The Receptacle

By Peter Spaeth




Martin heard them coming along the pier. The slapping of their sandals on the weathered wood sounded like so many cattle boarding train cars, and their tittering darted around the cries of the gulls to annoy him like a mosquito in a quiet room. He shifted in his chair, propping his feet up and pulling his hat brim farther down until it touched the tip of his eagle nose. Futilely, he tried to let his boat's gentle rocking soothe him to sleep.

As they neared, their voices crystallized their appearance in his mind. There'd be two couples, both in their late twenties. Their clothing would be a feeble attempt to dress down, and the jewelry worn would be minimal, but its quality would mark them. They'd be attractive, slim and athletic, with perfect teeth and unblemished skin.

He willed them to keep on walking, to clomp by his not so clean boat and choose a more pristine vessel. But even as he wished it, he heard their steps slow, and he knew he'd be forced to send them on their way. A fly buzzed his ear.

"Hey, old man, we'd like to rent your boat."

He wasn't in the mood to play the old white man who'd retired and gone native. He hadn't been in the mood for the last two years. If it wasn't for Julie he'd chuck the whole business and live off his social security and pension. Yet someone had to pay her tuition, but not now, not until the fall. He sighed, debating his mood against his need, and lifting the brim of his hat, finally opened his eyes.

He shook his head. One brunette and one blonde couple, depressingly perfect fits to his mindset, and all perky and eager to hop aboard.

"Christ," Martin mumbled, rising on stiff muscles and ambling towards them, "Damn toy stores are making them life size now."

"Sorry, didn't catch that," he heard.

Martin stopped as a man unexpectedly stepped out from behind the quartet. He was short, about five five, with a pale blonde crewcut and a deep golden tan showing around his gaudy, red flowered shirt and plaid shorts. He reminded Martin of a child suffering from malnutrition, all scrawny arms and legs, with a bloated belly barely contained by his shirt's straining buttons.

The man's features were a homely mix. His smile looked like a black and yellow checkerboard over which a large, bulbous nose sat. The face was round with close, deep set eyes. The eyes caught Martin's attention. They were striking ice-blue stars, glittering like the sun on the waves.

"Just clearing my throat," Martin said.

"I see," the man said. "Well, Tom Rubbin told us that he'd just finished overhauling your engines and you'd be the most reliable boat in the harbor right about now."

Damn that son of a bitch, Martin thought, screwing up my excuse because I still owe him half the cost of the overhaul.

"Where are you heading?" he asked, forcing a conversational tone.

"St. Croix," the man said. "Tom mentioned you were heading that way anyway, to meet your granddaughter. We could make it a business trip for you."

Big mouthed, loose lipped, scum sucking bastard, Martin thought even as he felt a twinge of guilt. He knew the bill to Tom would have to be paid before his granddaughter's tuition. Slowly he smiled, allowing himself to slide into the role he'd come to hate.

"I suppose Thomas also negotiated my fare?"

They laughed.

"Well," the man admitted, "he did mention a price you'd likely settle for, and we're willing to add to that if you make a small detour. It'll only take another day or two."

"Detour?"

"A little island I used to visit as a child. I've got the coordinates right here," the man patted his hip pocket.

"How much extra?" Martin asked.

"Three thousand."

"You've just hired yourself a boat."

* * *

Martin stayed on the bridge most of the trip. To his delight he'd discovered that the men were adept at setting their own fishing lines off the stern, and the women equally adept, and much more pleasing to view, at sunbathing on the bow.

The two couples had names he could choke on. The brunette pair were Arthur and Chloe while the blonde pair were Reed and Anna. He'd forgotten their last names seconds after they'd been given.

The fifth wheel however, was a man whose name he could easily bring to mind; Maximilian Kreisner. He'd tried calling him Max the first night out. They'd been alone on deck and the man had looked at him with those ice chip eyes and said, "It's Maximilian."

Martin had raised an eyebrow at the venom in the statement.

Kreisner had changed the subject, "That's an interesting pendant you have there, where did you get it?"

