Dreadful Skin by Cherie Priest Read Free Book Online

label, and interested in acquiring more one day.
    But between the busy splatter of the raindrops outside, I could hear something else—once in a while, and loud. It sounded like a sharp blow, or a rap. When first I heard it, I thought I imagined it. Bang . Like something solid, dropped and landing hard. I waited and listened, and then it came again. Bang .
    I sat up and set the bottle aside.
    Bang .
    It came from down below, by the wheel.
    Bang .
    No—not by the wheel. The next deck up, at least. Bang . Again. It came accompanied by a ringing noise this time—a twang, where something else had been struck. I thought perhaps the jackstaff, since it stands so tall. I heard a quick jingle as if from a chain or cable, and we often ran a flag up the staff.
    Bang.
    Like a drum, but not quite. Like a boxer jumping on a mat, but not quite.
    More like a boxer, I thought. More like someone jumping. But it couldn’t be someone, of course. The collisions came too far apart; no one could jump so high, to make such loud landings at such lengthy intervals. He’d have to be jumping from deck to deck around the Mary Byrd , and of course that wasn’t possible. Of course.
    I don’t know why it frightened me so—or rather, I don’t know how I knew to be frightened.
    There was something frantic about it, about the way it dashed to and fro from deck to deck, front to back. Occasionally it would strike against something and be dazed, then resume again. It made me think of a cat my wife once had; in the evening, shortly before bedtime, it would transform from a lazy beast to a mad terror of a creature. It would tear around the house as if its tail were on fire before settling down and turning in for the night with the rest of us.
    I’ve seen dogs do it too, when they’re cooped up too long or kept on a chain.
    Outside in the rain there was a flash of lightning followed soon by a sharp rumble of thunder. The rainstorm had gone from pattering to booming, and I was glad for my decision to stop and stay. The water was getting rough for a river, and when I stepped to my window to peer outside, I couldn’t see a thing beyond the rail.
    Thunder cracked again—this time like a whip the size of a river. The storm was right above us.
    Beside my bed there was a lantern mounted on a swing-arm hinge. It was a mariner’s style, and made for a man at sea, not on a river. When the boat moved, the force of gravity would hold the flame level—or that was the idea. It worked well enough, and I liked the look of it. It struck me as a sturdy, stable thing with an ingenious design, so I left it lit.
    The other two, by the mirror and beside the door, I extinguished. Despite the rain, these boats are made more of wood than anything else—and the engines are fed coal. Fires happen, and we were moored away from the banks. On board, we had a pair of small rowing yawls for emergencies or the crew’s quick shore runs, but if there were ever any real, quick trouble, we’d never get them into the water in time. Bang .
    Thunder answered it, so loud and so harsh that Mary rocked a little harder against the waves—her windows rattling in their frames. Downstairs near the galley, I thought I heard a crash. It must have been dishes, or plates. I remember, I thought— I’ll ask Laura in the morning .
    But then there was a new sound, another sound—not the thunder, and not the intermittent banging. It came louder than both, and twice as nerve-shattering.
    I clapped my hands over my ears, trying to keep it out.
    It roared, or howled, or scraped across the boat in a long, anguished cry that must have come from a living throat—but what, I couldn’t guess. My mind raced, playing games with itself. I knew that sounds can be deceiving—especially at night, and in the rain, and when a man is tired and slow from wine.
    I’d heard mountain lions that sound for all the world like a woman screaming for help, and inmates at a sanitarium who bayed like hounds. I’d heard my