Preface from Unicorn Variations: Here is another of thoseshort shorts I dearly enjoy doing when the opportunity and theidea come together. I tend to see things like this assingle-panel, briefly captioned cartoons--and I work backward alittle from there.

It was with them constantly--the black patch directlyoverhead from whence proceeded the lightnings, thenear-blinding downpour, the explosions like artillery fire.

Van Berkum staggered as the ship shifted again, almostdropping the carton he carried. The winds howled about him,tearing at his soaked garments; the water splashed and swirledabout his ankles--retreating, returning, retreating. High wavescrashed constantly against the ship. The eerie, green light ofSt. Elmo's fire danced along the spars.

Above the wind and over even the thunder, he heard thesudden shriek of a fellow seaman, random object of attentionfrom one of their drifting demonic tormentors.

Trapped high in the rigging was a dead man, flensed of allflesh by the elements, his bony frame infected now by themoving green glow, right arm flapping as if waving--orbeckoning.

Van Berkum crossed the deck to the new cargo site, beganlashing his carton into place. How many times had they shiftedthese cartons, crates and barrels about? He had lost count longago. It seemed that every time the job was done a new move wasimmediately ordered.

He looked out over the railing. Whenever he was near,whenever the opportunity presented itself, he scanned thedistant horizon, dim through the curtain of rain. And he hoped.

In this, he was different. Unlike any of the others, hehad a hope--albeit a small one--for he had a plan.

A mighty peal of laughter shook the ship. Van Berkum shuddered.