by Robert Bose
Robert Bose says: “There is a wonderful secluded dive spot on the Saanich Peninsula, north of Victoria, British Columbia. When you surface around a rocky point, you are under a jagged cliff with an old crumbling manse looming out of the forest high above. The accompanying sense of insufferable gloom always makes me think of ‘The House of Usher’.”
* * * * *
My great grandfather was dead. There was no doubt about that. His mortal remains lay in quiet repose under half a dozen surplus military blankets, faded and threadbare, from an age where such things were handmade and treasured. His pale blue eyes were still open, staring at me in a distant glazed sort of way. He looked surprised, if that makes any sense, as he had known the end was near for some time. We had spoken of it each day as I stayed at his side in the crumbling manse he called Ascalon.
His last word to his great granddaughter was “Atargatis!” It was a curious word. I turned it over in my mind and spoke it aloud, mangling the pronunciation from the way he cringed. I said it again, this time trying to mimic his tone and inflection, and that brought a hint of a smile and a small nod. The word meant nothing to me at that particular moment, yet felt familiar and intimate.
He gripped my hand tightly and pulled me close. I smelled the sea, deep upon him, and knew a kind of fear I’d never experienced before. It was as if the hand of death was reaching from the watery depths and that I would be taken as well. I tried to pull away, but his grasp was absolute, holding me in one final embrace. It wasn’t until he gave a small sigh and went slack that the grip relented. The old man was dead.
Something cold bounced against my chest as I backed away and sat in the folding wooden chair I’d spent so much time in of late. A locket on a thin chain hung from my neck. My now-deceased forebear had placed it there at the last, while he clung to my quaking form. I pulled it from beneath my shirt and examined the locket with interest. It was fashioned from a ruddy form of brass and caught the candlelight in a way that gave it a layered appearance. A faint embossing displayed a coiled snake-like creature, worn to the point of being nearly unrecognizable. A tiny clasp indicated an interior compartment. My fumbling fingers were not delicate enough to engage it but the tip of a nearby pen proved its master. I’d expected a picture, a memento of my long-missing great grandmother, or at least some other lost love, but it held a key.
It was a clever key, of the same unusual form of red brass that comprised the locket, the bow in the shape of a curving fish tail with a short thick stem and three jagged teeth. Foreign letters, or perhaps glyphs, adorned the stem on two sides, meaningless but intriguing. I replaced it in its cavity for later consideration, confident that time would reveal its mysteries.
* * * * *
Ascalon itself stood tucked within a quiet cove in Lands End on the peninsula. It arose from the battered shoreline, a stone and wooden monument now moss covered and falling to the ravages of storms and time. Even in a dilapidated state it far exceeded my humble apartment in neighboring Victoria, so the decision to move in was made without debate.
Before long I set about putting my great grandfather’s affairs in order. His files were slim and well organized, and his Last Will and Testament a simple document without the complications that a hundred year old man might have accrued. This proved an easy task as I was his only living descendant, all others having perished over the years. My inheritance included the landholding, the manse and its contents, and funds sufficient to maintain the household in perpetuity. I considered leaving my part-time job as a bookkeeper for a local winery, but kept it as an excuse to avoid the stuffy solitude.
I wasn’t alone for very long. The old man’s library was extensive and singular. For insurance purposes I had it assessed and the brokerage sent over a young professor of naval history from the University of Victoria. His name was Dale. He had been an acquaintance of my great grandfather and was excited to dive into the prestigious yet disorganized collection. Intelligent and charming, he spent his days cataloging it and I was heartened to hear an excited exclamation whenever he came across a treasure of particular distinction.
Winter came and went. The constant drizzle gave way to sunshine, lush greenery and abundant flowers. Each morning, before my late ten-o’clock commute, I would sit on the flagstone terrace and watch the mist dissipate under the warm rays to reveal a spectacular view of the Channel and Salt Spring Island. These days, I thought to myself, had become the best of my short life.
Dale came out onto the deck holding a small volume. “I found something that might be of special interest.” With professional care he opened the book to a page marked with an old string bookmark. “You mentioned you had never seen a picture of your great grandmother. Well, I found one.” The image was a simple pencil drawing, but clear and precise, with the word ‘Star’ written underneath. He held it up next to my face. “You look just like her.”
“I was named for her as well.”
“There was something I was meaning to ask. You once mentioned a tragedy concerning your parents. I hate to dredge up bad memories, but I’m curious.”
“They were lost at sea when I was a baby. I was raised by my great grandfather.”
“What about your grandparents?”
“Drowned in the 70’s. They were caught in a terrible storm sailing across the channel.”
