Cabin 666

His life, as he knew it, was over. The second Charlie was instructed to call, he knew that by continuing and holding out he had made the biggest error of his 25 years.

The jump of his heart and subsequent pounding beats when Arthur - the man sitting across the large, mahogany table from him, no longer fully visible over a mound of bank notes and three brown leather briefcases - revealed a royal flush, completely shifted Charlie’s focus from the beads of sweat under his shirt sliding their way from armpit to elbow.

He had been so confident, and with good reason. Triumphing in his inaugural game during their first evening at sea thanks to such calculated and cunning play, Charlie had retired to his cabin slightly delirious over his riches. Another six nights like that and he would be approaching similar realms of wealth as the upper class passengers he was sharing this great ship with and comfortably defeating at the table. He had felt a hint of apprehension when this evening’s game was set out with stakes a lowly watch merchant such as himself would not normally dream of entertaining, but he was on a roll. He was confident. Too confident. And now those visions of wealth had been quashed in the blink of an eye. He had lost everything and within a matter of seconds everyone would know it too.

Charlie tentatively laid out his four nines for all to see. Initial mutters from the surrounding group turned into well-mannered, low-key cheering as Arthur clapped his hands together, beaming at Charlie over the briefcases. His winning hand had stolen Charlie’s livelihood, his family’s livelihood. There would be no way of explaining this to his father, to any of them. What started out as fun and games, turned into pure greed, turned into unparalleled disaster.

Charlie gasped for a drink, but no one seemed to notice. They were too busy watching as Arthur leaned forward and flipped open the latches of the top briefcase to reveal an assortment of dazzling wristwatches, all handmade by Charlie’s father; all exceptional craftsmanship and worth their weight in gold. Only now the family would not be benefiting from their sale.

With his father in desperate need of his impending hand surgery that had a high chance of damaging his ability to produce such quality timepieces, Charlie had been entrusted with the final batch, to sell to the high rollers of the New World, to secure his family’s future if his father’s recovery was indeed a lengthy one, if he were to recover at all.

He had managed two sales on the ship so far, but even that money now also belonged to Arthur, who was now closely inspecting one of the priciest models. Charlie felt sick and on the verge of tears. A hand slapped down on his shoulder. “Hard luck, that was a mighty fine contest.” It came as no consolation. With every passing minute the feeling of dread magnified. Almost all of his family’s savings had been spent on his ticket aboard this lavish liner, and his family’s future was now gambled away. He might as well throw himself overboard. There was nothing to go back to anymore.

“Good sir.” Arthur’s voice boomed above the buzz of conversation that had started up, silencing all but a few murmurs. “I understand these fine items are of huge importance to you and your family.”

Teeth chattering, Charlie nodded, afraid to speak for fear of his voice breaking mid-word.

“Then allow me to propose a deal. An opportunity for you to… win them back.”

Charlie swallowed hard and his eyes widened. He was sure he hadn’t heard correctly, perhaps delusional from his loss, or severely dehydrated, or both. He nodded again, with much more force this time.

“There’s a fine fellow,” Arthur said, still beaming. “You have my word, in the presence of all here, that your watches will be returned to you in full, if… you spend the remainder of this voyage in Cabin 666.”

Charlie had no immediate response, but a couple of short, sharp gasps from the onlookers caused him a minor involuntary shudder. He also noticed a crew member clearing an adjacent table briefly look up and around at them, his face rife with concern. The reactions were unnerving, but it was an opportunity. Charlie’s only opportunity for redemption.

“I will ensure you receive all meals,” Arthur added. “It is not my intention to starve you out.” He laughed. A few others meekly joined in, then all eyes were back on Charlie, who cleared his throat and focused fully on the large, balding man directly across from him.

“I accept.”

“Excellent,” Arthur enthused. “I will see a couple of my finest men escort you and your belongings there shortly, but, to be absolutely clear on the ground rules, you must remain in the cabin at all times until we dock six days from now on Wednesday. If even a toe of yours creeps over the threshold, then I’m afraid to say all these fabulous watches will remain in my possession after we all disembark.”

