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wouldntyou-liketoknow · 7 months

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Day 1: Impalement

(Disclaimer: the main character of this story, as well as the concept this story is based on, does not belong to me. That honor goes to the amazing @sammys-magical-au, who wrote an intriguing snippet inspired by Lixian’s latest game, Sinking Iron. I highly recommend you take a look at Sammy’s story before reading this one; not only is Sammy just an awesome writer, but it’ll help the plot elements here make more sense.)

(As for the characters that DO belong to me: while I don’t see them as complete fan-egos, I still took inspiration from what Sammy did with the character that Lixian voiced in the game. They named him Lucas, and seeing how similar that name is to Luis—Lixian’s actual name—it shouldn’t be difficult to figure out who the other characters here are based off of.)

(Trigger Warnings: water/the ocean/thalassophobia, pain/suffering, panic, violence, torture, death, drowning, gore, blood, tentacles, scopophobia, feelings of survivor's guilt, nightmares, flashbacks, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

Day 2 Day 3 Day 4 Day 5 Day 6 Day 7 Day 8 Day 9 Day 10 Day 11 Day 12 Day 13

Could’a, should’a, would’a. . .

Lucas hadn’t been superstitious enough.

Very ironic, considering the career he’d chosen.

He couldn’t have been blamed for assuming that his crewmates wouldn’t believe him.

There was a chance that he was right, that mentioning what he’d heard would’ve been answered with laughter, or teasing questions about how much time he’d spent in the sun earlier, or creepy anecdotes and short ghost stories being narrated by sarcastic voices.

But. . .there was no way they couldn’t have heard what he’d heard.

Which meant there was also a chance that he would’ve been taken somewhat seriously, that his crewmates would’ve glanced at the dark clouds through the sleeping quarter’s windows, that they all might’ve even attempted to convince Fletcher to briefly start the ship’s engine back up and sail at least a little closer to land.

Would any of those routes have made a difference?

Lucas wasn’t sure—he’d never be sure.

And that was torture.

He should’ve talked about what he’d heard in the rain.

It was impossible for his crewmates to have not heard what he’d heard.

Life at sea required Morse Code, after all.

It didn’t matter how one went about living at sea; whether they were heading off to war on a destroyer, bringing scraps of wreckage up to a salvaging ship, or collecting samples for study on a research vessel like this one. . .Morse Code was important and efficient enough to be the thing that all types of ocean work had in common.

So, Lucas had obviously learned the language during those months of training and studying. It hadn’t been easy, but he’d still managed to become as fluent in it as he was in Portuguese and English.

He still hadn’t really needed to use it. Much time had passed since he’d officially been welcomed into Nori’s crew, and of course it’d been a bit of a bumpy ride, but there just hadn’t been any emergency situations onboard.

That didn’t mean Lucas hadn’t found himself subconsciously using Morse Code. Whenever he heard rhythmic tapping or clicking, whenever he saw flashes of light, a little voice in the back of his head would translate. In those cases, what he gleaned was typically just gibberish, considering the language wasn’t actually being used. He’d occasionally decipher a random, coherent word or two, but that was also just a rare, amusing coincidence.

(Now, Lucas wouldn’t put it past Mars to silently tell Matteo to GO SUCK AN EGG! via drumming his fingernails, but Mars also wasn’t shy about speaking with his whole chest.)

That fateful case had been. . .

Different. Foreboding. Unnatural.

It’d been the very first time Lucas had experienced a storm on the ship. The storm in question hadn’t been strong enough to evolve into a hurricane; even so, oceanic weather was always more violent than weather that occurred on land. He’d watched the sky become dark while the waves grew larger and choppier than usual. He’d felt the wind tugging at his hair as the air got colder and heavier.

Adrenaline had been charging through Lucas’ brain as he and the rest of the crew raced to secure the ship’s more fragile equipment. They’d been halfway through the last-minute routine when the rain started falling; hell, they’d all been half-soaked by the time they were finally able to retire to the bunks.

But as they all laughed and threw towels at one another. . .sooner or later, Lucas found himself focusing on the way the rain had been pounding against one of Nori’s windows.

The instinctual translation had almost been automatic.

Due to the constant noise, the translation was insistent.

And the rain had been telling Lucas to RUN.