“How dreadful. In all my research I haven’t come across a mention of any of them. Old Gabriel, I mean your great grandfather, didn’t write about them. Not a single word in any of his correspondences at all.”
“He didn’t like to talk about it. When I inquired he would just shake his head and say something like ‘love is a trap for the weak’. He pretty much forbade me dating. Said he was the only man I needed in my life. I had to move out to get away from him. I didn’t think he would let me go, but in the end he just didn’t have the strength to fight me.”
Dale looked uncomfortable.
“I have something I wanted to ask you as well.” I ran into the house and returned with the locket. “Have you found anything in his library that mentions this? There’s a strange key inside.”
He took it from my hand. As we touched there was a spark and we both jumped. We grinned at each other as if we were children. I found I was becoming quite fond of my resident scholar.
He seized upon an old trick to better reveal the faded image. With a sheet of parchment paper and a soft pencil he made a rubbing. When it was complete I realized my guess had been correct all those months ago. It was a sea serpent, one with the face of a woman. A woman with cruel eyes and a hint of a fanged smile. “I’ve seen this before.” Dale said. “Long ago. It might even have been at one of Gabriel’s lectures. It’s a representation of an ancient Syrian sea goddess. I believe her name was Atargatis.”
Atargatis. He pronounced it the same way the old man had. “That was the last word my great grandfather said to me. I always meant to find out more about it.”
“It’s an ominous name in near east naval circles. She was said to haunt the Mediterranean and drag sailors to a watery grave. A devil mermaid with a long mane of copper colored hair. Beautiful, I imagine, just like you.”
I blushed, flattered, and ran my hand through my own red hair. “Sounds like a frightful character.”
“So the stories say.”
I went to bed thinking of Dale, old ships, mermaids, and the sea. A great storm rolled in as I lay staring out the window. Lightning flashed and wind rattled the shutters. My dreams soon matched it in equal measure, dreadful and chaotic. I awoke to a wailing sound, eerie though not unpleasant, echoing from across the water. If I strained, I could make out a woman’s voice. Then I woke again. A dream within a dream?
* * * * *
I snuck up behind my new love and wrapped my arms around his shoulders as he pored through a dusty tome. “You called?”
He bent his head back to kiss my cheek. “Star, could I see that key again? I found a mention in the personal journal Gabriel kept while Captain of the HMS Epervier. I just want to make certain.”
“Of course.” I extracted it from the locket and handed it over.
“Yes, yes, this is it. Listen to this passage.”
September 12th, 1943. My crew and I found a number of intriguing items within the hold of the captured smuggling vessel Azira. The smugglers had set out from Latakia and were bound for the German port of Bremen with a cargo of occultish items they hoped to sell to the Nazi’s. The primary piece of the collection was a red brass door adorned with an image of a fanged mermaid. One of the smugglers had the matching key which took the form of a fish shaped with three sharp teeth. He claimed the runes along the shaft indicated that the door could only be opened by a twice broken heart.
“This would be perfect material for a book,” he said. “If you don’t mind, that is?”
“That would be fantastic.” I hugged him tighter.
He flipped forward to another marked page. “The story continues in a later entry.”
December 23rd, 1943. All of the artifacts were turned over to the Admiralty but for the door and the key. I cannot give them up. In Alexandria I had gone to the trouble of having a duplicate set fashioned. I doubt they will fool the experts for long, but the artificer worked centuries-old brass pots and urns to form the reproductions. My research has determined that the door once occupied a special place in King Solomon’s Temple and that the representation that stares out at me is that of the sea goddess Atargatis. I have hidden the door and the key within my cabin aboard the Epervier until the war ends.
“My great grandfather seemed to have had a lot of secrets.”
Dale pointed to the bookshelves. “There are hundreds of books. I found this one, and another by Aleister Crowley, of all people, stashed beneath a sea chest in his closet. It might take awhile to learn the whole story here.”
“Take all the time in the world, love.” I kissed him again and he went back to work.
* * * * *
A soft hand shook me awake, a song nibbling at the edge of my consciousness. Moonlight cast long shadows across the bedroom floor and I felt full of lust and fire. Dale was staring at me.
“You were singing in your sleep. It was… a bit scary. Are you okay?”
“Yes, just a strange dream.” I showed him my teeth and pounced on him, pinning him to the bed. “Now let me show you something really scary!” I bit him, hard, and though he protested, he didn’t struggle all that much.
