The Haunting of the USS Edmund Hillary

It was four fifteen in the morning and Kevin Miller had just gotten off watch in the Combat Information Center. It had been fairly boring, staring for four hours at a mostly blank radar screen. The techs who were working on the problem said there had to be short somewhere, but he really didn't care. All he wanted to do was go to bed. His supervisor had told him he was going to spend most of the day hanging from the side of the Mac chipping paint. This really wasn't the adventure he signed up for six short months ago.

Kevin had lived most of his life in the little Ohio town of Dunkirk. The closest he'd come to water was swimming with his friends in Dunkirk Lake. Every Saturday during the summer, they would walk the few blocks down McCaskey and spend hours wasting time. Once, Mary Hanrahan dared everyone to skinny dip, then stripped naked and dove in. When she didn't come back up, they all got scared. Some ran for help, others dove in after her into the dark water. Kevin just stood there, not sure what to do. So he grabbed up Mary's clothes and pretended to be waiting for her to come back up for them.

It was two weeks before they found Mary. She had swam underwater a few hundred yards toward South Street and had gotten tangled up in some wire fence someone had tossed into the lake.

That ended the summer's fun. The following year, the story had faded and was never brought up again. Until someone brought up skinny dipping and the tale was told in hush tones, like some old ghost story. Kevin had somehow managed to keep Mary's clothes, and they were still in a bag in a box in his parent's attic back in Dunkirk.

Now, as Kevin moved down the passageways of the USS Edmund Hilary at four thirty in the morning, he remembered Mary and the lake and the bag. He didn't know why this memory had been called up but the little hairs on the back of his recently shaved head started tingling. Goosebumps rose on his arm and his breath started coming in shorter gasps. Sweat formed on his upper lip and a feeling he had not known since that day in late July, standing at the water's edge with the clothes of a girl he barely knew in his hands, gripped his heart. It was the feeling of fear and confusion and uncertainty.

Coming to a down ladder, Kevin nearly slid the whole way down, hands cupping the rails and his feet lifted up. When he hit the bottom, he was nearly in a panic. He looked left, right, up and down the dimly lighted passageway. He had to get out, had to breath in some fresh air. He turned and went through the port that led to an outside hatch.

Quickly, the panicked radar operator undogged the door and stepped through into the pitch darkness of the North Atlantic.

"Hey, douse that light, sailor!"

The unexpected harsh whisper from above him made Kevin almost jump out of his skin. He sputtered a hoarse 'sorry' from his now dry mouth as he reached back inside and switched on the red light. In his rush, he forgot the first at sea protocol he'd been taught.

"That you, Miller?"

"Yeah." He closed the hatch and stood in the dark, the cool air calming his rapidly beating heart.

"You shouldn't be out here at night."

"Gotta smoke," he lied.

"Okay, but shield the light. Don't want the old man coming out here and busting my ass for your stupidity."

Kevin murmured assurances as he walked forward along the ship's main deck, holding onto the railing to guide him until his eyes adjusted. The sky overhead was overcast and he saw no stars. The fear ebbing from him with each step.

As he reached the hatch for the ladder going down into the berthing areas, the young man took a moment to stand facing out at the passing ocean. Bioluminescence streaked the wake as the ship cut through the water.

"Kev-in."

The whisper at the side of his head was icy and ripped into the very core of his soul. Kevin whipped around and stared into the empty darkness, his heart pounding renewed by the intrusion. A strong metallic taste permeated his mouth and sweat started draining out of his pores as color drained out of his face.

"Kevvvv-in."

Now the voice was above, then beside. It seemed to be coming from everywhere at once. Fear and confusion rooted him where he was.

"You let me dieeeeeeeeeeeee." Now the voice, though still a whisper, screeched at him.

"No I didn't," he shouted, memories of Mary and that day at the lake flooding back. "I didn't do anything!"

There was a brief silence, then "I knoooooooow."

This time the voice was dark and low, not Mary's at all. More menacing. And right behind him.

Kevin spun around and gripped the rail. In the distance, two pinpoints of red light burned in the dark. They slowly moved closer and closer, gaining more clarity. Two red eyes.

"I know what you did," the new voice continued. "I knoooooow."

Kevin began to feel tears streak down his face, his hands gripped tight around the twisted metal cable of the railing. Soon he was sobbing, his chest heaving under the strain of the fear and guilt.

"No," came Kevin's tiny voice. "I didn't . . . I didn't . . ."

"Miller!"

Kevin struggled to turn in the direction of this newer voice, struggled to pull his stare from the approaching eyes that knew him..

"Look at me, sailor.!"

Months of Navy training kicked in. Orders were to be obeyed. Kevin slowly turned and tried to straighten himself up as he saw, silhouetted in the dim red light of an open hatch, Commander Grayson, the ship's chaplain.

"Seaman Miller, get yourself to my office."

"But . . . " Miller was fighting his fear and pain and panic but was brought to the here and now by standard military training. Why was he being ordered to an officer's office? He hadn't done anything wrong.

Grayson moved to Miller and placed a comforting hand on the young man's shoulder. "Its alright, son. Just go to my office. I'll be there in am minute." Then he eased the sailor toward the open hatch and watched as Miller slowly made his way down the ladder.

After Miller had gone, Grayson turned in the direction the frightened man had been looking. Then he scanned the remaining empty skies.

"Not tonight," he whispered angrily. "Not tonight."

Then he, too, turned and went into the hatchway, closed it behind him with a confidence he did not truly feel and headed down to his office. The captain would want a full report in the morning. Though how he knew, Grayson still couldn't figure out.

Higher up and deeper within the ship's superstructure, another man was just sitting up in bed, sweat pouring down from his balding head. Captain Samuel Anderson breathed heavily as he awoke from a frightening dream.