He waited until Charlie acknowledged with another nod. There was no other option.

Arthur was also nodding, but smiling, like he knew so much more than Charlie did, just like he had when holding that royal flush and continually upping the stakes, knowing he could not lose.

**

“So, what is it about this particular cabin?” Charlie looked between the two men who had led him to the door of Cabin 666. They seemed to be on the lower decks, where Charlie expected crew members and maintenance folk to be bustling about at all hours, but everything had been strangely quiet walking down the side-stairwell, then following the corridor to his new residence.

The men exchanged a look. The taller of the two, who’d introduced himself as Stanley, leaned forward, turned the doorknob and pushed the door open into the room. He flicked on the light and ushered Charlie to enter first. “See for yourself.”

Charlie entered, half-expecting an absurd kind of ambush, or bag over his head and knife to his throat, but there was no such drama. Cabin 666 was basic - from its burgundy carpet that ran in little ridges like a miniature ploughed cornfield, to the gleaming white walls, with plentiful lighting and a pair of bunk-beds slotted into the furthest corners - but actually felt quite cosy. Charlie spotted a separate bathroom off to the right, then took in the focal point of the room as he walked in further: two elegantly patterned chairs with pristinely polished wooden frames either side of an equally pristine and shiny wooden table, all set out in the shadow of an intimidating floor-to-ceiling wardrobe, complete with golden handles and a fancy mirror. He’d been expecting a lot worse, unless that was still to become apparent.

“This looks… habitable,” Charlie said, placing his suitcase at the end of one bunk-bed and glancing back at Stanley, still lingering in the doorway.

“Indeed,” Stanley said. “Just beware of the demon.”

“Excuse me?”

“In the final days of construction,” Stanley started, now standing upright with one foot holding the door open, “a young maintenance fellow took his own life right here. I believe he slid off that top bunk by where you are standing now and was found the following morning hanging from a short cord from a hook in the ceiling.” Charlie instantly looked up, but saw nothing out of the ordinary in the whitewashed ceiling. “He left a note, explaining he picked this particular cabin for his… sacrifice… to the devil, because a demon had latched onto him.”

Charlie fought an urge to shiver. “Enjoy your night, good sir,” came Stanley’s sly voice, more of an echo through a tunnel. “And remember, if you leave before we dock, you are not getting back those treasured watches of yours. We will be watching to make sure you hold up your end of the deal.”

The door closed, and Charlie remained standing perfectly still, afraid to even allow himself to breathe in the deafening silence.

**

Knock. Knock. Knock. Not slow, not fast, but enough to make him jump, just like every little noise since Charlie had attempted to reassure himself there was nothing to be scared of, but still found his hands trembling and body sweating as he began emptying his suitcase, so nestled himself on the floor between the bunk-beds, sat back against the wall, where he had sight of the whole cabin, including any supernatural activity. He eventually took out a book and had been nodding off only a few chapters in when stirred into alertness by the knocks.

Upon opening the door he was greeted with a vision of such beauty he was momentarily oblivious to the horror show that this voyage had become. A young woman with flowing chestnut curls, rouged lips and deep brown eyes amidst thick, painted lashes was smiling at him. Her warm, floral scent instantly engulfed him, and he allowed his eyes to dreamily scan up and down her body, drifting between the exposed skin of her arms and perfect V-shape below her neck, and what was covered up by a sparkling navy dress that hugged her figure until broadening out and hanging looser from her hips.

“Evening, sailor,” she said, fluttering her eyelashes like there was something caught in both eyes. “Would such a gentleman care to accompany me to the cabin along the hall?” If Charlie hadn’t fully understood her request, he certainly caught on when she lifted one leg, hooked the red, claw-like fingernails of one hand under the edge of her dress, and slowly pulled it up, twisting the leg outwards as she did to reveal the lacey black end of one stocking near the top of her thigh.

“I… I…” Charlie stammered, trying to remain focused. “I’m afraid I cannot. Would you, however, care to join me in here?”

