From the Deep by Michael Stroh

I wake, vomiting seawater. I’m shivering and clutching soggy driftwood that’s barely keeping me afloat. A piece of our ship, I realise. I see nothing but empty, uncharted ocean. And bits of debris bobbing indifferently.

What happened? A storm?

It returns in flashes. The Catalina rocking, splintering. Harpoons hurtling. Tentacles reaching. The crew dragged screaming beneath the waves.

It was no storm.

I yank my legs from the blue-black water, searching the depths for movement. Something bubbles to the surface. A torso—bloated and bloodless. Wearing the captain’s jacket.

Around me, the water darkens. A shadow rising from the deep.