CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "I work on a fishing boat in the North Atlantic. We reeled something never seen before" Creepypasta

Episode Date: March 14, 2021

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by Darkly_Gathers: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comm...​Creepypastas are the campfire tales of the internet. Horror stories spread through Reddit r/nosleep, forums and blogs, rather than word of mouth. Whether you believe these scary stories to be true or not is left to your own discretion and imagination. LISTEN TO CREEPYPASTAS ON THE GO-SPOTIFY► https://open.spotify.com/show/7l0iRPd...​iTUNES► https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast...​CREEPY THUMBNAIL ART BY►Darren Myners: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/zXEWQ​SUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g7YCb...​►"Personal Favourites"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AEa2R...​►"Written by me"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gX6RA...​►"Long Stories"- https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list...​FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter: https://twitter.com/Creeps_McPasta​►Instagram: https://instagram.com/creepsmcpasta/​►Twitch: http://www.twitch.tv/creepsmcpasta​►Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CreepsMcPasta​CREEPYPASTA MUSIC/ SFX- ►http://bit.ly/Audionic​ ♪►http://bit.ly/Myuusic​ ♪►http://bit.ly/incompt​ ♪►http://bit.ly/EpidemicM​ ♪-This creepypasta is for entertainment purposes only-

The festival's season is Aangbroken, and that betekent modder. And so, ging Kim to come to comasone.com. On the look at a waterdict tent, a comfortable luget,

oh, so, knus, and Lupeart print regalarze. Miao. Now, he has Kim not over the modder. Net so as the

dancing the moddermann there, oh, wait just even, has he now only modder on? Oh, yeah, only modder. DROG blithe?

Goar for. Find what you need to have on Amazon.com. We were not aware at first that the hall had drawn anything unusual out of the sea. We were all just standing around, watching with only mild interest, as the arm of the boat's crane dragged the heaving net up and onto the deck, splattering the legs of the nearest fishermen with a shower of seawater as it did so.

The net was steadily and mechanically drawn open, and the squirming, writhing fish within began to tumble from the sides and out onto the floor as the fisherman backed up and away to higher deck. The rain at the time was no more than a drizzle, but as I watched the fish spill out and over the boat, I nonetheless had to pour my hood a little tighter around my head, a feeble defense as the wind blew it bitterly sideways and onto my face. The weather, as it is now, is pretty typical of how it's been for the last few nights.

I turned to look around, tilting my face away from the direction of the rain. I don't see much. Give you an idea of our surroundings. Try to picture a world of grey. Dark and shadowy clouds from horizon to horizon cover the sky. Through the horizons themselves are hidden behind rumbling, tumbling, tumbling swells and walls of mist and fog. The sea churns softly and steadily, frothing white against the hull of the trawler,

but grey to greyish blue everywhere else. The sea is all there is. In the first couple of weeks we saw other boats occasionally, but we don't even see them anymore. Not this far out from the Canadian coast. Aside from the occasional drifting ice, there is nothing. Formless, shapeless water and cloud. And let me tell you, four weeks into a six-week round trip, six hours into an eight-hour shift,

the mood on the deck at dusk is as grey as our immediate surroundings. I'll give you a quick rundown of the crew, but there's no need to memorize their names. I'll try to make obvious who's who as we go, but it might be useful for reference at least. Here's my reasoning. There's Troy, our intrepid captain. Lazy bugger, scruffy one too. No idea how he came to command a ship,

even one so modest as ours. Feels wrong to even call it a ship, to be honest. There's only about a dozen of us in the crew. There's myself, go by Charlie, chief officer. 90% of the responsibilities of the captain, With 50% of the pay, go figure. The trawler's engineer, a redhead we referred to as NG for a laugh. Then there's the operators of the machinery, Brett and Bryn, both big dudes, Saskatchewan boys through and through,

though I'm pretty sure that Troy hired them for the alliteration of their names alone. Five fishermen. Sean, Scott, Omar, Ferris, and... Ah, some other lad. Can't remember his name off the top of my head. Then there's the chef, Ken, though we sometimes just call them chef, like in South Park. Decent guys, really. Every one of them, all things considered. Only one fight since we left Doc, which is pretty good going in my experience.

It was really more of a scuffle anyway. Everyone, Barst Chef and Captain Troy are on deck at the moment that the net in question is opened. There's no particular reason for this. Some of the night shift crew are just up a little early. And there are a few other places to actually be. The hauling ins are, tragically, the most exciting features of the day. Bryn turns and locks the winch into place, stepping away from the crane's controls for a closer look at the hall.

His hair is blown about his face, eyes squinted as the fish flop and slip out and over the lower deck. And that's where we first see it. We see the thing that the net has drawn up from the deep, appearing at first as an oily black mass behind the silver, absorbing the low level of light instead of reflecting it. It becomes clearer and clearer as the fish disperse. It's pretty big, I think to myself that we might have caught ourselves a baby whale or something. But no, that's not it.

