LOST CANNIBAL MANIFESTO

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Chapter 1

Saturday, June 5th, 1978

Now under her orders to eat him, they grabbed him, held him down, and finished splitting open the wound she had started. They began to rip out his internal organs. They bit into his flesh while he laid on the ground. But, as Sartre was told, he did not die because his heart continued to beat. He painfully felt every piece being ripped from his body. He witnessed every bite the cannibals took. They tore out his intestines, liver, and spleen through the gaping hole in his torso. They devoured his warm flesh, which he witnessed through his terrified eyes. He regretted everything as their blood-covered hands reached into his body and claimed their bloody trophies. 

Sunday, May 23rd, 1978 … two weeks earlier…  

Just off Mill Road in the town of Durham, New Hampshire, there stood an older home made of wood and stone. The home’s owner, Professor Jonathon Sartre, served as the Professor Emeritus of the University of New Hampshire’s prestigious Anthropology Department, a position he held for close to thirty years. A status no other professor had held for such a long span of time through the University’s history. 

Inside the front door of the home was his office. It was a classic style study, where dark mahogany shelving embraced volumes of his books relating to human culture, human experience, human history, and other more mundane historical documents. The tones of his scholarly mind extended to the far side of the study, where a wall of Polynesian masks adorned the large expanse of wall. 

As a man of wealth and privilege, Sartre was a rather arrogant man of sixty, whose opinion of himself was grander than the highest peak of the nearby Green Mountains. Even his elegant study could not fit his massive ego without cracking the plaster walls. 

Tonight, he sat quietly alone in his empty house while his wife of twenty-five years, Sarah, escaped to the local cinema to enjoy a Fred Astaire marathon. It was times like this, he was happiest, just sitting in seclusion and reading without the mundane murmur of the television, a distraction insisted upon by his wife. 

While he basked in his solitude, he was deep into a mysterious manuscript given to him years earlier by a fellow philosophy professor and friend named Dr. Mark Straub, who had long since passed. The manuscript pages were loosely bound together and reflected their age of over one hundred and fifty years. They contained the journal entries of Seaman Nigel Johansson, a crew member of the ill-fated East India Company vessel Kent.

While he was studying the documents, the doorbell rang, which startled him. Even though it was a sound he was intently waiting for, it did not stop his heart from skipping a beat. He jumped from his wingchair like a man half his age and made his way quickly through the double doors of his study. He opened the front door to be met by the guests he had been anxiously awaiting.

Standing outside was twenty-seven-year-old Sean Cooper and his girlfriend, twenty-four-year-old Janet Franklin. Mr. Cooper was a graduate student of Anthropology and served as Professor Sartre’s senior teaching assistant. He was a shorter than average male of five and a half feet and appeared wider than tall. His full head of black hair and dark blue eyes attracted favorable attention, while his weight never seemed a problem. 

Ms. Franklin, on the other hand, was a final year Biology Major who was much more reclusive than her outgoing beau. She had classic curves covered by creamy light skin, the type which drove men wild with fantasies of long passionate nights. With long blond hair and blue eyes, it was puzzling to all as to how Mr. Cooper had acquired such a prize.

Bearing a frown and overstating in an exasperated tone, Sartre answered the door with, “Welcome, Mr. Cooper… Ms. Franklin… you two seem to enjoy making me wait.”

Sean replied, “Forgive me, Professor, but it’s Sunday, and we were at dinner and lost track of time.” 

Sartre, without acknowledging the apology, motioned toward his office. “Please, we have much to discuss tonight.”

The group entered the office, with Sean and Janet taking adjoining seats upon the sofa while Sartre walked over to a shelf in the cabinet closest to his desk. He opened the door, which exposed a small but impressive wine sanctuary. He opened a bottle of hybrid Moscato imported from Italy, allowing it to breathe for a moment. The year was not as important as the aroma and finish for this class of wine. However, his guests noted that this expensive wine seemed a bit much for a casual evening of no significance, so they thought. 

With a sardonic smile, Sartre poured three glasses with his own visibly containing substantially more. He walked over to his guests and gave them each a glass before taking his seat in the wingchair he had occupied before their late arrival. He took a sip and crossed his legs, “So let me ask you, Mr. Cooper… have you ever heard the tale of the East Indiaman vessel Kent?” 

Sean replied, “No, I haven’t.”

Sartre smiled as he cocked his head to the left, “Well then... before we begin with our story of the Kent, we must first explore the history of the East India Company, whose origins date back to a Royal Charter in the early 1600s. Legitimate to the untrained eye, the company was nothing more than a cover for the British Government from its inception. 

