The Dark Somnium - The Isle of The Dead

Episode Date: May 15, 2024

This Creepypasta scary story was written by J.M Nelson, if you want to check our new project "Childe Roland" here is a link to the audiobook: https://www.audible.com/pd/B0CYR43H9G/?source_code=AUDFPWS0223189MWU-BK-ACX0-391763&ref=acx_bty_BK_ACX0_391763_pd_usSpecial thanks to  @DusklightRadio  for joining me in this Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

We chased the gray ghost for leagues. Across open ocean, we pursued her. Once a simple frigate, she'd been captured by a number of cutthroats only three nights prior. We should have turned back long ago, but our captain, Powell, insisted we pursue her. His brother commanded that ship, and he refused to leave him to the mercy of the sea. The crew members of the Harpy knew better, for during the night before, we'd seen the dead floating amongst wreckage and low-glowing embers of another ship that we knew. Many claimed to see the boyish face of Captain Powell's brother floating atop the dark waters of the night, illuminated only by the dancing flames

and low-hanging smoke atop the waves. I too saw what the crew members believed to be the Pall brother, but his face sat in the dark that I could not be certain, and the captain refused to stop to collect the dead. His heart was filled with hate and pride, so we continued our pursuit at the cost of certainty. I was next to Powell one late morning. The ghost's mighty sail stood along the horizon, glowing with the quickly fading sunlight. A storm loomed overhead, darkening the waters and dampening our spirits. The men, upon seeing such a mighty work of the Creator making its way towards us,

and the gray ghost recklessness of sailing right into the heart of it, beg Captain Powell to turn back. We were not an armed ship. We had nothing but muskets and a few cutlasses to possibly take the ship back or take the lives of those who Powell's taste for blood lusted after. It was a job for the Marines and Navy, not for a simple merchant vessel. Nay, said Powell, we press on. And so we did, pressing the harpy to her limits as the wicked wind carried us into the abyss of the ever-haunting storm. I stayed below deck during that time. We tossed and turned, lifting from the waters at times, for hell itself opened up around us,

and I felt the wrath of the banished and damned pulling at us to join them beneath the waves. I was not alone in my thoughts, for between the retching and cries of fear, curses flowed from the lips of my crew members against Powell, against the gray ghost, and against the harpy herself. That is what hurt me the most, for I loved the harpy. She looked after me many times, but I too felt the cold knife of betrayal she placed into the backs of her crew, laced with a poison as bitter as the aides of March. I fell asleep sometime in the night, during all the chaos.

I found it a miracle, but I awoke, refreshed, yet dizzy from the bouncing and buckling of the harpy. When I stood on deck, the beaming rays of sun warmed my cold, sea-salted flesh. The crew murmured to one another from their posts. Their faces were long, pale, tired. They worked through the night, keeping us alive, and for that I applauded them. Captain Powell stood near the bow, his left hand behind his back, and his right holding his thin eyeglass. He stared out onto the horizon, watching intently. I studied him, but my gaze broke to see if the ghost sat within our grasp.

The waters drew my attention first. They were still, flat, as if the harpies skated across some form of ice. I could see beneath the calm waters, though, and knew that we floated atop an ocean. Never before in all my years as a quartermaster had I seen anything like that. I could feel the wind at our back. I could see the flat blue split beneath the weight of the hull, yet the wakes died out quickly, fading into nothing but calm, water. Suddenly, an eyeglass was held out before me, resting in the hand of the captain. He smiled at me beneath his patchy red beard, his eyes darkened by the tiredness that came with the storm.

Take a look. She is still. I looked through his glass, studying the ghost on the horizon. Her two large mass stood looming tall, but her sail sat tight. She was, as the captain put it, still. The lack of waves did not move her, and she rejected the wind to carry her. It was as if she gave up the fight and welcomed us to take her back with open arms. Hope, said the captain. We have found our hope again. The sight of the gray ghost up close twisted my heart and stomach into knots, for I knew the ship, and knew her well, but did not recognize her when my eyes laid upon her. The wood that made her hull sat tarnished and grim. The storm peeled away what gray paint lined the edges.