What the hell is that? Shouts Brin from the opposite side. He has a better view than me, I think. He turns to the man beside him, to end. and gestures to the object as the fish fall. His mouth moves, and Angie replies, but I cannot make out their words. The others step closer now,

staring in awe at the thing that sits silently in the center of the dock, dripping onto the fish below. I'd say it was roughly six or seven feet long by my estimation, and maybe two-thirds of that length in height. It appears as a roughly hexagonal cuboid, pointed at either end, like an enormous dark crystal. This is no crystal, however. No precious gem.

It looks... Sick. Wrong, almost. The surface is not shiny or sharp or near-translucent, nothing like that. I hesitate to make the likeness, but it looks kind of like... Skin.

Oily and black. And, unless my eyes deceive me, which, to be fair, is entirely possible. I swear, I see the thing. briefly throb. What the hell? Did anyone else see that? Brin shouts again from the opposite side.

His eyes met mine and they flash, a bright and pale blue, almost grey in the colouring. Aye, I reply, loud over the wind. I saw it. He hops down, the short steps to the deck, kicking aside the fish as he approaches. Ferris and another of the fisherman, the fella whose name escaped me, jumped down two for a closer look. Hey, I call out, get away from that thing, we don't know what it is. In a classic display of respect and deference to my position, I am thoroughly ignored. I sigh and look over to my right, raising a hand to Brett.

He stands further up the boat behind the controls of the machine that will open and lower the end of the loading deck, swallowing all the fish into our cold storage. I catch his attention and gesture for him to lock it up and leave the controls well alone. He does so, and I step up. down under the deck and turn. Might as well go for a closer look if that's what everyone else is doing. Brin slaps his hand against the object,

peeling it away at once with a sickening squelch and a laugh of disgust. Thin, sticky, saliva-like strands of dark fluid connect his palm to the object's surface. I shake my head in disapproval as I circle around, allowing myself a good long look. Brin juggles and puts his hands out towards Ferris, who promptly backs away in revulsion.

He instead grabs NG in a headlock and tussles his hair, much to the engineer's dismay. The object is certainly nothing I'm familiar with. I ain't never seen it in no nautical books either. Could it be a clump of oil, all frozen together perhaps, but in such a shape? Does oil even freeze? RIN! I call out, and the fellow looks up, releasing NG as he does so. The freedman mutters a curse as he brushes his hair and pulls his hood up back over his

ginger mop. How's it feel then? This thing. What does it feel like? You're welcome to touch it yourself, Charlie, he replies of the laugh. I grimaced him. I'd rather not, bud. Tell me, how's it feel? He opens and closes his palm. It's... It's warm, he says. Feels like, I don't know, how I'd expect the skin of a seal to feel, I guess. A seal. Interesting comparison. But whatever. And warm? It's some kind of scientific anomaly. That's what I reckon, says Britt, as he scratches his chin. Aha. Well, that's helpful, I reply. Personally, I hate it. I think we should dump it back into the sea. It goes deeper than that, though. This thing, for reasons I can't quite explain. Unnerves and unsettles me in a way. I don't really understand.

It's sickeningly out of place in its current position in the centre of the deck. It does not belong. This suggestion, however, is met with a general murmur of dissent from most of the crew. You can't just throw it overboard, says Brett. Talk to the captain. This could be a discovery of some sort. A big deal. You should keep it on board and take it back to dock.

Captain's asleep, I reply. Well, then wake him. You're the chief officer. Tell him it's an emergency. I look around at the crew. They're clearly in agreement with him. I turned to our engineer. Even you, N.G.

You think we should keep this thing on board? He shrugs. Sorter. I relent. Ah, fine, I'll speak to Troy. I turn from the object and head back onto the body of the boat, striding the length of the narrow little corridors to the captain's quarters. One of the fishermen catches up with me as I approach.

"'Omar.' "'Charlie,' he calls out to me. "'Wait, man, hold on. "'I think you're right, you know, about the thing. "'I'm thinking we should just chuck you back out into the sea.' "'Yeah, I know, man,' I reply, barely slowing my step. "'I hear you. I might even dump it back into the sea myself. "'I will speak to the captain first, though.

"'I said I would, after all. "'We stumble a little against the walls as a wave knocks into the side of the trawler. "'The rain comes down a little hard, against the roof. I knock on the captain's door and then push it immediately open before waiting for a response. Hey, Troy, wake up.

Troy grumbles from the darkness and I see the rough shape of his body turn over on the mattress. Troy, damn it, wake up. We need you to come check out what we hold in from the sea. It's important. The men grunts and waves one of his hands

in a kind of shameless shoeing motion. Troy, I wouldn't wake you up if it weren't important. I don't really want it on a ship any longer than it needs to be. Can't it wait until morning, Charlie, he grumbles. You know down well how hard it is to fall asleep on this thing. Troy, this is an alien-looking mess. Is it dangerous?

