Dreadful Skin by Cherie Priest Page B

had a cabin down past the captain’s, on the next deck down. I had to run past the captain’s cabin to get to the stairs, so I ran. I was too wet to bother trying to jump between the raindrops, but it was almost worse when the howling stopped.
    I mean it like this: while that howling sounded from stern to prow and deck to deck, at least you knew where it was—and it wasn’t right in front of you. Whatever made that cry was someplace else. When the noise stopped, the monster could have been anywhere.
    Before I reached the captain’s cabin, even, I’d come to think of it as a monster. I just knew .
    There were only a few passengers on board that trip, which was a blessing, I figure. Here and there, they were coming out of their rooms. They wanted to know what that big noise was.
    Yes, well didn’t we all?
    Somewhere on the other side of the storm, maybe outside on a deck, I heard the gambling man trying to tell some of the others that it was just the mud drums being blowed out. I don’t think he believed it himself, but you know how people get when they’re scared and they’re not sure why—and he was just trying to calm them down. I heard a phrase or two rise up over the rain, “Sounds bad, like the boiler’s going to blow,” and “Perfectly natural. Nothing to worry about.”
    I guess he was a man who bluffed for a living, so maybe he was a better liar than I am and he calmed them down. Maybe he sent them back into their rooms.
    I remembered that the nun had ordered him back into the galley, though. That’s why I was supposed to get the cook and we were going to hole up back there. That’s what the nun told us to do, and when she said it, I believed she knew more than we did about the noise. She was afraid too, but it wasn’t our kind of fear—mine and the gambler’s. We were afraid because we didn’t know what it was.
    She was afraid because she did know.
    Maybe she thought she’d spare us knowing, and that she’d be doing us a favor. I don’t know. I don’t know what she thought she was going to do about it. I don’t know why we did what she asked, either—or why we made like we meant to, if the gambling man didn’t stay inside the galley.
    But I was going to find the cook, because that’s what I was told to do, and because it sounded like a good idea anyhow. I said it before—he never gave me no trouble, and like the nun said, he was a big man and probably real strong. I’m inclined to take care of myself, when it all comes down to it, but there’s no sense in being alone if there are others to help you out.
    Jesus, I was running mindless. That miserable wail—it sent me all scattered inside. But I had that one thought—get the cook. I was going to go get the cook and bring him back and we were going to wait in the galley. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was better than nothing.
    I dashed past the captain’s cabin and I dashed right past the hole in the wall where the window used to be—I dashed so fast, I almost didn’t see it. I drew myself up short and sharp. I slipped on the deck and fell down to one knee and I caught myself on one hand. I doubled back and I looked inside.
    Jesus, Lord Jesus.
    I should’ve just kept running.
    The captain was in there—I knew it was him, he was wearing that waistcoat, the one that’s got the blue and red on it. It was unbuttoned, and it was in pieces—some of it on the floor—but it was on him mostly; and on the floor by the basin I saw his black boots with the bright shine on them. They were set side by side how he’d left them.
    But the captain was in there—and he was in pieces like his vest. The whole room was splashed with red, and his chin was turned up, cocked up like he was staring at the ceiling. Everything was red. Everything was shattered—there was a thin coat of wet glass and slick rain on every surface. Puddles were forming on the rugs and on the bed, since the storm had come on in and made itself at home.
    I’m no doctor and