The mass were battered, and I could see that the sails were not wrapped. Instead, they were torn from the large wooden posts, taken by Poseidon and lost the abyss. Nothing stirred on her decks. They were as calm and silent as the ocean. A trap, the captain sensed. Be on the lookout. I boarded with the party hand-picked by Powell himself. We searched the ship and found no sign of life.

or even that of death. The food stores were emptied. The gunpowder and muskets were taken. All that remained were a few pieces of meat on the former captain's table, rotten as the hope that festered within our hearts. An eerie sight it was, for the gray ghost became exactly what it was called. Captain Powell did not believe my party. He told us that the pirates were tucked away somewhere, that they had nowhere to go. I mentioned that I noticed the dinghies were missing,

and they could have made a break for it across the open ocean. With the ghost sails gone, it would be their only option. Powell denied it. Only a fool would chance something like that. He sent another party to search, but they returned with the same results. Yet they warned of claw marks within the empty closets and storage space, as if there were prisoners trying to claw their way out. Haunting it was for Powell.

For his dark eyes glowed with a rage I only saw once before. and the stakes were not as high then. He told us to wait, for he feared the pirates may return once we moved on. And so we waited. I ate dinner with the captain that night. We mostly sat in silence under the candlelight of his large cabin. On occasion, he would ask me to pass the salt or make sure that my fish was cooked well. It was.

It didn't feel awkward, though, sitting in silence. I found it calming. Most of the meals that I had with the captain were in a similar fashion. Yet that night, that night the waves were still as they were in the morning. The ship did not rock. The splashing and crashing of the white-capped peaks of water did not create an ambience. Instead, I listened to the sounds of not just my own munching, but that of the captains. Powell finally spoke of the situation once we finished eating.

Strange, isn't it? I believe that to be an under- statement of the situation, sir. He leaned back in his chair, resting his hands in his velvet pockets. He shook his head. I believe John to be out there. I wanted to tell him that his brother perished, and the men knew it. I could see the sadness in his long face, and I did not possess the heart to present the truth. I nodded. I as well. Then I have your word? He asked, cocking his head. I'm sorry, sir? Your word. That we did not stop. Stop until we find, John.

Aye, sir. I murmured, taking a bite of my stale bread. You have my word. Just as I finished chewing my food, a hauler came out from on deck. The captain stood quickly, throwing on his along flowing overcoat. The pale green fabric appeared dark and corrupted next to the dim light of the candles. He gave me a nod, and I too stood, following him out on deck. The night was darker than usual.

The night sky hung overhead as I peered up. Not a single star glowed within the night. A wall of black sat atop us, and its reflection in the sea looked as if the darkness itself were swallowing the harpy. Atop the crow's nest, a voice came down to the captain and I. Land, sir, a sea land! I followed Powell to the bow, where he peered out into the darkness. There was no mistaking it. Land did sit not far off the horizon.

It was a strange aisle, one that had not been there during the day. A haze. The captain told me with a chuckle. The sun created a haze. That is where these cutthroats went. The aisle, taller than a ship's mast, loomed over the calm waters. Dark stone cliffs lined each side of it, and a thick pale fog rolled from the edges of the top. A split there was, right down the middle, small enough for a dense.

dingy to row through if need be. I could not see into it, though, for it was dark. Yet, for a single moment, I could see the glowing, radiant light of a lantern. The same thing must have caught the eye of the watchman. It disappeared quickly, and had I not spotted the aisle beforehand, it could have faded into oblivion. Staring at the aisle, my heart sank with each passing second. Dread twisted my throat. I felt something strange in the air, a static coldness that radiated across the ocean. I had not seen such a strange sight before. The demanding presence of the aisle possessed me, and as I looked upon it, I told the captain, John cannot be here.

He has to be. You gave me your word, did you not? Aye. That is a strange sight, sir. That is most unnatural. Tis the ocean, quartermaster. Everything is most unnatural on the ocean. Powell stepped away from me, ordering the men to get the rowers ready to head toward the aisle.

I dared not go, for within the fog that rolled atop the small, tall aisle, I felt that death itself beckoned us. I felt that the harpy and the ghost wanted us to vacate, for we were men and the destroyers of all things. They too felt our wrath, and they needed us gone for their own survival. I had no choice in the matter. The captain ordered myself and four others to accompany him to the aisle. Most of the men armed themselves with muskets and pistols. I took a hatchet with a flintlock in my jacket, but I feared we'd not be able to use them. The crew of the harpy stared at me with dead, cold eyes as we slowly rode away on our dingy.

