The Oil Rig

The grey sky looms ominously into the distance over the ocean. The clouds are heavy and hanging low. giving me the feeling of being smothered. Boards of the dock creek beneath my feet and those of the group of researches with me. The papers on my clipboard flutter in the wind, causing me to grip onto the board tightly, and to become more ill at ease. As we make our way down the dilapidated walkway, I begin to see dark figures form in the mist over the water. Black ghosts beckoning us further. The closer I get, the more gigantic they become. How amazing these must have been, so many years before, when teams of men worked around the clock to discover the dark oil below the ground. Half of the old rigs have sunk into the ocean, with only odd bits sticking out; ghastly ash covered fingers reaching for the sky above them. The water surrounding them is thick, black and still, but the scientists around me assure me that it is due to old oil and debris floating on the top.

“It is perfectly safe, we have been inside these old buildings many times.” An old man with coke bottle glasses says to me. The way he smiles at me gives me the creeps, and causes a little chill to run up my spine. He has crooked teeth that are stained a light grim brown from years of a bad coffee habit. The other members of my group seem to believe him though, nodding briefly to one another, and head their own ways to other buildings. Walking further down the dock, I reach the building in question, the basis of my research, and why I am here.

The remains of this ancient building, this sort of oil rig, are half sunk into the thick black water. The remaining part of the building has broken windows, rusted metal and thick layers of dust and grime covering every surface. Staring up at it, it reminds me of a tree house I had as a child. It always seemed so huge, and old, rickety and completely unsafe, but it always held its own. I would have splinters all over my hands and arms by the end of the day, and there were always bits of chicken wire and glass from the windows on the floor. The reminiscent feeling flees me as soon as it arrives. Nothing about this looks safe, but I know in the back of my mind, that entering this building could change my life. My findings could be published, and could help define a future for me.

To get over to the building, I have to walk across planks and strips of plywood that have been laid to float across the stagnant surface of the water. I step onto the first plank, feeling it give slightly beneath my feet, making me feel off balance. As it steadies out, I take another tentative step. The smell of the black water is sour and overpowering, causing me to gag and acid to rise up into my throat. All I can do is hurry my pace across the makeshift walkway to the ladder at the base of the building. I tuck my clipboard into my bag, crossing the long strap across my chest to make climbing up easier. The metal rungs are cold and cut into my hands as I make my way up. Many are slick from the filmy grime that covers them, making the reality even more clear that no one has been on this site in a very very long time.

I continue climbing the ladder, the sky growing darker the closer to it I get. When I finally reach the top, the wind is even stronger that it was walking across the docks, whipping my hair wildly around my face. A lone seagull perched atop one of the jagged metal points of the building cries out. The water must be moving, I think to myself as my stomach heaves once more. The tall rig is perched on stilts and feels like it is swaying with the wind. I make my way to the door, pushing it open with my shoulder, causing a loud screeching noise. Dim shafts of grey light filter in through the broken windows, with thick tufts of dust dancing through light, happy to have a an audience see them spin and float. The space has such a feeling of emptiness to it, that I can feel it through to my bones. I can feel that the space has been devoid of life for so long that the air even tastes dead and stale.

I take out my clipboard, noting my initial findings, detailing everything around me I see. Melted stations that once held computers and possibly other electronics. The broken windows where workers once stood, looking for ships on the horizon, and picturing their loved ones at home. Everything inside has a black and melted quality to it, suggesting a devastating fire or explosion. These places had been abandoned many many years ago, along with any people who were left on them.The company had pulled out and abandoned the rigs and every employee here without a word to anyone; leaving those here to whatever fate would have in store for them. However I see no human remains in the room, and saw none around the rest of the vessel on my initial inspection. My spirits lift, hoping that perhaps those that were abandoned here escaped whatever horrible tragedy occurred here.

Walking around the room to inspect further, I hear the metal stilts groan in protest of having the extra strain of my movement. With each step across the space I hear the creaking and grating sound grow in volume. The scream of metal on metal begins to fill my ears, and the swaying of the building seems to have grown in strength as well. I freeze, steadying myself on the corner of a cold ash covered desk. My heart beat is so strong I can feel it pulsing in my ears. As I stand and wait, the pounding in my ears ceases, and the building stills into silence. I count to ten, and let out a relieved sigh and step forward to continue my path across the room. Suddenly the entire building begins to shake violently, as if the earth below were splitting in two. I am thrown forward, smacking my head against the floor while simultaneously getting the wind knocked out of me. I can taste blood in my mouth. Bending like a tree in a hurricane, the rig starts to fall sideways, and sink into the shadowy sludge like ocean below. I can’t get to my feet before the remaining furniture in the room slides across the floor to greet me, pinning me against the wall. My stomach heaves as I feel myself falling; crashing into the ocean, the room slowly filling with black death. Scrambling, uncoordinated, I try to push the desks and chairs away from me. Seeing a window to my left that has yet to be compromised by the dark water, I push the remaining debris away from me and stumble towards it. My feet skid across the floor, bringing my down to my knees as I try to claw my way over, ripping holes in my pants, and breaking open the skin. I am reaching desperately for the window, not willing to acknowledge the burning pain in all of my extremities.

As my trembling hands find the window sill,  I pull myself up in time to witness the darkness rapidly approaching, the building leading me into it head first. The only choice I have is to jump through the window, and swim away before the rest of the building rests on top of me. Every second will count, and there is no guarantee I won’t be crushed. But if I stay inside, it will fill up, and I will surely drown. I am out of time. I pull myself up into the window, remaining shards of glass opening fresh burning wounds into my hands, and throw myself into the water.

Only as I land do I realize the truth of what I feared all along. It is not water, as I was told. There is no ocean, with movement underneath the oily sludge. It is thick, warm, and syrupy, pulling my legs down like glue. The darkness is heavy, spilling into my mouth, and burning my eyes. What is this? I scream, but my voice comes out garbled by the tar like substance that refuses to leave my throat. I reach for the boards that rested across the surface, carrying my weight only a half hour ago. But when I reach for them now, they give way, and begin to disintegrate in my hands, revealing all the horrifying debris underneath them. What was missing from the equation, what I was sent here to find is now all around me. Human remains, in various forms of decay, held here, frozen just like me in the black goo. This thick, stout darkness destroyed the buildings, and took everyone in them to their death. A slow sticky death. It has preserved some bodies for years. Others are now just bone, but I am surrounded by them. I feel them underneath my feet. I brush my hands over them as I struggle to keep my head from being pulled under. Where is the rest of the team? Why has no one come to save me? They must have heard the building collapse, or even my pathetic strangled scream. I am able to get some footing on a very solid object below me, probably part of the building I was just in, and turn around towards where the other members of the research team had gone. As I do, I am greeted by the silent stares of those who came with me. They are there, standing on the dock just an arms length away watching me. Clipboards in hand, scribbling furiously as they study my reaction. As my foot slips off the tiny bit of hold it had, my head begins to slip under the thick black liquid. Before I am pulled under, I see the doctor with the coke bottle glasses look up from his papers. As I am pulled under, and my lungs fill full, his eyes meet mine. And he smiles.