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.
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alt="Heartwood by R.J. Cannon"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Denied by J.B. Corso"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Cold Recognition by Andreas Flögel"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Winter Feast by Pauline Yates"
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>