eefa) Despite trying as hard as he could, and her father was nearly violent when he showed up to call after her wellbeing. He somehow thought that maybe it was his idea to send the men that had locked him in this crate just too keep him away from his daughter, but he was a man of meager means and he had never known him to associate with the type that would steal a human. He must have been drugged because he didn’t remember being locked in here. William had run into a fat man on the docks who caught him carrying a sack full of flour from one of the piers and into the store who was paying him a penance for a day’s work. He called him over, having the courtesy to wait to do so until after he had unburdened himself from the heavy burlap sack. He prospected him with a job. When he had told him what it would pay, he had decided right then that he would take the work, as it would be more than enough to get Aoife and him onto a boat headed for the Americas. He didn’t immediately shake on it, he had taken the man’s offer for an ale and a bite of bread as he explained the work to him. Nothing he hadn’t done before except for the part of having to be on a boat headed around the island to Cork for a week. That part sounded like an adventure. When he had told Aoife, she was worried, but hopeful. The plan was in motion, he would show up the next morning, early, and hopefully earn through his callouses his and his future bride’s passage to a better life.
He remembered showing up for work in the wee hours of the morning, 4am to be exact and finding nobody there. Another would be dock worker showed up telling him that he had received the same instructions, and they sat and smoked a hand rolled cigarette together and talked about the news. The regular stuff like how the monarchy was out of touch with what real people needed, and how taxes were more of their earnings than the rest of the paltry sums they had gotten. They had laughed about how the ones who sat in the tall buildings and estates would feel as if they had gone to hell if they lived one day in the bottoms with them. He wasn’t going to turn down a nip of whiskey when it was offered by the stranger in a dented pewter flask. It was bitter but warm agains the cool of the morning that still hadn’t been awakened by the sun. The man’s was kind. So kind that he felt somehow…at peace around him.
That’s all he remembered. He remembered sitting down because the whiskey had hit him harder than he had expected, and when he woke up, he was locked in a box of some sort and try as he might, he couldn’t figure out how to get out of it. He shifted around enough to get his arms and legs into a more comfortable position and now that he unfolded himself a bit, he realized how stiff his clothing felt, as if he spilled something on them that dried hard. There was a smell of iron in the air that he also I just noticed, but in the lack of light, that was all that he could decipher visually. The smell in here was overwhelming. He methodically began patting himself down, trying to feel for injuries. He couldn’t find anything, and other that the knots in his muscles from his cramped conditions, he felt pretty normal and pain free. It stunk in here though, that smell of death in the air mixed with the salt water was horrendous.
He hadn’t heard another voice since he woke up however long ago that was. He had been rocking here in his box for what felt like days. All he could feel was the undulating water underneath him and the creak of the old wood of the ship that he assumed that he was in. He was trying to keep his mind calm, as the last thing he needed to do was panic inside of a box that he couldn’t escape, but Aoife was on his mind and she always made him restless.
They had shared glances as he was trying to sell his salted herring in the market in the bottoms some months ago. She was carrying a wicker basket of linens down the street, and he couldn’t help but notice the shape of her. Even under her frock and bonnet, once he saw those eyes, he couldn’t stop thinking about them. When he finally had the nerve to approach her after several days of bashful smiles that they shared with one another, he thought that his heart was going to jump right out of his chest because his nerves could hardly take it. He had stuttered out an introduction, and she told him her name, sweetly, with bashful eyes but a hint of a smile on the corner of her mouth. He insisted on carrying her basket for her, and when she told him to sit it down on the stoop outside of a house, she shooed him away, threatening her father’s wrath. She hadn’t been wrong about that part, though he wouldn’t find the depth of that truth out until he caught them in one another’s embrace several months later.
It was a whirlwind romance, but he was the happiest he had ever been. Neither of them had a pence to spare between them, but the freedom of one another’s company made him feel rich, like there was nothing else in the world more important. They had decided to leave after a time, and his every day was filled with all manner of odd jobs, saving every pence and the occasional farthing in a feed sack that he kept under the floorboards of his room that he exchanged labor for on the docks. He never took her there for fear of her judging the shanty that he called home. Now he wished that he had. Maybe then he wouldn’t have lost her. Maybe they could’ve been on a ship that didn’t include crates like coffins and the putrid stench of rotting meat.
He had to get out of here. He felt around the inside of the box hoping to find a chink in its wooden armor. He found no latches or cracks. It was a well built box. He curled his knees up to himself hoping to find some purchase to push hard. Pushing his knees up against what he assumed was the top of the box, it didn’t budge. He tried again and heard a wooden creak. Ah, so there was some give. He could work with that. Over and over between resting the muscles in his legs, he pushed as hard as he could, and eventually, his muscles burning from the effort, he got a crack of dim light along the edge of the lid that he had been striving against.