Its primary function was trade between the empire and the Far East, serving as the silent arm of the British Government. The company exercised military force and other functions of all the British Empire’s commercial pursuits throughout the Far East. Not to mention their role in constantly undermining their competition, the Dutch India Company, which will also play a small part in our story. 

Now, this brings us to the purpose of our story this evening. As with everything in life, there are two sides to every story, the official story, and the true story. As with any official cover story, the Government controlled East India Company gave a heroic story to save face upon losing its largest flagship on her maiden voyage. 

Oh yes, a story of tragedy and rescue and of names that have gone down in history. Yes… a tale of heroism and the enduring human spirit of survival. This cover story devised by the East India Company, regarding the Kent, is one so simple, the uninformed and uneducated masses would never question its authenticity, returning to their meaningless lives of royal servitude.” 

With a sip, Sean sat back and responded, “Okay, Professor, I’ll bite… what’s the true story?”

Sartre smiled and continued, “First, let us explore the official story. On the 19th of February 1825, under an unseasonably warm and clear sky with only a slight breeze in the air, the new East Indiaman vessel began its trip through the calm seas along England’s west coast. 

The ship was named Kent, a triple masted vessel, which boasted a length of one hundred and seventy-five feet. This was an exceptionally large vessel for the time and weighed in at just less than fourteen hundred tons. The Kent was crewed by just over three hundred and sixty sailors and soldiers while also carrying an additional three hundred passengers who dreamed of the fortunes to be made in the Far East. 

As it sailed from England down the English Channel en route to China, most crew and passengers envisioned nothing but a routine prosperous voyage. As an East Indiaman vessel, she was both militarily and commercially equipped to transport personnel, goods, and weapons to defend herself against the possibility of piracy. The Kent was captained by an unknown military man named Henry Cobb, with Colonel Fearon and Major MacGregor of the 31st Regiment also aboard for the ship’s maiden voyage.

On the 1st of March, the Kent sailed through rough seas off the coast of France in the Bay of Biscay. This area is renowned for some of the fiercest weather along the European Coast due to the shallow waters, and the storms that tend to blow in from further out over the Atlantic. 

During this particular gale, the ship began to roll dramatically through the dark stormy skies as the crew commenced their routine emergency procedures to protect the passengers and goods stowed on board. From the official log, all the sailors aboard the Kent were well seasoned in the art of seafaring and capable of overcoming any emergency which might arise.  

Later that night, the ship caught fire in the cargo hold. It is said, a drum of rum broke free and ruptured, allowing the alcohol to spew out over the floor. Then a lit candle was dropped by a sailor attempting to rebind the ropes securing the escaping drum of rum, which did not extinguish as it hit the deck. No, instead, it hit a mixture of rum and gun powder. This unfortunate accident allowed the candle's flame to make contact with all the elements needed for a fire. 

This, and I quote, official, series of highly unusual events started the fire during a larger than expected 75-degree roll caused by the high seas of the storm. Now, I am not a sailor, but I would think a roll this great should have capsized the ship. Anyway, the ship did not, but instead allowed this rare fire to become hell’s inferno, incinerating all the sailors held captive in the hold. 

Here is where the story becomes even more questionable in its content, if not wholly fabricated to anyone who has ever worked in a maritime profession. An account from Major MacGregor stated Captain Cobb immediately began the abandon ship procedures, lowering the passengers into the lifeboats. 

The problem with this story is, no one else from the ill-fated journey concurred that the lifeboats entered the water at such an early stage in the course of events. Every other account told of Captain Cobb and his crew members attempting to fight the unseen flames for quite some time, before the final order of abandoning ship was given.

 Then, by chance, of course always by chance, the world-renowned Captain Cook, who was en route to Mexico through the Bay of Biscay, in a much smaller vessel, came upon the distressed Kent under cover of darkness caused by the storm force conditions. 

No one seemed to question this part of the official story either, even though Mexico was in the opposite direction from the bay, but I digress. Upon arriving at the vessel's location, Captain Cook made a hard and virtually impossible starboard maneuver in his smaller ship, the Cambria, and raced to the distressed Kent’s side. 

  Upon reaching the Kent, there was no time to waste, and the master sailor took charge of the disabled ship. With his vast experience, there was no question who was in command once he boarded. Captain Cook immediately began the rescue procedures to help save the personnel aboard and rescue the Kent herself from the massive fire. 

Even with the large waves and heavy rains battering the Kent, the fire could not be extinguished, necessitating the abandoning of the ship, long after the time initially given in the other account. Captain Cook finally ordered the first passengers to disembark from the distressed Kent and onto his Cambria with the inferno raging below. His order began with the private passengers aboard, followed by the remaining surviving military personnel. 

