Working on ships had always been routine for me. Spending months at sea, unloading and loading containers, sailing through the most unusual waters. I loved the sea. The wind blowing vigorously on your face, nothing human for miles on end, just you, the swaying of the waves, and occasionally some animals. Although, I must admit, one thing that always made me somewhat uneasy were the dark nights at sea, where depending on the time of year, we couldn’t see the moon and sometimes not even the stars clearly. It was on one of those dark nights, in the middle of the open ocean, that I experienced something that changed my life.
It was around 2022 when our ship was arriving at a small commercial port in China. Night was falling heavily upon us, shrouding everything in deep darkness. The wind was howling through the ropes, and the waves were crashing against the hull of the ship with a deafening roar. I was on duty at that moment, helping to maneuver the containers off the deck. The crew was tense, but we kept our focus on our tasks.
A thick fog began to form, and the harbor man responsible for the instructions we received (if I remember correctly his name was Wang) started murmuring something. I don’t have much proficiency in Chinese, just the very basics, so I got lost in his words, asking him to repeat.
I only understood two words of what he said: “Be careful.”
I paused for a moment, thinking about it, about to say something else, but the captain urgently called us back to the ship; we were going to leave before that terrible storm formed. I looked back as we departed, and Wang’s worried look still lingered on his face as he disappeared into the fog. As we moved away from the port, the ocean breeze seemed to thicken, enveloping the ship in a chilly embrace. The sounds of the sea became muffled and distorted, as if we were sailing through a tunnel, some birds chirping distorted cries and waves crashing all around.
“All right, guys, I’m off to bed,” I muttered before the weather got even worse. It wasn’t my watch night that day, so I wanted to make the most of a full sleep.
I dragged myself to my cabin, feeling fatigue weighing on my limbs as the ship gently swayed beneath my feet. The fog outside seemed to seep into even the darkest corners of the vessel, creating an uncomfortable atmosphere that left me restless. I threw myself on the bed, trying to ignore the muffled sounds coming from the deck. But the more I tried to push away the somber thoughts, the more they seemed to take root in my mind. What had that been with Wang today? Did I mistranslate? Either way, I felt bad, unlucky, with a bitter taste in my mouth. I fell asleep, in a heavy sleep, immersed in the darkness of the cabin.
I’m not exactly sure how long it was when I woke up, along with the rest of the crew. Tim, the guy who stood guard that night, was banging frantically on my door, his face pale and his eyes wide open. “Wake up, man! You need to see this!” he exclaimed, his voice trembling.
Confused and still sleepy, I got up and followed Tim to the deck, where the other crew members were gathering in a confused silence, looking at something ahead of the ship. Some seemed to be searching for something, and others, irritated.
As we emerged onto the deck, I was immediately hit by the cold, damp night air. The thick fog enveloped everything, obscuring our vision completely. I joined the other crew members, trying to glimpse what had caught everyone’s attention.
“So Mr. Timothy, what did you want to show?” Old Joe asked, more grumpily than usual.
“I saw! Something, like, a submarine, or a missile, it was big, gray, and we were heading straight for it,” Tim exclaimed, his voice trembling.
Voices began to murmur after that last sentence.
“Quiet!” the captain said, his firm voice immediately silencing everyone.
The captain grabbed his binoculars and scanned the horizon, frowning with concern. A tense silence hung over the deck as we awaited his assessment.
“I don’t see anything up there, Tim. You may have been mistaken,” the captain finally said, passing the binoculars to the next crew member.
But before we could finish, a distant sound echoed through the fog. It was a low, almost imperceptible noise, but enough to send a shiver down everyone’s spine.
“What the hell was that?” someone asked, their voice tinged with fear.
Ahead of us, in the foggy darkness, something moved slowly in the water. At first, it was just an indistinct shadow, but as our eyes adjusted to the darkness, the shape became clearer. A wave of nervous murmuring swept through the group as we watched, hypnotized, the apparition before us.
It was a whale, a colossal creature emerging from the fog like a sea ghost. Its massive body rose from the depths, its dark, gray skin faintly shimmering in the dim moonlight. It let out an immense roar, one of those roars. We saw its head emerging from the water, and it was huge! By the shape, I’d say it’s a sperm whale (I know they’re not whales, but that’s beside the point, you biology nerd!)
