The Revenant

The Revenant

On the deck of a small boat, a solitary human lay unconscious, drifting on the empty sea. The storm had passed, she had survived.

Flora awoke suddenly, her mind screaming at her, Nooo..Stan, Stan, Nooo... No...and then a scrambled, frantic, useless search for words and instructions. The memory was a cold void; even if she remembered what she was supposed to do, it would make no difference. She collapsed back onto the deck, bereft . The ship’s surface was barren—no mast, no safety rails, no survival pod, no supplies. Everything was gone.

Everything except for a sudden shattering of the immense silence. A voice screaming at her.

Startled, she roused herself. Seeing no one, she opened a cabin hatch. Water sloshed, blocking entry; the interior of the cabin polluted with water and fuel oil. A life jacket floated nearby; she snatched it, pulling it on for warmth more than hope, and climbed back topside. The seas had miraculously settled. The previous hours of raging water were replaced by a flat, unsettling calm. The last rays of a dying sun mocked her with their beauty. She crawled aft, finding a small, sheltering nook in the stripped cockpit, hiding from the voice, now threatening, now intimidating, still attached to nothing.

Oh, God. Lost. I’m lost. I should just throw myself overboard. Why live with what I’ve lost? I can’t.

She fell into desolate sobbing.

A chill settled over her, but it was unnatural, not born of wind. The air was dead still. A massive black cloud ahead was unsettling. It owned the horizon, swelling and reaching simultaneously upward into the sky and downward toward the sea. It moved towards her with a slow, deliberate quality that felt intentional, aware. The thought prickled her skin: It knows I’m here.[1.1] It’s screaming at me. Why?

Again the voice raged out over the ocean. “Tulpa! I demand your attention.”

Flora stiffened. What the hell? she thought, then jumped up and ran forward, yelling into the nothingness of the cloud. “What the hell do you want from me?”

Thunder vibrated, slamming into her and driving her back into the cockpit shelter. The cloud was no longer formless; it was a grotesque, menacing shape, emanating pure evil. It dropped and stood on the deck, leering, reeking old rot. Flora gagged, turning away. As she turned, she fell. The boat was listing, the water in the cabin below deck was rising fast. Sinking, she realized. Not that too, I’ll be drowned, like a rat. Like the rat that I am.

Frantically, her eyes searched for a float, lighting on the lines draped over the tiller. She tugged—they were tethered to the survival pod floating behind the rudder. Hope.

“You have no hope, mortal!” A rough, clawed hand grabbed her shoulder and spun her around. She was looking into the soulless eyes of a monster wearing the face of her host, Stan, the man so recently swept overboard. Repulsion warred with agony. “My God! Have you no mercy!” she screamed.

“Mercy is a diversion, tulpa,” the revenant sneered back. “Divert and lose your soul as well as your life!”

“Look at me!” the monster demanded.

Flora turned away, refusing its’ gaze; “I won’t look! Never. I won’t acknowledge your monstrous mockery of my beloved. I want to remember him the way he was. The revenant grabbed her again, shaking her violently until she felt she might break. “Look at me, look at me!” its empty eye sockets demanded. Stop!, she thought, the pain shattering her will. “Okay, I’ll look at you. I’ll look. Just stop hurting me,” she turned and faced it.

Instantly, the shaking stopped. As she forced her gaze into the empty sockets, a vision erupted: her home, stately and modern.

Agony seized her—my beautiful home, Lost! Lost! I’ll never see it again. I can’t stand this! Stan, Stan, where are you? Oh, God no, this hurts too much. too damn much. I can’t stand it.

Next, Stan, her lover, appeared, more beautiful than she had ever known him to be, beckoning with familiar tenderness. She followed, and with each opening door of the mansion they had built together, her heart fractured into smaller, sharper shards of agony. They reached their bedroom—the bed, the dressing table, the combs and pins Stan had lovingly given her. She collapsed as she looked at the next door, behind which was the blue-tiled Mikvah, their sacred space.

Stan, open it! Take me in, make sweet love to me, then let me die. Let me out of this hell! Stan did not open the Mikvah door. Instead, the scene blurred; she was in the bed, being awakened by him and her sister. She relived the awful day they sent her back to school, the tantrum she threw, her face contorted by angry accusations of betrayal.

Was it me, did I do this? Was it my anger, my rage, that brought this horror to me? Is this monster naught but my own guilt?

Then, violently, she was thrown back onto the boat deck. The boat listed drastically toward starboard. Am I sinking?

She struggled, desperate to reach the survival pod, to escape the monster, but the lines held fast. She needed a knife. As she headed toward the hatch, the revenant grabbed her with renewed ferocity. “You’re not done looking! You haven’t started seeing!”

Flora screamed, her terror choking her. “What can you mean? I don’t understand! Oh, God, help me!”

“Look and see!” was all the monster offered.

Forcing herself to look again, hoping to understand what seeing meant, she saw it: her own face, contorted by rage, seen through the eyes of her host.

Was that really me?

The shock was immense.

I’m never this ugly.

But she knew it was. Was she the betrayer? Had her love disappeared, replaced by anger and fear? Was she bringing this horror down on herself?

Confusion overwhelmed her. The boat tilted again, drastically, plunging her through the open hatch into the fouled cabin waters. She thrashed, drowning, until her hand bumped a solid object.

She grabbed at it, It’s the deadman’s switch, she recalled. Will it work? If it doesn’t, I’m dead.

She pulled the lever. It was stuck. At the end of her endurance, she was growing weak. One final pull. A motor roared to life, lights on a dashboard panel went on. She pulled herself upwards, exhausted, finding the open hatch. The boat seemed to be righting itself; she heard the splashing of ejected bilge. The pumps were working. They were not sinking.

The night was long, solitary, and cold. She managed to crawl onto the fo’c’sle bunk, holding on, but tormented by the thought she had let her lovers down, that her anger had inflicted hurt. Sometime later, a cold, wet sensation touched her. Terror returned. So had the weather! The wind, again howling, tossed the little boat to and fro, smashing Flora, in the bunk, with it, bruising her with every move.

Finally, a rogue of a wave knocked her out of the bunk and onto the cabin floor. She crawled up. Looking around, she went into the head. The revenant was staring at her from the mirror. “Go deeper, little tulpa. Go deeper.” Confused, struggling against the storm, she made her way back into the bunk.

She heard only a distant laugh as the wind and seas continuously mocked her, rocking the boat, again shipping water, splashing down the hatchway, covering her again with its foul effluvium.

Thunder and lightning sundered the heavens, and with a thunderous flash, red lightning blazed into her consciousness. That was when she realized the truth: Rufescent, the red witch, her personal childhood demon, was the storm, was her own anger, her vengeance, her imagined slights.

It’s me I’m torturing. There’s no need. I am worthy; Stan, KK, Lilly, Loxy—they all loved me. I can do the same!

A wave of self-compassion washed over her.

Flora, girl. Forgive yourself.

Outside, the waves magically flattened, and.she fell asleep upon settling seas in zephyrous winds.

As she slept, she dreamt of her lost lover, Stan, his face now beautiful. Not a monstrous revenant, just Stan, calling... calling... calling.

Flora awoke suddenly, needing to pee. Dragging herself out, she found the galley trashed. She climbed above, onto the ruined deck. Dawn broke, its beauty a stark contrast to her grief. Then, she heard a hail. First a Claxton, then a voice calling. Turning, she saw a boat heading directly toward her. On deck stood Stan, her sister, and the crew of a Coast Guard cutter. Stan was calling her name. The nightmare was over.

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