Someone on the Dock

Warmth, the feeling of life… Flames crackled as the smell of smoke filled the formerly drowning man’s nostrils. A soft material cradled his entire body, emanating a sensation of safety.

This is nice. Subconsciously crossed his mind.

His left eyelid cracked open a sliver. A subtle soothing orange light filled his vision. As his senses reawakened, the image of a stone fireplace came into view. Flames danced around as they burned up the logs beneath them.

“Du er våken.” A calm deep voice chimed.

Opening his eyes wider, he appeared to be inside of a small and unremarkable room that was made almost entirely of wooden planks. The structure he was in was more of a shack than a home.

Ignoring the sharp soreness in his body, the man sat up in the bed he laid in. The thick blanket covering him fell off his chest, revealing his body wrapped in clean bandages. He turned his attention to the source of who spoke…

Sitting in a wooden chair in the corner, was a barrel-chested old man wearing a cream colored long underwear shirt and a pair of overalls. His bushy gray beard and long wiry hair concealed half his face.

“I speak English.” The man in the bed answered.

The gray bearded man in the chair stared at him curiously, as he puffed a plume of smoke from the tobacco pipe between his lips. “Then I suppose it's your lucky day that you woke up in my house, druknet mann.” He spoke with a thick nordic accent.

The bandaged man scratched out some clumps of dried sand that were buried in his wiry brown facial hair. “Where am I and who are you?”

“You’re in Hamningberg. I’m the village doctor.” The old man plainly responded.

“That means nothing to me. What country is this and what’s your name, old man.” The bandaged man was guarded, as he watched the old man with suspicion.

“This is a fishing village on the northern tip of Norge or as you English speakers call it, Norway.” The old man placed his pipe down on the mantel of his fireplace. “As for me, I’m Doctor Bjorge. I just so happen to have studied medicine in New York City back in my youth.” He took a sip from the mug that was on the small wooden coffee table beside him. “And what about you? You’re a guest in my house and I saved your life, the least you can do is introduce yourself.”

“I’m-...” The bandaged man immediately paused. It was as though a thick fog had taken over his mind. “...I don’t know.”

Bjorge leaned forward, staring skeptically. “If you’re hiding something, come out with it. The other villagers aren’t as welcoming to outsiders as I am. They won’t take kindly to any sort of funny business.”

The man slowly shook his head side to side with a look of complete seriousness. “It's no lie. I can’t remember anything prior to washing up on the shore.”

“I see.” Bjorge put his pipe back in his mouth and stood up from his chair. “Despite your ordeal, none of your wounds are serious, just some cuts and bruises. You may feel some pain for a while, but by some miracle nothing is broken. Even your toes and fingers managed to avoid having to be removed from frostbite.”

Walking over to the man, he reached into the front pocket of his overalls and pulled out an ophthalmoscope. Turning the device on, it showed a small bright light. Looking through the device’s lens, he inspected each of his patient’s eyes. “You were unconscious for over twenty-four hours and you do seem to be concussed. My guess is that you hit your head at some point when you were trapped in the current. That, combined with shock, is likely causing amnesia.”

The man’s head began to ache more as his groggyness from being asleep was wearing off. “When can I expect my memory to return.”

Bjorge shrugged his shoulders. “Hard to say. Amnesia is only temporary. Eventually your past will catch up with you.”

“Lets hope my past is worth remembering.” The man sarcastically remarked to himself.

“Well, until you do, you’re welcome to stay here.” After stoking the fire, Bjorge sat back in his chair. “Since you can’t remember your name, I’ll call you Druknet, which means drowned in Norwegian.”

As Bjorge continued trying to make small talk, Druknet’s focus suddenly wandered toward the window beside his bed. The ocean waves were just as dark and ruthless as they were the night before, thrashing around unrelentingly. Standing out in the distance on a nearby pier, something peculiar caught his attention…

“Why would someone be out on a dock at this hour?” He murmured to himself, as he leaned closer to the window, doubting his eyes.

A featureless silhouette of a person stood motionless, seeming to be staring toward the village. For a brief moment, it almost looked as though there were two glowing white lights where its eyes should have been.

Bjorge came over to the window to investigate. “What do you mean someone's out there? I don’t see anyone.”

“Over there on the do-.” As Druknet looked back toward the dock. There was no longer anything there.

“You must be seeing things.” Bjorge immediately brushed it off. “You should get some more rest.”

“Maybe you’re right.” Druknet still had a sense of uneasiness. He glanced out the window again… Nothing, only the old wooden pier. Unless someone dove off of it into the water, there was nowhere they could hide.

“You're tense.” Bjorge poured something from a kettle on top of the fireplace into a mug. “This tea should help calm your nerves.”

Druknet took the mug and brought it to his lips. Slowly sipping on the hot liquid, he tried to relax. Eventually, he sank back down in the bed. He only managed to partially fall back asleep. Still unable to shake an unusual sense that he was being watched, he occasionally glanced back out the window, just to be met with nothing…