The imposing presence of the sperm whale seemed to fill the space around us, filling us with a sense of insignificance in the face of the vastness of the ocean. Its penetrating gaze fixed on us, as if studying us minutely. Silence fell over the deck as we all watched the creature with a mixture of fascination and fear. The sound of the sea seemed muffled, as if the ocean itself was holding its breath in the face of the whale’s majesty.
Suddenly, it plunged back into the depths, disappearing into the darkness. A collective sigh escaped from the lips of the crew, but the tension still hung in the air.
“What was that?” the first mate said, low, beside the captain.
The captain remained silent for a moment before replying, his expression serious and worried.
“I’m not sure,” he whispered. “But something tells me we shouldn’t be here.” Suddenly, he turned, speaking loudly and with a slight smile on his face. “I thank Mr. Tim for giving us this breathtaking view, but if he only called us here to watch marine mammals, I believe my sleep is more important.” And so the crowd dispersed, and I, in the same way, returned to my dreams and my warm blanket. As I tossed and turned in bed, unable to find comfort, images of the sperm whale continued to haunt my thoughts. I wondered what could have brought that magnificent creature from the depths so close to our ship.
Finally, exhausted by the turbulence of my thoughts, I succumbed to fatigue and plunged into a fitful sleep. Strange and disturbing dreams haunted my mind, filled with distorted images of dark waters, sharp teeth, endless tentacles. I struggled in the depths of a stormy sea, fighting against invisible currents and something very large.
When I finally woke up, the sun was already rising in the sky, dissipating the last traces of the night. As I groggily got out of bed, a persistent feeling of unease remained within me, like a shadow refusing to completely dissipate. I couldn’t pay attention to those thoughts. I dressed appropriately and went up the ship, ready for another day of labor.
As I worked, I noticed that the atmosphere on board had subtly changed since the incident the night before. The crew seemed more cautious, their eyes constantly scanning the horizon for any sign of movement. Conversations and whispered murmurs across the deck, speculations about something strange happening, nightmares…
The captain, meanwhile, remained reserved and taciturn, his serious face revealing little of his internal thoughts. He steered the ship with the firm hand as always, but there was a noticeable tension in his posture, as if he were fighting against some dark omen that had haunted him since the previous night. I noticed his sunken eyes; he probably hadn’t slept well either.
As the day slowly progressed, a sense of apprehension settled over the ship gradually, much like the heavy fog that began to hang over the sea. Finally, we ended our shift, the whistle sounded inviting us to the mess hall, to feed us with a warm meal before resting for the next journey. The crew gathered around the tables, sharing meals and conversations in an effort to ward off the weight of what had happened the previous night.
However, even with food and camaraderie, the tension persisted in the air. Conversations were punctuated by nervous glances out the windows, as if they expected to see something emerging from the fog at any moment. I, too, felt restless, unable to shake off the worry from my mind. After dinner, I returned to my cabin, determined to rest a bit before the next shift. But as I lay in bed, the feeling of unease only seemed to grow. I knew I wouldn’t be able to relax. I decided to start my watch earlier, and Tim, who was on before me, seemed very grateful to leave from there.
The night was dense and humid as the fog enveloped us, small water droplets condensing on the surface of the ship, like a cold sweat. I climbed to the deck, taking in deep breaths of the salty sea air. The darkness was almost palpable, engulfing the ship in an oppressive embrace. I advanced cautiously, my senses sharpened by the sense of alertness that hung over us.
The wind whispered a faint whistle as I walked across the deck, my steps echoing in the stillness of the night. The fog clung to the lamps, turning their light flickering, casting distorted shadows that danced around me. Every sound was amplified in the darkness, echoing like a silent omen. I noticed a solitary figure standing at the bow, gazing at the horizon with an almost tangible intensity. It was the captain, his silhouette outlined against the dark sky. I walked towards him, feeling a shiver run down my spine.
“Captain?” I called, my voice sounding small and weak in the vastness of the night.
He turned to face me, his tired eyes reflecting the dim light of one of the spotlights.
“Oh, it’s you,” he said, his voice laden with concern. “I thought it was Tim’s shift.”
“I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to switch with him. Is everything alright, captain?” I asked, feeling a knot of anxiety form in my stomach.
He sighed, running a hand over his weary face.
“No, it’s not,” he admitted. “There’s something wrong about this night. I can feel it in my gut.”