After the Kent’s passengers had been successfully transferred aboard the Cambria, sometime in the early morning hours, the Kent finally exploded, with not one single credible witness to verify the official claim. Nothing more than an outline of flames was seen from the overburdened Cambria. Eighty individuals, mostly soldiers from the 31st Regiment, are said to have died in the ordeal. Or so the official report written years later stated.

This brings us to yet another discrepancy in Major MacGregor’s account of events. He was supposedly the only surviving passenger from the Kent to have seen any of the dead sailors in the hold. The Major claimed bodies littered the weather-beaten decks even though the fire was below. All other passengers claimed to have been told of the situation and then rushed off the Kent onto the awaiting Cambria, which had moored alongside the crippled vessel. 

Now, this is where the true story of the Kent begins, and the cover story of a courageous rescue by the world-famous Captain Cook ends. See, Captain Cook did indeed help remove the passengers from the Kent, and the ship did catch fire, although only a small, controlled fire. Just enough to fill the air with black smoke created to frighten the private passengers aboard, while causing enough heat and flames in case one passenger happened to be below deck. 

Only a handful of sailors, in fact, the few who apparently died in the flames knew the cause of the fire. The rest believed their lives had been in imminent danger and would have braved the storm, and paddled to the French Coast, rather than die in the fiery furnace they believed the Kent was about to become. 

Those who boarded the Cambria did not know or would have never believed the Kent was not a brave East India Company trading ship. No, the Kent was built for one purpose, the Opium trade. The drug of the day, Opium, was used to keep the masses drugged and unaware of the British Empire’s mischievous ways. The theory which holds true even today, a drugged population is a controlled one. 

After the Cambria was out of visual range, the eighty crew members who stayed to captain the ship and complete the misdirected illusion, hurried into action. This is where years of training had come into play for the seasoned sailors left aboard the Kent. 

They sent two lifeboats into the water, one carrying two barrels of gunpowder fitted with a ten-minute fuse and the other with two crew members. The lifeboats were piloted in the same direction the Cambria made sail to. When the makeshift bomb was out of range of the Kent and out of the visual range of the Cambria, the fuse was lit, and the two crew members paddled back to the gangplank of their ship. 

The next sight in the darkened sky was of two barrels of gunpowder exploding. It was a massive explosion, which could have fooled the best-trained eye. The conspired illusion was complete with only Captain Cook and possibly Major MacGregor aboard the Cambria, knowing the truth. MacGregor, a man of the company, well… his lips were sealed to the insidious deception. The true tragedy of this story is as true today as it was then… the truth will never surface when the conspirators are the very ones who conduct the investigation.”  

Sartre leaned forward with a slightly pompous grin, and asked, “So… Mr. Cooper… what did you think of my story?”

With his left hand upon Janet’s knee, Sean looked at Sartre silently for a moment. He finally spoke after what must have seemed an eternity to Sartre, “It’s a good story Professor. Yet, I don’t see the relevance of it. Yes, it’s an amusing piece of the history of conspiracy, but I don’t see the point of why we were called here tonight?” 

With a look of obvious dissatisfaction brought about by Sean’s apparent lack of interest, Sartre responded, “I have one word before I continue the story.”

Sean asked, “And what’s that one word, Professor?”

With a large smile, Sartre replied, “Cannibalism!”

Chapter 2

Sean leaned forward and asked, “Cannibalism?”

“Yes, this story is going to lead to cannibalism. If I may continue... may I continue?” Sartre forcefully asked.

Sean returned to his relaxed position and said, “Now that you’ve piqued my interest, I’ll try not to interrupt your story again.”

“Do not try, Sean… do… do sit there and listen and you may, on the off chance, possibly learn something.”

With his trademark sarcasm silencing his audience, Sartre sat back in his chair and placed the journal of Seaman Nigel Johansson on his lap. He continued, “This is the journal of Mr. Nigel Johansson, a sailor aboard the Kent. As far as the authenticity of this journal, one cannot be sure. However, Johansson’s name does appear on the crew’s roster. 

With that said, in this journal, some facts may seem disturbing. Yet, if you can read between the lines, it can be considered quite enlightening. But, at the very least, it fuels the speculation that the official story of the Kent was a lie formulated and executed by the British Government. 

Let’s continue where we left off. After the gunpowder exploded and the cover story was complete, the Kent became a shadow vessel with no official flag to sail under, other than whatever Captain Cobb’s imagination could conceive. There have been many forms of pirate flags, such as the famous skull and bones. This symbol could have been the one they may have hoisted. However, this is purely speculative. 

