Death or Docks

The shadows crept from the corners one by one. “Ishmael,” they hissed. “Ishmael.” For months I would turn the other cheek or pull the blankets over my face, assuring myself that these hallucinations were side effects from the emptiness of my wallet and the towering financial notices that overran my desk.  

Come November, there was an aching in my soul, as if it were being tugged from my body. I lingered past the coffin warehouses, only to find my feet would heavy and freeze as I thought of every funeral I had met. I pulled at my feet but met resistance. I grabbed at the right and ripped it from the pavement, repeating the same motion with my left. I hadn't moved quite past the warehouse when a screech and rush of wind sent me back to my starting place – efforts wasted. Bewildered, my gravel-spotted hands grabbed at the beast for support. It flared its breath into my face. “Ishmael.” “Ishmael.” Had the shadows pushed me deliberately into the street? I watched as the shadows emerged, blanketing the gravel with a deathful black. I couldn’t go on like this. I had to escape the shadows. Was it time I chewed the pistol and ball?  

The waves crashed into the dock as the ships came to their home base. I looked around, waiting for the shadows to guess my move – theirs always surprising. As a group of townsmen headed for the ship, chanting their love for the sea, I hoped, to some degree, I could cherish those same feelings of serenity. 

-Haley Newlin

In one of my MFA courses, we read Herman Melville's, Moby Dick. Then we were assigned to rewrite the introduction while applying conventions of our chosen genre--mine being horror -- but keeping an emphasis on elements in Melville's opening like the character's name, the docks, etc. Above is my attempt.