I joined him at the bow, looking out at the dark horizon before us.
“What do you think is happening, captain?” I asked, my voice barely audible above the roar of the sea.
He shook his head, his expression grim.
“I’m not sure,” he confessed. “But something tells me it’s not good.” his voice lowered “There’s something following us, I could see it on the radar, it’s been like this since we set sail.”
A chill ran down my spine at his words, a sense of fear settling in my chest. The captain’s confirmation only heightened my unease. I looked at the thick fog surrounding the ship, imagining what could be hidden within those sinister shadows. A feeling of paranoia began to creep over me.
“What should we do, captain? Is it that whale?” I asked, my voice trembling with growing anxiety as I remembered that strange encounter.
He fell silent for a moment, his eyes fixed on the horizon.
“For now, just stay vigilant,” he finally said. “Keep your eyes and ears open. If something happens, everyone must be ready to act.”
I nodded. Together, we stood at the bow of the ship, watching the dark sea before us, every shadow and movement scrutinized with growing attention. Time seemed to drag on as we waited, tension mounting with each passing moment. Suddenly, a sound echoed through the fog, a low guttural sound that made my heart freeze in my chest. I looked at the captain, seeing the reflection of my own fear in his eyes. It was the same sound we heard the night before.
Soon, the first mate came.
“Captain, something is approaching the ship, and fast.”
The captain raised an eyebrow, his face tense with worry.
“Prepare for whatever comes,” he ordered, his voice firm. “All men to their posts, be ready for any eventuality.”
The crew moved quickly, their faces tense as they prepared for whatever was about to come. I joined my colleagues, my heart pounding in my chest as I tried to maintain composure in the face of the growing sense of imminent danger.
The fog around us seemed to become even denser, enveloping the ship in a cold and oppressive embrace. The sounds of the sea distorted, turning into indistinct murmurs that echoed in the darkness. I realized that the environment was becoming turbulent, the water shaking and foaming, and then, we saw in the distance a large wave coming towards us.
“What is this?” I tried to ask, but my voice wouldn’t come out. I started to tremble, frozen before it, feeling like nothing, empty, and I swear to God I almost wet myself right there.
The wave was over four times bigger than the ship, it seemed almost to swallow us. but that wasn’t the worst… no… A lightning bolt struck in the distance in the ocean, its light dissipating towards us and I could see, inside the wave, the colossal shadow of the sperm whale moving at a surprising speed. Its size was impressive, its massive body cutting through the water with ease, leaving behind a trail of foam and vapor. A sense of panic took hold of me as I watched that creature, its imposing presence filling the space around us with an aura of power and majesty.
The crew rushed to their stations, preparing to face whatever was about to come. The captain remained on the deck, his expression stoic as he commanded the men to their positions. The deafening sound of the approaching wave echoed through the deck, a powerful roar reverberating in my ears.
“Brace for impact!” shouted the captain, his voice lost in the cacophony of the ocean.
I held on tight, my heart beating uncontrollably as the wave approached closer and closer. The colossal wave loomed over us like an imminent threat, passing over the vessel. I could see the huge body of the sperm whale above us, my heart hammering as if it was about to burst out of my chest. I thought it was my end, but it wasn’t. The creature fell on the other side of the boat, the thunder almost deafening us, as a mass of water tossed the ship as if it were made of paper. We swayed violently, the hull creaking under the impact of the colossal wave. I clung tightly to the edge of the deck, struggling to maintain balance as the sea roared around us. The sperm whale disappeared into the darkness, leaving behind only the distant echo of its imposing presence.
As the ship stabilized, the crew regrouped, our pale and tense faces reflecting the shock of the encounter. The captain remained on the deck, his expression grim as he assessed the damage.
“Is everyone alright?” He asked, his voice tense.
We nodded, still stunned by the impact of the wave. I rose from the deck, my limbs trembling with the adrenaline that still pulsed through my veins.
“What… what was that?” I asked, my voice faltering.
The captain shook his head, his eyes fixed on the horizon.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I have a feeling that we have just witnessed only the beginning.”
As the crew recovered from the shock of the encounter, a persistent sense of unease lingered in the air. I looked out to the horizon, to the dark and impenetrable waters stretching into infinity. Now the sea’s agitation was only inertia and so little time passed and it was already calming down. A silence settled in, not a safe one, but a heavy and ochre silence. There were no birds, no sign of movement, it was as if the sea itself had died.