Her face dropped, as did her leg and dress. “This is not how this works, sir.” Instant indignation in her voice. “I have been purchased as yours for the night, and there is already an exception being made; my company can only usually be enjoyed in the… exclusive premier lounge.” Charlie suddenly got it. This strikingly attractive young lady was not just doing the rounds and trying her luck, she was part of a cunning ploy to get him to set foot outside Cabin 666, to give in to temptation and give up the watches. He also then considered that the sacrificial suicide story was compiled with the same logic. Well, he refused to rise to it.

“My apologies,” Charlie said firmly. “I cannot leave this cabin.”

She pouted her lips, almost looking sadly seductive. “Your call, sailor. I will be down the hall, Cabin 672, if you change your mind, which I hope you do.”

I bet you do, Charlie thought. He watched as she trotted off in the direction of the stairwell, then retreated back inside with a newfound sense of reassurance and determination. He managed just one more chapter of his book before dropping off to sleep, albeit with the lights still on.

**

Arthur joked that Charlie was a man of unnatural self-control when he stopped by the following lunchtime. “Annabeth is a fine young lady of many talents,” he said, through yet another huge grin, which appeared plastered to his face ever since he cemented this position of authority over his working class detainee. “I have secured 672 as her nightly lodgings for the remainder of the trip. All you need to do is just make your way down there and she is all yours. We men here understand. We won’t judge, my good friend.”

Charlie just smiled. “It’s good of you to pay her for nothing.” For once Arthur didn’t grin in reply.

**

That night, lying on one of the lower bunks reading, just as Charlie’s eyes were growing heavy, the lights began flickering. They were on and off for a few minutes before finally going off altogether, leaving the room in complete darkness except a faint line of light creeping under the door out to the corridor.

Another ploy, Charlie thought, but he wasn’t fussed, taking it as a sign to turn in for the night. As he placed his book down and rolled over in the bed he heard a distant noise from out in the hall, growing louder, and just as he was getting to his feet with intentions to investigate there was a series of hurried knocks at the door, followed by shouts of: “Charlie! Charlie! Get up! Wake up!”

He rushed over to find Stanley outside, in the fully-lit corridor, breathless and slightly bedraggled. “Charlie, thank the Lord. Come on, we need to go. The boat’s going down. A fire’s caused huge flooding on the bottom decks. They can’t clear it. We need to evacuate. Lawrence has just escorted Annabeth out. Now, come on, you too. Get your things. Quick!”

Charlie was alert. He felt his body heat up. Adrenaline building. “Right, one second.” He darted back into the room to fetch a lifejacket he knew was in the bottom drawer under the wardrobe. Just as he turned back to face Stanley, still panting in the doorway, he stopped.

“Hold on,” Charlie said, placing the lifejacket on the table. “I see what’s going on. I know what this is.”

“What?”

“This ship’s unsinkable.” He remembered his father telling him that when first expressing his nerves about the journey across the Atlantic and nothing but freezing, choppy sea for thousands and thousands of miles in every direction.

Stanley shook his head, but made no attempt to approach Charlie and force him out to apparent safety. “You only need to see the water in the stairwell. Come on. We haven’t got much time.”

Charlie couldn’t help but chuckle and slumped down in one of the patterned chairs. “You are quite convincing, but I know you are bluffing. Why would you be the only person down here? You are all so pathetic. No ghostly demons or hookers or phantom catastrophes will force me to leave this cabin. I know what I need to do.”

Stanley pushed the knuckles of one clenched fist into the door. “Fool,” he said. “Stay here and die like a fool then, because very soon there will be no way out for you.”

“Perhaps I won’t see you in the morning then,” Charlie said. “And that will be delightful.”

Stanley muttered something under his breath and took off, not as hastily as Charlie would have expected given the urgent circumstances. He waited until he heard the stairwell door close, then got up, shut his cabin door, plunging the room into almost complete darkness once again, and fell into a deep, satisfied sleep.