I felt their stairs, their pity for us to head towards that aisle. They knew that it was foolish, and that our captain chased a dream. Yet, Powell sat behind me, proud and mighty. He rubbed the hilt of his old saber, whispering something to himself as we slowly moved towards the aisle. The closer we got, the darker the night grew. Soon enough, the low lights of the lanterns on both the harpy and the gray ghost were all I could make out in our previous direction. The stillness of the waters was haunting, and for the full. first time did I ever really fear what lurked beneath the cold blue? The looming aisle grew in size,

no longer hidden by the shadows of the night. It was taller than we imagined, more than the length of the gray ghost, the larger of our two ships. The fog rolled from the edges of the blackstone cliffs, flowing down and settling atop the water. The pale floated across the still black reflective surface, moving towards us as if it were the hand of death itself. Soon we were shrouded in the mist. It rose above our dinghy, thickening and darkening that the only thing we could see was the ether above and the sea below.

The lights of our ships faded away, and with it all hope that remained receded into the back of my mind. If only I told the captain that it was foolhardy, if only I spoke the truth. I knew better though. for Powell was a dedicated man and he loved nothing more than his brother, John. He'd see it through until the end, the bitter end. The wakes created by the oars of our little wooden vessel did not stir the water as much as I hoped.

I needed a sense of rhythm to drown out the haunting sound of my ever-growing, beating heart, yet it was as if the fog itself was muffling all noise. I could not bear the silence, for silence, is the sound of the dead and damned. Soon enough, though, the fog peeled back, and before us loomed the towering might of the aisle. The cliffs radiated that cold electricity that I felt before. My hair stood up on end, as if I were an animal threatened by the mere existence of

such a place. Our dinghy glided across the still surface of the water faster than we had predicted, and the cliffs of the aisle were waiting as if they were the large maw of some for. forgotten beast. One of our rowers shouted, but it was too late. Our small vessel collided with the side of the aisle, sending a haunting snapping sound of splintered wood and shattered carpentry out into the still night. We began to take on water, for one of the boards that our feet bent and shattered. We leapt from the sinking dinghy, throwing our muskets and weapons into the black abyss in order to stay afloat. I watched as the small wooden boat scraped against the side of the

aisle, lowering beneath the surface of the water. I could hear its wooden side scraping against the rocks, echoing beneath us for quite some time. Haunting, the sound was. I feared the noise alone, for it carried with it the reality of our situation. We began to swim, trying to use the cliffs to hold our heads above the water. A great current pulled us down, and our thick wool coats and lavish dressings were added weight in such a place. A sailor, his name I cannot remember, swam just ahead of me. He spotted a small strand ahead of us, or so he shouted. I cannot see it, but I did take his word for it. He disappeared before me, sucked down by the great black abyss where we swam. I pressed on, trying not to think of the man. How foolish, pal was. I wondered if

John's life meant more than that man's, meant more than my own. It was then that I felt a surface beneath me and quickly raced out of the water. Powell emerged from the water behind me, along with two other men. We'd lost another somehow. I assumed he too was taken by the water. I fell to my knees, tired and exhausted. I stared into the black sands of the small strand of the aisle, running my hands through the small ancient pieces of ash. I wept, for I knew we were stuck. I wept, for I knew it to be hopeless. Powell caught my attention as he walked by.

He did not seem phased by what occurred. He said not a word as we marched up the strand. I watched as the fog rolled in around us. The split in the cliff stood before us. Powell stared up in awe of such a strange natural structure. I felt that we looked through the strait of Messina, but it was not the water that split it, but black ancient ash. The dense fog lightened once more, revealing large window-shaped carvings on the faces of the

cliffs inside the small Isle Valley. I stood, looking up in such wonderment of a place, for I became curious if we stumbled upon an ancient culture unknown to man. I moved toward Powell, throwing my wool coat off. Tired of its weight. The electric chill tightened my muscles upon sight of such a wonder. The cliffs were taller than I originally thought, and the number of carvings inside them were breathtaking.

They scaled all the way up the side of the cliff and all across their length, which, too, was longer than thought. On the other side of the valley, I could see where the two cliffs split and should have been able to see the ocean and night sky on the other side, but nay, I could not. Only blackness and shadow loomed on the horizon, and I felt another storm coming. One not of this world. We moved into the valley as a group. Powell led the way, his hand on his sabres hilt.

He, once a military man, radiated an essence of leadership. Had I not known that he went to the aisle out of bloodlust and a fool's hope, I'd have followed him until the end of the earth. Yet, as he pressed onward, my heart grew with frustration. I could not stand the side of him. The fog not only rolled into the valley from the edges of the cliff walls, the gray mist filled the carved windows in the sides of the cliffs, encasing them as if they were no longer there.

