The key

The key

Though the darkness had gathered early, the gloom still held on tightly to the stifling atmosphere that had permeated the day. Not one star shone through the heavy clouds that had captured the afternoon sky. While the lights shining along the deck of the ship created the false impression that the absent stars had fallen over the quay. A steamer, once the pride of her shipping line, waited, tied to the shore. Appearing out of the thick night a dark suited salesman struggles up the ship’s gangway with his heavy suitcase. Feeling his shirt clinging and rivulets of moisture rolling down under his arms he shuffles onto the deck. Though an old lady, the ship still carries an air of faded grandeur. She was built for a luxury trade that had been taken away by the increasingly common air travel. She now wore an air of aged elegance. Evoking more the aura of a lavender scented, musty, old aunt than a grand old dame. Once she travelled between continents, now this sailing was a long, slow, island-hopping mail run. Her tall, single funnel quietly belching black smoke into the night air. Meanwhile to the west flickering clouds threaten the approach of a thunderstorm.

At a little after eight that evening her hold to the wharf was released. Then she is gently nudged away by the tugs at the old ship’s bow. The storm which had gathered closer, has not yet broken. She steams down the river under dark, sullen skies. The passenger manifest is light compared to the crowds of well-heeled passengers of past voyages. Most of the passengers on board would have preferred to fly but this ship is the only way to reach most of the remote outer islands. The lights of the city and the shore soon recede into the western darkness. The ship sails north out of the sandy straits and into the heavy swell of the ocean proper. Those without stomachs for the building, wallowing motion of the ship leave the decks early. Even the smoking cabin quietly empties as the last passengers head to their cabins for the night. The conversations during the first night out is stilted, each passenger keeping to themselves. Even the purser, with whom the salesman had tried to raise a conversation, remained tight lipped.

Unable to sleep in the stifling heat of his cabin the salesman sought relief out on deck. In the past hour the sky has grown increasingly oppressive and a eerie glow hangs over the sea. The wide, flat wasteland of the night ocean evokes an indefinable sadness. In the steadily rising wind the metal ship has begun to cool bringing some relief to the heat. The western sky still flickers angrily, as the storm moves over the dark, passing coast.

It was just after 2am when the world around the ship began to take on a strangely, violent glow. The salesman, who still stood on the deck, was lost in his private thoughts. He leant over the ships railing in his shirt sleeves, having long ago discarded his jacket and tie. He watches the clouds with fascination, their deep colours rolling with a wild flickering, turning the sea an eerie green colour. The wind is rising and lightning savagely stirs the blackness of the night. While the wake of the ship continues to lazily break the pattern of the waves. Meanwhile the wind begins to strengthen, slowly at first, then increasing in intensity till it soon tugs loose the flaps of the canvas forward deck covers. The rising wind also pulls the crew into action as faceless figures scurry past the mildly distracted salesman. The cooler wind, a relief to the clinging heat and bears with it the sweet smell of rain. The previously sleepy bridge is now a shadow show of silhouettes moving before the lights of the ship’s instruments.

Lightning flashes across the sky showing the white caps rising on green, whipped sea. Streaks of white split the green-black clouds, each flash seeming to tear more wind from the oncoming storm. Without warning a flash of lightning strikes the water close by the steamer. Instead of disappearing into the sea it rolls itself into a bright ball of light, which then travels rapidly over the surface towards the ship. With an echoing clap of thunder the intense white light strikes the ship’s bow. For a moment the superstructure glows violet in colour. The watching salesman is knocked off balance, thrown from the metal railing by a strong electric shock. He staggers back against the bulkhead which has become unbearably hot.

The eerie glow around the ship fades back into the dark night and the ship continues to pound into the heavy, black night. Over the next few minutes a series of flashes herald a range of smaller balls of lightning. Each ball, as though drawn by a magnet, crashes like fireworks into various parts of the ship. The ship is now pulsating with the rise and fade of light, tangibly alive with panic. The commotion of the spectacular light-works and noise have drawn the crew and a small crowd of half-dressed, half-asleep passengers stumbling onto the deck.