"This little hunk of rock?" Martin had said, lifting it on its chain so he could look at the ancient, faded inscription on the quarter sized bit of stone. "It's just a good luck charm my granddaughter, Julie, bought me when we were visiting Cancun a couple of years ago."

"That's very nice," Kreisner had said, and gone below, apparently satisfied he'd covered himself socially.

Martin reached up and fondled the charm under his shirt. He smiled. He was looking forward to seeing Julie, and to tell her that this trip would ensure her another semester.

He finished his beer and climbed down to get another. As he reached the bottom step he saw Kreisner lurking along the port side, just out of sight of the women. Martin didn't like the way the man leered at them. Going below, he came up with three beers and walked to the bow by the starboard side.

"Ladies," he said, "thought you might like something cold."

"Thanks," said Anna, reaching out and taking a can.

"No thank you," Chloe said, "water and diet soda are the only liquids passing these lips until five pounds are gone."

He smiled and shrugged, glad that at least one of them was dieting and had refused, as he'd planned.

"Hey, Kreisner," Martin called. "How about a beer?"

The women turned, catching Kreisner as he began to step back, only to stop awkwardly as he saw their eyes on him.

"Uh, don't mind if I do," he managed a nervous smile and came forward.

"Well, ladies," Martin said as he handed Kreisner the beer. "If you'll excuse me, I'll be getting back to the bridge."

He walked away abruptly, leaving Kreisner standing there, fumbling with the can.

When Martin reached the bridge he noted with a chuckle that the ladies were already alone on the bow. Then he heard a noise behind him. Kreisner was climbing up. When the man reached the top he glanced down on the women.

"Pleasant view," he snapped.

"Yes, it is. It's one of the nice things about getting old, you can stop making excuses for your minor vices."

Kreisner appraised him. "Didn't think you were that old."

"I think I qualify as old enough."

"Umph," Kreisner sniffed, then looked away, his attention drawn towards some heavy clouds in the distance.

"Damn, I must have a clear sky tonight," he mumbled.

"Why?" Martin asked.

Kreisner turned and looked hard at Martin while putting his hand on his rear pocket. The man's gaze was intense. A pressure built up on Martin's throat. Kreisner's face became confused, then he smiled politely. The pressure disappeared.

"Um, well, I'm an amateur astronomer. I was hoping to enjoy the full moon at sea, I don't often get the chance."

"It'll be clear tonight," Martin assured him.

"How do you know, old sailor's instinct?"

"That, and I checked the weather report."

The man laughed. The sound ran through Martin like biting into tinfoil.

"You know, I'm actually starting to like you old man," Kreisner said, then turned and descended to the deck.

Martin shook off a chill, not sure if it was good or bad that the gnomish man liked him. Reaching up to scratch his throat he happened to brush his good luck charm. It was surprisingly warm to the touch.

* * *

That evening they made it to Kreisner's "island". It was hardly more than a patch of sand sprinkled with weeds. A cloud moved, letting the red of the setting sun glare forth, turning the island sand a bloody flesh color as they drew near.

"Red at night, sailor's delight," Martin reassured himself.

"What did you say?"

Reed had climbed up to stand on the bridge next to him, eyes focused ahead on the patch of sand.

"Nothing," Martin said. "By the way, I'm curious about something, how did you meet up with Kreisner?"

Reed looked at him with a small smile.

"The man's an odd fish, isn't he?" Reed began. "Definitely not the type of person I see every day. He approached us in a bar on Barbados. We'd been asking around about local shipwrecks, places to dive really, and Kreisner mentioned the kind of dive opportunity that was too good to pass up. If it's only half as astounding as he described, it'll be better than seeing all the shipwrecks in the Caribbean. We all agreed it was worth taking a chance on him. Excuse me."

Reed climbed down from the bridge at Anna's call. Martin watched the five passengers crowd the bow, eagerly leaning forward as if looking for something special. Cutting the engines, he let the boat coast into a lagoon. The silence of dusk settled on them like a gentle blanket. He descended from the bridge and moving to the bow, dropped the anchor in eight feet of water. Turning, he was surprised to see the two couples bringing up their scuba gear and lights.

