Spectral Sky
My dreams always start with my father kneeling, looking me in the eye and saying, “Your mother and I are going to be killed.”
My breath quickens and my throat burns as I turn to my mother for some comfort, some signal that my father is joking. She says nothing, only raising her hand to cover her trembling lip as she stares at me with glistening eyes.
A loud bang at the door makes me gasp and flinch. Father turns my chin until I am facing him once more. “They saw us come in here. These Spectrals are pirates, so there will be no reasoning with them. But they don’t know about you, which is why you need to hide.”
I start to shake my head, causing tears to escape my eyelids. Father grabs my shoulder with a fierce tenderness. “You have to, Nora,” he says as he locks fingers with mother’s. “For us.”
“I’ll not be a coward,” I say, my voice sounding shrill to my ears.
“Indeed you won’t,” father says as he lowers his gaze to the notebook he had set on the floor between us. He picks it up with both hands. “You know that project I have been working on?”
I scrunch my eyebrows. “The machine that will fix the weather?”
Father nods. He hands me the leather-bound pad, the word “ZENITH” etched on the front. “You have to see that it gets finished.”
“But it’s your project. You have to finish it!”
The door bangs again as my father lifts a finger to his lips to shush me. “I wish that I could. But my time is almost up. You must make sure this gets to the people who can complete it. Please tell me you will do this.”
I hold the notebook close to my chest. “I will do as you say.”
My father reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small golden disk on a chain. He opens it in half, revealing a clock on one side and a compass on the other. “I want you to take this. It will help you in your journey. Be mindful of your time, but never lose sight of your direction.”
I clasp the combination watch and compass and nod.
Father caresses my face. “I am so proud of you, my sweet. I wish I could fly with you further.”
Suddenly the door cracks, and a cold draft seems to creep in. Father glances at the door, takes one last, desperate look at me, then whispers into mother’s ear. Having given her his message, he rushes to brace the door.
Mother approaches me calmly. “Follow me, dear. You must go into the crawl space over here.”
She leads me to the back corner of their chamber, to a space in the wall between their book shelf and the marble globe. She puts slight pressure on the wall with her fingers, and with a click it opens up to an empty space big enough for me to crawl through. “In you go.”
“I don’t want to leave you.” I give my last desperate plea without looking at her, hoping that if I don’t acknowledge her inevitable answer then I could act on the answer I wanted.
She laces her fingers in my hair and pulls me into a loving embrace. “You are doing a far braver thing than your father and me. Know that we will always be with you.” She then guides me gently into the crawlspace and clicks the door back in place.
As I sit huddled in the dark clutching the notebook and the watch compass, I feel the weight of my loneliness. A soft beam of light emanates from the crack in the wall door, beckoning me. I lean forward to peer through to the other world that held my parents.
I cannot see them. The only thing in my view is my father’s desk next to the bookshelf. But I can hear them talking in urgent tones as the banging and cracking of the door increases. My mother mentions something about wishing she had a gun, my father’s response to which I can’t understand. Eventually I do hear him say, “Get back!” Immediately after, I hear the door to their chamber shatter to the floor.
A gush of wind blasts through the room, and beyond the pounding of my heart I can just make out the sound of grunting and screeching and scuffling. After a moment that lasts forever, I hear a shadowy voice say, “Peace, friends. I merely want to talk.” The voice sounds as if it echoes through a mile-long cavern.
“Guns and cannons are your language,” I hear my father reply. “We have nothing to say to you.”
“You judge me too cruel, sir,” the shadowy voice says. “Come, let us respite and discuss matters.” It is in this moment I get my first glimpse of the intruder. He steps between me and my father’s desk, and I realize that this is no man who has intruded on our ship, but a ghost. I had heard of Spectrals before, of how they exist as more of a fog than of solid matter, but I have never seen one up close until now. His body seems to have the general shape of a man, from what I can tell, but he is dark and hazy as a storm cloud.
“May I sit here?” the Spectral asked, gesturing to my father’s desk chair. I heard no response from my father. Whether or not he received permission, the Spectral sat down anyway. As he did so, the chair itself seemed to transform into the same smoky substance as the Spectral. “Please, have a seat. We’re all civilized here.”
