Story feedback request

Antilles

Hi, I wrote this for the latest Variations on a Theme competition, but the bad romance idea got away from me somewhat and as a result I didn't get much feedback. Any comentary now would be greatly appreciated!

I'm posting this as a new topic, but if mods feel it should be merged back into the Voat thread, that's fair enough.

The Statement of of John Forthright

Many months have passed since Martha and I arrived in the tiny seaside village of Innsmouth, madly in love, and despite her father’s condemnation, intent on finding passage to a new life in Australia. It was the depth of nighttime and the inky blackness of the hour shrouded the world like a blanket, torn here and there by the shimmering light of a flickering star.

Despite the late hour, we made our way to the docks to find a ship which might grant us passage. As we walked, I wrapped a cloak around my beloved Martha, intent on shielding her not only from the weather but also the leering eyes of any wayward seamen prowling the dock.

We traversed the decaying promenade for almost half an hour, but found only shadowy hulks, battened down for the storm, their crews sheltered within, or perhaps making merry with loose women in the seaside taverns. I had almost given up hope when over the blustery nighttime gale, I heard a man shouting angrily. “Confound and blast you, Carter!” he roared, as far across the waves, a terrible flash of lightning lit the heavens and revealed an indistinct and murky horizon. “I cannot stand this incompetence!”

The shouting came from a ship we had just passed, a square-rigged corvette named the ‘Miskatonic Mary’. Hearing the commotion, we doubled back and soon could distinguish the shadows of two men. The shouter, who was tall and thin, wore a large tricorne, and waved his arms furiously through the air. Smoke drifted from the lit pipe in his hand.
“I’m... sorry sir,” his compatriot stuttered. “She just disappeared. Crewman Blake’s gone too.”

We reached their berth, and found the blasting wind did little to mask the toxic stench of rotting fish-meat emanating from the ship. I shouted to the men, “Ahoy there. We are botanists from Arkham in search of passage to Australia. Have you quarters?”

The men turned and studied us for a few seconds. The smoking man, whom I now took to be the Captain, pursed his lips and exhaled, ignoring the dark smoke as it billowed from his pipe. “Passage, you say? This is a late hour to be seeking passage to such a distant shore.”

He cast his eyes towards Martha in a manner I must admit I found unnerving, and stroked his beard. “But we are headed for the South Pacific. Perhaps we can find room for two... botanists.”

After some initial haggling, the Captain accepted my offer of two hundred pounds for our passage, and granted us a small room on the ship. The crewman, who introduced himself as Samuel Carter, hoisted my specimen case aboard, and placed it atop an enormous wooden container which sat obstructing the deck.

“I’ll... show you to your cabin then sir,” Carter said, his eyes darting from the deck to the wooden container. I nodded, and despite a feeling of unease around the man, followed him down a hatch in the deck and into the heart of the ship. As we descended, the Captain bellowed after us. “Our finest quarters, Carter. And then bring the... cargo below deck.”
He referred to the container, and I thought nothing of it though had I had known what it held, I would have fled the ship in an instant. Instead, I dismissed the thought, and the bizarre phrase he spoke as we walked away: “Catulu wugah tag fon.”

Our voyage went smoothly for the first few weeks, and Martha and I soon fell into a rhythm of reading, conversing and passing the time as pleasantly as we could. In the mornings, we would eat a small breakfast of fruit in the galley, then stroll the deck or retire to our quarters. In the evenings, we ate alone. I had expected an invitation to dine with the Captain, but none was forthcoming and indeed the entire crew seemed wary of us, unwilling to engage in all but the most general banter.

One night, as I lay opposite Martha in our cabin, I awoke in a cold sweat and was unable to return to sleep. My beloved remained unconscious and so I decided to take a walk on deck. As I strolled towards the aft of the ship, I heard two sailors conversing in hushed tones. I am usually a polite man, and would never eavesdrop, but something about their bearing struck me as odd, and so I stepped into the shadows and listened.

“It’s tonight then,” the rotund sailor said. He had a course English accent. “I hope her man puts up a fight. Should be fun.”

My heart thundered against its cage. Martha and I were the only couple on board, which meant they were talking about us.

“I wouldn’t mind getting into a scrap. Or getting physical with the girl.”

They both laughed, and I retreated further, my heart hammering in my chest. My mind raced with ideas of what the men planned for Martha and a stinging bile rose in my throat.