The captain gathered the crew on the deck, his expression serious and determined reflecting the urgency of the situation.
“Everyone listen!” he began, his voice filled with authority. “Whatever that was, we cannot afford to underestimate it. We are facing something unknown, and we need to remain vigilant. We must stay together, work as a team, and be ready to act at any moment,” the captain continued. “If there are more encounters like this, we need to be prepared.”
Our work continued, but now with a sense of urgency and caution that was not present before. Every movement was calculated, every gaze attentive to the horizon in search of any sign of imminent danger. As the hours dragged on, the tension on board only increased. Every sound of the sea kept us on high alert, every shadow in the fog made us hold our breath. I found myself constantly looking out to sea, searching for any sign of suspicious activity.
As the night progressed, the fog seemed to become even denser, enveloping the ship in an oppressive curtain of darkness. I found myself trembling with anticipation, waiting for the next encounter with that mysterious creature that had left us so disturbed. Finally, as dawn began to paint the sky with shades of pink and orange, a kind of “collective relief” seemed to spread among the crew. It seemed that the threat was dissipating along with the darkness, and gradually, the men fell asleep, exhausted from the fatigue and tension faced. I was one of them, I fell into my bed, worn out.
It must have been no more than 1 hour and nothing more, when we were all awakened. A huge bang echoed throughout the entire ship, something hitting the hull with all its force. I jumped out of bed with the sound, running outside, joining many others who were doing the same. As I reached the bow, I saw the large and familiar face of the sperm whale emerge, we recoiled and alert cries sounded, but then, suddenly, we realized one thing: It wasn’t a normal movement. The thing was static, just floating. It was dead. Its body slowly rotated until it floated on its side and definitively this was the worst part: its body exhibited a gigantic bite mark on the side, taking up almost half of its body. Some more fervent men began to pray.
“Captain,” Tim shouted, “What could have done this?”
The man didn’t respond, leaving the question hanging.
“We need to go down to investigate,” one of the men said, “We can use the lifeboat and lower it down.”
“And who’s going to go down? You?” another retorted.
“Me? No, I just gave the idea.”
The debate intensified among the crew members, each expressing their concerns and cowardice in the face of the mission. Meanwhile, the inert body of the sperm whale continued to float beside the ship, a silent witness to our intrigues. The captain remained silent for a moment, his expression serious and focused as he assessed the situation. He knew he needed to make a quick and assertive decision to ensure the safety of the crew and understand what had happened to the whale.
“It’s decided,” I shouted, everyone falling silent at the unexpected statement. “I will lead the investigation team. Prepare the lifeboat.”
The crew stared at me for a moment, but soon moved quickly, preparing the boat and gathering the necessary supplies for the expedition. The captain nodded at me as I descended, his stern face now showing respect.
“Do not hesitate to come back if things get tough down there, son,” he said as he slowly released the pulley rope.
As we descended (Tim and I) down the side of the ship towards the lifeboat, the sperm whale’s body remained by our side, a somber reminder of the danger we faced. The dark and impenetrable water of the ocean stretched before us, a sight that made my stomach twist with anxiety. Once the boat was launched into the sea, we embarked, quickly rowing towards the whale’s body. The air was heavy with tense silence, only the sound of the oars cutting through the water breaking the morning stillness.
As we approached the whale’s body, a sense of unease settled over us. The captain raised a pair of binoculars, examining the whale’s body with a serious expression.
“Approach with caution,” he ordered, his voice filled with authority.
As we drew closer to the whale’s body, a growing sense of horror took hold of me. The wound on the animal’s side was enormous, a grotesque monstrosity that seemed to have been caused by an incredible force. Fragments of flesh and blood floated in the water around the whale, silent witnesses to the violence of the attack.
“My God,” I murmured. “What could have done this?”
Tim remained silent, his tense expression as he surveyed the scene before us. As we approached the wound, a growing sense of horror engulfed me. The torn and bloodied flesh of the whale was a distressing sight, a grim reminder of the brutality that had been inflicted upon it.
Carefully, we examined the marks, searching for any clues that could give us a sign of what had happened. As we investigated carefully, one of the men ran across the deck, excited.
