Eva’s Legacy
The screen dappled with age to the sound of the interviewer’s voice; crisp, edgy like old ‘Pathé News’ reels. Eva sat comfortably in her chintz fire-side chair. Her recollections, eloquently expressed, were measured and factual.
“We didn’t think the ship could sink.”
As she spoke, her eyes relived the terror of an incessantly recurring scene branded into her memory like knife scars on tree-bark. She had survived, but not without a price.
“I didn’t want to leave the ship. Father led Mother and I up on deck to a lifeboat and hugged us goodbye. He said he would follow on later. My eight year old self sensed I’d never see him again.”
The water had been eerily calm as they rowed away, watching the last lights die as the groaning, 50 thousand ton liner slipped under the sea leaving a sinister blackness in its wake.
“The only thing worse than the screaming of jumping, drowning souls was the silence that followed. That was truly horrific.”
Rest in peace, Eva. Your hauntings quieted, safely interned at the bottom of the ocean.

Eva Miriam Hart
31/01/1905
–
14/02/1996