SF Gateway, AUD4.99, ISBN 978-1473216662
Horror, 2015 (Reissue)
I’ve spent my life traversing the globe via planes, trains, and automobiles, but I’ve always harbored an irrational fear of ships. Should a plane take a nosedive, it’ll likely be quick… hopefully. Trains and cars… a crash could at least be decisive. But a ship? That’s a slow, lingering demise: drowning, hypothermia, or even sharks—an entire buffet of misery. Plus, ships smell. I’d take my chances with a plummeting aircraft any day.
And maybe, just maybe, I can blame William Hope Hodgson’s The Ghost Pirates for planting this aquatic phobia in my brain.
If you’ve ever wondered how isolation and claustrophobia might feel while adrift on the open sea, this book is your ticket to visceral terror. Published in 1909, this maritime horror classic is steeped in authenticity, thanks to Mr Hodgson’s own experiences as a sailor. He captures the peculiar dread of the vast, indifferent ocean and mixes it with the creeping horror of something worse than a mutiny brewing aboard the ship.
The story is narrated by Jessop, a sailor recounting his time on the Mortzestus, a vessel so cursed that it makes the Titanic look like a leisurely booze cruise. Strange happenings escalate: eerie sounds, shadows where none should be, crew members vanishing faster than a ghosting Tinder date. Eventually, it becomes clear that supernatural forces have targeted the ship, with increasingly tragic consequences for its unfortunate crew.
But here’s the kicker: The Ghost Pirates isn’t what the title might suggest. If you’re expecting shambling zombie buccaneers or a pirate version of The Walking Dead, you’re going to be disappointed. The “ghosts”, if you can call them that, are vague, shadowy, and more hinted at than seen. Mr Hodgson excels in making the unknown terrifying, focusing instead on how the mere suspicion of a haunting unravels the crew’s psyche.
The book is thick with nautical jargon and patois, which might deter readers unfamiliar with seafaring terminology. But for me, it only adds to the authenticity. You feel like you’re right there on the doomed Mortzestus, sharing in the crew’s confusion and terror as their reality spirals into the surreal.
The author has crafted a potent kind of cosmic horror that gnaws at the gut. It’s no wonder HP Lovecraft adored this book. It’s the ultimate nod of approval from the master of eldritch dread himself.
That said, the first-person narrative occasionally veers into unintentional hilarity. Jessop’s journal entries are so florid, complete with dramatic cliffhangers, that you half-expect him to hawk his tale as the next Penny Dreadful when he makes it ashore.
Suddenly, I heard the Second Mate’s voice—
“In the main-rigging, there! Who’s that going aloft?”
I sat up on the hatch, and listened. There succeeded an intense silence.
Then the Second’s voice came again. He was evidently getting wild.
“Do you damn well hear me? What the hell are you doing up there? Come down!”
Realistically, a sailor’s log would be more like: “Day 47. Ate weevily bread. Saw another shadow. Still hate this ship.”
Yet, this is a small gripe in an otherwise masterful piece of work. The author nails the pacing, atmosphere, and tension. The suspense is relentless, the prose evocative, and the fear palpable.
If I have one real critique, it’s the overly tidy ending. Instead of leaving us adrift in a sea of ambiguity, Mr Hodgson ties up Jessop’s fate in a way that feels suspiciously like studio interference. It’s as though a meddling executive said, “Make sure the audience knows what happened to him, or they’ll be confused!”
Still, imperfections and all, The Ghost Pirates is a near-perfect storm of horror, atmosphere, and tension. It’s not just a book—it’s an experience. Just don’t blame me if you develop an irrational fear of ships after reading it. Welcome to the club.