I swiveled my view through the crack in the wall until I could see my parents quietly pull up chairs to the opposite side of the desk and sit down. My mother’s eyes flitted from my father to the Spectral to something unknown behind her. My father kept his gaze on the Spectral in his chair, his eyes slightly squinted the same way he does when he’s trying to calculate a complex math problem.
The Spectral leans back and taps the arms of the chair with what I assume are his fingers. “There. Isn’t this nice? Now that we are settled, may I inquire with whom I have the pleasure of speaking?”
“If you wish to kill us, then get on with it,” my father replies.
“Why do you assume I am such a ruthless murderer?”
“Pirates are known to be so.”
“Ah, but I am no ordinary pirate,” the Spectral says. “I am the king of pirates. One doesn’t become king by indiscriminately killing anyone who crosses his path. While I have taken many lives, I never do so without reason. I will say, though, that I have considered rudeness to be a good reason in the past, so I will ask you again: with whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”
My father sits silent.
The Spectral sighs and looks around for a moment. He seems to notice my father’s bottle of whiskey on the desk for the first time. “Well, I see you are at least to some measure a true skyman.” He reaches for the bottle, which turns cloudy in his grasp. He removes the top, and inhales. “Smells fine, indeed. May I?” He grabs a glass and pours the now murky liquid. He sets the bottle down, returning it to its natural state, and holds aloft his glass, twirling the drink into a dark vortex.
The Spectral examines his drink closely. “Amazing how lifeless matter can change back and forth depending on who is touching it.” He turns his attention back to my father. “Since you are a skyman, I assume you know how encounters between your kind and mine work. Whichever side has more physical contact with inanimate objects possesses said objects.” He waves his free hand in a wide gesture toward the room at large. “As you can see, the ship is still in your possession, which means you have more live bodies on board than I. Even so…” He stops swirling his drink for a moment. “…you and I both know that I control the ship, which shows that I am not ruthless. I do take prisoners sometimes.”
He continues swirling his drink, and I notice his head bob around as if he has lost interest in the conversation. He then speaks up in a markedly more friendly tone. “These are some nice quarters you have. But you are not the captain. I already met him…” He stops swirling again long enough to take a sip. He nods slowly, and I almost think I hear a satisfied humming come from his throat.
“Still, you are important here, if I’m not mistaken. It’s not simply the size of the room. It’s the little details. Mahogany furniture, by the feel of it. Fine linens, from what I can see. An extensive library.” I duck reflexively as he turns his head in my direction. When I look back out again, I see my mother choking back some tears.
“You even have an intercom tube straight to the bridge,” the Spectral comments, patting the metal cylinder that is wired to the desk. “But you are not part of the crew. The laboratory on board has similar trinkets as you have in here, so I believe you are a man of science. But not just a normal scientist -- one of those lackeys hired on with meager pay and paltry lodgings. No…since you have such exquisite material possessions, I believe you are the very soul who commissioned this vessel.”
Though my father remains silent and discerning, I see him stir in his seat.
The Spectral opens my father’s drawer and removes some papers. They become black in his hand as he rifles through them. “Mail correspondence addressed to a Thomas Hanley…So I have enough information here to infer that a man who would lock himself in this particular room is a well-to-do scientist named Thomas Hanley who owns this fine airship and has exceptional taste in liquor, but, of course, I would not want to be so rude as to make a wrong assumption about a man I have never met.”
The Spectral drops the letters back in the drawer, slams it shut with a surprisingly loud smack, and leans forward for the intercom tube. With his voice still congenial, he says, “It’s fortunate you have this direct line to the bridge. I have all my prisoners there, and if I should be forced to order some of them executed due to a certain someone’s excessive rudeness, I will not need to send a courier to relay the message.” He picks up the tube, and with his voice lowered to almost a whisper, says, “I will ask one more time: with whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”
Like a predator ready to strike, this creature in my father’s desk chair commands my attention, and I cannot break away my horrified gaze. I hear my father’s trembling voice say, “I am Thomas Hanley. I own this ship, and I commissioned this voyage.”