Under the flag of piracy, the Kent had become the perfect vessel to smuggle opium back into England. Due to its massive size, the amount of opium it could carry was enough to fuel the British Empire for years to come. So, with the full knowledge and blessing of the British Monarchy, the Kent began its true mission as the flagship of the opium trade. 

After a few months underway, the Kent, having braved the currents of Cape Horn, with zero casualties or problems, pressed onward into the Indian Ocean. Unlike the Atlantic Ocean, the serene seas of the Indian Ocean seemed heaven-sent to the sailors. With exotic ports of call, strange sea life, and void of maritime law to govern them, and armed with the full force of the British Empire backing them, the world was at their fingertips. 

Without laws nor rules, they appeared as nothing more than ordinary seafaring pirates. From the journal pages, it is clear the legends of swashbuckling and different women from all the far-off lands fueled the imaginations of the men aboard the Kent. Yet, in reality, they were not pirates in the known sense of the word. They were smugglers, but smugglers with an agenda enjoying government backing. 

By late August, the Kent navigated through the straits and into the Java Sea en route to Jakarta. They intended to sail around the north shore of Bali before sailing between Malaysia and Indonesia docking in Manila to take on supplies. 

It is while crossing the Java Sea that the story takes a somewhat ominous turn. A turn that none of the conspirators could have foreseen in their pursuit of wealth and privilege. Yes, a turn which all but sealed the fate of the doomed crew. 

Unlike the previous storm in the Bay of Biscay, an impending storm was barreling down on their position. It was a monster storm in every sense of the word, a cyclone, the intensity of which could be devastating for a ship the size of the Kent. Unlike today, they did not have the National Weather Service to inform them of the approaching Category 5 leviathan. 

Captain Cobb, ever the vigilant sailor, could almost smell the storm on the horizon. When the forward lookout informed the Captain of the black skies, the Captain decided to play it safe by hugging the north coast of Bali before continuing northward through the Makassar Strait. Not even the seasoned Captain could have fathomed the severe intensity of the beast approaching from the east with its eye dead set on the Kent’s position. 

After Captain Cobb became aware of the powerhouse that approached his vessel, before he could redirect his course around and downwind of the storm, in a futile effort to set sail to the opposite side of Bali, IT HIT!! The winds grew in intensity, and waves rose to heights never before seen by him nor any of his shipmates. The Java Sea acted as a funnel for the brunt of the one hundred and fifty miles per hour winds, which created massive pounding waves, which constantly battered and threatened to capsize the ship. 

As the hours passed, the winds and waves battered the ship, yet the Kent held firm. She had held together better than any other ship in the British Fleet, proving her seaworthiness. Most certainly the reason she had been selected for such mischievous deeds. Then in what appeared to be less than an hour from the storm’s eye, the ship was rolling and listing over 60-degrees while the winds shredded its sails. 

A massive wave then hit from the port side rolling the ship 70-degrees starboard. Under the pressure of righting the vessel, the forward mast buckled, crashing down to the deck, crushing ten sailors. The mast lines began whipping violently across the weathered decks, which slashed and killed two more. 

A second wave hit, rolling over the signal bridge and cracking the rear mast, which stayed firm for the time being. However, the damage was too significant, and the next roll of the ship caused it to crash down as the forward mast had moments earlier. This fallen mast killed the quartermaster before rolling off the beaten ship, taking two deckhands, the flag bags, and netting. 

After ten minutes of sailing adrift, the Kent’s outer hull cracked and began taking on water from the starboard side. The water pressure crushed the inner bulkheads and swallowed another fifteen sailors rendering the Kent completely helpless and unsalvageable. Not only were the lower decks flooding from the compromised hull but from the waves rolling over the vessel, adding even more water into the crippled ship. 

Then, like the hand of God opening a window, Captain Cobb witnessed through the pounding rains and under a massive lightning strike, a shoreline which he assumed from his position when the storm hit was Bali. The coastline appeared to be about two hundred yards off the starboard side. 

The Captain saw no other choice but to save himself and any surviving crew members, which caused him to make the call he had hoped he would never have to. He immediately ordered the remaining sailors to abandon the critically crippled Kent before she went down, taking them with her. He knew that reaching the shore might be their only means of survival. 

The remaining forty-five men took the ultimate leap of faith into the churning sea. Some resurfaced, some did not. Some of the sailors were stronger and better swimmers than others. Due to their rowdy in-port indulgences, some were overweight, which caused them to float back to the surface, their bloated bellies serving as their lifesavers. Living the life of a gruff seaman, the buoyancy of a few extra pounds of fat and a few less pounds of muscle could be the difference between life and death in this situation. 