This only motivated him to push harder and with more vigor.
Straining with everything he had in him, he felt the room for his legs expanding with a creak and groan of strained wood when finally a pop freed the heavy nailed and wooden lid. The smell increased exponentially, and for the first time since he woke up, he was reluctant to emerge from the box, afraid of what he might see. Peering his head slowly over the edge of the box, the dim light of the hull of the ship presented him with a horror. Strewn across the floor in the hull of the ship were a multitude of the dead. All men, all bloodied and ravaged in some time passed riddled the floor. There had to have been 25 of them. Most of them had wooden stakes and splinters protruding from their bodies. That’s when he noticed the large hole in the side of the ship. Cannon fire remnants perhaps? He couldn’t be sure, but he was still afloat and seemed to only have the company of the dead down here. The corpses were decomposing and bloated, many of their eyes still gaping open in what looked to William like fear. There was simply silence. The portholes showed that it was night time outside of this floating crypt. He wasn’t sickened, strangely, but he was in no mood to spend another second down here in the belly of this wooden vessel. He needed some fresh air.
He crept from the wooden container that he now saw wore an emblazoned script that read “wheat flour” on the side of it. He noticed the sacks of flour that he assumed once occupied the box strewn across the floor haphazardly. Walking across the floor, careful not to disturb his grotesque company with his steps, he saw a ladder leading upward from the compartment that he was in. He began to climb. At the top of the ladder he could see the stars twinkling high above in the heavens. As he reached the deck, there was no other living thing to be found, and he did search for them quietly. There were several more dead strewn across the deck of the ship. Seagulls burst into flight from one of them as he got closer to them. They had turned the bodies into a meal, and had become carrion birds looking at the damage to the skull laden face of the one that they had just departed from.
It was a ghost ship. He couldn’t understand what had happened here. As he strolled aimlessly from one end of the ship to the other, searching for life, he caught a twinkle out of the corner of his eye. On the horizon looked to be a city of some sort, shining its lights in protest to the night’s gloom. He didn’t recognize the landscape at all, but he decided in that moment that he would try to reach it rather than rot away on this vessel. He caught movement in the blackness of the ocean beneath him. It was a dinghy making way toward the land mass, a sole rower at its helm and making haste away from the ship that he was on. William cried out “Hello! Hey! Wait!” And unless his eyes were deceiving him it only made the small watercraft’s occupant row harder. Surely there was another small boat somewhere on this cursed ship.
Eventually he found it, hanging over the side of the starboard side of the ship. It was hanging from several tightly wound and weathered hemp ropes. Not being a sailor and knowing the mechanics of how to lower it into the water, he resorted to a discarded paring knife that he found among the days old gore that littered the deck and began cutting at the ropes. He did this with a bit of planning as to not damage the small vessel. Reaching the last rope, he cut through it swiftly with the sharp blade causing it to splash into the ocean some 15 feet from where it had previously been hanging. It listed alongside its greater wooden counterpart’s hull, knocking gently in the mild swell of the sea.
He knew that the oars were fastened to the inside of the dinghy, he checked that before he began cutting, so the only thing left to do was to jump overboard, so that’s exactly what he did. The cold ocean felt good as it soaked his disgusting wardrobe and washed away the sins of the unknown ship that he awakened aboard. He relished the cold water for a few moments, tussling his hair under the water before climbing aboard the dinghy and releasing the oars from their lashings. He began rowing toward the shore and toward the other dinghy.
The work was easy, strangely, and he found it odd that he didn’t feel more strain that he currently was feeling. it was as easy as breathing as he felt his muscles tighten against the handles of the oars with every stroke. The weather was calm, but this boat, some 20 feet long was meant to be piloted by more than a single soul. Despite that he could see the lights from the obscure city on the horizon getting closer every time he glanced toward it. Not only that but the first dinghy that he saw from the deck of the wooden ship was now more than just a shadow on the horizon. He was gaining on it and whoever was rowing it. This gave him a burst of motivation, having more questions on his mind than answers, and he desperately wanted answers.
“Ho there!” He called out, but there was no reply. “I know ye were on th’ ship, I just want some answers!” Still, no reply but silence and the noises of effort as the lone passenger (as far as he could tell) rowed with great effort in an attempt to speed away from William. This caused William to double down on his own efforts, and within a few minutes, the bow of his small boat knocked against the stern of his.
“No! Please get away, just let me be!” The man called from inside of the dinghy, not bothering to look back. “I jes’ wan ta talk to ye sir! I came from the same ship as ye did an I dunnae kno where I am or what I am rowing toward!” William called back to him. The man, seeming defeated, continued rowing despite William now pulling along side him, rowing effortlessly. He saw the man stop rowing, and picked up a long dagger, clutching it with his white knuckles and matching whites of his eyes shining at him in the moonlight.
