Ships on the Dead Sea

In a town by the sea, ships are a daily sight. They are our lifeblood, constantly coming and going with the riches far off lands offer. This was true once for our little village on the sea, before the world changed and left everything in pieces. Now, the sea is empty. Empty of life and empty of ships. At least that is what I tell the townsfolk.

I am the keeper of light. The beacon bearer. I am meant to light the house should a ship ever be seen. I haven't seen a ship in a long time, so the lighthouse has remained dark. It shall remain dark even if I see a ship, because I know the truth. It is a truth I have kept from the village.

The sea is filled with ships. Many many ships, but they are not the trade vessels that we used to thrive on. Not anymore. They are ghosts, or worse. The global catastrophe that destroyed the atmosphere and the very air we breathe destroyed the seas, too. No one swims in the sea anymore. It's too acidic for that. It's too acidic for life. Nothing swims in it anymore. Nothing should be able to sail in it anymore, so I have to question what the ship I saw was.

The sun never truly shines anymore, the sky being filled with smog and dust, but some days are worse than others. The day I saw the ship, was a dark foggy day. It was far in the distance, enshrouded in fog. I could almost convince myself that it wasn't real, just a figment of my mind, seeing what I was once accustomed to seeing on the sea. It was very real, though. I could see that through my looking glass.

A large creature of a ship, with three massive masts, all equipped with large tattered sails. It appeared to glide along the horizon line at an almost impossibly smooth pace. I almost lit the beacon, to tell them that land was near, and with that land, some safety from the acidic sea. I did not light the beacon. Something felt wrong, and so the lighthouse stayed dark.

I couldn't put my finger on what had felt so wrong with that ship in the days after, other than I knew no vessel should be able to sail on that sea without falling to pieces. I did, eventually come to realize what it was. The ship had appeared empty. A ship like that should have many men manning it, keeping it in sail worthy shape. The deck should have been a bustling hive of activity. It was not. Instead, the deck was clear of activity. The captain's wheel was empty. It was wrong.

Now here I am, staring out at the sea, which looks eerily similar to that day. A dense, rolling fog crashes along the waves, obscuring most of the water. It is on days like these that I watch the closest, to see if that ghost ship will reappear. For that is what I have decided it is, a ship manned by the dead. A vessel that must never make its way back to shore.

A tug on my sleeve draws my attention back to land and away from the sea. A small village boy, eleven years of age, is the culprit. He is with me regularly, these days. He is the next beacon bearer, and so he is learning the ways. We do not often speak, and even now he is just pointing out to sea.

My heart drops as I look to where he is pointing. I know what I will see on the sea, before it actually catches my eye. There it is, far in the distance, gliding just as impossibly smoothly over the rough sea. The large ship, sailing parallel with the shore, coming no closer. I pull out my looking glass, completely forgetting the boy. I gaze through it, and find the same mysteriously empty ship. This one is bigger than the last ship I had seen. The sails are riddled with holes, it shouldn't be able to move. No one is on deck, no lights fill the lower windows, and the helm is empty.

The slam of the lighthouse door closing brings me back to the shore once again. The boy is gone. Then it hits me, no one knows the secret of the seas, not even the boy. I never told him the real and present danger that the ghost ships of this sea could present. He thinks it must be a lost ship needing help. I turn and run to the lighthouse door, but I am not quick enough.

In an instant, the world is filled with a bright beam of light. It starts facing toward the village, but as the old lighthouse fires up, it begins to rotate. The guiding beacon has been lit. I pull out my spy glass, and turn it back to the sea. It's too late now to change paths. All I can do is pray that the ship continues along its path.

My heart sinks at what I see in my glass. The ship is slowly changing course, until I no longer see the side of the great ghost ship. Now, I see the bow sailing steadily toward me, getting slowly larger as the distance between it and the shore shrinks.

I sit where I am, awaiting whatever fate this ship brings. The village has remained safe for so long since the catastrophe, never falling victim to the new dangers the world has spawned. As the ship gets closer, I can't help but think our luck has run out.