By the time the sun appeared from the other side of the storm, only twenty sailors, including Captain Cobb, survived. Sixty men went down to the sea that night and never returned. However, the bodies of about half of the men who had drowned from the storm began washing up onto the beach the first day of the survivors' next test of jungle endurance, with the sea claiming the rest. 

Some supplies from the ship, such as barrels of rum, gunpowder, and pieces of the Kent, also washed up on the white sandy beaches of what appeared to be a tropical paradise. Yet, not a single weapon was washed ashore to assist in protecting them from any unknown wildlife they may encounter. 

Captain Cobb ordered the remaining men to collect the dead from the beach. Under the sweltering conditions so close to the equator this time of year, he knew that dead bodies would decompose extremely fast. The decomposition would lead to disease and possibly even more casualties as most men would remain on the beach. At the same time, only a few would attempt the trek through unfamiliar terrain to find some semblance of a population. 

After all the bodies were collected and no more dead were expected to wash ashore, they were piled together and drenched with rum. The funeral pyre was lit using the gunpowder as a wick and placed in strategically dried parts of the victims. Only the burning of the flesh could stop the flies from laying their eggs, which caused the body’s natural bacteria to multiply. 

The bones were of no consequence and would not burn, rot, or cause any illness other than nausea from the gruesome display and horrid stench of death. With only a few redeeming words from the Captain, the cremation began. 

After the nontraditional funeral, the men used scattered palm fronds as makeshift “straws” to see which unlucky four sailors would become the search party. No one wanted this task while the rum and the safest place to be was on the beach with the larger group. Still, they all knew this was a mission for survival, and it needed to happen.

The fear that gripped the men as each pulled a straw was too many unknown factors awaiting them in the jungle. They could attempt to transverse the beach itself, but that could add a lengthy amount of time to a relatively short survival timetable for rescue. Once the search party was selected, the plan of action was to leave the camp the following morning and begin their mission. 

As dusk finally arrived, Captain Cobb, after careful deliberation, decided to allow his shipmates to partake in some of the rum that washed up on the beach. He called for a barrel to be tapped and its contents distributed equally among the sailors. He knew after the ordeal the men had suffered from surviving the storm, they needed something to remind them of their humanity. 

It was that drunken night, the first night when the hell of the jungle arrived. A nightmare so great, even the grandest authors of the time could not create nor comprehend it. It was just after midnight when high-pitched screams came from deep inside the jungle. 

These were the kind of sounds that would make your heart pound completely out of your chest. Horrific sounds that radiated a feeling of sheer terror through your soul. At once, all the men quickly rose from their drunken sleep in absolute terror of what they heard bellowing from the jungle. They were now wide awake and instantly sober. 

Then from out of the dark pit of hell itself, the impossible happened. Through the darkness came flying creatures with grotesque monkey-like heads and no bodies but only their organs and spine still attached and waving the ramparts of their disemboweled organs. They began soaring over the men attacking the men like a sparrow protecting her nest. 

Blood dripped from the entrails of these demons all over the petrified and unarmed men. These creatures were nothing out of nature. They were monsters in the purest sense of the word. Only from the depths of hell could anything of such hideousness have been formed. Only the Devil himself could call these monstrosities his own. 

Then more screams bellowed through the night as dark-skinned savages wearing barely anything came running at high speed out of the jungle straight toward the horrified survivors. They wore hand-carved wooden masks with coarse black hair, which resembled the flying demons and nothing more than cloth covering their groins. As they approached, they threw their spears with precision killing ten men where they stood. No thought or humanity to the savages’ actions, just pure murder.

The sailors had heard stories from other seamen that this area was known for a cannibalistic population and explorers that had disappeared into the unknown. With this fact in mind, the rest of the men scattered into the night. In an attempt to elude the primitives and the flying demons, some ran down the beach, while others ran into the water, who were speared like fish from the sharpened wooden weapons of the natives. 

The last thing Mr. Nigel Johansson remembered seeing as he entered the ocean was the savages murdering the already injured men who scattered the beach. At the same time, Captain Cobb struck down two of the attackers and stood his ground like a stone monument, without fear, as they surrounded him. Mr. Johansson swam until there was no sign of the hell he had just witnessed.

He swam for what seemed like hours with no regard to any dangers from the deep. Mr. Johansson feared the hell on the beach more than he feared the unknown of the deep. Under just a dimly lit night sky, he finally found his salvation, a drifting piece of what appeared to be part of the Kent’s hull, of which he took hold. 

From here, his journal makes no sense as I am sure he began to suffer from dehydration and starvation, which can cause hallucinations. I believe he must have been afloat on the driftwood for probably a few days by the level of his nonsensical writings. 