Not actively, but... Is it moving, flashing lights, speaking? No, it's not particularly animate, but... Then he can wait till morning. I'll have a look at it then. Now get lost before I lose any tired. Troy, get your ass out of bed and get lost, Charlie. I sighed.

and draw the door to a close. Omar is still stood there, just looking at me. We'll deal with it come tomorrow, I say to him, screw it. I'm not thrilled by the object's presence, but, what the hay? It doesn't look dangerous. It's just weird. I guess it can wait till morning. I return to the dock and order the lads to get the fish down into cold storage,

and then I turn in for the night myself. Might as well, not much else to do. I'm more or less used to. as sleeping in the conditions the ocean provides by now, but it still feels like a particularly rough one tonight. I tried to get some rest as the night shift officially take over their rolls on the ship, but as I drift off into an uneasy slumber,

my dreams are twisted and frightening. I find myself alone in the dark. Looking around, there is only water in all directions. My arms and legs kick and push gently to keep me in place. The surface is far, far over air. head and out of sight. And below, below is the void, bottomless, watering nothing, down, down it goes, and I find myself drawn down into it. Pulled by an invisible current, I struggle as the pressure tightens around my head, and I'm swallowed by the darkness of the ocean below. The water around me

grows colder and colder, and I can only shiver in horror as my blood turned steadily to ice. Dark towers rise up from the gloom beneath my feet. I am drawn ever deeper into the midst of a poisoned city, ancient and long-forgotten and terrible beyond words. Abandoned, it would seem, but alive in a way that I could sense for certain in the dream, but cannot explain to you now. The material of the rising towers is the same as that of the object.

Slimy, yet emanating and disturbing and uncomfortable warmth, one that I should, by logic, be drawn to, given the freezing nature of my surroundings. And yet, yet I find myself, wanting to distance myself as far from the tiring pillars and spires as possible. Down I go, down, down, the gaps in arches and the ruin architecture revealed to me that the alien cityscape now extends far out in every direction. A humming rises up from the deep, low, but growling louder and louder, reverberating up from the depths. And something moves in the shadows.

Charlie, it says to me. Charlie. Yo, Charlie! My eyes crack open and a twitching fright as I am returned to the world of the awakened. Engie is staring at me from the door, silhouetted by the dim grey light of the corridor behind. There are other members of the crew out there too, I can tell. I grimace and rub my eyes, groaning as I sit myself upright in bed. This must have been how the captain had felt.

I empathised with him at once. What is it, Angie? I grumble. But there was a real alarm in the man's voice, and once I realise this, I awaken a little quicker than I would have otherwise. Brin's freaking everyone out, he was up swearing and cursing in his sleep, and he won't wake up neither. I pause. He's sick, Charlie.

I grumble and stumble out of bed. What's the matter with him? He don't look well, pale and leaking at the lips, and he keeps rambling, muttering about some city below the sea. My eyes flash with a sudden horror, and I stare at the engineer in the face. You what? Enjy stutters, surprised at my reaction.

The two fishermen, Ferris and Omar stand behind him in the corridor, and I push past them as I hasten through the corridor of the gentle rocking boat to Bryn's quarters. I slam open the door and fumble for the switch, squinting as I flick it up and the room is washed in sickly, artificial light. There lies Brin, groaning and muttering in his sleep, blanket half thrown from his body, legs sticking out at the end at straight angles, and his skin. Pale, Enjie, bloody pale, he said. What the hell is this? Bryn is as white as a sheet and slick with sweat. Worse than that, though, he looks decidedly wet.

And his veins, his veins bulge black in his neck and chest, and all the way down his right arm. He weren't this bad five minutes ago, I swear it, though we didn't turn on the light. Holy hell, this is above my pay grade. We're taking the trawler back to shore. See if we can conduct the helicopters to meet us on the way back. This is insane. None of the crew are looking at me now, though. They all have ceased listening.

Their attentions focused on the man in bed. My skin starts to crawl, and I slowly turn to look back at our boy Bryn, diseased as he is upon the mattress in the corner of his room. We watch in silence, our spore, as Brin reches and turns onto his side, falling from the bed and onto the floor of the room with a sickening squelch. A terrible, an alien black fluid leaking from his nose and mouth. But, as he falls, as he slips from the bed, his legs, the top of which are covered by the sheet, remain exactly where they are. Brin now ends at the torso, connected to the mess he has left behind on his mattress with a series of thick and oily black strands.

He looks up at us, and his eyes are all over white. The festival season is Aangbroken and that betekent mudder. And so, came Kim to to Amazon.com. com.

On the look to a waterdict tent, a comfortable lugbertable luggs, and lupart print regalarze. Miao.