The rain had kept repeating that word.

RUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUN. . .

The fact that he’d eventually managed to drift off, even as the inhuman message kept echoing, had been nothing short of miraculous.

He should’ve told the others about this.

That would’ve at least been some kind of warning.

It could’ve given them all a better chance.

Could’a, should’a, would’a. . .

___

Lucas doesn’t remember leaving his bunk. He doesn’t remember glancing around at his crewmates as they rose from their beds, one by one.

He can just barely hear them somewhere behind him, their muffled voices slithering up from the sleeping quarters and into the air. He should remember the morning routine (it definitely would’ve been hard to miss the usual lighthearted squabbling over who got to use the showers first), but he doesn’t.

Instead, the vast waters surrounding Nori are the first things he sees when he opens his eyes.

Lucas knows that he couldn’t have sleepwalked. Or, sleepwalking couldn’t have been the entire case. If it was, then he certainly wouldn’t have woken up in a standing position. It doesn’t matter that he’s developed his sea-legs by now: sleepwalking while onboard a ship would be embarrassing at best and outright deadly at worst.

No, something else is responsible for this.

Something else has called him out and onto the deck, all without waking him until now.

His instincts insist on that, and he isn’t in the mind to look for logic.

His focus is being consumed by the environment around him.

The air isn’t cold, but he still feels a chill race down his spine, as well as goosebumps prickling all over his arms.

There is no wind, but he still feels some kind of force rushing past him, pushing against him.

Sunlight is obviously trying (and failing) to shine down from above, but the waves are dark; not the deep sapphire hue they usually are, but almost as murky as oil.

In fact, the only reason the water isn’t completely pitch-black is simply because. . .it’s tinged with red.

For the few long, slow minutes that have passed since he awoke, Lucas’ hands have been coiled around the railing in a white-knuckled grip. A twitch runs through his fingers, and as he finally releases his hold, Lucas immediately cranes his neck up toward the sky.

Fog has swallowed up the sky as far as the eye can see. It glows with a grotesque shade of crimson. It resembles the clouds of blood that spill out and spread just below the surface during a feeding-frenzy.

“Rookie?” Calls a familiar voice, set in a Portuguese accent so similar to the one Lucas speaks with. “Wake-up call isn’t for another hour. What’re you doing out so early?”

Lucas startles badly as he turns his head to face Fletcher, who is leaning through the crack in the door to the Captain’s quarters.

For a moment, Lucas’ mouth opens and closes with no words coming out.

And as soon as he’s finally able to stutter, “Captain, we’re in danger. . !”

THRRRUUM-KRAAAUUGH

Nori’s stern is violently shoved out of the water, only to come crashing right back down with an enormous splash. Both Lucas and Fletcher are thrown off-balance, hitting the deck with dull thuds and twin screams. Neither of them have to see what just happened to know that the ship’s engines and propulsion systems are now beyond repair. More shouts of panic echo up from elsewhere, accompanied by a chorus of frantic, stampeding footsteps.

As he and Fletcher pick themselves up, Lucas immediately looks over the railing.

Despite the water’s new darkness, he can see something.

It’s circular, wider than he is tall, surrounded by layers of scarred, fleshy membrane—

An eye.

Lucas is being stared at by a gigantic eye with a shuddering pinprick pupil adorned by an iris the color of blood.

Aforementioned pupil slightly dilates as it stares at him, and Lucas feels his stomach start to churn and roil in response.

This dread isn’t newfound; he’s been feeling it since he woke up. But then, it was only prodding at the back of his mind. Now it’s flooding through each and every one of his veins, coiling around his bones, starting to rip his brain apart from the inside.

Lucas can’t know what the owner of that hideous eye actually is.

And yet, somehow, he’s acutely aware that it wants to kill him.

He staggers back, trying to get as far away from it as possible, but it still manages to keep watching him. The eye is only obscured when a blurry shape erupts from the water in a fountain of white spray.

By some miracle, Lucas is able to duck-and-roll off to the side. The shape slams into the lower half of Nori’s funnel with enough force to make the entire ship quake. Had he moved even a second slower, he would’ve been reduced to a splatter on the main deck.