One could draw that conclusion, or one could believe him mad, as this was long before the writing of Hemingway’s Old Man and the Sea. However, the journal did continue with reality a few pages later, when a passing Dutch merchant ship pulled the nearly dead sailor from the sea.”

Sean casually laughed, not to offend, “Amazing story, but what kind of evidence do you have of this sailor’s experience?” 

Sartre took a drink with a smile and continued, “At the time, the Dutch were beginning to occupy the entire Indonesian archipelago because of the Java War, which ran from 1825 to about 1830. With this knowledge, when the sailor’s unbelievable story reached Jakarta, a Dutch crew was sent by Major General Van den Bosch to the beach where Seamen Johansson claimed the events occurred. The team did, in fact, find a pile of burnt bones alongside extremely decomposing severed limbs that were not a part of the large funeral pyre. 

Now here is where the story takes an even more menacing turn, and the one which sealed the fate of Seamen Johansson to hard labor. The severed limbs appeared to be gnawed on with apparent human-like bite marks. However, the decomposition was so bad they could not be sure and relied heavily on speculation and superstition of the search party witnesses. 

The evidence of cannibalism was still strong enough for Van den Bosch to make his ultimate decision. The Major General then court-martialed the young British Seaman. Nigel Johansson was found guilty of murder and cannibalism. The trite evidence of possible cannibalism was overwhelming to the General from the testimony of his recovery party. 

Cannibalism aside, what could have caused the decision to court-martial the young man may have been his nationality and being affiliated with the Kent and the East India Company. This is just speculation that I have raised because the Dutch would have been well aware of cannibalism by the natives in the Balinese jungle and knew no self-respecting Englishmen would participate. Possibly, the Dutch wanted to relay a message to the Crown regarding the royal conspired piracy.

The matter of Seaman Johansson was closed as Van den Bosch became the Dutch Governor over the Indonesian Archipelago and focused more of his attention on Java and Sumatra, not cannibalism in Bali. Because of his change in focus, he finally relented on his trumped-up cannibalism charges and attempted to pardon Nigel Johansson. Unfortunately, the young sailor died just days before his freedom could be realized. Nigel’s journal was then hidden away for many years by one of his jailors, who he had befriended during his incarceration.” 

Chapter 3

Sean shifted forward and said, “Fascinating story, but… you can’t seriously tell me with a straight face that you believe there are flying monkeys with their entrails spewing blood all over the beaches of Bali?” 

Janet spoke before Sartre had a chance to defend his outrageous claim, “What does this have to do with the two of us?”

Sartre answered, “Well, I intend to utilize both of you on an adventure.”

Sean asked, “I could’ve guessed some expedition from the story, but your plans for such an undertaking seem to be clouded. So… enlighten me, on this expedition, what is it that you expect to accomplish?” 

Sartre smiled as he responded, “Well, before I answer, let me pose a question to you. How many things appear in the realm of logic to be one way, yet are not what they seem to be at all?”

Puzzled, Sean replied, “Why don’t you clarify that for me?”

“Well, what we will be searching for is the same thing all people since the dawn of civilization have searched for… eternal life.”

Sean sat back and asked, “Did you say eternal life?”

Without hesitation, Sartre replied, “Yes… but first you must know where to look, where to read, how to comprehend the evidence, and finally, who to find. There are so many factors which need to come together to find the answer.”

Sean, again puzzled, asked, “Professor, did you say who to find?”

“Yes, that is exactly what I said…. who?”

“I’ve no idea what you mean by who.”

Even Janet spoke up regarding Sartre’s statement, “Professor Sartre, that makes no sense.”

With a smile, Sartre continued, “Let me share a secret with you, my young friends. My time at the University has become less about educating the uninterested youth and more about researching the way a man can live forever. Yes, in more recent years, my research has been turned to the defeat of death itself. 

And… I found it. I honestly found it… I found the answer in a mysterious manuscript. Well… an obscure manuscript combined with this poorly written journal by Nigel Johansson, left to me by Dr. Straub. When combined, the answer is plain as day for anyone who can read between the lines of reality and fantasy. It is that simple… I must admit it’s a shame he didn’t live long enough to realize the passageway to immortality I have discovered within its pages.”

Astounded by the claim itself, Sean asked, “What do you mean… an obscure manuscript?”

Sartre moved forward from his reclined position, “Yes. Now let me ask you, have you ever heard of the Demon Queen of Bali and her legion of Leyaks?”

“Who?” Sean asked.

“The Demon Queen. Her name is Rangda, and her legend has persisted for centuries in Balinese culture. Even the story I just told you deals with her legion of Leyaks. They were the flying creatures that attacked the Kent’s sailors. It was their otherworldly blood that drenched the frightened seamen. 