I ran straight to our cabin, unsure of what I would do when I arrived, but before I could conjure a plan, I discovered the room was empty. I scoured the area for something to use as a weapon. As a botanist I had no gun, and so improvised. I unclasped the buckle of my specimen case, lifted back the leather cover and removed a small glass vial.

As I did so, I heard a noise in the gangway. The same two sailors walked past the cabin, their boots stomping on the wooden floor. I elected to follow them, and placing the vial inside my coat pocket, crept out the door.

Soon, I heard a riotous roar from up ahead. The two men were going to meet the rest of the crew. They turned a corner into the armory, and I waited, listening for anything which might give me an advantage. “We have arrived,” the Captain boomed. “Tonight, the stars are right and we sacrifice the soul of this innocent. Tonight, we descend beneath the waves to Relyah, to our dead master!”

The crew roared in response. I had run out of time. I reached for my pocket, removed the vial and rushed inside. The room was large, but even so it appeared cramped, as the wooden crate I had seen earlier now lay open here, tonnes of gunpowder spilling across the floor. The entire crew were gathered around a wooden alter on which my beloved Martha lay dazed. The Captain stood before her, a long dagger raised in his hands. He looked up as I entered and roared, “Seize him!”

The crew turned, but before they could react, I uncorked the vial and threw its contents towards them. Concentrated bhut jolokia - the hottest pepper known to man - dispersed through the air in a red haze. My opponents drew their weapons, but as they did, the pepper began to take effect. They stumbled, and I rushed past them to grab Martha. All around me, the blinded seamen cried out in pain as their eyes reddened and nostrils burned.

Having spent twenty-one years studying the plant, I had some immunity, and managed to lift Martha and make for the exit. Suddenly however, a hand grabbed my shoulder and I lost hold of my beloved. “To the lifeboats!” I cried and with a look of confused terror, Martha nodded and fled.

I turned around and found an opponent twice my weight and a foot taller, but with red eyes wet with tears. I jabbed at the cultist's face and he fell, already off-balance from the effects of the pepper. As he hit the floor, I glanced around and saw the Captain clambering back to his feet. He had drawn his pistol, and perhaps insane from his demented ritual, seemed oblivious to the danger of the spilled gunpowder.

As I turned to flee, he fired. I didn’t heard the shot, but felt a searing pain in my left shoulder and stumbled out the door. Behind me, the Captain fired again and again, roaring in pain and anger. I climbed the steps to the main deck and heard Martha calling to me. Before I could reach her however, the gunpowder ignited. My next memory is of lying drenched and semi-conscious in the lifeboat.

The following morning, I awoke once more, this time on a rocky island beneath a dark blue sky. My beloved held my head upon her lap, and brushed her fingers through the burned remnants of my hair.

“I thought you would die,” she said, looking down to my shoulder. I turned to look across the sea, to where the Miskatonic Mary still drifted, half submerged and with dying flames licking her hull.

“There will be survivors,” I said.

“I know,” she replied.

“If they get to shore, they’ll try to kill us again.”

“I know.”

She took my hand in hers and squeezed as she looked out at the listing
ship. Together then, we waited for the coming of the cult.

EileenG

I enjoyed it.

I'd have liked some indication of when this was all happening. It's obvious it's not present day, but that's all.

Your MC seemed to grasp too quickly that they were cultists. Surely his initial thought would be rapists/slavers?

I think your rescue/fight scene should have been longer and more detailed, and he should suffer from from the injury, but overall, it was a good read.

pickarooney

Would you mind renaming the thread just so it's clear this is for feedback on one specific story?

It was hard to give detailed feedback on this in the context of the competition as it was very well written...

Globally speaking, it was a very atmospheric piece, intriguing and just a little cryptic. I enjoyed reading it and would definitely read more or another in the same vein. (I suppose I could go pick up a couple of H.P. Lovecraft books )

Where is it set? The narrator mentions Arkham (the fictional town in Massachusetts? Miskatonic seems to support this) but pays in pounds. Maybe there was a time when the US used pounds, in which case this is a rather clever way of placing the story in a specific timeframe. I suspect so. How are they planning on getting to Australia from, presumably the Eastern U.S. seaboard and why are they going there? Why would the couple even presume that they might be making such a long and dangerous journey?