Lucas crawls further away, trembling violently. As the shape pries itself free from the new chasm it’s just created, he realizes just how sinuous it is, how it’s covered in oily-looking gray flesh, how it comes to an almost whip-thin end.

The tentacle reels back into the water. Lucas can’t stop gaping at it, not even as he hears a chorus of more splashing and hissing from further below and around Nori. He can only tear his own eyes away from it when the screams all around him suddenly become louder, longer, less-human. Like the sounds are transforming into solid matter as they flow through the air.

Lucas is suddenly on his feet again, turning around just in time to watch another huge tentacle materialize by the stern. It coils around the ship’s crane—the same one that’s been used countless times to either haul heavier samples onboard or keep live specimens still long enough to be tagged—and wrenches it out of its platform as though it’s a cheap plastic toy.

Wayne and Brom appear. They both lock horrified eyes with Lucas and begin sprinting toward him.

It’s almost like a magic trick: the two of them disappear as the tentacle hurls the dismantled crane on top of them, leaving it halfway lodged through that section of the main deck. Brom’s howls of pain are abruptly cut off, but Wayne’s screaming, albeit now slower and longer, doesn’t stop. In fact, it’s still loud enough that Lucas doesn’t even realize how he’s finally started shrieking until weight comes down on one of his shoulders.

Now Mars is beside him, with Matteo right on his heels. Tears are already pouring from both of their eyes, but neither of them collapse or even become sluggish. Rather, they corral Lucas to keep moving with them, trying to push him in front of them before the pilothouse’s door.

Despite their shouts blurring as soon as they reach Lucas’ ears, he still knows what they’re saying. They’re begging him to take cover, to get somewhere further inside the ship, to try and hide so he won’t be targeted next.

And Lucas obviously wants to comply with those orders. He’s halfway inside the pilothouse when he turns, wanting to grab Mars and Matteo’s arms in order to pull them closer, to ensure that they have shelter alongside him.

He doesn’t even get a chance.

Two more tentacles stretch over the side of the ship: one twists around Matteo’s waist while the other snags Mars by one of his legs. They both writhe as they’re lifted into the air.

Matteo manages to grab hold of the upper railing, wrapping his arms around it like some kind of tree-dwelling animal on a branch. Even as he shrieks, Matteo still aggressively shakes his head, kicking at his organic bindings. The tentacle tries to tug him off. . .and, miraculously, it fails. Lucas leaps up, trying to snatch one of Matteo’s hands, wanting to pull him back down onto the deck.

Matteo sees this, and instinctively reaches out to Lucas.

But that seems to give the tentacle the leeway it needs, as it wrenches Matteo away from the railing just as his fingers brush Lucas’. Then, as if its owner appreciates cruel irony, the tentacle hauls back and bludgeons Matteo against the pilothouse’s outer wall. Not with enough force to drive him though it—just enough to make his body crumple with a chorus of sickening snaps and pops and crunches. Matteo’s eyes bulge from their now bleeding sockets as he goes limp, staring at nothing at all while the tentacle drags him over the side of the ship.

Lucas cries out as he watches Matteo vanish. And he keeps screaming, seemingly not needing to pause for breath, as the tentacle holding Mars forcibly takes his attention.

For a brief, horrible second, Lucas is sure that the monster is going to give Mars the same treatment as Matteo.

That’s not the case.

Mars is manhandled away from Nori, being dangled over the waves. The tentacle ever-so-slightly dips closer to the water, but it doesn’t pull him down. Instead, it lunges upward in one swift, fluid movement, catapulting Mars so high that for a brief second or two, Lucas can’t even see him anymore. Of course, that doesn’t stop Mars from careening back down, hitting the ocean with a deafening CRACK.

Mars automatically floats up to the surface. Lucas can see that he’s still alive, that he’s trying to swim. But he can also see the awful twitches that are now wracking Mars’ body, that the pain he’s feeling is almost paralyzing. And he can see the tentacle ensnare Mars again, hoist him up again, toss him into the air again. . .

When Mars lands and resurfaces for a second time, even with the distance, Lucas can still see blood streaming along his skin. That blood smears on the tip of the tentacle as it sends him flying. . .over. . .and over. . .and over. . .and over. . .

