The Depths

The absent sailor gazed over the sea; his downcast eyes a searing grey. The colorless ocean swirled at his feet, powerful in its roaring silence. His clothes were worn, patched by old hands and tattered, and a perfect match to his heavily weathered skin. His adult body was worn beyond its years and he was already tired. Looking out on the yellowed horizon, he knew deep in his bones that he would never return to behold the daughter his wife carried within her, to know his young son.

The dark clouds above threatened whipping winds and lashing rains. When he had his feet planted on solid ground, this was his favorite kind of weather, but out at sea, here, it was extremely dangerous. The sting of salt licked at his nose in the wind. He ran the back of his arm over it, trying to rub out the pain. He did not succeed.

Spitting over the side of the ship, the sailor could have sworn if he still had a tongue that he saw an unnaturally big grey shape unfurling from the dark depths. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he stepped back from the edge. All this time isolated from any kind of decent companionship had him barmy, he was sure of it. All he needed was some quality time with his wife, or perhaps some girl serving ale at the nearest port, he reassured himself. Still, it could be hard to properly communicate his intentions at times, and he was sure rutting against the nearest moving thing on land was a surefire way to get himself locked up.

Perhaps it was meat that he needed then. He felt as if he would shrivel up and die on the inside if he had to eat another stinking bite of over-salted fish guts. He would give his left arm – well, maybe his right – for a fat, juicy steak. His mouth filled again, and he leaned back against the rail, spitting again. His saliva foamed against the saltwater and for a moment he was sure that he saw some dark shadow unfurling. Rubbing the accumulated salt crust from his eyes, he ignored the thick hairs on the backs of his arms standing up. There was nothing out here but sky and sea and he was old enough to know so.

He decided that his craving was a fight. He wanted a gut-busting, face-crushing, blood-frenzied brawl that would leave him aching and sore for days after. He wanted to scrub dried blood from under his filthy fingernails and feel the distinct satisfaction of a fight well won. His height was no advantage to him, but his weight and strength were. Unfortunately, the ship was not a conducive environment to brawls; else he would have picked them daily since boarding.

The last rays of the unremarkable day shone directly into the haggard seaman’s eyes, blinding him. Clumsily pronouncing a curse, he stumbled back onto the main deck, oblivious to what was taking place beneath him. Thick, ropy green tentacles shattered the surface of the glassy water, gripping the ship with surprising strength. Green strings of seaweed dripped from the long limbs, trailing in the water. The ship rocked under the gargantuan weight of the beast, and seamen could be heard screaming as it sucked them under, faster than they could abandon ship.

The creature feasted and the last thing the vacant sailor saw was a layered set of razor teeth.