The pale rolled over the dark cliffs, climbing downward and blanketing the ground at our feet. It parted with each step, but yet I cannot see the surface of which we walked, for the black sands were as if they were a part of the pail itself, blending. between two different matters. The further we went into the valley, it was as if we became part of the looming darkness itself. The shadows that danced in the darkness grew and swelled around us as if they were an ocean of their own, one of an empty void, an abyss that we could no longer escape. With that, our vision grew, and in the center of the valley, I could see a structure,

tall it was, powerful in presence. It stood just shy of the height of the cliffs, so mighty it was that I feared that no man could build such a relic. A five-sided obelisk about the width of a man beckoned us to come closer with its faceless curiosity. The shadows swayed around it, wrapping up its tall sides as a serpent to a forbidden fruit. What is it? I heard one of our party asked. Powell stepped closer to the structure as the three of us others stayed stationary, nervous for what we stumbled upon.

The captain reached his hand out, touching the smooth grey stone of the obelisk. I knew, in that very moment, that we should have turned back long ago. For something so simple as the color of the stone, stones that did not match that of the cliffs or any other natural formation seen on the island did not sit right with me. The gray obelisk did not belong in such a place, and neither did we. The captain ran his hands over small and. engravings, words I did not see before. He muttered to himself as he did so, curious and thinking aloud. I could not understand what he said, but I knew just by the way

his body language shifted to that of a nervous child, but he realized that something was aloof. I've seen something like this before, and far off sands, the captain said. I, I've heard of such structures. One of our party, Higgins. asked, But could we swim to the harpy? If we strip, we'd have no weight. It is possible. Powell glared to him.

Tis suicide. That current will pull you down as it did the others. We're stuck here until the harpy sends another party. And what if they get caught? Higgins pressed. What if they get stuck here with this strange devilry? Devilry. Powell informed the nervous sailor.

Tis nothing but a strange stone. Strange indeed, sir. said Newman, the other member of our party. Powell looked back to the obelisk. His gaze looked upward, and so did mine. The carvings extended all five sides of the structure. They scaled all the way to the top. A great feat for whomever created such a thing.

The dark ominous clouds overhead, those of pure darkness and a wild tempest, swirled in a counterclockwise fashion just above the cliffs. I could not look into those clouds. I couldn't, for I felt them staring back at me. I eyed the valley instead, seeing other stone structures. None were the size or of the grandeur of the obelisk. None were made of the same stone. Yet they resembled those of old druid sites that I had seen before.

They were slabs of stone, stacked top one another. They were spread throughout the valley. I walked through the pale and the shadows heading towards the ruins. Two vertical stones held up one horizontal, as if a doorway or a gate to a larger structure that did not exist. Five of them were hidden among the pale of the valley. At the base of the one I approached, four skulls sat in a line through the opening of the stones, resting atop the black sand and the fog rolling through their open sockets. I backed away, not saying anything to the party, for I panicked, and I did not want the same of them.

We should signal the harpy, Higgins suggested. Yes, I nodded, not able to tear my eyes from the smaller ruins of the valley. Yes, I agree with Higgins, sir. Signal with what? We have nothing to light a fire, nothing to grab their attention. I'll start hunting, sir. We need to leave this place. Look out there, commanded Powell, pointing out of the valley the way we came.

Tell me, boy. "'What do you see?' Newman looked, staring off into the dark horizon. A wall of black and ether stood. "'I see nothing, sir. "'Aye, for the harpy and the grey ghost are on the horizon. "'They have lights. "'Yet, we do not see them.

"'What good would a fire do now? "'How far would that signal go?' "'The three of us listened to him. "'He did make sense. "'We'd only have one chance. to leave this place, and it felt good that the captain understood that it should not be wasted. We wait till morning. Wait for these clouds to clear. Then, I promise you, but we will call for more. And we leave, I pressed. Powell turned back to the obelisk. He shook with a fear I'd not seen in the

man. He reached out and touched the structure one last time. He turned his head slightly and said, we will rest. Quartermaster, you have first watch. The captain and the others fell into a deep slumber quickly. I don't know how. If I did not have first watch, there'd be no doubt in my mind that I could not trail off into such a sleep. The aisle radiated a dark aura, one that I could feel in the depths of my very bones. Sleep? Nay.