**

“Not long now,” Arthur sneered, again having called by the following day, but this time much earlier, as though his threat couldn’t wait any longer. And not so jolly anymore. “I can sense it. Like the rodent evading the pest control, we will lure you out of there eventually, one way or the other.”

“I shall leave of my own accord on the morning we dock, just as we agreed,” Charlie said, and switched his focus back to topping up his tea from the china pot.

Arthur glared at the set of crockery strewn across the table. Charlie thought for a moment that the suited-up bureaucrat towering over him was about to lash out with one burly arm and swipe it all from the wooden surface into a damp, jagged pile on the floor, but he simply took a long breath in through his nose, then turned for the door, where Stanley was waiting, holding it open.

“We will see,” Arthur said. “I will not hesitate to call your bluff and up the stakes further.”

**

That evening, Charlie was enjoying a long soak in the bathtub with a new book when he heard the cabin door open.

“They are here to collect your supper dishes,” Stanley called, sounding muffled through the closed bathroom door; perhaps too muffled, but Charlie - almost fully oblivious to the goings-on outside the world of his detective novel - thought nothing of it.

“OK,” he called back, and heard the usual crew members bumble in and out as they did every morning, noon and night. They seemed to be taking longer than usual, but again Charlie paid little attention.

A few minutes after they’d left, Charlie got a whiff of something strong and unpleasant. The smell appeared to be building, seeping under the bathroom door, and soon forced him to breathe in and out solely through his mouth. He knew by the time he had gotten out of the tub, hastily dried off and put on his night clothes that this was the latest part of their ploy; a fumigation approach, but still did not anticipate the instinctive urge to heave when he fully opened the bathroom door. The vile and overpowering smell was indeed emanating from his cabin; a toxic fume equivalent of having a suffocating bag pulled down over his head like he had feared when first entering Cabin 666 two nights ago.

Gagging and eyes watering, Charlie staggered towards the bunk-beds where he saw - in the restored lighting - shiny silver chunks and stringy pink cord strewn across the lower bedsheets and dropping onto the floor. Fish guts. Dozens. Perhaps hundreds. Somehow worse to look at than they were to smell. Charlie leapt to his suitcase and hastily put together a facemask using a pair of his thickest socks. It was little help. He soon had to go and throw up his supper in the toilet.

This was the worst yet. If Cabin 666 wasn’t tainted before, it was now. Those bedsheets would have to go up in flames. Perhaps the whole room would need refurbishing to clear the smell. But Charlie would not allow Arthur and his associates the pleasure of another winning hand. He had to stay in the game no matter how much they continued to up the stakes. No folding at this table. Just three more nights. Maybe he would be used to the smell by the morning. Maybe he would never get it off him. Maybe it would follow him around forever. But at least he would have then cashed in on those precious watches, with his family none the wiser about the shenanigans of his outgoing trip. They were the most reassuring thoughts he could manage as he groaned with his head resting on the edge of the toilet bowl.

He somehow managed to sleep in the bathtub, between at least three more sickness intervals, with the unsoiled duvet of one top bunk wrapped around him.

**

“Does something smell fishy in here?” Arthur’s voice boomed from the corridor, followed by a bumbling belly laugh.

Charlie did his best to ignore him, but could not resist a quick sideways glance. The foul smell may be woven into every fibre of his clothes and body for the remainder of his life, but at least he was still very much in the game, and Arthur knew it, no matter how many brash jibes he chose to continue bestowing, papering over the fact that his position was nowhere near as strong as he hoped.

Charlie smiled to himself and Arthur was gone from the doorway before making another crude remark, no doubt off to concoct that night’s plan. Could he really up the stakes even more?

**

As a result of the previous night’s severely broken and uncomfortable sleep, Charlie - still in the bathtub - was asleep within fifteen minutes of his supper dishes being collected, this time without any repulsive, surprise additions. He woke to a shudder that seemed to be vibrating around the whole bathroom, and in his dreary half-awake state thought he may be experiencing a minor earthquake.