Staring into the wind and enjoying nature’s fireworks the salesman didn’t notice the running figure until they collided. A sailor in a uniform coat, with a wilder look than the night, he simply appeared out of the shadows. Lurching heavily he crashes into the salesman standing near the railing. Even in the half-light the sailor’s eyes shine bright with panic. At that point the heavens split with a massive flash, one that dazes the eyes and drowns the world in noise. The salesman’s instinctive reaction was to turn to the noise but the sailors intense gaze holds him, caught.

The wild-eyed sailor wrenches open the hand of the salesman and shoves into his palm a small object. He then squeezed the salesman’s fingers closed around it and disappeared into the shadows. Before the salesman had a chance to look at the object in his clenched fist another ball of lightning splits the night. Spinning around to face the bright light, he instinctively shoves the object deep inside his trouser pocket. While his brain is trying to comprehend what was happening a final massive, ball of light strikes the ship.

Later on he could recall three distinct sounds, the first he had not heard its source as the wild sailor’s eyes had transfixed him, the second turned him round to be temporarily blinded by the massive ball of light and the third sound, a split second later threw him violently off his feet. The sea close to the ship boiled as the darkness was momentarily dispersed. The ship was lit in a white flash that turned night into a dazzling imitation of day. He could see the canvas covers on the foredeck hatch bursting into whips of flame. He then remembers seeing a strange, deep, black gash grow on the wall behind him. He then felt the sensation of moving quietly in a great arc away from the rapidly receding ship. Where he had been standing disappeared into blackness, then flames.

The next full memory was of fighting to the surface of the bitingly-cold sea. Forcing his head back up above the wind whipped waves he finds his vision blurred by the salt water. Surrounded by burning wreckage, he swims to a large piece of timber floating near to hand. As though mounting a rocking horse he climbs out of the water and turns around to find the ship.

She was now some distance away having stopped dead in the water. Thick, black smoke pours out of her funnel, as well as every open porthole and doorway. Its source could be seen glowing red, deep inside the shattered hull. The strong wind is dragging the salesman and the ship apart. In the numbness of the scene he does not call out to the indistinct figures that he can see moving about the stricken ship.

At first he did not recognise the ship. What he had not seen at first was a great gash from the waterline to the bridge in the forward half of the ship. The silhouette of the ship is distorted. It was then that he realises that he is sitting astride part of the bridge’s roof. There are growing flickers of flame dancing around the fore deck and from deep inside the gash. From this distance the fire does not seem threatening, more like a welcoming camp fire than a beacon of a distressed ship. There seemed to be no real panic even though the ship had begun to list heavily to one side.

Slowly drifting apart, the salesman at first has lost his voice then he starts yelling to be rescued. Although his rescue is irrational as the people on the ship needed saving more than he does. His calls were drowned out in the final flash. This time the burst of light came not from the sky but from deep inside the ship.

The old lady took on the same wild look just as the sea had moments before. In the rapidly disappearing orange-white light, the ship seemed to shiver violently. The noise from the explosion carries with the wind as she cries like a stricken animal. The salesman is thrown backwards into the water but bobs up, sitting astride his floating roof. The sea wrenches the ship from the surface shaking the life from her as she begins to be dragged under the waves. Flames leap and the water boils as she sinks from her bow.

The salesman realises that the cargo of dynamite, for one of the island’s copper mines, he had seen being loaded earlier must have exploded. The ship screams again in pain, with one last explosion and with a number of indistinct figures caught in the turmoil, she disappears beneath the waves.

In the silence of the aftermath a cold, heavy rain begins to fall. The wind eases and the floating figure is surrounded by burning oil and debris. He shivers and moves his hands deep inside his trouser pockets. There his fingers come across a small hard object, withdrawing his clenched fist he opens his hand and sees in the flickering light of the burning sea that he holds a strange shaped key.