The Spectral returns the tube to its stand and leans back. A series of raspy sounds emanates from him, which I assume is laughter. “Was that so difficult? Now we can converse as friends.” He lifts the glass to his face.
“I do not know your name,” my father says.
The Spectral slams the glass down on the desk. “I am known in the skies as the Dark Storm.” He lets go of the glass and stands up. As the glass materializes, I see it is empty and upside down.
“There is still another stranger in our midst,” the Dark Storm says as he walks around the desk toward my mother. She studies him very closely as he approaches. “I cannot see you clearly, my dear, but I imagine you are a beauty to behold. By what name may I call you?” At this point he is standing right beside her.
Mother does not look at him. “I admire Thomas for his noble spirit, but I know that there will be no mercy from you even once you have the information you want. Therefore, I will not give you the pleasure.”
“My pleasure is the company of a strong-willed woman.” The Dark Storm laughs again as he touches my mother’s chin. She jerks away in disgust. “Don’t worry, my dear, I won’t force you into saying anything you don’t want to. But since I must call you something, I hope the pet name Shooting Star suffices.”
The Dark Storm steps behind where my parents sit until he is between them. He places one arm around my father’s shoulder and with his other hand strokes my mother’s hair. “Now, Thomas and my dear Shooting Star, we have an important matter to discuss: treasure.”
“Everything of value is in the hold,” my father says.
The Dark Storm shakes his head and hugs my father close. “Thomas, you’re lying to me. There was nothing of considerable value in the hold. Besides, any good pirate knows the best treasure is the deepest hidden, and these quarters were by far the hardest to get to. I wager you have something very special within these walls.”
“What you see is what there is,” my father says, obviously trying his best to sound forceful.
“Again, I don’t think you’re being completely honest with me, Thomas,” the Dark Storm scolds as he removes his hand from my father. While continuing to play with mother’s hair, he unsheathes his sword. The only way I can tell it is a sword is the long shape of it extending from his arm and the ghostly metallic sound it makes as he pulls it out of its scabbard. He holds it up close to mother’s neck.
Mother shudders, but stays calm and tells my father, “Thomas, be brave. Remember what is truly important.”
“Leave her alone,” my father says. “We can talk about this.”
The Dark Storm rubs a lock of mother’s hair between his fingers while she keeps a tense stillness. “You are true in saying there is not much to see in here, but that is not what leads me to believe that there is treasure close by.” He glides his blade gently until it is close to the nape of mother’s neck. “It is what I heard prior to entering that was most intriguing. It seemed there were three voices inside this room.” The Dark Storm slices the lock of hair with a swift strike.
Both of my parents flinch as if the blade actually cut their flesh. A scowl has crept across my mother’s face, and for the first time in my life I see tears dripping down my father’s cheek. In this moment I feel my own body swell with heat and my fists clench while my stomach turns to stone.
The Dark Storm twirls my mother’s now darkly wispy strands of hair in his fingers before letting them fall to the floor in their original, blonde state. He then proceeds to grasp another lock of her hair, his sword poised in the same position as before. “I would consider it extremely rude, Thomas, if I were not at least somewhat acquainted with everyone present. Would you kindly introduce me to our hidden companion in the room?” He raises the blade to cut mother’s hair again, only this time he nicks her skin, releasing a small trickle of blood.
“Please…” My father moves to stand, but I see a second ghostly sword pin him back to his chair. I shutter to think exactly how many other Spectrals were in the room just beyond my view.
My mother casts a wide eye sideways to my father, as if to warn him.
“Forgive me,” the Dark Storm says to the back of my mother’s head. “I am no barber, so I am dreadfully clumsy at this. I should just stick to what I know best.” He turns to my father. “You’ll talk to save your crew, but not to save your wife? Thomas, you must indeed have something extravagant hidden away in here. If only you tell me who is hiding this treasure and where they are hiding it, this can all be over.” He lifts another lock of mother’s hair, allowing it to dangle limply between her scalp and his fingers. He swings it back and forth and says, “Tick, tock, tick, tock.”
I feel my breathing intensify. I worry that I am breathing loud enough for others to hear me through the wall, so I try to calm myself. But the image of this monster putting his hands on my mother makes my skin perspire and my vision blur. I want nothing in this world other than to exact the greatest force my body can create against this Spectral’s nebulous face until his life matches the void of his appearance.
