• Just recently, a man named Albert Herring knocked on my door. He was not the kind of man you would want to meet by chance in an alley or in some other dark place such as the hell-hole that is my dwelling; for he had managed to miss one of his eyes (The right, I believe) and had not a right hand in sight.

    Much of this frightful appearance had given me a start after the event of answering my door. But he spoke with a whispered silence, as if he were not even there, and the wind was blowing gently instead. He told me he had come a long way, from the docks at the edge of the town. He said his ship had birthed there, but he had not seen it for some years.

    I, of course, had no idea of a ship being birthed in the bay area--Only small fishers boats, as it was a small town. And I told him so, with much haste, as I was still in my nightgown and was shivering in the cool night air. He told me, his voice becoming like a hard wind instead of a breeze, that that was not feasible. The accounts were clear: He had seen it, with his own eyes. He had been a sailor on it for a very rich merchant. He told me he was no liar. (Of course, this was of no proof to me, but I feared he would become violent, and beckoned him in my dwelling, as to change the subject)

    He came in with much gratefulness, and I sat him down on my easy-chair. He coughed up a storm, and I offered him some hot milk or some tea. "Brandy is the thing, sir. The thing that keeps me going these cold days. I find life a trivial thing without it."

    Twas true, I had been saving my brandy for an occasion of a midnight haunt about town with some friends, but thought wisely of the gentleman as to fetch it quickly. I knew how he felt. I too have found life infeasible to perform without a shot or four of good spirits. I gave him the rest in the flask and he drank it quickly at first, and then calmed down to a slow dribble.

    After a moment of silence he set down the flask and told me of the merchant ship that had been birthed in the docks of this very town. It was a fancy story, but I assured him that if there was a ship some years ago, I would not remember it; I had just moved here some 4 years ago.

    I boiled some broth and served him a small bowl. He looked hungry. He was a rather old fellow; wrinkles scarred his face and neck and hands. He was bundled up, but dripping wet. And shivering. Why had I not noticed this condition before?

    "Would you like a towel sir? Some clothes?" I asked him rather concerned. He just looked at me and shook his head. "I've grown accustomed to the cold. It has become a part of my life." I could not imagine that. Never. Not for me or for any living this that wanted to survive.

    He ate his soup, and did not tell anything else of the ship that had mysteriously birthed here some years ago. I left to dress in something other than my night shirt, and when I returned I found him asleep. "Odd fellow" said I with a chuckle. But the thought of a mysterious man in my home at night thrilled me to the bone. He could pose a threat to me. Perhaps, If I gently awoke him and told him to move along (That I had no idea of his merchant ship) he would find someone else to pester.

    Horrible thing, I know. But I moved over to his spot and touched him on the shoulder lightly. I do recall, my fingers nearly froze off. The pain was great, and fierce. I recoiled my hand and stared at him. He was blistering cold! Why, he was so cold, frost was beginning to form on his clothes and face! At this point, I feared for the man's life and nudged him, trying to rouse him.

    My hand went right through his body. I shrieked. I backed against the drawers (And somewhat bruised my back in doing so) and gaped like a fish at his figure. What the devil is he?! He woke up at the exclamation. He stared at me, his eyes burning red. Stood silently (For the silence was deafening) and waddled towards the door. Twas then, that he disappeared before reaching the knob. I knew I had fallen in a faint, for this really was, a strange event.


    Later on I realized this man was a crew member on a successful merchant ship in the late 1700s. His face peered out of the painting of the crew. And it winked at me.