Some may say it is a legend dreamt up by an overactive primitive imagination… but I believe she and her hordes of demonic flying beasts are real. I further believe they continue to inhabit Bali's deep and uncharted jungles in the vicinity of the north face of Mount Agung. You may think me mad. Still, I know what I know.” 

Unable to keep from laughing out loud at what seemed to be a ludicrous story, Sean replied, “So, you’re telling me that you believe in an ancient demon living in the jungles of Bali? And you believe this based on what… the writings of a drunken sailor’s alleged journal that corresponds to another obscure manuscript about a demon queen who lives deep in the jungle? I’m sorry, but I have to ask, what’s next, a quest to find Bigfoot in the Pacific Northwest? Well… what the hell, I’ve always wanted to visit Seattle.”

Janet also began to laugh as she said, “I’m sorry, Professor, but I have to ask you if you’re out of your cotton-picking mind… or are you just stoned?”

Angered that both of his guests were laughing, finding it to be both disrespectful and a blow to his ever-present ego, Sartre forcefully retorted, “If you’re going to be sarcastic, you fucking ingrates… then I will not include you in the expedition. And you, Sean, you may also want to find another Anthropology Department at another school to complete your graduate work because I can see to it… that you will never receive a degree from this University.” 

Sean raised his palms to Sartre, “Sir, with all due respect, it just sounds a bit outlandish and beyond the realm of reality. You cannot tell me any different. I mean, come on… an evil queen and flying demons that have lived in the jungles of Bali undiscovered for hundreds of years, you have to be aware of just how ludicrous that sounds.” 

Still visibly angry, Sartre responded, “Remember this… since the dawn of time, it has been the practice of men to tell others with a vision that it was outlandish and would never come to be. Good thing the man who invented the wheel did not have a disrespectful little shit of an understudy who questioned centrifugal force.”

After taking a moment to calm down, Sartre sat back and stated, “Now, Sean, if you would like, I can continue.”

Sean replied, “Please, I didn’t mean to offend you. But, you must realize that this story seems less scientific and more mythical. It’s the twentieth century, and I can't wrap my mind around mythical creatures because they no longer jive.”

Sartre rose from his chair and walked over to the bookcase, and from the top shelf, he retrieved a copy of an old dusty hardcover book entitled ‘The Balinese Passion Play,’ written by Lord Charles Pennymaker around the turn of the century. He opened the novel to a section where he had placed an index card at some previous time, not quite remembering when.

“So, Sean, would you like to hear the legend of the Demon Witch Rangda, or shall we just say good night and forget tonight ever happened?” 

Sean moved to the edge of his seat and looked at Janet. In an effort not to anger Sartre further, he answered for both, “No, Professor, I want to hear more of this fascinating story.”

Sartre began, “It has always appeared men from every culture are frightened and awestruck by the beauty of a woman… is it not?” 

Janet softly spoke with a bit of a grin, “Yeah, tell me about it.”

With a smile, he continued, “I now read to you from the ancient Calonarang manuscript, as written by Lord Pennymaker. The manuscript’s origins are from ancient Javanese literature, which hails from the tenth or eleventh century. This literature does date even further back in oral tradition than any written documentation could even comprehend. 

In the beginning, the Rangda was nothing more than a moniker for a widow. The term also represented a woman with an uninhibited fury for carnal desires sparked by an ever-present quest for revenge because she felt most men had rejected her advances. The story tells of a rage-filled female who possessed supernatural powers and knew how to conjure black magic. She used these magical powers to instill fear as she feasted upon the infants of the populace and murdered the men where they slept. The murders of the men were to fill her thirst for revenge, yet, during her orgies of flesh consumption, it is said she found the secret to eternal life. 

With this taste for human flesh, she angered the King, who commissioned his emissary, named Bharadah, to battle with the evil witch. During this epic battle of good versus evil, she was transformed into the hideous creature of the forest called the Rangda, whose bloodcurdling scream and grotesque appearance is said to have grown even more terrifyingly powerful. 

Upon her transformation, the Demon Witch began to feast on all forms of humanity, growing stronger with every bite of flesh she devoured. The initial defeat only served to enhance her power and bloodlust for flesh. These escalating horrendous acts of cannibalism had so angered the gods that they transformed Bharadah into the mystical dragon known as the Barong. The dragon’s mission was to once and for all end the reign of terror perpetrated by the Rangda. It was believed the purity of the dragon was the only thing that could defeat the evil.

I want to say the Barong ultimately defeated the Rangda, as in the story. I want to say good defeated evil. Yes, I would like to say that. However, if that were the case, we would not be having this conversation.” 