My father can barely utter the words, “I love you. I’m so sorry,” through his sobbing, which only seems to heighten my anger. If he loves her so much, I wonder, why is he doing nothing to save her?
The Dark Storm stops swinging my mother’s hair to look at my father for a moment. He then shrugs and lifts the sword above his head to strike.
In a dizzying instant I find myself banging on the door to the crawlspace and screaming incoherently. I cannot find out how to open the door in my frenzy, and I feel all the more furious at my powerlessness. But the door is opened soon enough by someone on the outside. The brightness of my parent’s room envelopes me, then is eclipsed by the body of a Spectral reaching in to take hold of me. I continue screaming and flailing about, hearing and seeing nothing through my rage. It is only when the Spectral has his arms full around me that I begin to notice the cold tingling of the embrace. The sensation feels like nothing I have ever experienced, as if I am simultaneously being frozen by a wintry gale and swarmed with insects.
My screams morph from anger to terror and pain. I hear my parents crying out to me, but surprisingly it’s the Dark Storm’s words that reach my ears clearest. “You’re hurting the girl. Let her go.”
I feel a wonderful release and let myself fall to my knees. After a brief moment I notice in my periphery the “ZENITH” notebook lying on the ground next to my father’s overturned, spinning globe, and I feel my insides churn at the thought of my foolishness. I scramble to retrieve the book, but it is snatched from my grasp, dispersing into a blackened tome in the Dark Storm’s hands.
“There be nothing else in the crawlspace, captain,” a Spectral behind me says.
“No matter,” the Dark Storm replies as he thumbs through the pages of my father’s notebook. “I believe this is the prize we came for.”
“A book, sir?”
“Knowledge is the greatest treasure,” the Dark Storm muses in a more hushed tone. He turns toward my parents. My father is being restrained by two Spectrals, while my mother sits surprisingly still and calm with a lone Spectral standing behind her. “I think you and I would agree on that much, Thomas.”
The Spectral captain then focuses his attention on me. He leans down to look at me closer. The air around me is frigid, and the intensity of the moment makes me want to vomit. But I will my heart to pump viciously through my veins, and I keep my eyes fixated on the Dark Storm. At this close distance, I can almost make out facial features. Two milky ovals glow faintly where his eyes would be, and a markedly blacker area of his face outlines his chin. I build up tension in my muscles until he has leaned in close enough for my reach. I then unleash all my anger through my arm until it connects with his face. My knuckles feel as if they have scraped against frozen pine needles, and the Dark Storm barely winces in response, but the feeling of pummeling this monster is nonetheless satisfying.
Two icy hands once again take hold of me and pull me from the Spectral captain. “A feral whelp must needs be put down, is what I say,” the voice behind me growls. One of his hands releases me. I hear a clicking sound, and as I cast my glance sideways I see what appears to be a pistol emerge swiftly from the Spectral’s sleeve like a bullet from a muzzle. He catches the weapon and readies it next to my skull.
My father screams in agony, while my mother seems to have frozen into numb shock. But the Dark Storm dispassionately raises his hand to halt my captor. “Away with your weapon. Feral or no, the girl is protecting her own, and such action from any creature under the sun is commendable. What is your name, lass?”
The Spectral holding my arm seems to pierce me to the bone with his icy essence, but I remain as staunch as I can as I address the captain. Unlike my parents, in my moment of defiance I have no qualms of revealing my identity. “My name is Nora.”
The Dark Storm examines me for a moment. “It is a dangerous way to live without fear, Nora. You must heed caution if you want to make it in this life.”
“I don’t live without fear,” I say, “I just know what’s worth fearing.”
“You have your mother’s spirit and your father’s mind. You are reckless, but that too can be a good trait when applied properly…” The Dark Storm strokes his chin. “I have need of a personal assistant. I think you would make a good candidate.”
He stands and issues a command to the Spectral detaining me, “Escort young Nora to the crew’s quarters. I’ll send for her later when I am ready to train her in her duties.” He then walks back over to father’s chair, sits down, and reopens the “ZENITH” notebook to peruse further.