Now, now he has Kim's not about the modder, just like that's the dancing

modermander there, oh, wait just even, have he only modder on? Oh, yeah,

only modder. Drove to keep for, Someone shouts, and we crash into and elbow each other frantically, hastily retreating from Brian's quarters, staring at the twisted remains of the man as he writhes against the floor. The ship rocks in the storm. Bryn! I forced out, fighting against a throat that is closing in panic.

Brin! Brin! Are you there, man? Rebuild. He mutters through Retting. stretches, fluid leaking from his mouth. Rebuild, what has been lost. Her city grows, spawn for the spires. He hisses and starts to drag his ruined body across the metal floor towards us. Jesus, no!

shouts Omar behind my left ear. No! We all stumble back, tripping up and out into the hallway. Engie, I splitter. Get everyone awake at once. Brett first, I need that guy on the crane. I'm no idiot. This is the work of the object.

I wanted it off the ship, ASAP, before I can do any more damage. Captain be damned. NG nods and disappears off into the darkness of the corridor. I am separated from the two fishermen. They back up into the corridor that leads to the deck, whereas I head further back towards my own quarters. Shut him inside, I think to myself,

close the damned door. but I'm already too late. Brint slithers out from his room, though he doesn't even look at me. He instead crawls instantly towards the fisherman, dragging his leaky body in the direction of the deck. I am speechless. I have no idea what the hell I am supposed to do with this man. My crewmate, the abomination. Omar and Ferris cry out and panic as they retreat, stumbling towards a lobby that leads to the deck.

Omar does at least. Ferris stops and grabs a fire extinguisher off the wall, raising it high above his head, jaw clenched and eyes wild and mad. Wait, I shout, Ferris! But the man ignores me and brings the extinguisher down hard towards Bryn's face as the former operator scrambles along the floor towards him. His aim is off and he strikes Brin in the shoulder and neck with a spray of ink like murk. Brin screeches, and, to my horror, disconnects his chestnut is. jaw like a snake, and snaring a good half of Verris' lower leg in his teeth. Various screams and kicks, crashing into the wall and dropping the extinguisher, and Bryn tears out a chunk of the fisherman's leg, not a small chunk either.

Various drops like a tumbled stone, silent and shuddering, shocked to the core, I should think, and Brin continues along his way, snaking disgustingly from side to side as he hauls himself down the corridor, ever muttering to the backdrop of his low hiss in his throat. I go to the fallen fisherman. Ferris, I mutter, but speak to me. But he just stammers and pales before my eyes, as blood splurts and leaks out over the floor. This is insane, I murmur as I stare at the wound. This was not covered in aid training.

I decide upon tearing the man's jacket from his shoulders and wrapping it tightly around his leg. He finds his voice and screams out into the corridor as I apply the pressure and tied off. It seems like the others are frantically starting to come and see what the hell is going on. Either that or Engie was successful in waking them up. My heartbeat is quick and loud. I can feel it heavy in my chest as a look at my bewildered colleagues. The captain, dazed and clearly still half asleep behind him, a good foot taller, chef and

Sean of the fisherman. Ferris, he exclaims, stumbling towards us and falling down into his knees, checking the man over, lightly slapping his cheek. Ferris, hang in there, man. Hang in there. Charlie? The captain says. Would you care to explain to me exactly what?

Go to the deck, Troy. Take a look at the object. It did this. Brin smacked his hand against the thing like an idiot and, I don't know. Something happened to him. I'm rambling. I turned to Sean as I clamber to my feet.

Keep an eye on him, okay? He nods, and I beckon Troy and Chef down the narrow metal hallway. towards the lobby following the trail of dark, slimy grease that Bryn is left behind. To my left are a number of metal poles we use for sorting the fish when the occasion calls for it. I grab one now and suggest to the others that they do the same. The lobby of the boat is empty, but beyond the glass windows, the dark and rainy deck shows us blurred shapes darting from place to place.

Screams can be heard above the winds and the rains. What the hell is going on out there? Troy mutters, as we push into the world outside, instantly buffeted by rain and wind, squinting against the thrall in the darkness. The great grey waves froth against the ship's sides, uncaring of the drama that unfolds on the deck. A flashlight beam crosses off Hilda vision,

briefly illuminating Omar at the side of the boat. Another of the crew stood beside him, Scott, I think. Omar's lower back is pressed against the rails as he stares in horror at the object, The great, black, hexagonal shape, darker than dark in the midst of the storm. Omar, I call above the gale. Where is he?

Where's Bryn? Omar cups a hand around his mouth and calls something back. But his words are lost in the wind. I can seem pointing, though. Right at the object. I can see that well enough. Chef, I say to the big man beside me. Aye, he replies.