"Snorkels would be a hell of a lot more comfortable for an evening swim," Martin offered.

"Maybe, but it's easier this way," Kreisner said, helping Anna with her tank. Martin shrugged and went back up to the bridge to finish his beer.

The two couples completed their preparations and dove off the rear of the boat. Kreisner gave them quiet instructions, and they were gone.

Martin slumped back into his chair. Secrets could prove unhealthy, especially when he was the only one who wasn't in on them. Kreisner joined him on the bridge and leaned against the railing.

"Like to hear a story to pass the time?" the man asked, a gleam from the setting sun reflecting from his eye.

"Sure, especially if it explains what you're really here for."

Kreisner smirked, then began:

"When I was a child my parents and I came to this little spot. My mother thought it a nice place to picnic, and being a curious lad I ran about the island. It was bigger then. I stubbed my toe on this, buried in the sand."

He reached to his rear pocket and pulled out an oblong piece of stone ten inches long, three inches high, and half an inch thick. It was covered with small pictures, done in neat lines around the entire surface.

"Looks like a Polynesian story board," Martin said.

"Impressive. It is, of a type, exactly that. You have your lucky charm, this is mine. I have been studying it for nearly three decades to learn what it is, and what it says. Five years ago I finally managed to decipher the inscription."

"Let me guess, it's a treasure map."

"Hardly, but it does tell of a thriving civilization, with kings, high priests, and rituals to the gods. But like most ancient cultures something happened to it. The people disappeared, to later be absorbed into or become other cultures.

"During the course of my studies I discovered that in nineteen twenty four a man had found a story board and other relics on a dig in Central America. He'd actually started the work that allowed me to complete the translation. The last trace I could find of him said that he went out into the Gulf to search for an ancient city the writings had hinted at. Somehow he made it this far, leaving the board ashore on this patch of an island, where a small boy stumbled over it many years later and eventually made the connection.

"I've been here a number of times now. The first trip I found a temple under the water, over there, about fifty feet off the shore. On the second trip I found an entrance. In the following trips I worked my way deeper into the underwater ruin. Floating down ancient hallways, copying more writings and working to decipher them between excursions, learning more and more of their secrets. Until the last dive, when I had an...accident. My health is such that I can't go in there now."

Kreisner laughed briefly before continuing.

"Remember when you said your age lets you delve into certain vices. Well, knowing your going to die gives you the same freedom."

"Die?" Martin felt a pang of guilt for the trick with the beers.

"Two years, maybe three, they're not exactly sure. They've never seen a case like mine, so they can't really begin to find a cure. But it's all right, I'll get what I need this time."

"You know, an archeological excavation might make you some money, and it's probably a safer bet than trusting strangers, or the black market."

"An excavation might be a good idea, in the future. But not now, not before I have it in my possession."

"Have what?" Martin asked.

"Help!"

They both swung their heads towards the starboard side. The last rays of the setting sun showed Anna swimming towards the boat and putting her respirator back into her mouth. Chloe was fast behind her. Beyond the women, under the water and illuminated by the lights they carried, Martin could just make out Arthur and Reed carrying something between them.

"Give me a hand," Kreisner ordered, then despite his feeble appearance, he quickly scurried down to the deck.

Martin climbed down behind him and went to the railing. The men were struggling with a large black chest while the women seemed to be keeping their distance and encouraging them to keep going. The men finally made it to the side of the boat. Where they dropped the chest and stopped moving. Anna and Chloe darted for their respective mates and hauled them to the surface.

Leaning far out over the rail, Martin managed to grab Reed by the harness and with Anna shoving from below, brought the man over the railing. Kreisner did the same with Arthur. Chloe started to swim astern to climb aboard.

"No!" Kreisner commanded, letting Arthur collapse on the deck and pointing towards Chloe with the story board. "I told you they'll be fine in a day or so. First put these ropes around it so I can haul it up."