He closes his grip around the object and looks back to where the ship had been. He hears an echo of the dying ship from deep beneath the waves. Then the shocking reality that they are the screams of other survivors drowning amongst the flames. His voice opens in chorus to the screams, screaming until his lungs felt ready to burst and that was when he awoke.

Nils found himself sitting bolt upright in bed and bathed in sweat, not floating on the sea. The light from a street-light falling through the window quietly around him with the pre-dawn light falling softly over the snow covered window sill. The soft sounds of the city gently rising between the apartment buildings. His racing pulse slackens and the calm that follows a nightmare envelopes him, coiling him back to sleep.
The tingling sensation of having slept on one’s arm greets him when he opens his eyes the next morning. He lay wrapped snugly in the duvet and his arm lay lifeless on the cover next to him. In a sleepy haze he rubs some life back into an arm that seemed at first not to be his.
Realising that his fist was clenched tight, he prizes open his fingers and there on a white palm lies the same black, twisted, strange-shaped key. He checks again. His eyes blinking in the unreality of it. He isn’t dreaming and pinches himself for proof. The key doesn’t disappear but simply lays gently in his palm.

He rolls over to look at the alarm clock. Realising that he has overslept and is already late for work he leaps from under the covers. He throws the key into a small drawer in the antique dresser by his bed. Within a few hours the grind of his daily existence has all but wiped the dream from his mind, though in quieter moments flashes of the sea voyage moves like shadows across his thoughts. He looked at the key again that evening but as he could not figure out the rhyme of the dream, it faded into his subconscious. He spoke to no one of it that day preferring to keep the shattered pieces secret. Slowly the mixed images enfolded themselves and lay forgotten until nearly a year later.

Christopher had grown extremely keen on SCUBA diving. So keen in fact that he brought himself all the necessary equipment and more, including a small motorboat. And now that his friend had returned from overseas he was keen that they should go diving together.

Chris had been a friend since their school days, though older by a few years, there had always been a good rapport between the two men. At the end of their school days they had parted company to lead separate lives, meeting infrequently and corresponding often enough to maintain a their friendship. Chris had a great deal of respect for his friend for while he was overseas Nils had learnt to dive. The beginning of an love affair with the sea that drove him to become an instructor. On one visit home he had taught Chris to dive. Chris was even more drenched with enthusiasm for the beauty of the underwater sport.

That faith held for his friend to guide them to a new diving spot. They were heading for a dive site that for Nils was only a vague memory, yet with great faith in his intuition the little boat zipped a gentle arc rapidly moving away from the land. The autumn day was brilliant – with clear, blue skies and a calm, flat sea.

Having travelled north of all the usual coastal diving spots they were in unfamiliar territory. The distant mountains appeared on the horizon as a thin blue line. They were now in twenty to thirty metres of water not far from the shipping lanes. The motors slowed as the little boat was manoeuvred into a patch of water not unlike those that surrounded it. Chris’ eyes looked with questions unasked and his friend turned around with the statement, “Trust me”. Chris dropped the anchor and watched as the rope whistled out of the forward hatch. They kitted up and after the usual checks they both tumbled backwards into the sea.

Once together again at the bow of the boat, then signalling to descend, they floated down together following the anchor line. Out of the sunshine and down into the deep, blue water. The visibility was excellent and near the graceful curve of the anchor chain loomed a dark shape.
She lay encrusted to the bottom, upright and reasonably intact after almost a century beneath the waves. Chris’ excitement was visible through his mask, while Nils was overcome with a heavy sense of sadness. He hadn’t realised completely till now that this was her, the dream which had haunted his memories had brought him to this point. The old queen with a ragged slash through the hull where the bridge would have been was unmistakable. Chris wanted to peer into the dark shapes and view the fish and the soft corals that had made the hulk of the old lady their home. Nils was being lead deeper to the remnants of the bridge. He soon found the cabin he was looking for. The access being made easier by the enormous hole left where the funnel had once stood, this had been the purser’s cabin. The door was still closed. The fires had long cooled and the dark scars of fire were now covered in brilliant living corals.