Get back inside and turn on the. the floodlights, aim it's center deck. He nods and hastens back in, and I turns to Troy to my left. He's messed up beyond recognition, Troy, I say to him, as loud as is necessary. Bryn, he's poisoned. So, what the hell is he doing out here, Charlie? Troy shouts back, and to that, I really have no answer. The edge of the captain's shadow is suddenly cast out long across the entirety of the boat,

as one of the floodlights behind lurches into life with a slow and heavy mechanical click. Its angle changes ever so slightly until it's pointed ahead to the centre of the deck, right on the object, as instructed. The new burst of light bids

Omar and Scott temporarily shield their eyes and also reveals a fellow to the left, the fishman whose name I cannot remember, and Brett brings operational counterpart by the controls to the crane on the far side. This is Kemp. From his current position, our remaining operator cannot see the horrors that the rest of us can. What's happening?

He shouts out loud over a temporary lull in the sea-sprayed tinted winds. What is it? But I find myself unable to answer. Hellfire and brimstone. Troy splutters beside me, eyes wide and fixed on the abomination ahead. The object does not shine in the light. It absorbs the powerful. beam and only seems darker in comparison with its newly floodlit surroundings.

The specks of sea water across its form, however, glitter brightly like false gems. As indeed does the moisture on the skin of our comrade, Bryn. We watch him writhe and press himself up against the object with sickening desperation. His mouth is moving, though I cannot hear his speech, and with his jaw so distended and broken as it is, I cannot rid his lips either. He turns from us and presses his face up against the object, pushing his forearm and torso against its slimy black surface. Dark and sticky strands beyond count connect his body to the form of the object, and as he pushes, he seems to be sinking into it, forcing himself into the actual object itself. It becomes difficult to tell where the man stops and the object starts.

His skin, at the edges, begin to melt into the oily fluid, a physical barriers between the human. the two break down before our eyes. I feel a rise of bile accompany a lurch in my stomach and force it down. Charlie! Troy shouts. Damn, should we stop him? What the hell are you asking me?

You're the captain, are you not? I think to myself. But, to tell the truth, I don't know either. Instinct tells me how we should. We should be stopping this grotesque display at once. But, on the other hand, I don't want to go anywhere near the thing. and, whilst it hurts to admit, I cannot help but feel our decision at this stage wouldn't matter much.

Surely, by this point, we are too late. Ah, screw it. Gotta at least try. This is Brin we're talking about. I stepped through the storm and onto the deck, the metal pole in my hands flashing in the glare of the beamlight. Omar calls something to me, but again the man is not loud enough and I don't hear him, Shaking fiercely, with the cold I tell myself, and jaw clenched, I stride suddenly forward and jump the pole into the space between Brin's steadily disappearing shoulder and the oozy black of the object. The noise it makes and the bizarrely disturbing, mushy resistance are sensations I'll remember

for the rest of my life. The remainder of Brin's head twists with the tightening of the dark strands that surround it, and he screeches at me. His lone visible eye white and wide. I stagger back in horror, trying and failing to take the middle pole with me, and the end I was holding clatters against the deck as the other remains stuck in the mixture. Prince's eyes, ever pale, seem only all the paler now, as his pupils has all but disappeared. He's gone.

I back all the way up to the entrance to the lobby, never take my eyes from the horrors ahead. Troy, man, captain, you need to order this thing to be. be dumped back into the sea. Now, our lives are about to get a whole lot worse. What the hell is going on over there? Brett calls from the crane controls. You kidding me, Charlie? The captain replies, with a member of my crew inside, no way, I'll be tried for murder. Captain, use your eyes. You think anyone will believe this, Charlie? The point is a valid one, but he's either ignoring or failing to feel the sense of impending doom that now weighs down ever heavily upon us.

Well, fine. If he doesn't have the balls to do it, I'll do it myself. Brett, I call out. Dump this thing back into the sea, as quick as he can. He starts making his way towards us, stumbling a little in the winds, round the edge of the dock. You want me to dump it, Charlie? I thought we were going to take it back to shore.

This thing belongs in a museum. Jesus Christ, I put my hands to my head, and watch as the last of Brin disappears through the membrane of the throbbing, oozing, oozing dark shape on the dark. blops of flesh and pieces of clothes are left stuck to the side and they drip and drool down to the deck with the rain Fine, hey, everyone get the hell inside now I turn to Troy

You're going to take us back to dock this second And I'm going to radio for an emergency helicopter Aye I? Troy monitors back with a nod Then, after a pause Right, you are the man, everyone back into the ship The captain and I hastily try and return to the safety of the lobby but we find ourselves face to face with our boy Ferris.

Jacket still wrapped tightly around his leg, but standing up right now, right in the doorway, if a little skewed perhaps. Black fluid leaks from his lips and his eyes are staring, whiter than they have any right to be. Lightning strikes the sea in the distance and we recoil in sudden terror.

