The Evolution of a Story

OK so this is how my Halloween story developed over time...its kinda fun to see.


First Draft:

Blood made its way slowly down the captain’s face.  Blurring his vision to the horror in front of him.  His hands were tied behind his back.  His head bleeding from the cut that whatever had attacked his two crewmen and his first mate had hit him with.   He shook violently as he saw the old looking man bend over the huge caldron of boiling water.  This thing that had attacked him was bare-skinned from the waist up. He wore what seemed to be white sailor pants but were now drenched red and brown.  His skin was white, like he hadn’t been in the sun in years.  His long fingers were accentuated by the sharpened black nails that protruded from their ends.  His eyes were dark and evil.  When Captain Bradford looked into them he saw death. 

            This thing busied itself with preparations for something that the captain wouldn’t let himself imagine.  He thought of the ship that he had left ship wrecked just off shore this tropical island.  He was sure it was still dark outside, just hours since he and a few of his men had come ashore to find help.  Help that was now helping itself to them.  The captain laughed at the irony of it all.  A low cruel laugh that comes from a man who is losing his mind. 

            All his life all he had wanted to be was a captain of a merchant vessel.  Now all he wanted was to be home in England.  But he knew he would never leave this hellish place.  Wouldn’t even see the sun rise again.  He laughed because it was all over.  All his dreams had fallen to this nightmare that controlled everything present to him.

            “Captain!  By Jove Captain! Help me!” Samuel’s insane scream brought the captain to his surrounding.   Captain Bradford watched helpless as the thing dragged the half –dead first mate of the Patuna to the caldron.  A trail of blood was left behind him.  The creature laughed again.  A vicious and disgusting laugh that made the captain cringe further into the corner.   He turned his head away from the nauseating scene before him.

            The blood numbing scream that erupted from Samuel’s lips as his body was thrust into the boiling water forced the captain into insanity.  He laughed.  

            Eyes wide, he stood, the cut on his head throbbed but he didn’t feel it anymore.  He made his way over to the boiling body as the demonic figure watched him, interested in what he was going to do.  Then, extending his hand out to the beast he was helped into the caldron and without a wince submerged himself and Samuel never to return to the surface.

            Timmy, the hungry old man, smiled as he watched his stew brew and his stomach growled.

Second:

Blood slowly slithered down the captain’s gaunt face.  He felt a searing stinging above his right eye, the hot blood warming his cold skin.  His vision blurred to the horror in front of him.  His hands were tied behind his back.  He shook violently as he saw what looked like a decrepit old man bent over the huge caldron of boiling water.  This thing that had ensnared him was bare-skinned from the waist up. He wore what used to be white sailor pants that were now tattered shorts discolored red and brown.  His skin was white, like he had never seen the glory of the sun.  His long blackened fingers were accentuated by the sharpened yellow nails that protruded from them.  His eyes were dark yet they seemed joyful as if he was happy.  When Captain Bradford looked into those black eyes he saw his death.

            This thing busied itself with preparations for something that the captain wouldn’t let himself imagine.  He thought of the ship that he had left ship wrecked just off shore this tropical island.  He was sure it was still dark outside, just hours since he and a few of his men had come ashore to find help.  The help that was now helping itself to them.  The captain wanted to vomit at the irony.  For the last hour he had tried every way to escape but had failed.   

            All his life he had wanted to be a captain of a merchant vessel.  Now all he wanted was to be home in England.  But he knew he would never leave this hellish place.  Wouldn’t even see the sun rise again.  He cried because it was all over.  All his dreams had fallen to this nightmare that controlled everything present to him.

            “Captain!  By Jove…Captain! Help me!” Samuel’s insane scream brought the captain to his surrounding.   Captain Bradford watched helplessly as the demonic thing dragged his half–dead First Mate of the Patuna to the caldron.  A trail of blood was left on the dirt behind him.  The creature laughed a vicious and disgusting laugh that made the captain cringe harder against the wall.   He turned his head away from the revolting scene before him.

            A deafening dead man’s scream erupted from Samuel’s lips as his body was thrust into the boiling water forcing the captain to laugh.  He laughed a low cruel laugh that comes from a man who has lost his mind.  

            Slowly he stood, his body numb to the multiple injuries it had.  He limped and dragged his broken left leg over to the boiling body as the demonic figure watched him, interested in what he was going to do.  Then, extending his hand out to the beast he was helped into the caldron and without a wince submerged himself and the still screaming Samuel under.   The captain had always known he would die in water.

            Eroklin’s face distorted into an eager smile as he tested his brewing stew.  He hadn’t eaten in days and his stomach growled at the smell of a mouth-watering dinner.

Third:

Blood slowly slithered down the captain’s scared face.  His eyes too scared to shut.  Eroklin liked that.  The fear that his victims always showed on their faces.   It had been so long since Englishmen had made their way to Eroklin’s island.  As he prepared the first Englishman for his stew, Eroklin was somewhat drawn to this captain.  He was different then the others he had seen before.  Even as the blood engulfed almost half of his face, he made no attempt to wipe it away.   The captain wore nice clothes.  He was a dignified rich man.  Eroklin respected him for that, but hated that this meant he would be more fat then meat.  Eroklin wore old sailor pants, that at one time were white, but after almost 5 years of being trapped on this island had become brown and red.  Brown from dirt, red from his chosen food source.   Eroklin was a tired man, but he was strong enough to catch his scared prey.  His hands were discolored black, he didn’t know why, but he didn’t like them until he saw that they scared his prey when they saw them.  He had sharpened his nails to make them to accentuate that fear.  Eroklin looked at his reflection in the water that was on the verge of boiling in a large caldron.  His eyes, dark and lonely, showed the sublime happiness that comes as one prepares a feast.  He remembered seeing the same joy in his mother’s eyes when she would prepare Christmas dinner before his life had changed.  Back when his name was Joseph.  Now he was here, and he was preparing his own feast.