It reminds Lucas of the few days he’d spent studying orcas. Primarily the tactic orcas used when hunting seals, to ensure that the blubbery skin would be rendered loose enough to give better access to the seal’s internal organs.

Yet another tentacle jettisons out of the water, aiming for Lucas once again.

And once again, Lucas is able to sprint away from it by the skin of his teeth.

He runs to the other side of the pilothouse to collide with Evan, who immediately takes hold of Lucas’ wrist. Just like the others, he’s trying to help Lucas hide, to lead him to some other area of the ship where they might be better protected.

To his never-ending credit, as a tentacle appears to coil around his neck, Evan is somehow still logical enough to release Lucas and shove him back. He screws his eyes shut as he’s lifted off of the ship. Four more tentacles emerge from the water beneath him: two snake along his arms, and two give his legs the same treatment.

Then, they each start tugging this way and that, all moving in unison, gradually pulling harder and harder and harder. . .until. . .

Lucas ducks his head and resumes running in the nick of time. He can barely hear himself wailing over the sound of Evan’s skin being torn, of Evan’s bones breaking away from their sockets, of Evan’s intestines spilling out.

Brom is dead, Wayne is dead, Matteo is dead, Mars is dead, Evan is dead.

The entire crew is dead.

The entire crew has been tortured in various horrific ways.

Lucas watched the crew die.

Lucas is going to die; he’s going to be maimed and mauled in a manner that will somehow be even more gruesome than what he’s already watched.

This is all Lucas’ fault.

If he’d actually thought to raise the alarm when he’d woken up. . .if he’d taken control of Nori himself and tried steering her away from the eye. . .then his crewmates—his friends—might still be alive.

Lucas is halfway across Nori’s bow when he finally discovers Fletcher again. It’s all Lucas can do to keep from collapsing at his Captain’s feet.

Fletcher reaches toward Lucas, the fear in his eyes struggling against his instincts as a leader. Lucas flinches away, shaking his head as he sobs and screams and tries to explain everything as though Fletcher might have an answer.

His head is swimming: The Captain can’t be near me—everyone who’s come close to me has been killed! How is the Captain still alive? Where has he been all this time? The Captain might know something about the monster! Maybe he knows why it’s attacking us!

Lucas can’t even register the sound of splashing, or the shadow that is growing longer and darker behind him.

But even if he could, it wouldn’t have mattered.

Time seems to slow down as Fletcher surges forward and pushes Lucas down onto the deck.

A yelp dashes Lucas’ cries, but it’s short-lived. For the first time this morning, Lucas goes completely silent as he listens to the sound of his Captain’s agonized shriek.

Lucas feels his heart actively stop as he looks up at Fletcher, at the bloodsoaked tip of the tentacle now protruding through his chest.

That could’ve been Lucas. It should’ve been Lucas.

But it seems Fletcher hadn’t wanted to allow that.

Lucas can’t scream anymore. There’s barely any air left in his lungs.

Even as he watches Fletcher’s expression turn blank, watches Fletcher’s eyes drift shut, watches Fletcher being carried off into the water. . .Lucas can’t scream.

Lucas wants to scream.

Lucas NEEDS to scream.

But he can’t.

___

A wave of vertigo came crashing down on Lucas’ skull as he nearly threw himself out of his bed. His breathing was desperate, raspy. The sensation of cold sweat on his skin had never felt so awful. The scar that ran along his left cheek almost felt like it was burning.

Lucas’ movement elicited a small chirp from the foot of his bed, where a bundle of white-and-gray fur rolled over to face him, bright blue eyes drilling into his dark brown ones.

At first, Crumbs seemed aggravated at being woken up. But it took no time at all for him to seemingly register the distraught on his owner’s face. After a second of sprawling, the cat got to his paws and practically pounced into Lucas’ lap.

Lucas hunched over as he wrapped his arms around his pet. Crumbs sat up on his haunches to rub his head against Lucas’ jaw, not seeming to care how tears were actively cascading onto his little face.

Even as Crumbs’ purring reverberated through his chest, slowly but surely easing the tension, Lucas still had to bite his tongue hard enough to draw blood. It wouldn’t do for his apprentice to be drawn to his quarters and see him like this, let alone be woken up at this horrible hour.

There would be no more sleep tonight.

@sammys-magical-au @mostlyghostly42

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