Chloe hesitated, then swam back over and took a rope from Kreisner. He tossed another to Anna and the two women dove under the water.

Martin turned his attention to Reed. Removing the face mask and mouthpiece, he found the man pale and gasping for breath, as if he'd sprinted a marathon. His skin was clammy to the touch as Martin took off the scuba gear and gently set him down on the deck to rest. Then he went over and helped Arthur, who lay in a heap where Kreisner had dropped him. The man was in an even worse state, though his breathing finally evened out as Martin laid him down. Both men slipped into an exhausted sleep, while Kreisner leaned over the side of the boat, directing their wives.

Finally Anna and Chloe came out of the water and rushed to their husbands.

"Let's get them below," Martin said, glancing at Kreisner, who was obliviously arranging the ropes. "We'll take Arthur first."

He helped Chloe get Arthur up and they carried him down to his cot. Then Martin helped Anna with Reed. He got them some water and extra blankets. Then leaving the men in the care of their wives, he went back up on deck. Kreisner stood by the railing, impatiently toying with the lines.

"Help me pull this up," he said.

"What the hell happened to those men?" Martin demanded.

"They'll be fine! They knew what they were getting into when they chose to go along on this trip. Now give me a hand."

"Not until you tell me what you're trying to bring on my boat!"

Kreisner stared at him then, eyes glinting with light. Martin reeled, suddenly dizzy. His good luck charm grew hot around his neck, he reached up to move it, when it suddenly turned cold. He absently noted the story board in Kreisner's hand.

"It will be something fantastic," Kreisner said, breathing hard. "Now get over here and help me pull it up."

"Go to..." the words died in Martin's throat. He somehow knew he had to help Kreisner because if he did, everything would be fine.

He walked forward and picked up a rope.

"Don't touch it directly," Kreisner said. "We'll move it to the back of the boat so it won't affect us."

They pulled the ropes, hauling up a black rectangular box, three feet wide, two and a half feet deep, and a little over two feet high.

It was lighter than Martin would have guessed, and he wondered why Arthur and Reed had had such a tough time with it. As they got it up on deck he realized it was not a chest, rather it resembled a large obsidian block. Something inside told him to get it overboard. To throw it away, pull anchor and leave. But the small voice was muffled as if shouting through thick glass. Kreisner motioned and Martin obeyed. They moved the block to the stern. The ship seemed to buck as they set the thing down, and Martin reeled, struggling to keep his balance.

"You look tired, go take a nap," Kreisner ordered.

Martin nodded, staggering off with out another word.

* * *

His granddaughter was in front of him, smiling playfully while tying a small stone pendant about his neck.

"The shop keeper said that this was a very old charm, handed down from holy men long ago. It's supposed to be a key to long life, which is exactly what I want for you Granddad. People around me don't seem to last all that long."

She frowned as a sadness entered her eyes. Martin reached out and hugged her.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll be around to enjoy your grandchildren." He comforted her.

She smiled through her tears, then took his hand and led him off through the bazaar.

Martin woke. He felt warmly limp, enjoying the soft comfort between consciousness and sleep, and the sweet memory of Julie. He heard a noise. Curiosity overrode comfort and reluctantly, he opened his eyes.

He was lounging in his bridge chair, facing the stern. The moon shone brightly from above, dropping shadows beneath objects and making the water sparkle with silver flashes as the soft breeze rippled it. Cool air lightly caressed his skin, swirling the fresh smell of the open sea around him.

His gaze descended to the rear deck. The box they had hauled up sat there like a black chunk cut out of his vision. His eyes ached as he stared at it, trying to find something to focus on as it sucked up the moonlight like water down a pit.

A loathing grew inside him as it held his vision like it held the light. He wanted the thing off his boat. He tried to rise, intent on hurling the offensive object overboard, but he couldn't move. Now fully awake he concentrated. After a moment he felt warmth on his throat, his right hand twitched.