            Eroklin decided to save the captain till later and start with the younger, healthier Englishman.  He grabbed his knife and approached the unconscious man.  He stabbed him in the right shoulder, in the soft spot surrounded by bones.  Eroklin had discovered long ago that you could drag a full man’s weight using this spot and not have the knife cut through the body.

            The man awoke to the pain and screamed.  It was such an eerie sound even to Eroklin.  “Captain!  My God…Captain! Help me!”  The young man’s eyes were fixed on his captain’s face.  The captain pushed himself up against the wall, trying to get away from this scene that must have seen scarier then it really was.  But then again the men had tried to escape many times, they were valiant men.  The had fought for their lives, they seemed to have had a reason to live.  Eroklin didn’t care, he too needed to live.  Eroklin laughed to himself as he continued his work.  He loved the sound of utter desperation. 

            The sound that erupted from the dying man’s lips as Eroklin placed him into the boiling water was shocking even to him.  Some screamed like women, but this Englishman had a baritone scream.  Eroklin liked that.  Then Eroklin heard something that utterly surprised him.  The captain began to laugh a low cruel laugh; it was the laugh of crazy man.  Eroklin stopped and looked at the captain who was making his way to the caldron.  He limped heavily, the cracking of his right leg made Eroklin cringe; he hated the sound of a broken bone.  But the captain seemed valiant in his newfound insanity.  His full beard was darker on the right side from the blood that coated it.  With every step he came closer to Eroklin, but looked at the caldron.   Eroklin had never seen this before, was he going to try to escape?  Eroklin grabbed the knife again just incase.  But something told him that this man was broken, that he wasn’t there anymore.   The Englishman that was boiling reached out to his captain, but the captain reached out to Eroklin.  Eroklin took in the captain’s demeanor.  Did he want help into the caldron? Eroklin laughed, this was the greatest thing he had seen in years.  He grabbed the captain’s hand gently, the captain’s hand was cold.  Then the captain looked into Eroklin’s eyes and said “I always knew I would die in water.”  Then he laughed again as he half threw himself into the boiling water.  A little water splashed on Eroklin, burning him.  The captain grabbed the screaming Englishman and pulled him under the boiling water.   Eroklin watched as his stew began to take form, his feast preparations now underway.

Fourth:

Blood slowly slithered down the captain’s face.  His eyes too scared to shut.  Eroklin liked that.  The fear that his victims always showed on their faces.   It had been so long since Englishmen had made their way to Eroklin’s island.  As he prepared his stew, Eroklin was somewhat drawn to this captain.  He was different then the others he had seen before, Eroklin couldn’t figure out why.  Even as the blood engulfed almost half of his face, he made no attempt to wipe it away.   The captain wore nice clothes.  He was a dignified rich man.  Eroklin respected him for that, but hated that this meant he would be more fat then meat.  Eroklin wore old sailor pants, that at one time were white, but after almost 5 years of being trapped on this island had become brown from the earth and red from his food.  Eroklin was a tired man, but he was strong enough to catch his scared prey.  Eroklin looked at his reflection in the water that was on the verge of boiling in a large caldron.  His eyes, dark and lonely, showed the sublime happiness that comes as one prepares a feast.  He remembered seeing the same joy in his mother’s eyes when she would prepare Christmas dinner before his life had changed.  Back when his name was Joseph.  Now he was here, and he was preparing his own feast.

            Eroklin decided to save the captain till later and started with the younger, healthier man, an officer he assumed.  He grabbed his knife and approached the unconscious man.  He stabbed him in the right shoulder, in the soft spot surrounded by bones.  Eroklin had discovered long ago that you could drag a full man’s weight using this spot and the knife wouldn’t cut through.

            The man awoke to the pain and screamed.  It was such an eerie sound even to Eroklin.  “Captain!  My God…Captain! Help me!”  The young man’s eyes were fixed on his captain’s face.  Eroklin laughed to himself as he continued his work.  He loved the sound of desperation. 

            The sound that erupted from the dying man’s lips as Eroklin forced him into the boiling water was shocking even to him.  Some screamed like women, but this Englishman had a baritone scream.  Eroklin liked that.   The man splashed some boiling water onto Eroklin, burning him.  Eroklin retaliated with a club until the man was motionless.  Then Eroklin heard something that surprised him.  To his back he heard the captain begin to laugh a low cruel laugh; it was the laugh of a broken man.  Eroklin stopped and looked at the captain who was making his way to the caldron.  He limped heavily, the cracking of his right leg made Eroklin cringe; he hated the sound of a broken bone.  But the captain seemed valiant in his newfound insanity.  With every step he came closer to Eroklin, but didn’t take his eyes off the caldron.   Eroklin had never seen this before, was he going to try to escape?  Eroklin grabbed the knife again just incase.  But something told him that this man was broken, that he wasn’t trying anymore.   The captain looked at Eroklin like a lamb, dumb. 

            Eroklin took in the captain’s demeanor.  Did he want help into the caldron? Eroklin laughed, this was the greatest thing he had seen in a very long time.  Light flickered on Eroklin’s face from the cooking fire, allowing the captain to really see him for the first time.  The captain’s face changed dramatically.  His breathing quickened.  His hand reached out to Eroklin’s face.  Eroklin recoiled.

            “Joseph?” the captain whispered, seeing his friend who had died at sea years before.

            Panic rushed through Eroklin.  His hands shook.  He recognized him now, too.  But now it was to late, Joseph was dead.  Eroklin thrust the knife deep into the captain’s abdomen.  Warm blood flowed as Eroklin pushed his old friend Captain Bradford Heaton into the caldron.