Sleep would be for the foolish. I feared what walked unseen in such a place. I sat, leaning my back against the obelisk. I faced the way that we came, staring out into the dark ocean, hoping for any sign of the harpy or the gray ghost. I imagined three dinghies coming to the aisle, waving at me as they approached. The sailors called out to me, saying they were coming to take me away. That faded quickly, though, for it was nothing more than a trick of the fog and one.

what little hope remained within my soul. The aisle devoured that thought with its electric darkness. I watched as the fog that sat in a large pool around me began to rise. My sleeping companions were devoured by it almost instantaneously. It thickened, darkened, no longer that pale gray color, but almost as if it became a black shroud over my eyes. Something moved amongst it. That much I could tell. It was not just a black shroud. a trick of my eyes, like my visions of a rescue, no. Something stirred within the shadows of the aisle, moving as my fear grew. A flicker of flame radiated from the pale. I stood, excited, that maybe, just maybe, it was a lantern on a dingy that I imagined. I can no longer see the

horizon. I can no longer see the ruins. I can no longer see the obelisk that I, only seconds before, leaned against. I could only see the dark mist and the shadows that came with it. That light, though, it grew closer. I called out to it, asking who went? No response came. I could not hear the pacing of steps or the rowing of oars, not a sound of stirring echoed through the valley. I felt alone, but I knew better. Nothing was alone on such an aisle. Just as that thought passed across my my mind, the light grew brighter, radiant as the fog peeled away around it. The flame, I can see it clear as day, sat within a small metal lantern. I could not see who held it, but I did see the silhouette of a man among the fog. I called out. Who goes there? The flame danced within its

metal housing for a moment before being extinguished. The figure stepped closer, only once as if to present itself to me. Its eyes glowed with the same oar as the flame, the hollow hellfire that pierced my very soul. The figure was shrouded in shadow and mist. The fog wrapped around its body, coiling as if it were part of it. It lightened around the figure's face for a moment, revealing it to be that of a man, a man that I once knew, a man that I believed to be long dead. I did not recognize him, though, and even though I knew that we had met, Sometime before, I cannot recall his name for his face, while recognizable to some degree, had changed. His eyes, that of Hellfire, sat within deep gaunt sockets.

His cheeks were thin, pressed to his teeth. His head shaved and uniformed. His body malnourished and withered, swayed as the mist rolled through him. You must leave this place, quartermaster. We are trying, I said, stepping forward. The fog grew denser again, and I only spoke to the silhouette of the man, that and his piercing eyes that were the only source of color amongst the pale. The captain must leave, for this place is not of his earth. What?

Where do you come from? The figure raised its arms, pointing beyond the obelisk, pointing to the shadow side of the valley. This place. The figure began, lifting its arms out to present the walls of the valley, the ruins, and the obelisk that I did not see. He continued, It is that of the dead.

Caring, this place is. I listened intently as the figure spoke, but my heart beat grew wild, making my chest feel as if it would burst. The figure said to me, The heart of the sea is not of life, but that of death. Do not stay. Do not search for the dead ones. For if you find them, you they will take.

Something drew the attention of the figure. It was a deep sound, almost that of thunder, but carried with it the sound of distant humpbacks and other creatures of the sea. For me, they will take. It watches us. The dead are powerful, but the others. They will not let you leave. Do not pass the obelisk.

Do not follow the steps. For you have gone far now. Too far, perhaps. It will not take kindly. Dare not climb the steps. There be. Steps. Take thine brother.

Take him away from this place. The heart of the sea is not to be seen by any living man. It came to me. I recognized in that moment who stood just beyond the pale. The fog wrapped around his cold, dead body. His hellfire eyes lit my innards aflame. It was not the man I once knew. and death itself had changed him.

I feared what Powell would say. I feared what would happen. I called out, John? And with that, the figure's eyes shut, and it became one with the shadows. I awoke to a swift kick in my ribs. I stood, quickly, using the obelisk as a support. My ribs burned under the crushing weight of a boot.

I heaved, almost retching my guts out. I hunched over, gasping for air. Captain Powell stood next to me, the culprit of the kick to my side. He leaned over me as I tried to catch my breath. You slept on your watch, quartermaster. Between my breaths, I said. I did not, sir. I swear it.

Do not lie to me. I saw you in a slumber deeper than Higgins! He presented the sleeping sailor. The fog was no longer as dense. I could see the black sand of the valley floated. However, the dark cloud still rolled overhead. On the horizon sat nothing but shadows. I'm sorry, sir.