Footsteps coming up on deck distracted him and his hand went limp. Kreisner emerged and walked towards the block. He turned and faced the bow as he reached it. He was barefoot, wearing only his shorts and the story board which now hung from his neck like a huge pendant. The man's eyes shone silver in the night.

"Chloe," Kreisner called.

His voice carried on the gentle breeze until there was silence. A moment passed. Then Chloe came on deck wearing a light nightshirt of shear silk. Chestnut hair fell down her back, highlighted by the moon and swinging softly with the rhythm of her slow, even steps. Kreisner motioned her forward and had her kneel in front of the block. The man bent down and whispered in her ear. Lifting her arms, she laid them on top of the obsidian thing.

The darkness gave as she touched it, her arms sinking in as if she'd laid them on soft cushions. Kreisner stared at her as the wind gently moved the nightshirt, subtly exposing and covering her form. He licked his lips and knelt down. Slowly, he reached a hand towards her breast, but then drew back, glancing nervously at the block. He rose and folded his arms, stepping away. Sweat glistened on his forehead.

Martin heard Chloe moan. A crimson glow grew about her arms where they touched the block. Her cries became louder and she tried to pull away, but was held as if shackled. He watched the glow intensify as her motions became frenzied, and then slowly subsided to pitiful jerkings. Suddenly the crimson light disappeared and she slumped to the deck. She tried to rise, but fell back with a dull thud to lay gasping on the planks.

Kreisner stared down at the pale, panting form. Taking the story board from his neck, he held it near the block. The board glistened red. He smiled contentedly and slipped it back over his head. Turning, he grabbed Chloe by an arm and a leg and half carried, half dragged her below.

A few minutes later he reappeared, leading Anna by the hand. Her blonde hair bobbed gently above bare shoulders while the moonlight shining off the tanned skin of her naked body created a soft aura of beauty about her. She gracefully followed Kreisner to the block. Again he whispered, and Anna knelt as Chloe had, entering the black embrace.

Kreisner's eyes glittered with lust as he knelt beside her golden form. Holding the story board in his left hand he brushed the back of his right against her shoulder like an electrician would test a hot wire. A sly, sick smile grew on his face when nothing happened. Placing the story board back around his neck, he reached forward and fondled her. This time Martin couldn't be sure which of her moans were caused by the block and which by Kreisner's pathetic groping.

When the block was done with her, Kreisner stretched her out on the deck. She lay there, whimpering quietly like an exhausted, wounded animal. Martin was sure the man was going to rape her, but as Kreisner leaned over her body the story board swung out in front of his eyes. It pulsed with deep crimson. He stopped, a deeper passion taking hold, and looked up to the bridge.

"Your turn old man," he said softly, "come down here."

A part of Martin tried to resist, to fight the compulsion to rise, but it was the most natural thing to obey. Descending to the deck he walked until he stood a few feet from the block. He could feel it now. Like a demonic leech it reached for him, trying to draw him near, trying to suck what there was of his life away.

Kreisner moved close and spoke softly:

"I never finished the story, old man. Actually, no one who touches this, for lack of a better word, 'receptacle,' will be fine. Ages ago the priests and kings who lived in the city used it. It sucks up life! Sucks it up and stores it like a battery stores electricity. One king lived three hundred years with its help, three hundred years!

"He reigned until catastrophe struck. I couldn't find it written on the walls in the temple, but it doesn't take a genius to look at the way bodies were broken and heads hacked off, to figure something triggered a revolt. Maybe some natural disaster, maybe crop failures, or maybe too many elite were sucking the life from too few worshipers. It doesn't matter, they died or ran.

"This receptacle has touched five of us so far, drawing away years of our lives. The others were fully drained and have a year at best. I would have had one, maybe two beyond them. But their loss shall be my gain, for in all the world, only I've deciphered the rituals for immortality.