* * * * *
The next day was cold and miserable. I needed to smell the sea and feel the wind on my face so I made some hot tea and sat on the upper patio under the canvas awning. The channel was calm and watching the play of the water was meditative. A small dive buoy, anchored a short ways offshore, caught my eye. I had never seen anyone diving there before. After a few minutes two heads bobbed to the surface and made their way to the public dock that jutted out from behind the rugged headland just east of my property. Intrigued, I made my way down the stone steps, wandered along the walkway beside the house and caught them as they trundled their gear up the overgrown access road through the wooded area next door.
“Excuse me. I didn’t realize there was a dive spot in my backyard.”
The taller of the two gentlemen plopped his gear bag onto the ground and flipped his oxygen tank off his shoulder. “Yes ma’am, we came across a description in an out-of-print guidebook and thought we’d check it out.”
“There’s supposed to be a stone ruin down there, possibly part of an old dock,” said the short, bearded man, “but all we found was a large piece of metal half buried in the mud.”
“Part of a ship?” I asked.
The taller man shook his head. “I don’t think so. It was a large discolored rectangular brass plate with odd markings. Hard to say exactly. We took pictures so maybe someone back at the shop will recognize it.”
A brass plate? That couldn’t be a coincidence. “How fascinating. I don’t suppose I could bother you for a copy of the pictures?”
They said they could do better than that and showed me the images on the camera’s screen. Each was dark and murky but I could make out a square-edged panel protruding from the mud. They assured me they could improve the quality once they downloaded the raw footage. I gave them my email address and wished them a good day.
That night I dreamt of an ocean where waves were flowing red hair, shimmering in the light of twin suns. There was no song, just a pause, as if that world was holding its breath, waiting.
* * * * *
The pictures were in my inbox when I awoke. When the first image popped up I knew. I knew! I woke up Dale. “You have to see this.”
He rubbed his bleary eyes and leaned back as I rammed the laptop into his face. “Hold on…” He groped for his glasses and took the computer from my shaking hands. He magnified the photo and panned over it. “That’s a red brass door.”
“Yes, a door, like the one in great grandfather’s book. It’s hard to see with all the overgrowth, but that etching matches my locket.”
“I wonder how it came to be down there? The HMS Epervier sank off the coast of Spain in 1944 shortly after those original journal entries. From the sounds of it, he barely escaped with his life.”
“More secrets. This is so exciting!”
Dale pulled in some favors at the University and got the door raised from the sea floor. In service of his book he had it placed in an outbuilding where he and his grad students could clean and restore it. They worked for weeks removing the accumulated sediment and sea life. The door proved to be in amazing condition, considering, and day by day it came back to life. Each night, after the students had gone home, I checked their progress. Dale would find me there tracing the engravings and singing softly to myself.
“It should be done tomorrow. Then we can pack it up and ship it to the University. Life can get back to normal.”
He looked concerned when I frowned at him.
“I want to keep it.”
“We’ve discussed this before. The province won’t let you as it wasn’t found on your property.”
“If you love me, you’d find a way.”
He looked exasperated. “I love you more than anything, but it is best placed in a museum and studied.”
We went to bed. Our lovemaking that night was fierce, wild even, and left him drained, faded, and more than a little damaged.
* * * * *
The brass door glowed under the beam of my flashlight and the fierce countenance glared out at me. It was like looking in a mirror before my morning coffee. I put the key in the lock. It slipped in as if the keyhole hadn’t been clogged by sediment for decades. A jolt went through me and everything became clear. Yes, this was the way.
“Stop!” Dale stood in the doorway. He was wearing only his torn anchor-print pajamas and I could see the scratches I’d left on him earlier. I smiled and showed him my fangs.
“You don’t want to do that. You really don’t want to open that door.” He gave me a hard stare. It reminded me of the old man.
“But I do. I’ve been waiting forever for this.”
He sighed in a resigned sort of way. I could see tears in his eyes.
I traced the reproduction of my face on the door. “I lived four lifetimes for that bastard. Lived and died. I still don’t know what sorcery he used to bind me and muddle my memory, but that doesn’t matter now.”
“Star, you don’t have to do this.” He choked back a small sob. “Don’t forget that I love you.”
“You’re right. I did forget something.” In a heartbeat I was behind him. I whispered in his ear as my coils crushed his body. “A heart broken two ways.” With an answering snap, the key turned and the door opened. The light of the twin suns, radiant and ancient beyond measure, flooded into the room.
Bright Ascalon. Not the fading old world sea port she had once menaced, nor the crumbling stone ruin the old man had built as a prison, but the world of endless emerald seas and floating ivory palaces.
Leaving the key in the lock, she passed through the yawning portal, content to swim and bask until the day Atargatis was again whispered by some desperate and lonely soul.
* * * * *