Shifting Tides

Shifting Tides

The deck rolled beneath Ian’s feet as he got out of his bed, and his stomach answered in kind. If he hadn’t signed a three-year contract, he would have been off of this vessel long ago. Never before had he been in a more uncomfortable environment in his life, and he wanted to stand on solid land once more, more than anything else in his life.

He stumbled to an oak barrel that came up to his sternum, grabbing its edge for support. Above him, the storm bell was clanging wildly, an instrument used to warn the sleeping crew mates of the Shining Dawn, if there were any winds heavy enough to blow the large bronze bell. It did its job well, all things considered.

Ian swiveled his head, searching for any lit lamps, and found not a single one. He began to grow uneasy as he scanned the sleeping quarters closer, only to find not a single other man below deck. He blinked hard, trying to clear his sleep-addled mind, and to awaken his eyes just a bit more.

Slowly, he shuffled his way to the steep stairs that led to the upper deck, setting the lamp back down on its original resting place. If there weren’t any lights below where it was still slightly dry, there certainly wouldn’t be one lit in the middle of a storm.

Three steps up, Ian slipped on the old plank of wood, heart lurching in his chest as he plummeted back to the floor with a loud crash. He let out a cry of pain as his back crashed against the stairs. Teeth clenched in a grimace, he reached around himself to rub his wound. The spot that struck the steps was wet, and sticky. Wet wasn’t unusual on the deck of a ship, sticky not far from it, but something felt off.

Ian lifted his hand to his nose, and the coppery tang of blood kissed his nose. He jerked his hand back, and quickly wiped it on his pant leg in disgust. Had someone injured themselves and not cleaned up, or at the very least warned others of the mess they had left? Ian struggled to his feet, grimacing as he stretched his back, a dull throbbing rising up his spine to the base of his skull. This wound’s mark would join the many others he had gained on what had so far been a year-long voyage.

Skipping the third step, and fourth just to be safe, he climbed his way to the deck in full. He pushed open the heavy oaken hatch, grunting with the effort. The hatch crashed to the side of the hull with the thump of wood on wood, its hinges creaking with the effort. Ian felt a shiver brush against his injured spine, and grew even more uneasy. Something just didn’t feel right.

His worries were solidified in his chest as he took in the scene before him. The large deck of the ship was completely silent, and not a drop of rain was falling to the deck. Not even a breeze alighted the vessel, and he just noticed the lack of ringing from the storm bell. Instead of what he had expected, a heavy fog enveloped the ship, so thick he could hardly see the mast naught a few yards in front of him.

The silence of the night was pierced by a cry, a single scream of… fear? Agony? Ian couldn’t be sure, but neither was ideal. He started at the noise, and began running over scenarios in his head. Dreaming wasn’t an option. The fall was proof enough. His next thought was of the old sailor tales of many an ancient monster and curses, though there were so many it was near impossible to remember them all. Ian decided not to bother, as old legends as such were surely not true. It simply wasn’t possible.

He turned on the deck, running over to the edge of the ship, leaning so far over the railing that he feared he might fall off. The water was an inky black, and completely still, The only movement in the cold depths the slight ripple the movement of the ship made as it marched ever forward. Confusion rippled through Ian’s mind as he remembered the way the ship moved beneath him under the deck. It was simply impossible for the tides to steady so quickly.

His thoughts of confusion were interrupted as something caught his eye, just barely floating in the water. It slowly moved from the front of the ship to the back, spinning end over end like a marble in a river of honey. As the object came into view, Ian stumbled back, bile rising in his throat.

The floating object was a severed head, and one he recognized. It was the head of the ship’s captain, Edmund.

Ian ran back to the edge of the ship, vomiting over the side. His heart was thoroughly hammering in his chest now, like the ever-rapid beating of a drum. Eyes squinted, he marveled at the fog, now splitting before his eyes. The heavy grey cloud revealed a swath of corpses, limbs and heads severed from their torsos. The sea, he now realized, wasn’t black. It was the deep crimson of fresh blood.

Ian’s eyes were wide in their sockets, fear coursing through every vein in his body. The sight threatened to run him mad.

As Ian slowly stepped back, an ethereal glow began to pierce what was left of the dense fog. The green light suddenly erupted through the fog, a shape taking form. An ancient looking ship, ripped apart and flickering, formed before his eyes from the light. Ian had not a single word for the sight. Fear ruled his every action.

A half dozen more ships burst from the green light, each just as or more sinister looking than the last. The low rumble of a horn slowly crept over the water and through the wind, the bass noise seeming to vibrate in Ian’s core.

He turned, and ran.

The other side of the ship showed a similar sight, a half dozen ghostly ships creeping up onto his own. Without skipping a beat, he ran to the front of the ship as it smoothly glided on. He crumpled to his knees as the sight of a ship twice the size of the one he was boarded on came into view on a direct path with him.

He sent up a silent prayer as every sin and regret he could remember committing was brought to the forefront of his mind. He begged on his knees, begging the world to tell him what he did to deserve this hell. His mind cut short as he felt a hand on his shoulder so cold it cut through his jerkin. A voice as cold as glaciers and sharp as the finest blade slithered from the being attached to that hand.

“The Dutchman beckons… Will you heed his call?”

Ian closed his eyes as tears streamed from his face. In but a breath, he was flung over the front of the ship, hitting the freezing water like it was a slab of stone. He felt his spine snap on the bottom of the ship, and he gave up any thought of struggling as he drifted down, down to the depths of the sea, never to be seen again.

His last thoughts were those of regret.

End.