The room was dark — no, pitch black. The kind of black that makes you afraid that you’ll never see light again. A steady ringing began to overtake the noiseless surroundings. The ringing hurt his ears. He was cold. The room smelled like burnt garlic — sharp in his nostrils. Siggy knew what was coming next. He also knew he couldn’t do anything about it. This was the third time this week he’d had this same dream.
Siggy wanted to yell, to grip the edges of his mattress where he knew he must be and pull himself back into reality. Away from what came next. But he couldn’t. Like always, his body was also motionless. Paralyzed to the vision that he had to witness again and again.
The foresight of events granted no reprieve from watching as the face began to take shape in the pitch black. It started as a smudge. A white blur of light with no distinct shape or discernable features. But as it emerged into existence, it grew into recognition. A young man, an older boy, impossible to tell the age. A smooth chin, a slack jawed mouth, two ears and a crooked nose — and the eyes. Those horrible sightless nothing eyes.
The face moved closer to him. The eyes or rather the two chasmal holes where eyes should be, transfixed upon him. The face moved closer. Siggy pulled and strained and tensed his entire body into flight. Yet he did not move. The young man’s visage moved again, this time hovering right in front of his own. Close enough to feel the face’s breath, if there were any, but there was none. Only an expressionless mouth and those hollowed out eye sockets leering in their blackness.
Just as it happened before, the smell of the burning garlic intensified. It singed his nose and cloyed at the inside of his throat. His esophagus was raked raw with the odor. Wild sputters and coughs plagued his lungs as he desperately tried to inhale. The face…the face watched, with its two inky bores. It watched him gag and choke. Suffocation overtook him.
Siggy finally awoke with a raspy, desperate inhale of the clean air around him. His dusky brown hair matted to his forehead and temples with the cold sweat of the nightmare. Dawn was not yet pushing its way into the barrack’s sleeping quarters. Siggy’s heart pounded. He took several deep breaths trying to calm his shaken nerves.
“Be a lot easier if you didn’t have nightmares, sport.”
Siggy looked at Jameson who was raising his eyebrows at him in jest as he tucked in a neat hospital corner.
“Oh gee, thanks ace. Never thought to try that.” Siggy grumbled, rubbing the perspiration from his brow.
Jameson laughed, “Don’t snap your cap. Same one again?”
Siggy nodded. “When are we going to take a powder out of here? Boot camp’s great and all but I’m ready to join the fight.”
“Easy there, tiger. Drink your morning mud first before you rush us off to the front lines.” He sat on the edge of his tidy bed and began polishing his shoes. “Besides, we got rookies coming in today. Fresh blood equals fresh meat.” Jameson smirked.
He paused, raising his voice slightly, “Hopefully we don’t get anymore doll dizzies like Eugene.”
“Don’t be sore the cookies like me over you Jameson.” Eugene jeered as he was polishing his own shoes. “It’s hard work being killer diller. Besides with a mug like yours, it’s no wonder the only dame that loves you is your mother.”
The other infantrymen roared in laughter at Eugene’s retort. Jameson rolled his eyes, un-phased at the jest and resumed polishing.
“I see we’ve got some late risers.”
The men in the barracks snapped to attention as Staff Sergeant Hall entered the quarters.
Siggy stood at the edge of his bed in perfect line with the others, thankfully not being the only soul in his pajamas.
“Well maybe these rookies will show you how to be proper soldiers since there’s no hope of you lot showing them.” Staff Sergeant Hall quipped. “Men, file in. Find an empty bed and be prepared to report for drill at 0600. The rest of you eager beavers,” he paused, “we will be taking it easy on you today seeing how sleepy you all are.”
Staff Sergeant Hall’s sarcasm was well-known to the company by now and as soon as he left the room the men groaned in anticipation of the long, hard day in store for them.
Two men filed into the room somewhat nervously.
“Thanks a lot, rookies.”
“Cheers to the new guys.”
Other grumblings echoed from the unhappy soldiers.
Siggy looked up at the newcomers.
The first man who entered had dark bushy eyebrows and long thick eyelashes. He scanned the room as if looking for someone or something till his gaze locked on with Peters.
“What’s buzzin’ cousin?” He grinned with a slight gap in his front teeth.
Peters clearly knew the man as the two clasped hands. Peters sequestered his acquaintance off to catch up and started introducing him as Reg.
The second man was not so much a man as a cornstalk. His freckled face matched the orange tight curls of his hair. Siggy had never seen someone look so awkward. He winced knowing the chagrin in store for a fella with looks like this in the army.
The lanky ginger shuffled to an empty bed and unpacked his beat-up suitcase.
Siggy was about to resume getting dressed when a third man rushed into the room. He was late and out of breath, but clearly part of the new recruits.
Siggy froze. His throat tightened and his heart caught in the squeeze. A young man, an older boy, impossible to tell the age. A smooth chin, two ears and a crooked nose — and the eyes. Not black, but brown. Not hollow pits of nothing but furtive glances in a new place.
Siggy fainted.
Author’s note: For some interesting historical information that this short story is loosely based on, search the SS John Harvey, WWII.