When the shuddering stopped a minute later, he was wide awake and needed the toilet. He stood up, stepped one leg over the curved edge of the freestanding tub and was greeted with the shock of his foot submerged in icy water, causing his whole body to jolt and tense. It was almost pitch black and he couldn’t make out the extent of what he suspected was quite a bad leak coming from somewhere in the bathroom.

He braced himself and stepped fully out of the tub, only to discover that the few inches of water was spread across the entire floor and no doubt running out into the main living space of the cabin. He reached for the light switch. Nothing.

Paddling his way out of the bathroom, Charlie noticed a shimmer of light through the murkiness coming from underneath the entrance doorway, very faint but very noticeable in the gloom. He unlocked the door, which was then instantly thrust inwards as he turned the knob, as more water began gushing in. A couple of dull ceiling lights were flickering in the dark and deserted corridor, just enough for Charlie to see it was easily a foot underwater, and at this rate Cabin 666 wouldn’t be far off joining it.

Was this really their latest dastardly scheme, to actually flood him out? It had certainly progressed rapidly from little charades and dirty statements. But outright damage? It screamed of desperation, but perhaps that was Arthur’s position now - winning at all costs, unfortunately for Charlie.

“Stanley,” he called down the corridor. “Are you there? Come on. The fish guts were abhorrent, but harmless. This is… dangerous.”

No reply.

He waited another few seconds then splashed his way back into the room, picking up the lifejacket from where he had left it on the table two nights ago. Then came another shudder, much more forceful than before, causing the bunk-beds and wardrobe to rattle against the wall.

In the confusion, Charlie had failed to realise how freezing cold he was. He waded back into the bathroom and felt around in the bathtub for his thermal undershirt, eventually separating it from the duvet, putting it on over his nightshirt, then fastening the lifejacket over the top. It didn’t provide much comfort, but at least they were both dry and he felt marginally safer.

He walked out again through the rising water to his doorway and peered down the corridor at the stairwell door, just about visible in the distance. Could he still see out this whole deal? He had never anticipated Arthur would go this far. It really did seem as dangerous as it did plain foolish. Even starving him out as Arthur had originally joked at the table somehow seemed more humane right now.

Charlie lifted one bare foot out of the water, poised to step out into the hall. Could he? Would he? Braving the alleged demon; refusing Annabeth’s advances; withstanding the foul, putrid smell of a hundred dead, rotting fish; he had come so far. His concern at that point transitioned to frustration that he was about to give up. No, he had to keep them bluffing. This water was nowhere near close to drowning him yet. Surely they wouldn’t let him die. Charlie shivered at the thought, and dropped his foot back down, still within the boundary of Cabin 666.

He continued to wait. A couple more minor shudders came and went. The water was creeping ever further up his bare legs, now almost numb from the knees down from the icy cold. The chill spread throughout his body, feeling it most in his fingers. He breathed into his hands and rubbed them together, and it was when he caressed down to one wrist he thought of the watches, which triggered the realisation he had no idea what time it was. He felt like he’d had a good sleep, but the windowless cabin made it impossible to determine even an approximate hour. It didn’t, however, seem as though breakfast would be arriving any time soon.

There was suddenly a loud gurgling sound in the bathroom. Charlie stayed where he was and a smell soon drifted through to him - somehow overpowering what remained of the rotten fishy scent - that was unquestionably raw sewage, spewing up from the toilet and overflowing into the existing dirty water.

Charlie gagged. Somehow this flooding charade had been upped yet again. They couldn’t have planned that with the toilet though, could they? Charlie allowed himself to take a deep breath, but instinctively slapped a hand to cover his nose. No, this was too far now. He couldn’t cope anymore. His mind had already accepted defeat.

“OK. OK,” he called, as he stepped out into the hall and began wading towards the stairwell. “I’m done. I’m leaving. You called my bluff. You win. That’s too much for me now.”