“Stay back, beast! I don’t want to have to fight you, I just want left in peace!” William didn’t understand what this man was afraid of, but perhaps he had experienced the same grotesque awakening as he did not long ago in the ship. To his credit, if the situation was reversed, he would likely be equally defensive. William held up his hands in a show of submission and no ill intent, and told him. “Relax, no nae for non-o-that. I mean ye know harm. I just want to speak. You see, I just woke up on tha’ ship back there, locked in a box, and I wannae know where it is I am, and what it is that happened. I mean ye kno ‘arm.” The man didn’t relax, he just clutched his dagger tighter. William stood and walked over the railing of his dinghy and into the other man’s vessel, all the while holding his hands up, showing him submission and restraint. He didn’t mean him any harm, he wasn’t lying about that, but his questions were overflowing from his mind and this was the only living soul that he had come across that might be able to give him some answers.
The man scooted back as far away from William as possible, still brandishing the shiny blade between them in defense of something that William didn’t understand. His eyes were as wide as dinner plates. He was noticeably trembling. “Do ye know wha’ happened in that ship? How did I get there? Where are we? Why was I locked inside of a box surrounded by corpses?” The man’s eyes crinkled in silent defiance at William’s questioning. He sat that way for several breaths before replying. “Because I nailed you in there.
William was too stunned to be angry at this point. So this meek man full of fear was his captor? This new information did nothing to clarify his predicament to him, it only made the puzzle more complicated. “W-why did you do that? I dunnae even remember getting aboard that ship, I think I was drugged!” The man adjusted himself in his seat, leaning harder on the floor closest to William. He gripped the dagger tighter and stared back at him, now looking more angry than scared. “I nailed you in there after you fell asleep in it. I hid from you for 4 days. If you hadn’t fallen asleep, I would’ve been just like those men back there on that ship. You killed them all.
William didn’t have time to think before the man sprung forward like a cat who was cornered in an alley by a dog. William felt like no dog, but soon would be fighting him for his life as if he were one who was trained for such a thing. The man screamed as he lunged forward, and William could almost…predict his movements and easily moved out of the way of the dagger that the man lead his approach with. The man stumbled and had to brace himself in order to prevent falling down. He was now on the other side of William and after gaining his composure, his eyebrows wrinkled in rage again as he lunged. This time, William grabbed the man’s arm as he again dodged out of the way and gripped tightly. He felt his bones snap under his grip, though he only meant to hold him at bay. The man groaned and whimpered. “No! Please, just let me go!”
William relaxed his grip and the dagger tinkled to the floor of the wooden dinghy. He grabbed the man’s shoulders and he could smell his sour breath and hear his pulse beating rapidly now that he was in close proximity. “I told ye’ I mean ye’ no ‘arm, I just want answers.”
William said calmly. The man slumped, giving up the tension that he wore in his muscles just seconds before and replied. “You don’t remember? You woke up in the hull. They had you bound. Boss had us tie you up before we left. You…broke your bindings, I don’t know how as I tied them myself, and the next thing you know, one after another you killed them all. I saw you as you gnawed at their necks and drained the blood from their veins one by one. Nobody could stop you. I watched in horror from the service corridor under the floor and hid there until I could hear you no more. When I climbed up, you had fallen asleep in the flour crate that you had emptied of its contents. Instinct kicked in and I slammed the wooden lid over the top of you and nailed you in! You killed them all! You ATE them all!”
William remembered nothing. Surely he was delusional. He didn’t fight, much less EAT other people unless he was defending himself. This all felt like make believe fairy tales. Surely this man is ill and speaking in nonsense. The man just peered at him, tears rolling down his cheek. He smelled…delicious. He could hear the blood coursing through his veins as if it were his own and he was underwater. As he stared at him the thirst hit. The first time he remembered having it. He saw his jugular on his neck as he seemed to be calming in submission to him. He wasn’t struggling anymore. It felt like an invitation. Before he could stop himself, William bit down into the man’s neck and began to drink.
He had wandered to the shores. It had to be America. The people didn’t sound English or Irish, but sounded like the American crews onboard the cargo ships that frequented the port in Dublin. So he had made it after all. This was not how he imagined his journey. He was aware that he had bitten the man on the dinghy and left him there dead when he abandoned the craft on the shore once he reached it.