“Captain! There’s something in the water! There’s something in the water.”
“Of course there is, look at that body,” he pointed to the whale.
“No captain… there’s something behind it, something bigger…”
Those words froze my blood. My gaze was slowly led through the large slain animal, looking through the hole in its body and, at the bottom of that tunnel of flesh, beyond the deep and dark waters, I saw an eye. A single, gigantic eye staring at me. I trembled in despair, my nerves now tense. I couldn’t shout anything to Tim, poor guy, I just started rowing frantically, leading us closer to the boat, but that’s when “it” reacted: its eye blinked, and then shadows began to spread beneath the water. We were almost there when a large tentacle tip emerged, almost like a hand, the size of our boat (or maybe even a little larger), rising to strike.
My heart raced as I rowed with all my strength, my body pulsing with adrenaline as I tried to get us away from that imminent danger. The tentacle stretched towards us, its sharp tip cutting through the air with frightening speed. I shouted for Tim to duck, but it was too late. The tentacle struck the boat with force, throwing us out as the impact reverberated through the water. We fell into the icy water, the shock stealing the air from my lungs as I struggled to resurface. The sea was murky with the blood of the dead whale, reduced visibility making it impossible to see what was around us. I fought desperately to orient myself, my senses alert for any sign of imminent danger.
Finally, I emerged to the surface, coughing and gasping as I tried to catch my breath. I looked around frantically, searching for support. I saw Tim, already hanging onto the rope, reaching out his hand to me, which I desperately grabbed. The boat was overturned, drifting in the water, and the sinister shadow of the tentacle still loomed over it, squeezing it until it sank to the bottom with an impressive speed. A few seconds later, the whale did the same: pulled with tremendous force, disappearing as its blood stained the path to the depths.
We quickly reached the top of the ship, pulled by the men who urged us on. After a brief conversation, we never touched on the subject again. The rest of our days were spent in silence on the matter, and no one spoke more than necessary. Perhaps the only time this pattern was broken was one night, where I was in my cabin and heard a knock on the door.
“Come in,” I said.
The captain entered, serious as always, closing the door behind him.
“It reached us because of the container,” he said dryly.
“What?”
“You know it’s part of the contract not to touch the cargo, right?” he asked, already knowing where this was going.
“I know, don’t worry, I won’t say anything.”
We walked through the dim and empty corridors of the ship, the sea waves now regular, some birds singing in the distance while the moon cast its shadow on the sea. We reached the container, where he looked around, searching for any sign of someone watching us. Finding a negative answer to this, he carefully opened it and we entered.
Inside the container, the atmosphere was stuffy and tense. The dim light of a lantern swayed, casting distorted shadows on the metal walls. The smell of mold and sea salt permeated the air, mixing with the metallic odor of the container. In the center, a large tank of dark waters. The captain advanced, I followed closely, my heart pounding in my chest as I prepared for whatever we might find inside. As we ventured deeper into the container, the feeling of claustrophobia increased, the walls closing in around us as if to compress us against the tank.
It was then that we spotted something in the dark corner, in the water, a sinister and menacing shape writhing. My stomach churned when I realized what it was: the creature that had attacked the whale. It was smaller than the monster we faced, but still possessed an imposing presence, its tentacles undulating threateningly. The captain approached slowly, his expression grim as he observed the creature intently. I stayed behind him, my breath caught in my throat as I waited to see what would happen next.
“This is how it started,” the captain murmured, his voice heavy with regret. “With a simple offspring.”
I swallowed hard, feeling a chill run down my spine. That creature, even in its young form, posed an imminent danger to us.
“What are we going to do?” I asked, my voice almost a whisper.
The captain remained silent for a moment, his eyes fixed on the creature before us.
“We’re going to seal this here,” he said finally, his voice firm and determined. “No one else should know about this.”
I nodded. We never touched on the subject again, and I hadn’t shared it with anyone. A few days later, we arrived at the port, where some government men received the cargo. I don’t know what the hell they wanted with it, but I definitely don’t work for them anymore. However, I’m still in the maritime business, you know how it is, I spent most of my life as a sailor, but now more cautiously. Sometimes, when I’m traveling in a very dark and rough sea, I still remember that thing, its sinister gaze, and the marks left on the whale. I wonder what else might be hidden in the depths of the ocean, beyond our understanding.