Behind him it is Sean who now lay slumped on the floor. His eyes are closed and I cannot tell if he is breathing. but there are bruises around his neck and his face is smeared in the dark substance that now coats the corridor, floor and walls alike. Ferris? The captain splutters and Ferris

responds. The towers are close to completion. Sporn for the spires. We are bound to rebuild Troy. His speech is slurred, but I can still just about make out his words. His skin has begun to leak.

Hard duty is plain. For we with drips and oozes. Mother awaits, mother awaits, ah. And he becomes incomprehensible. He falls to the ground with a squelch, clutch, clutching at my leg as he does so. I grabbed an alarm and kick him away, shielding my eyes from a far carried blast of sea spray sent up by the churning waves. The captain grabs a hold of Ferris's shirt by the shoulders. and half drags him, half throws him further down the deck,

as Omar and Scott reached the door. Brett is just behind, and swears and curses and alarm at the scene. Everyone, inside, Troy bellows. The fisherman pushed the door at once. Brett, bewildered and uncertain, nonetheless does likewise. I hasten into the lobby, as Troy slams the door shut behind him, and from the panel I make the request for an emergency helicopter. I send out our coordinates, but,

I don't receive anything back, and we're a hell of a long way from shore. Troy, I say, but he knows. He makes off into the body of the ship, heading presumably to the upper levels to steer us away to begin our journey back to the coast. But just as he's about to step past chef, tending to the muttering, shivering shorn, he stumbles and hits the wall with a lurch of the boat. We all do. The ship's engine, it would seem, has cut out.

We drift in terrible silence Across the service of the ruffling sea All quiet but for the lashing of the rain and the windows And the swell and dissent roar of the waves and wind I look around at the faces of my colleagues Engie Is missing I realise

Captain Omar murmurs But the captain does not respond He has stepped back up to the front of the lobby and his eyes are fixed on the scene beyond the windows. With a pounding heart, I turn to follow his gaze. It's difficult to see through the rain-soaked glass, but the scene outside terrifies me in a way

that I've never in my life experienced before. The object has begun to steadily leak. That much is clear. Dark fluid pours out and over the deck, slipping this way and that with a rocking of the boat. Ferris has held himself up against the same. the edge of the ship, his features illuminate a ghostly pale in the glare of the beamlight. He wretches and twitches, but he is not my primary focus now.

My focus instead is on the sea beyond. Out there in the watery darkness. The sea froths and bubbles out of sync with the churn of the waves, and the waters are pushed up and apart. An enormous, twisted shape rises up from the murk. I cannot make out his features through the glass. But it is a blight on the face of the ocean. A terrible blight indeed.

The festival season is aangroken and that betekent, and so, came Kim to Amazon.com.b. On the look at a water-dict tent, a comfortable luch bed, oh so, knus, and Lupeart print regalearze. Miao!

Now, now, Kim, no, no longer more to make about the modder man there, Oh, wait just even, has he now only mudder on? Oh yeah, only mudder. Drogh?

Gare for. Find what you need of you need of you on Amazon.com. com. We stare all of us out into the raging waters. Something has arisen from the depths, blurred through the glass of the window and the walls of the rain. It is nonetheless obvious that something does not belong. Brett is the first to speak. Lads, he says quietly.

Now just what the hell is going on? He is met with silence. Where is Bryn? No response. The thing in the water dips below the surface just for a second, then rises back up and out, higher than before. And whatever it is becomes clear, there's only a small part of a much greater hole.

Screw it, Brett mutters, and grabs the door to the deck, swinging it open and swinging it wide. It is caught at once from the wind and tall. corned from his hand, slamming against the outside lobby wall. Jesus, Brett, get back inside. I shout over the gale. I turn and grab the captain by the front of his shirt. The engine room, Troy, get the ship moving again.

We head back to shore at once. Troy nods at me and stumbles away, pushing past Chef and the quivering Sean. Keep an eye out for Ingy, I yell after him. And Chef! Chef looks up at me. I'd move the hell away from my boy, Sean, there, if I were you. Sean twitches and groans It becomes clear that the black fluid smeared all over his face and neck has become worse

And it leaks like sweat from his skin Curiosity is a powerful thing And even though I have a much greater sense of the threat that faces us than Brett I still fall victim to its call And push out under the rainy deck of the trawler beside him Squinting and staring out to sea at the anomaly that is so defiantly pushed aside the waves Up it rises up and out of the water.

It is difficult to see through the downpour and the darkness, but the initial shape that has caught her interest is no more than a crest, I now realize. A crest atop an alien shape, horrific in its strangeness. I hesitate to call the thing a head,

as it bears no resemblance to any human head that I've ever seen, nor does it boast even a single face-like feature. Blood roars in my ears with a swell and crash of the same, sea. I look through the haze and the pore of the beast that has arisen from the depths. It is undoubtedly colossal in size, the length of the boat, if not more. The crest is a picture of spines, thick, grey-black flesh, pulled taut and quivering between them in the storm.

