The Stowaways

When October claims the calendar, and the creeping shadows of autumn begin to defeat the carefree promises of summer, the harbingers of darkness can emerge in many forms. After an October sunset, cauldrons of bats are on the wing in the skies over Marco, Goodland, and the Isles of Capri. The elusive creatures are always present after sundown, but after ages of folklore and campfire tales, a more sinister version of the fables might be on the wing during an ever-changing climate. 

When the cruise ship docked in Miami, everyone was ready to get off. Many of the passengers were unwell and some of the crew, but no one suspected a sly stowaway or the shipment of a nightmare. 

The latest passage from the Panama Canal had been arduous and dreadful. A steamy low-pressure system loaded with humidity descended before the ship cast off, but as stormy seas and foul weather began to haunt the voyage home, not a passenger aboard could truly know what was hiding aboard the ship.

The stowaway slipped aboard without any trouble. The ship was huge and the security guards monitoring the forklifts and the moving pallets of groceries were too busy watching their phones to guard against anything unusual. In the oppressive heat and rising humidity, security was slack. No one was watching for anyone or anything sneaking aboard the ship.

After the rumble of the forklift faded, the stowaway ran alongside a bulkhead and entered the crew’s quarters without incident. Finding the men’s locker room was easy. After a quick shower, the new crewmember felt better, and after slipping into the engineering coveralls with the cruise ship logo, he was almost invisible to every pair of eyes that might be watching. The map of the ship downloaded from Google was perfect and after passing groups of crewmembers, the stowaway was soon walking among the passengers with a bucket and mop in his hand.

When the growling horn sounded above every passageway and the ship finally began to move, an open hatch with a large cargo hold was the perfect place to rest during the hours of darkness. 

When the stowaway awoke, it was not from the falling rain. The small hatch was open to the sky, and the falling water was a noisy drizzle, but as the latest shipboard traveler sat up to listen, he realized he was not alone in the hold with the cargo. An overhead flutter was a multitude of dry and raspy rustles, but the disturbing movement was not from the open hatch and the rain.

In time, the stowaway slept, but when he awoke for the second, third, and fourth time, he could not understand why his neck was wet in the darkness and away from the rain. He did feel weak, however, and knew he needed nourishment.

Finding food on the ship was like finding water in the ocean, but after only a few bites, the stowaway felt strange. Deep in his head was an ache, and his bones were sore. Despite a desperate urge to drink, he was suddenly terrified but also angry and filled with loathing. Because of the terror, he retreated to the darkness of the cargo hold and the dry flutter of leathery wings, the piercing eyes searching for prey, and the teeth that never made a sound…ever.

As the ship rolled on, the stowaways of a very different kind awoke and became restless after sunset. As if directed by a single intelligence, the vast multitude broke free of the opening to the sky and began to soar overhead. The lights on the ship were beacons beneath the clouds and the wind, but after the black figures could find no solace overhead, the promise of another dawn brought the bats from Central America back to a new hunting ground and a new refuge from the light of day.

The young honeymoon couple thought it would be fun to sleep under the awning and atop the deck chairs while the thunder rolled and the lightning continued to flash. The couple almost came awake during the first, the second, and the third bite, just as the stowaway in the cargo hold, but neither of the honeymooners nor any of the newcomers to rabies understood that the bite of the largest vampire bat has a sedative and an analgesic quality to calm any victim into a trance of sheer compliance.

The vampire bat of Central America enjoys the special and unique powers of sonar and intelligence as much as their smaller cousins in North America and all of Europe, but with the size and wingspan of the largest of all the exsanguinating predators, the opening of an automatic door on a cruise ship was a simple procedure.

The first victim inside the ship needed no analgesic or sedative delivered by the fangs. This prey was beyond relaxed and in a very deep sleep on his own accord. This was a self-sedated victim who never awoke even after the bites and the blood draws became too numerous to count.

During the last hours before dawn on the last night of the voyage, the opening of automatic doors by the cauldron of Central American vampires was as simple as drawing blood from any of the sleeping victims. The bats during the predawn hours were in complete control. The bites from the creatures of the jungle were as unstoppable as waves on an ocean. 

After rabies from the bites began to spread, the passengers, the crew, and even the rabid stowaway began to falter under the lethargy, the ache in the bones, and the growing fear and loathing that was the onset of hydrophobia. When the attack on the ship was complete, the multitude once again broke into flight. The intelligence of the cauldron was now searching for a more suitable environment in the changing climate…possibly an archipelago of islands deep in the heart of a mangrove jungle… perhaps a few small islands with more of the simple prey who had no time for myths or fables.

Happy October and Halloween Marco, Goodland, and the Isles of Capri!