It's just... I thought of telling him of the visitor, but feared it would only fuel him. Yet we needed to leave. We needed to vacate this place as soon as we could. What is it? Powell asked. Your brother, sir. I thought on it.

If I had expressed the truth to the man earlier, we'd not be able to be. in such a place. I let it out. Your brother, he's dead, sir. Powell's brow arched in anger, his hand resting on his saber, clenched tightly. Do not try to justify this by speaking lies. I do not lie to you, sir. I reasoned. As I did so, Higgins and Newman sat up from their sleep. Higgins spoke. What is it? What's going on? The captain turned to him. Nothing. Prepare to move. It is something, sir.

I pleaded. Your brother. He came and visited me in the night. He, he's dead. He said so himself. He said to warn you. We need to leave this place, for it is damned and belongs to the dead. Shut off with that nonsense!

Powell shouted, slamming his fist into the side of the obelisk. A rage radiated from him almost as powerful as that of the aisle. I glanced to Higgins and Newman. Their eyes were wide, terrified of what I spoke of. They had every reason to be scared, for I was scared. The dead do not warn the living of nothing. We needed to leave, even if it meant by swimming. The captain shouted,

Gather your things, quartermaster. We're moving on. Powell moved away from me, grabbing his coat from the sandy valley floor. He threw it on and began to march forward. He was about to pass beyond the obelisk. His foot stretched out in front of him, but he hung it in the air as I shouted. Don't! He turned his head to me, but then lowered his foot into the black sand.

The fog did not part as he placed his foot just beyond the strange structure. I reasoned. John warned me not to pass the obelisk. Powell scoffed, shaking his head. In a sign of mockery, he began to dance among the fog. Dance beyond the point I was warned about. He moved swiftly, whistling a soft, mocking tune as he clicked his heels. He tripped, though, stumbling backwards into the fog.

It devoured him, making him disappear from our vision. Higgins and Newman stood quickly, racing to his position, calling after him. I watched as they too passed the obelisk. They were worried, as was I. All of that faded when Captain Powell began to laugh hysterically through the fog. Higgins and Newman sat him up, dusting off his coat for him. He looked to me, wiping tears from his cackling face. I should have listened to you, court master.

I smirked, a quick sigh of relief. Though I did not take the message from the beyond lightly, Higgins began to run his hands over the blanketed valley floor. There was a strange metallic creaking sound, one that sent a chill up my spine. He quickly removed whatever the captain tripped over, holding it up for all of us to see. In his rough sailor hands, he possessed a lantern. Look, sir, we have found our signal. Powell looked to me and gave a wink. The captain took the lantern and stood.

He shook it to his ear and said, There is oil in it. Sir, I warned. We must leave this place. The lantern was presented to me as the captain stepped forward, but not crossing back across the obelisk. This is our ticket out. But must I remind you?

You gave me your word. Aye, sir, I said. But I cannot, in good conscience, neglect the words of the dead. John warned me. He warned you. We've disobeyed. Sailors. The captain lowered his head, shaking it.

Sailors and their superstitions. Tis true, I shouted. John warned us. to leave and we are disobeying. The captain handed the lantern to Higgins, approaching me swiftly. We will leave this place when I say we do. I do not take your mystical dreams as reality,

quartermaster. We will not vacate this aisle until we find the ghost's crew. But what if they're dead? Then they're dead. But I will not leave my brother and my friends to suffer out here. I will not leave those responsible to wander freely. Do you understand me? Sir, please, we must turn back.

I begged. The captain turned his back, moving off deeper into the valley. Higgins and Newman stared at me, confused as to what to do. They had their orders, but if it was not for me, then they would have followed the man blindly. I called after the captain, but he disappeared among the shadows in the pale. I stepped away from the obelisk once Higgins and Newman also turned their backs to me. They followed him, but I could sense their distrust growing. Not a soul wanted to be on such an aisle.

That much I knew. Yet I also knew that if I did not follow after them, and I waited in such a dark place alone, I may not make it out. I knew that without my seeds of doubt, they too would be lost to the aisle. They too would join John and the crew of the ghost. I called after them. Do not ascend the steps! Higgins and Newman look back to me quickly, curious as to what I shouted.

I did not know what it meant, but the long dead felt the need to tell me, and I found it important. They stared for a moment, but quickly shrugged off what I warned, and they two vanished among the wall of pale shadow. I halted at the obelisk, weighing my options, yet that cold electric air of the aisle continued to weigh on my body. It was then, in that moment of doubt, that I honestly saw myself ignoring the warning of the dead and keeping my oath to the captain. I felt myself damned in such a vision, but yet I feared the idea of being alone much worse.