Below this crest is a body, or a head, roughly hammerhead sharkish in shape, though more definitively angled. This monstrosity has no obvious eyes, but a lone dark void, the size of a man in the form of a diamond, shivers grotesquely in the centre of its face. On either side of this feature are clusters of smallish holes in the skin, subtle greying lights flashing from within. A squirming, angrily rising mass of thick tendrils ripple and swarm at the sea's surface as the rain falls, clustered around the thing's base where it meets the waves, and a low, sick sound reverberates from its form, the hole across its surface widening and contracting intermittently. Brett and I stare in silence, unable to tear our eyes away, frozen in place.

I am vaguely aware of Chef. He has joined us on the deck and laid his gaze on the beast, and he falls to his knees in the puddles and begins frantically muttering in desperate prayer. As I stare out to sea and into the void at the centre of the abomination, My dream returns to me. I see the twisted city, and it's dark and alien spires. My vision is blurred and uncertain. But I see it.

I see the thing before me, flow like a mist from spire to spire, as he shapes breaking away and drifting to the surface. Mother! A flash of lightning to my right, far. Far out above the waves, breaks the spell, and sudden movement from the object on the deck returns me to the world of the storm, drenched and ice to the bone. I grab Brett by the shoulder and drag him back.

He stumbles and turns, and we watch as the object begins to pulse violently. The object that we so foolishly hold from the water. Black goose spurts out in jets and streams as it throbs and hisses, and it hardens and crackens, breaking apart like a shell and leaking poison out over the deck. Poison. And a monster. Like a great wet worm It smacks to the deck with a squelch

Illuminated in the glare Of the beamlight as it is Its shadows are deep and sharp It writhes and screams And tilts this way and that in the rain Deciding on a direction And slithering towards the sea It turns to us

As it approaches the edge It looks back as it squirms its way Up and over the railing, rocking in the waves And for better or for worse We see its face A hollow diamond fills the centre, a void, but on either side of this shape are two bright and staring eyes, pale blue, almost grey in their colouring,

Thayer brings eyes, and they reveal nothing but cold malice. Then the worm-like creature turns and slips clumsily over the rail and into the sea, and the great atrocity begins its descent, a deep and ethereal roar shivering out and under the bow, boat as it does so. As the thing slowly disappears beneath the grey waters, a great many things happens pretty much at once, all in the space of about 20 seconds. Ferris staggers to his feet, pale and shivering as he is by the edge of the boat. He grabs the rail of the deck as it rocks

from side to side. As he squeezes it with his fingers, fluid leaks from his palm in the manner that water leaks from a sponge. He clambers up under the side, raises his head, and throws his arms out. Veris, someone calls from behind me, Omar perhaps, or Scott, but the man does not respond. The boat lurches as he falls over the edge towards the sea, but before he hits the water, a slithering, snake-like appendage burst from the churning waves and wraps around his chest, drawing him down and into the dark of the deep. And he's gone. I never see him again. In the same 22nd period The boat is surrounded

On all sides and far out into the sea Dozens upon dozens of the smaller But still roughly man-sized And worm-like abominations Raised their heads above the surface of the water Their features vary And it is hard to see in the current weather conditions anyway But they all, at the least,

share that sick and disturbing hole In the centre of their faces I hear sounds of a struggle behind me I turn dazed to see the twisted and fluid stains Sean. Eyes white and wild, grab one of the fishermen around the neck. He drags him to the edge.

Omar cries out and stumbles after them, slipping on the soaked surface of the deck. Sean lulls his head from side to side, ghostly pale, but for the dark ooze that leaks from his eyes and nose and mouth, and doesn't even hesitate as he reaches the edge of the boat. He throws himself over, and the fisherman caught in his grip is unable to keep himself on board.

Both of them tumble over the side and into the sea And as with Ferris That is the last time I ever see them again Felix Yes, that was the man's name His name was Felix And like Ferris and Sean He is gone

This hectic half-minute culminates With a feeling of something slamming into the underside of the ship Chef slips and crashes to his side But the rest of us keep our feet The slam comes again The boat is under attack Where is the captain? I shout Turning and looking up to the glass of the level above the lobby

Though it is too dark for me to see If we don't get the troller moving again Then this could be it We're all going to die The slam comes again Brett grabs him by the shoulder and yells into my face What if it's after the fist Charlie We should dump it all before it's too late

It's a reasonable theory though a part of me believes it more than that. Far, far more. But I want to live. An action is better than in action, surely. So, when he runs the length of the deck to the controls at the opposite end, swaying from side to side, I stagger backwards, pushing past the panicking chef and head into the lobby,

hastily activating and turning the dials for the controls that will allow us to dump the contents of the cold storage back into the sea. The slam comes again. I feel mechanical movement beneath my mind. feet, signifying that the fish and the process have been released into the surrounding waters. I look up and out the window through the rain, staring at the broken and cracked remains of the object in the centre of the deck. The light catches in the fluid it leaks as it washes from side to side with the rocking of the ship. And then comes another slam. The fifth, and it will be the last.

