The Legend of the Ourang Medan Pt. 2

Dipper let out a sigh of relief. Mabel was safe, away from the guys with guns. That's what mattered.

More bullets ricocheted off the deck. The crew were stalking towards him, firing their guns wildly. Dipper yelped and threw himself into a run. He slipped on the slick deck, smashing into the floor. Thinking fast, he reached up, pushed himself off of the stand for the boat clamp sending him into a slide across the deck. The boat lurched, the ship groaned a deep metallic moan and Dipper slammed into the metal wall of the cabin. He pulled himself to his feet and drew his 1911. His priority was drawing fire so Mabel could get away. She was a sitting duck out there on the ocean, and he wasn't about to let her get shot to pieces.

“Hey!” Dipper yelled, stifling the fear building in his gut, “If you want to shoot someone I'm right here!”

The first crew member appeared around the corner so suddenly Dipper hardly had a moment to think. He just squeezed the trigger two, three, four times, barely even aiming. The gun barked and the man ducked behind the wall and said something in Indonesian, probably swearing.

Dipper retreated toward the cabin light behind him where Mabel had been playing cards just ten minutes prior. Why were they trying to kill him and his sister? He was just trying to Mythbust a damn legend and, as usual, someone stood in his way.

And now his sister was drifting alone in the ocean, in the rain for that matter, and he was going to get shot. Again.

There were five crew members on the schooner, and one stranger who spoke perfect English and had apparently hired the crew to murder him. Dipper had to speak to that man, find out what the hell his problem was. If he had to dodge bullets and murderous seafarers, so be it. He turned and swiftly walked down the deck, past the cabin and quarters to where he had last heard the man speaking to the crew. The men trying to kill him were still out of sight back at the stern, arguing about something in Indonesian. Dipper casually fired two more rounds in their general direction as he walked away, then quickly removed a second magazine from his pocket and reloaded.

He turned the corner with the gun trained, scanning the rain-swept deck. It was empty. He stalked forward, listening carefully. He couldn't hear anything but the rain drumming on the deck at his feet.

“Where are you,” Dipper whispered. He moved forward and glanced down the starboard side of the ship, detecting no movement. He must be above, where the captain was.

Dipper steeled himself and crept inside the crew quarters to reach the stairs leading up to navigation. At any moment one of the crew could pop out and plant on between his eyes. Dipper banished those images from his head. He didn't need any distractions.

He bounded up the stairs without any trouble, his footsteps echoed throughout the dim passageway. He felt a sudden chill sweep over him. It felt like the room dropped in temperature by ten degrees. The lights were out. Dipper shivered, and slowed himself, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness.

He took a moment to observe his surroundings. He was in the helm on the upper level of the schooner, a small room above the crew quarters that housed the maps and navigation devices. The ship's wheel stood at the forward end of the room, where the navigator was oddly absent. Dipper reeled. No one was  driving the ship! He lunged forward to take the helm. With his luck the schooner was ambling its way into a reef or something. He had to make sure they were headed in the right direction. He took two steps and tripped over something bulky on the floor. He hit the ground with a WHUMP.

“The hell?” Dipper said, flipping himself over. He took one glance at the thing he tripped on and scrambled away as fast as he could until he was pressed up against the metal wall.

The captain's corpse lay crumpled on the helm's floor, wide, dead eyes looking up to some invisible horror above him, mouth curled in a silent scream. Dipper's heart beat inside his chest like a jackhammer. He felt the room grow colder again.

He had to shake it off. He was still in danger. Dipper edged closer, grimacing as he pressed two fingers to the dead man's wrist. No pulse. Definitely dead. His mind raced at the implication of the dead man. Why would they kill the captain? For that matter why kill them? There was no rhyme or reason to any of this. Any enemies Dipper had were all far behind him in America. Who could possibly pursue him to Malaysia and beyond? He stood, dusting himself off. Maybe Gideon escaped from prison? He didn't know, and that irked him immensely.

Something was wrong. He sensed that immediately. Something was wrong and it was in this room with him right now. He turned to face the wheel, dreading what he would see. That familiar cold, sudden fear froze him in place.

A pale faced horror, eyes bottomless sunken holes, sat in the window's reflection, dark voids staring into Dipper's soul. A jolt of lighting illuminated the cabin, imprinting the ghastly image in Dipper's mind as he began to hear a cacophony of screaming from the deck outside.