The divers floated over the silt-covered wreckage. Nils’ torch beam searching for something that was only a fragment of memory but was driven by a strong sense of intuition. Then there in the gloom it appeared, a large, tin box. Chris floated into the light of the doorway and helped his struggling friend with the burden. Chris’ wide eyes sparkling behind the glass of his mask. They struggled with the chest to the anchor line where they lashed it to the anchor line. With the effort of recovering the box in the deep water, they had used up all their limited time and air. Rising back to the surface the graceful ship disappeared once more like a dream into the dark blue below.

Resting a few metres below the surface, careful that they were near their dive limit, they waited an interminable few minutes before surfacing. Beneath their fins was a giant, blue, cloud of wonder. Once out of the water and his capacity of talking restored Chris let loose a string of superlatives. Nils realising that his dream was real and the long missing ship had been found.

They hauled at the anchor chain, dragging the anchor and the box to the surface. The long sunk box proved to be an exercise in endurance before it slid on-board with a resounding clanging. Chris, it seems had found the coral encrusted ships bell and had tied that to the anchor line as well.

During the journey back to shore Chris rapidly fired questions and theories at Nils. He carried on a constant conversation with his friend who had remained mostly silent since they had come back on board the boat. Nils’ glance forward to the approaching shore was filled with confusion as he tried to fully understand what they had both seen.

The small boat returned to harbour, Chris had taken note of the position of the ship so that it could be appropriately reported. Hidden beneath the tarp at the back of the boat was the box and many unanswered questions. Once back in harbour Chris wanted to tell the world, but Nils frightened him into silence with unusual animosity in his voice quietly proclaiming, “No, not yet!” Then feeling his friend’s shock explained away the need to go through proper channels to report their discovery, of finding out the ships name otherwise it could be stripped bare by looters. Nils also hinted at a possible commercial salvage venture out of the discovery. Chris still plied his friend with questions. Nils was focused on trying to remember fragments of his distant dream. He remembered the key and his desire was to now try to connect them both.

It was some hours before he had a chance to be alone with himself in his apartment. Their discoveries were soaking in the bath in till they could tell the authorities. The bell rested on the bottom of the tub of water while the chest sat in a spreading puddle in the middle of the bathroom floor. There had been half an hour of rummaging through numerous as yet unpacked boxes looking for the small key. Now with it in his hand Nils approached the chest. Then disappointment as key did not match the lock. The purser’s strongbox had a much larger lock, and the small key was lost in the wide mouth of the heavier lock.

In disgust, he smashed the lock open with a hammer hoping to find a smaller lock inside, with no such luck. The box was emptied of its contents which included a brass sextant in a wooden box that fell away at the slightest touch, the ships log wrapped in oilskin and some small coins. There was no cash box, only the wet wallpaper patterned lining. After all his hopes of finding the lock for mysterious key from the ‘mysterious dream’ had coming to nothing. Disappointed Nils just wants to cry in disbelief.

Some hours later in the dark of night, weary and in need of sleep Nils lay with the ship’s log resting heavily on his lap. The log had confirmed almost all the facts of his dream. The last entry had been made just after midnight of that fateful night. It spoke of the approaching storm, the mounting panic and the balls of lightning. It had been filed by the purser in his safe box shortly before the ship had been fatally struck and the mysterious key was given to the salesman.

Suddenly Nils jumps up with a start and races to the kitchen floor the small key tightly in his grasp. A realisation had come and as his eyes grew accustomed to the bright overhead light his is mind reeling with an idea. There in the bottom of the chest among the patterns of the wallpaper was a small keyhole. He inserted the small, black key. With a resistant turn and a resounding click, the bottom panel eased away to reveal the secret compartment. He had found the lock that fitted the key.

What was inside is not for me to say, that really isn’t the point of the story. This tale is more about perceived of reality and what is a dream. What is it that drives humans on to search for what some consider a dream, and where is the border between dreams and reality.