The Sunday Scaries
Volume 1, Number 28
Microfiction by Pat Harrigan
Content Warning: Language and Horror

Unsecured Cargo

Frank wrapped her in a sailcloth and weighted her down with the spare anchor, then she went into the drink and he changed course, aiming for Saint Martin. The weather looked a little threatening, but nothing he couldn’t handle.
          When the rain came the water turned rough and it was work to keep on course. Nothing too worrying, but there was something sliding around loose belowdecks, probably one of Emily’s suitcases, and he didn’t have the time to go tie it down at the moment. It was after dark before the rain let up and he was able to set the cruise control and go take a look.
          The cabin lights were out—a fuse somewhere—so he took a flashlight. Here was the bunk where he’d strangled here, her clothes still scattered about. Her Travis McGee book was still in the cabinet drawer, and her suitcases with the cash were still bungeed down in the closet. So what was it that he’d heard?
          The boat lurched and the hatch slammed closed. He climbed the steps and put his shoulder into it, but it wouldn’t budge. The boat veered windward and juddered, nearly knocking him off the step. He dropped the flashlight, breaking the bulb. Goddammit.
          The boat jerked up and down in the choppy water. He’d better get up there fast, but the hatch was still jammed shut. In the darkness below him something heavy rolled from side to side, hitting the bunk, the hull, the bunk again, with a muted metallic thud. Everything smelled of dead things from the sea. He shoved and shoved, and the hatch gave way. He crawled onto deck. The gray sails cracked against the black sky. He rolled, he grabbed onto something.
          When the Coast Guard reached him, Frank was high up in the rigging, tangled and twisted, swinging on an anchor chain like a piñata, and his stomach, they found when they cut him open, was full of money.
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