Voodoo Cruise To Hell: Chapter 1

Jack knew the Christmas cruise was going to be a mistake from the moment his girlfriend suggested it, but he went along with the idea anyway just to make her happy, and to get to know her better. He gathered there had to be more to her than meets the eye, but that was a mistake. Two days into the journey he realized there was actually less. If she were a puddle, not only would it be impossible to drown in her shallowness, it might even be impossible to get wet. As he watched the sun sink into the ocean he recalled the conversation in his mind and realized "making her happy" was really synonymous for "shutting her up."

Now, half a world away and trapped with her somewhere off of the coast of Africa, on a ship equivalent to a glorified fishing vessel by cruise ship standards, Jack prayed a giant octopus would come snatch one of them off the deck so he could get some peace from her pretentious whining. He did, of course, secretly wish it would be her, along with her ridiculous Prada dress, Gucci shoes, who-knows-who's idiotic over-sized hat and all of her Louis Vuitton luggage. As the fantasy grew in his mind he had visions of getting the whole thing on video, and after proving his innocence he'd post it on YouTube, watch it go viral, wait for the cash to roll in and retire to a mountain retreat where he could live off the land and chop down his own Christmas tree. He fished his phone out of the pocket of his cargo shorts and opened the video camera app just in case. If nothing else, maybe a freak wave would wash her overboard. As darkness fell around the ship, he felt himself staring harder at the ocean in search of that wave or octopus, or both. Perhaps one of those colossal squids he saw on the Discovery Channel....

His aquatic fantasies of grim death were interrupted by the slowing, then stopping of the ship. They were dropping anchor; something must be wrong with the engines. Great, he thought, just my luck. I was almost out of this circle of hell. The deck suddenly became alive with activity. Passengers wandered out of the dining hall slightly bewildered, seeking information. He saw several crew members disappear below deck in a hurried fashion. A white-haired and well-tanned Dutch gentlemen in a cashmere sweater sidled up to Jack and greeted him warmly with an extended hand. "Good evening young fellow, my name is Johan." As soon as he heard the man's accent Jack realized his error- not Dutch- Afrikaner. "Good evening, Johan. I'm Jack," he replied, taking Johan's hand. "Have you any idea what's going on? Did an engine fail?" Johan looked unperturbed. "It would not surprise me. I overheard the crew speaking of some issues with the ship." He lowered his voice to a whisper. "Apparently this ship had been seized by pirates. The company mysteriously reclaimed the ship only a short time before we left port, yet there were no reports of ransom being paid. Even the crew does not seem to know much, but the night before we left some of the local Africans hired as additional deck hands refused to board. I was not fluent enough to translate everything, but I distinctly heard the word 'cursed.'"

Before Jack could ponder this mystery further, he heard a familiar whine, clearly oblivious to the current turn of events. "Jaaaaack....I need to go back to the cabin. The night air is going to ruin my hair and makeup." Jack shuddered. The woman had enough hair product in to eat a hole in the ozone layer right above her head. And, her airbrushed makeup looked more like graffiti art applied with various hideous colors of spray paint. He suddenly realized she was probably highly flammable, and wondered what would happen if she spontaneously combusted out in the damp night air. A box of melted crayons came to mind. On the verge of a smile he quickly put the thought out of his mind, exchanged hasty pleasantries with Johan and rushed Flammable Barbie off to their unfortunately shared quarters.

As they entered the cabin Jack tripped over a a pair of Manolo Blahnik pumps as he scrambled for the light, eager not to get comically ensconced in any of her other rejected fashion accoutrements. He considered but could not grasp the mindset of someone who left thousand dollar pumps lying around as though they were a pair of old dog-chewed slippers. As sweet illumination filled the space he could see at least three rejected outfits from earlier in the evening strewn about the cabin. What was so hard about putting things on a hanger? He was on the verge of snapping and asking her if her maid wiped her ass and chewed her food for her too, but his words died in his throat when he caught sight of the basket of daisies that had been left in the cabin by the staff only a few short hours before. They were all dead. No, not just dead; they appeared black and brittle, as though they had been dead for weeks. Before he could formulate a concrete thought there was a bloodcurdling scream from the deck below. Then another, and another, followed by an ominous scraping sound. Something was dreadfully wrong.

[Give me another challenge and I'll give you another chapter, or feel free to write the next chapter yourself! :) ]