Sean sat back and put his arm around Janet as they sat in silence for a moment. He attempted to reconcile the very well-educated Professor and the lunacy he was now espousing. They wondered… could his genius have finally crossed the line into insanity, knowing there was a fine line between the two? 

Sartre’s passion in telling the story was evidence he genuinely believed he had found the actual passageway to immortality. Although Sean reasoned, common sense would dictate immortality through an ancient legend would be utterly implausible if not wholly impossible. With her biological studies, Janet thought that the human body, which is made up of trillions of cells, could not continue indefinitely, as even cells have an expiration date. 

Sartre smiled and took a moment to allow his guests to process the information, after which he pronounced, “I see I finally have your attention because of the story’s chief elements of lust, murder, and cannibalism. Now I warn you, your mind must be open to what I am about to say. It may seem distasteful to those in the civilized world, but anything that does not fit into the narrow-minded modern society would seem so. The fact is… to live forever… one must consume someone else. You must consume their years, which in turn, will become yours.” 

Sean stood up and took Janet’s hand, as she too rose from the sofa, “On that note, Professor, we really must be going now… have a good evening.”

Sartre raised his hands, “No… sit, I’m not crazy. This is the conclusion of what a common-sense approach to researching the legend as reality would lead you also to deduce.”

Sean replied, “It’s a legend, Professor! It’s that simple.”

“No, you see… the Rangda was a real woman named Mahendradatta, who was the Queen of Java. She was exiled to Bali by her husband, King Dharmodayana, after discovering she was practicing witchcraft. This is where she discovered the secret to eternal life through cannibalism. Whether or not she was transformed into a hideous beast is beside the point. The Rangda is real and still lives. She is still feasting upon the unexpecting victims who cross her path.” 

Sartre paused for another moment, “So with that said, I’m not saying I want to partake in cannibalism. However, I would like to do the required field research regarding the statements which imply the legend is true, and Queen Mahendradatta’s discovery of eternal life is real, and she may still be alive. Is that so hard to comprehend?” 

Sean, still shocked by Sartre’s comments, responded, “With all due respect… I’m amazed that you, as educated a man as you are, would believe in such a legend that could be considered nothing more than just that… a legend.”

At this point, even Janet could not help but speak up, “Yes, Professor… as a Biology Major, I can confirm there is no scientific instance where someone would be able to consume someone else’s years. It is against all the known laws of physics. And not to mention completely fucking insane.” 

Sean interjected, “And as you’re well aware, the real stories of cannibalism come from places like Papua New Guinea. And even then, the stories were ones of survival or punishment towards their enemies.” 

Sartre, angry and off-kilter by the disrespect and profanity directed towards him, responded, “Do you not think I know of the cannibals of Papua New Guinea? I have volumes of books regarding their culture, from the World War II troops who discovered them and other Anthropologists who did field research with them. In fact, it is I who taught you about them, you arrogant prick!”

Sean attempted to calm down the situation and responded, “Okay, Professor… what is it you would like to accomplish by going on this expedition?”

Sartre sat back and crossed his legs and stated, “It’s simple, I want to lead an expedition into the jungles of Bali to find evidence of a lost tribe of indigenous individuals somewhere along the north face of the mountain. I can then research any new information we can derive from meeting such an isolated tribal society. If there is some possible immortality found, well… you can choose to live forever or choose not to.” 

Janet responded, “So you want to exploit a possibly fictitious primitive race of people for your own gain and then cheat Mother Nature out of her governing laws?”

Sartre responded, “You must be ill-informed as to the way the world really works. The strong survive, and the weak are consumed. Life itself is nothing more than the cannibalism of the weak by those who choose to survive. Pay attention to the news every day, and you will see what I say to you is true.”

Mr. Cooper asked, “Who else would be included on this expedition?”

“Well, there will be us three, and we will be the only ones who will know of tonight’s discussion as it will not be discussed again. As for the other members, I would also like your counterpart Rochelle Jackson and a few third-year students, Angelo Flores, Heather Murphy, and Michael Copeland. I have also invited my friend Travis Whalen, a military man and a former police officer who now works as a janitor at the University. 

However, I must warn you, Mr. Whalen is a Vietnam Vet, and is an intense individual of few words but unsurpassed in his knowledge of survivalist skills. He has walked through hell and has come out the other side, which is why he is the type of individual we need for our protection.”

Sean nodded his head, “I’ve met Travis a few times, and intense, well that’s an understatement I’d definitely use to describe him. I think all your choices are good other than Angelo Flores. I think he is an uneducated big-mouthed asshole. But if it’s just us who know of any, and I use the word loosely… any possible cannibal encounters, what will the other members be told is the purpose of this expedition?”

With a wicked smile, “I completely agree with your assessment of Mr. Flor