"There were two rituals, one for royalty, and another for the priests. The priestly rituals were obscure, and required something besides the block. But the one for royalty came down to a single bottom line: 'He who makes the final sacrifice with a key, unlocks the gates of death.' With this," Kreisner lifted the glowing story board, "as my key, the receptacle will empty all the life it has stolen into me. Instead of a few thousand people to draw from, I will have millions. Instead of a few hundred years, I will live for thousands as an immortal king!"

Kreisner laughed at the sky, his face distorted in evil glee. Martin finally recognized the glow in the man's eyes. It was the light of lunacy.

"You, old man!" he cried, poking Martin with the story board. "You will be the final sacrifice. You will provide the heart to seal the bargain. After all, I wouldn't want to waste such a creature as Anna."

Martin felt Kreisner losing focus on him, as the man's passion for immortality mixed with lust while he gazed on Anna's naked form. Martin watched eagerly as Kreisner leaned over her. One shove, enough to send the man into the water and give him time to get his boat out of here, was all he wanted.

"What do you mean?" Martin managed to ask, hoping to regain his will.

"Feasting on the heart of one drained is required according to the rituals. A possibly useless custom, but why take chances with immort--stop!"

Martin froze, his hands an inch from Kreisner's chest.

"Nice try, old man. I'm glad to see you have so much life left to give me."

Kreisner grabbed the story board and yanked it apart, revealing a black blade wedged into one half. Flickering crimson sparks arced around its edges.

"Lie down," he commanded.

Martin lay on the block, a part of his mind rebelling at the fact he was yielding his life so easily, screaming at him to fight back. But he could only obey. The block gave beneath him like a stiff cushion. Its touch was cool at first, like a gentle caress, then grew hot and hard as it gripped him tight. It felt like it was reaching into him and searching for something. His chest began to burn and his throat felt like it was on fire as he realized it had been searching for, and had found, his soul.

"Your death gives me all!" Kreisner cried as he raised the knife.

Martin found himself focusing on the glittering blade, absently wondering if it was made of iron, and if so, where they had gotten it ages ago. He couldn't even scream as it came down and slammed into his chest.

A blast of pain flared from the knife through Martin's body. His muscles knotted in agony. They began to rip and tear, then seemed to melt from the blocks heat. His mind groped for an escape from the torture. A picture of Julie formed. Memories of her as a child. Memories of her in the hospital after the accident that had taken her parents, that had taken his son. Memories of her arms about his neck, tying off the charm. The charm seemed to call, flying forward in his mind's eye. He focused on it, funneling his desire for life into it, seeking to escape the pain through it.

The image of the charm glowed. Symbols long weathered away took on sharp definitions in crimson outlines. The charm suddenly turned deep blue. Relief washed through his body. He felt muscles reforming, knitting themselves with a feeling like maggots moving under his skin.

Martin could feel the block, now flat and unyielding as stone, beneath his back. The charm lay warm upon his throat, and his chest felt...uneasy. The boat swayed, as if riding swells. Strong winds caressed his skin as a strange sound assaulted his ears. He sat up and opened his eyes.

Crouching low and clinging to the rail, Kreisner alternately laughed and shrieked with mad joy, until the wind subsided and the sea grew calm.

"Now," Kreisner bellowed to the sky, "I'm ready for my feast!"

"Really?" Martin said, rising off the block. He watched with pleasure as Kreisner whipped around, shocked expression going pale. Their eyes met, then Kreisner's lowered and widened even more. Martin glanced down, seeing the red blade pulsing in his chest, charm aglow at his throat. He smiled at Kreisner. Pulling the blade from his heart, he felt the uneasy feeling fade away.

"Funny you should mention a feast." Martin smiled at Kreisner. "I am feeling hungry."

THE END

Copyright © 1999 by Peter Spaeth

Bio:"I'm a writer in my late thirties who tried that advice about lying down until the feeling goes away, and it didn't, and still won't. Hope you enjoyed this story. If you would like to send me comments, please feel free. I only ask you use the story or magazine title in the subject line so I don't trash your message with the gobs of junk e-mail I get."

E-mail: Mamp106181@aol.com

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