I raised my foot, ready to cross the threshold into the shadow end of the valley, into the unknown of the coming storm, though I could not do it. I stayed my foot, turning my back to the captain in the party and set back the way I came. I left that valley. The fog grew around me, and I could hear the chattering of my companions deep within the valley. Their voices echoed my direction, carried by that static wind. I could not make out what they were saying, but I could sense fear and panic. I made my way to the shore, standing atop the black sands where the water stayed stagnant

as it met the edge of the aisle. Bits of our crashed dinghy had made it to the shore, laying atop the darkened sands where thick broken boards, oars, and other pieces of the vessel. I looked out to the horizon, hoping to see the two ships, but I could not. Only a veil of shadow laid before me, and I then began to wonder if I should try to swim it. I did not know what lurked beyond, but I did fear the worst if I stayed on such an aisle. Behind me, I could hear the quick steps of panic. The air around me broke in waves, the static shifting over my body. I could feel It, the very air that I breathed.

It was then that I truly feared the worst. I grabbed one of the oars out of the volcanic sand, holding it out before me. It should float. I told myself, it must float. It was too late, though, for the steps stopped as they made it out of the valley. I turned, fearing what I would see. My heart beat wildly in my chest, almost as if it would burst. Yet as I turned, I saw the young, winded Newman clutching his head.

chest, resting his head on his arms, and his arms on his knees as he squatted down. Newman? What is it? They found the steps. He muttered, standing tall and trying to catch his breath. They're in the sides of the cliffs. They go to the top. I told him not to, but Higgins of the captain began their climb.

Why did you not go? Did you not warn us? Did you not call after us from the pale and say that it was an ill omen? I. Yet you still crossed the obelisk. He looked panicked and fearful. What does that mean? I did not know, and I told him that. The young Newman grabbed a piece of wood from the bank. Do you dare swim to the harpy? I do. It is all we have as an option.

Then I swim it too. With a nod of agreement, the two of us stepped into the still sea. Our arms were laid out before us with our flotation devices at our chests. The water was bitter cold. It chilled my bones to the morrow as we began to float away from the aisle. We did not kick our feet often, for the movement to do so was painful. The cool water grew colder, chilling the blood in our very veins to ice. We continued to float, and I praised our Creator for having such still water, for I knew that

we would not be pulled back to the aisle. I could feel a pull beneath me, though, as did Newman. He shouted it as loud as he could. He shouted that something was trying to take him back. I told him to keep swimming, and so he did. But I too felt such a weight beneath me, as if the ocean itself were alive and trying to bring us down to beyond the locker, beyond whatever superstition we believed in. I looked back to the young Newman, seeing his face pale as death.

The fog followed after us, rolling across the water. Above the aisle, a monstrous anvil of clouds stood, tall and mighty with the power of a thousand storms in it. A green hue radiated from its edges, and the lighting that danced within the black clouds were the only light that I could see at the top of the cliffs. That is, until I saw a small glow near the edge. I squinted, trying to see what it was, but I already knew. Two silhouettes stood on the edge of the left cliff. Above the head of one, a small glowing orb stood out amongst the shadow. The fog rose around them, engulfing the flame of what I believed to be the lantern in the captain's hand.

More silhouettes appeared as the fog thickened, and had I not seen strange visions the night before, I'd have thought it a trick of the storm. But nay, the captain and Higgins were not atop the Isle of Karen. The glowing oar of the lantern radiated a proud light for a mor. moment as the captain waved it above his head. I heard Newman call out to me. Look, quartermaster! Look! Who is that with him? Keep swimming, sailor! I told him, Do not look upon such frightful things! I wish that I could heed my own advice, for I could not break my gaze from the captain in Higgins. The light of the lantern flickered, struggling

to find air in such a dead place. Then the radiant aura vanished, smothered by the hands of the dead. The captain and Higgins stood in the pale for a moment. I assume unaware of the ghostly visitors that were with them. Small dots began to glow across the edge of the cliff and deep within the valley of the aisle. Images of John's hellfire gaze flashed through my mind. Just as the vision appeared, the storm clouds above opened and a great cacophony of noise roared down onto the aisle and across the still ocean, causing it to stir greatly and the waves to come alive. in a way I'd never imagined. Newman and I were strung about, trying to stay afloat, but the pull from beneath and the hands of the now-Rapid Sea tried to bring us down. A great beam of light