The first paragraph threw me - I wasn't sure whether this story was taking place in the here and now (Many months have passed...) or if this was an after-the-fact retelling (It was the depth...). That turn of phrase also seems odd, for some reason it seems to need to be plural 'depths' and maybe even 'in the depths' to my eyes.

How did they miss the Miskatonic Mary the first time with all the shouting and the smoking and whatnot?

The ambiguity of 'berth' (parking space vs. bed) confused me initially, although it is probably the best word to describe the place where the ship is docked, so I don't know if it should be changed.

A couple of examples of needless repetition: 'blustery nighttime gale', 'smoke drifted from the lit pipe', 'insistinct and murky' (can you reveal something indistinct?),

'Distinguish the shadows of two men' - are they really looking at their shadows or their silhouettes, or their shapes?

Picky stuff:

'He had a course English accent' - coarse.

How are they getting (fresh) fruit every morning?

'a stinging bile' - I don't think you can enumerate bile.

'tonnes' - more likely to use imperial 'tons'

'a wooden alter' - altar

Only someone with too much time on their hands would know/google, but bhut jolokia only seems to have been discovered in the last ten years and only recognised as the world's hottest in 2007.

EileenG

For the benefit of those of us who are not history buffs, establish early where and when the story is taking place. Otherwise, you spend a lot of time not able to visualise what is happening. It would be enough to mention who is in charge for instance, or any recent war.

Antilles

Thanks for the feedback guys.

EileenG - I hoped the story would read as set in the early 1800's, but it could probably do with some more specific indications. I thought the captain talking about sacrifice would let the MC realise they were a cult, but maybe I could work some more indications in here too. I could definitely set the scene a little bit more.

Pickarooney - Mentioning Arkham and Miskatonic both place it specifically in the Lovecraft mythos. I guess its a little targetted, in that people not familiar with his work would miss the reference. Part of the challenge in rewiting will be making it more enjoyable as a standard story while still including those sort of references.

The "pounds" line was supposed to set the time period, but looking it up now it seems I was anachronistic. The story is supposed to be a retelling of the event, perhaps jotted down when the MC was awaiting the cult on the island. It could be clearer though.

They missed the boat first time past because the captain and his first mate only walked onto the deck (or perhaps only started shouting) after they had passed by.

Your examples of repetition were my attempts to make it "purple prose" for the competition

With regards the bhut jolokia - if you googled it to find that out, you've just set a new record for dedication to a review request

EileenG

I think you definitely need to date it more obviously. Don't forget, as readers, we are going in completely blind. You have to indicate quickly when and where it is set, or it's impossible for us to visualise the action. I read quite a bit of historical stuff, but I was lost.

Sacrifice took place all through history, it certainly wouldn't date a story, and it wasn't mentioned until later on. The fresh fruit confused me, because that put the story much later in history than I had first thought.

cobsie

Hey Antilles,

I really liked this - I thought your grasp of the 19th century idiom was excellent and very consistent, for something that was produced quite quickly for a VOAT. Also, as a story in itself, I enjoyed it and liked the pay-off. You actually seem to have a very natural feel for the formal constraints of the period - it was very vividly imagined. Colour me impressed !

Maybe the scales have fallen from your eyes and you are considering a period piece? Go for it, if you find it coming easily!

Antilles

Thanks Cobsie. I grew up reading lots of Poe, Verne, Lovecraft and H.G. Wells. I find my writing naturally tends towards that "1800s" style and usually have to tone it down, but for this I thought it felt right.

cobsie

Antilles wrote: »

Thanks Cobsie. I grew up reading lots of Poe, Verne, Lovecraft and H.G. Wells. I find my writing naturally tends towards that "1800s" style and usually have to tone it down, but for this I thought it felt right.

You seem to the manner born - I reiterate how impressed I am by the fact that this was produced quite quickly. I guess I imagine period pieces taking loads of research, etc - but actually, it just reinforces the point that what counts is 'believability' with this kind of period voice.

Also grew up reading Poe, H.G. Wells - as Homer Simpson once said, "Nine thumbs up!"

balbhagusog

excellent. read a lot of lovecraft. chambers, clarke aston smith, etc. really enjoyed the sense of fear from when the botanist overheard the sailors.


Balbh
http://songsfromthehyades.blogspot.com/