Once the sun began to rise, he couldn’t take the brightness of its light. It burned on his skin and somehow he knew that he had to get out of it. He stole a sheet from a laundry line and ran to the cover of the basement in a nearby cathedral. There wasn’t anyone in the building to see him climb down the stone stairs and into the bowels of the church. He was exhausted now and fell into a sleep that he didn’t intentionally choose to fall into. When he awakened, it was night again and there was only a low murmur originating from outside. He was near a rack of freshly starched preacher’s clothes, and smelling himself he decided that he could make better use of them than a coat rack. Remembering the searing burn from the sun on his skin, he looked at his bare arms where it had burned the most and saw nothing but ivory skin. Gone was the tan from laboring outside for the last 10 years, and in its place was a porcelain glow. What was happening to him? He took a pair of black pants, a long black coat, and a wide brimmed hat from the rack of clothes. They fit him well enough and more importantly covered his bare skin just in case he got caught in that same situation again.
He walked up the stairs of the church and into the mostly vacant streets. He saw a sign on one of the now closed shops that said “Charlottesville Apothecary” and he assumed that he was in a place called Charlottesville. A woman approached him, intentionally showing her garters upon her legs and asked him in a sultry voice “looking for a bit of fun tonight stranger?” And she leaned over showing him her ample bosom above her corset. He had no interest. Even in this current state of confusion and uncertainty he still wore Aoife in his mind like a shadow. “No ma’am, nae tonight. I must be on my way.”
Eventually he gave in to her persistence many nights later as he was hungry and was conscious of murdering on the street. The thirst. It was back. Hearing her pulse when she prospected him again was enough to draw him to her bed quarters on a dirt street called Garrett Street in Charlottesville. “Brothel Row” was what they called it. The ladies of the night al lived here. Some seemed happier and more taken with their profession than others, but they all wandered the streets each night in search for a new patron. He found her name was Lula. Her blood tasted of honey and smelled of cheap perfume.
William found a cabin just outside of town, looked to be a hunting cabin judging by the antlers and skulls that hung on the walls, but it looked long abandoned. He learned to sleep here by day and avoid the burning sun. At night, he learned that he was constantly in the company of the prostitutes, and they were more than willing to take him to their bedchambers where he found it easy to lull them into his embrace where he could satiate his thirst. He only had to do this about once a week to stave off the thirst. He didn’t like that he had become a killer, but when the thirst took over, it was a necessity that he relished. Garret street he became a household name. He began gravitating toward Madame Blumont’s who never seemed to mind that he left her girls for dead when he was…finished with them. He learned to change his Irish brogue to that of an English gentleman, and he realized that by merely asking a person with intent, they would empty their pockets into his. It was almost like…he could hypnotize them by merely looking into their eyes. He had never been so charming before, but he always paid Madame Blumont before he took to a girl’s bed chamber, and he paid her well after he had learned to procure money. He could wander by day wearing his suit of all black and his wide brimmed hat and he had taken to his new role here in America. This was how he lived his new life. He had become a creature of the night who feasted on the blood of prostitutes and slept in a secluded cabin in Big Stone Gap. He was no longer William Flannery. He was now William Rupp. He took the name from a newspaper that described an influential man who lived in Richmond. Rupp sounded proper and powerful.
This evening, as he was out for a stroll and watching people, he took an apple from a stand and paid the man a shilling for it that he had…procured from a wealthy woman at the docks. He didn’t eat food any more, he only catered to the thirst, but he took the apple around the corner and gave it to a man who had just arrived from Ireland on a coffin ship. It shot him back in time to his old life and he remembered the famine that was plaguing his homeland. He knew that they were coming in droves to the shores of Charlottesville on their “coffin ships”, desperate, just as he had been, to find a better life. He heard a lulling voice that he recognized off to his left. Turning in that direction he could see Madame Blumont. She had a group of young women who must have just gotten off of the same ship as the apple man as they were wrapped in rags and smocks, none of them carrying a piece of belongings on them except for what they wore. One of them in particular caught his eye. Her back was to him, but there was something…familiar.
“You’ll do just fine. Now come child, I’ll feed you and give you a place to stay. You’ll have to earn your keep of course, but that will come natural to you, I can tell you’re not afraid of a little work.”
“N…No…ma’am…I’m nae afraid o’ a little work. That is awful kind of ye…”
That voice. He would recognize Aoife’s voice in a thousand crowds. His cold heart swelled, and hope was born in his chest.
“Alright then. Come now Bonnie, I will take you home.” Madame Blumont said, and William knew what her intent for her was. He felt a pang of anger, though he couldn’t be sure…he had to know…
And soon he did. As they turned to walk toward Garrett Street, he saw under a tattered bonnet and a dingy smock, the face of his Aoife being led away toward a wretched whorehouse. William pulled his hat down tightly against his brow to obscure his face, and he followed them back to her wretched establishment, being careful that they didn’t notice him following them.