shot from the center of the valley. Among the shadows, I could see a radiant green glow in the shape of a mighty obelisk deep within the dark. The storm clouds burst, sending a massive wave of rain and dust floating across the sky. It did not pour down onto Newman and I, though. It's stayed within the sky, streaking across like meteors from beyond. The waves crashed into us, knocking us about. My head dipped into the salty water, blinding me for a moment. I tried to close my eyes, but it became difficult. My pupils began to burn and a haze filled my vision, yet I could see clearly enough. Thousands upon thousands of glowing hellfire beneath me, all individual dots, staring up at me. They belonged to long dead faces, pale as the crests of waves. Their hands reached out

to me, trying to grab my body and limbs to force me down to join them. I lifted my head from the water, screaming in fear. I could finally see just on the horizon, the harpy and the gray ghost. They had not moved, and their tall mass set empty of sails. The waves of the storm crashed into their hulls, knocking them about. It was a little. then that I saw it. A great monstrosity lifted from the sea. I could not see its head, only a portion of its body. A hollow, empty call radiated across the ocean, a sound of whales and other marine animals, but corrupted, shallow and otherworldly. The gray ghost became crushed under the long serpent-like creature's weight as the beast lifted from the sea. The harpies split in two under the might of its

coiled body. Its face emerged, covered by the darkness of the storm. It roared into the night, sending the waves higher and higher. I could not keep my grip to the oar, and it slipped away from me. In doing so, I lost all buoyancy, sinking beneath the rocky waves. The ocean, no longer that thick black shadow that belonged to the aisle, radiated the same green haze and felt as electric as the air of the aisle. I could feel the hands of the dead clawing at me. I could feel them calling to me. Thou hast seen it. Thou hast seen the heart. I tried to scream, but all I did was fill my body with acidic water. I could see the surface of the ocean growing distant with each passing second. I reached my hands upward trying to swim. I could not. I looked downward, seeing those hellfire eyes

and the blank faces of the uniform dead. Thousands there were, if not millions. They all extended out towards me, as if they had been waiting for centuries to grab hold of the living. I tried to plead, but that was no good. I could not speak. I could not think. I could only stare into the abyss that beckoned me from beyond.

The dead parted, as if forced by a massive shockwave beneath the sea. They were hurled away, disappearing among the vast, darkness that surrounded me, I could feel my last bit of oxygen being used. I could feel the light in my eyes begin to fade, yet even with a blurred vision, I could see it. The great beast beneath the waves. The serpent's body laid hidden by the shadowy depths. Its face, enormous, took up the scale of at least four great warships. Scaled was its skin, flat was its nose, perched up as if some sort of sail on a mast. Several eyes it had. Seven, I could count, all of which glowed with a haunting purple aura. Its mouth opened vertically, revealing the depths of the ocean itself.

I felt the pull of an abyss. I felt it began to bring me down, yet I still fought. I still tried to survive, albeit I knew that if there were any slight error, that too would be taken by such a beast. Just as I felt all light fade from my body, I emerged from the depths atop calm waves and a warm sky. I began to vomit salt water and whatever I had to eat the previous day. My nerves were rattled and my mind raced with all sorts of thought. Even though I sat atop the surface of the water, I knew that something lurked beneath me. I knew that if the beast did not take me, that the dead would. I searched for my oar or any peace to keep me. me afloat. Yet I just wanted out. I wanted to leave the water and never return, for I felt the

gaze of the beast from the depths. Pieces of driftwood, barrels, and crates floated amongst the low waves. The sun bore down on me, causing me to shield my eyes. Its heat radiated, and it must have been sometime midday. I quickly threw myself atop a barrel, trying to get as much of my body out of the water as I could. I looked around, no longer seeing the aisle and only a field of debris. The waters were normal. The horizon appeared the same. I caught sight of a storm in the distance, moving off into the nothingness of the other side. As I stayed afloat, I called out for the only person I thought alive. Newman! Newman! Not a response, for I stayed afloat among the debris alone. I floated atop barrel for two days. It was then that another merchant vessel found me. They pulled me aboard

and asked what ship I came from, asked what happened to my captain and crew. I told them that I did not know, for I had seen the Isle of Karen and the great beast beneath the sea. They asked what all I witness, but I did not have the heart to tell them. I broke my oath to my captain, but I'd always heed the words of the dead. For the heart that I saw, could not be unseen.