No reply. No one emerged from any other cabin. All doors were shut, including that of 672, which made Charlie wonder if Annabeth was sleeping and trapped, peacefully unaware of the rising water around her. He banged on the door and called her name. Nothing. He grasped the doorknob and turned to no effect. The water was nearly waist high now. He couldn’t wait any longer.

The door to the stairwell appeared securely shut, and Charlie had two failed attempts at heaving it open, only for the result of the third go to seemingly explode in his face. The door flew open and gallons upon gallons of water blasted through, knocking Charlie over backwards and completely submerged before he fully realised what had happened.

He took in multiple gulps of the salty seawater as he coughed and thrashed about attempting to get back to his feet. The initial rush had slowed, but not by much. Water was still pouring in from the stairwell, rising fast enough that Charlie’s heart began thumping in acceleration. He used the door frame to swing himself into the pitch black stairwell and ascended the stairs two at a time, sometimes three, occasionally slipping, but never completely falling, using the banister to guide his way.

“Arthur?!” He shouted up into the darkness through splutters and huge deep breaths. “I’m done. It’s over! Arthur!? Stanley!? Lawrence!? Annabeth!?”

Still no reply as the whole stairwell seemed to wobble and shake. For the first time Charlie genuinely considered this was a ship-wide disaster. An emergency. How much had he slept through? Was he the only one left? He was clueless as to how many floors he’d just ascended. He hoped at some point he’d see light… daylight… moonlight… anything that gave him something to aim for. But nothing. It was as though he’d been blinded and dropped into a maze, running for his life and knowing even that might not be enough.

“Help!” He shouted at last. “Help me! Anyone?! Can anyone hear…” Suddenly the stairs seemed to rotate off to one side beneath his feet, like a rug was slowly being pulled out from under him, with time to react but nowhere else to go. A deafening screech tore through the stairwell as Charlie lost his footing as the stairs completely gave way and he slammed onto his side against the wall, which still seemed to be turning.

His head throbbed from the impact and dizziness. He closed his eyes, saw patterns of aces, hearts, clubs, diamonds and kings and queens dancing about, and still felt his whole body involuntarily moving, as though the ship was trying to turn him upside down, but gravity wouldn’t allow him to oblige. There was more grinding and banging than he could comprehend, and louder than he could bear. He didn’t want to die in the pitch black.

He opened his eyes, which were immediately drawn to a speck of light creeping through a tiny gash in the wall straight ahead of him. After so long in the darkness it stood out like the midday sun.

Another grinding screech, shuddering vibrations, and the hole widened. The solid exterior of the ship was breaking apart. Moonlight was streaming in, and this was Charlie’s chance to get out. He stood up, dazed but focused, feeling like he was caught in a hybrid hurricane-earthquake, rocking about as he slowly stepped towards the growing gap of light. Keeping his balance had never been so crucial. The banister now seemed to be under his feet. Up was down; starboard was port; but as long as he kept treading carefully forward his last moments would be not alone and defeated in the hollow stairwell of this luxury, dying ship.

He made it to within arm’s length of the hole, still too small for him to fit through, until whatever gigantic external force was being applied finally granted him a faint lifeline and tore the wall in two. Without thinking, Charlie squeezed himself through and out into the chilly night air, dropping into the sea only a few meters below.

The shock of the water made him gasp. His whole body prickled and any sort of forceful movement with his limbs felt impossible. He allowed his lifejacket to take full control, spreading himself on his back as best he could, gazing up at the full moon. He closed his eyes as he floated. His heart felt frozen, yet calm. He thought he heard screams somewhere off in the distance, but in the shadow of the black behemoth before him he could be sure of nothing.

Water splashed over him, so cold it almost now felt warm. Keeping his eyes closed seemed like his best, safest and only option. If he couldn’t see what was unfolding, maybe it wasn’t really happening. Or maybe it was all too late, like when Arthur called his hand and there was no going back.

Good one, Arthur, Charlie thought, as his mind wandered haphazardly. You only went and sunk the unsinkable to lure me out of Cabin 666. Right then, however, he didn’t care at all. His life, as he knew it, was over.