Our efforts, if they would have even helped at all, are too little too late. The boat grinds and our ears are met with a series of terrible cracks. I watch the deck at the far side of the trawler begin to tip up and away. And, to my horror, a different angle to the rest of the boat. The trawler rocks to the side and to my dismay it does not correct itself this time. We're going down. I stagger out onto the deck and shout into the storm Brett, get back, quick!

I'm coming! I think I hear him shout. He was gripping onto the controls for the crane and cold storage at the far end, for balance presumably, but he releases them now and he starts to run the length of the deck as thunder rolls across the sea. The deck splits and he falls, trying and failing to hold onto the wet rail. I don't understand how the ship could be singing so quickly, unless, unless something is dragging it down from below.

With the sound that will stay with me till the end of my days, the trawler splits into two. The far end of the ship, the bow, the location of the crane, and my comrade, Brett, breaks entirely from the rear half and tips into the sea. Brett! I roar into the gale. As he falls, he turns the face to hungry waves, and he is lost forever behind the cloud of froth and spray. As with the others, he is gone.

The trawler groans and creaks deliriously. Lads, comes the call of a familiar voice from behind. Not from inside the lobby, but from down the corridor of the ship. Between the walls of the hub and the railing, I turn and grab a hold of the edge, looking down to the ship's stern. There stands the captain, his hands held high. Are you getting into the lifeboat then or what? It's now or never.

He's right, of course. And look round for the others. I see Omar staring wide-eyed towards a lost section of the ship as it slowly sinks beneath the waves. But he stands alone. Omar, I stumble forwards and grab his jacket. Lifeboat, now! And before he can respond,

I've already half-pushed, half-thrown him in the right direction. The door to the lobby is still cast wide open and a shout a final call down into the body of the boat. There is no answer. I look all around me with desperate hope, but neither chef nor Sean can be seen, nor indeed can Enjee. I realize I haven't seen him since I asked him to go and wake everyone up,

but it's too late for that. With a heavy heart, I turn and stagger down the slippery deck towards a lifeboat. Quickly catching up with Omar and bumping into his back, we hasten into the lifeboat as Captain Troy does the same. With a metallic grind, he turns the lever that allows our descent and the lifeboat jerks and jitters on its way to the sea's surface.

The ship screams beside us as the lifeboat smacks into the water and we disconnect from the trawler's body. Troy sails the boat away from the wreckage as it sinks into the sea and one by one the trawler's lights are fizzled out with clanks and groans and distant words. All around us those twisted worms

slither about in the waters just beneath the surface and blurred in the grey-white froth and churn. There's something still in the upper deck, Omar mutters through shivers. Look! I shield my eyes from the Arctic wind, but I cannot see what Omar is talking about.

Not until a brief flash of lightning reveals the silhouette of a figure stood stark still in the engine room, visibly behind the glass. Engy, I think. It must be. But as quickly as he appears, he is lost.

Lost behind the table. dark glass as the ship is swallowed by the sea. The worms rise up and out of the water. They writhe and squirm over the trawless corpse. Their hissing is carried on the winds. The last of the vessel's lights fails and the ship is plunged into total darkness. Our lifeboat has an engine, thankfully, and Troy sells it grimly and solemnly away into the night. One final roar echoes from the swelling waters that swarm the ship, and it is the last I hear or sea of the

The monstrosities that plagues the final voyage of a accursed trawler. I shiver in the chill of the air. None of us speak. I try not to think about the endless steps that lie directly below us. I try not to think of the horrors that I now know lurk hungrily beneath. I tried to keep away the resurfacing memories of my twisted dream. The dark spires made up from the same material as the object. The storm fades as the hour passes, the wind's ease, and soon the only sound

is the rumble of the engine, as we power on through the mists of the night. We were found, eventually, spotted by helicopters. A nearby vessel was rerouted and came to pick us up to return us to shore. I quit the industry the same day. Omar did likewise. I don't know what Troy plans to do. I still dream of that night. When I close my eyes, I see it.

I see the colossal abomination that rose up from the sea, and the face of the worm that slithered from the shell of the object. I've done pretty much nothing since then, but red. Red and red and red and red to try and make some sense of the things I saw, of the things we all saw. I have found little, but what I have learned has worried me greatly. I have learned about the process called external fertilization, common in amphibians, aquatic creatures and sea life and the like,

a process in which the eggs of the female are fertilized outside the body. The sperm inseminates the egg in the open after it has been laid. I think about the object. I think about Bryn. And I think about my terrible dream. My dream of the enormous, endless, undersea city. Its angular spires and shapes and shadowy towers. A sunken city made entirely of the same material as the object.

If indeed it is even a city at all.