My father redoubles his efforts to fight against the Spectrals holding him, but he is held tight and gagged so that his efforts are useless. Mother watches as I am dragged along the floor, then speaks in a voice that is much too calm, “Captain, may we negotiate before you take my daughter?”
“You are adorable, my sweet Shooting Star,” the Dark Storm says, flipping a page, “but you have nothing to bargain with.”
“You may keep your life if you let my daughter go free.”
My Spectral captor stops tugging on my leg, and I reflexively cease resisting. I stare wide-eyed at my mother, as all the other Spectrals seem to be doing as well, save for the captain. When I glance over to see his reaction, I see him continuing to read the notebook, apparently fascinated by its contents.
My mother straightens her posture even more and says louder and slower than before, “Do you value your life, captain?” The Spectral behind her takes a small step forward as if he is concerned she will lunge at the captain at any moment.
The Dark Storm does not take his eyes off of the notebook. “Life alone is nothing to be valued. A life of prosperity is of the utmost importance. I am beginning to see the fortuity of acquiring this book, for its contents could greatly affect my own continued prosperity.”
“Your prosperity will be greatly affected if your life should end.”
The Dark Storm finally lowers the notebook to address my mother directly. “I can understand the desperation of a mother’s love, but empty threats will do nothing but upset the girl in her last moments with you. Best to simply say your goodbyes now.” He returns his attention to the notebook.
“Release my daughter, or forfeit your life.”
“She will be well cared for. I will raise her properly. And, who knows? Perhaps one day she will prosper like me.”
“If you will not accept my offer, then you leave me no choice.”
“I have enjoyed our time together, Shooting Star, but I grow tired of talking in circles.” With his nose still in the notebook, he waves his hand in the air and says, “Take her away.”
The Spectral behind my mother reaches for her. The following instant is a blur. My mother suddenly jabs her left hand across her body with the swiftness of a striking snake to grab the Spectral’s wrist. She pulls the Spectral’s arm under her right shoulder, managing to click open the spring mechanism holding his pistol in his sleeve. She positions her right hand over the Spectral’s, catching the pistol with his fingers. She squeezes his finger, which squeezes the trigger, sending a bullet straight at the Dark Storm.
The bullet shatters the overturned whiskey glass in its path. A mighty roar bellows from the Dark Storm as he clutches his right shoulder, and a black, ghastly fountain spurts from his wound, splashing red on the mahogany floor.
Before I have any chance to react, my Spectral captor lets go my leg to withdraw his pistol from his sleeve once again. He takes aim and fires at my mother.
* * *
My name is Joshua Dennis. I am a 31-year-old writer living in Dallas, Texas. I hold a BA in English, and I have a couple of poem and flash fiction publications under my belt. I enjoy stories and all forms, from books to television to film to video games, and my favorite genres to write in are science fiction and fantasy.
The excerpt above is from the first chapter of the novel I am currently working on, titled Spectral Sky. It is adult speculative fiction and could be categorized as steampunk, though if we're strictly talking about the fantastical fuel that powers the technology of this world it would be Gravispunk. I expect it to be around 75000 words. In the story I hope to build a unique, fantasy world filled with relatable, multi-faceted characters.
Hook: After an otherworldly creature known as the Dark Storm murders her parents, Nora Hanley vows revenge, but must weigh her options when she learns the sky pirate helping her has a secret connection to the Dark Storm.
Brief Synopsis: Nora seeks revenge against the Dark Storm, but Spectrals are mysterious creatures who pop in and out of existence without warning. She gains the assistance of Samson Van Horne, a pirate captain who studies the Spectrals. She eventually learns the true nature of the Spectrals is that they are regular skyfaring humans who have been caught up in temporary time slips. She also discovers that Van Horne used to go by the name the Dark Storm. He now searches for his past self to redeem him from his cruel ways. Faced with the dilemma of killing her new friend or sparing a murderer, Nora manages to keep her honor by standing by Van Horne when they find the Spectral Dark Storm and confront him. The Dark Storm kills Van Horne, and the realization of what he has done sets him on his path of redemption. Nora manages to recover her father's research, giving her the new ambition of ending the war in the skies.