We got the distress signal at 2:32 AM.
The signal came via an emergency position-indicating radio beacon (EPIRB), registered a large yacht owned by a man named Daniel Owens. EPIRBs don’t send any other information, though, so we had no way of knowing what exactly happened.
“At least the weather’s good,” I said as we cut across the waves.
“Yeah, but kinda makes you wonder what happened, don’t it?” Bobby replied, hands gripping the wheel. “I don’t remember the last time we had an SOS without a storm.”
“Eh, who knows with these rich fucks,” Kim replied, spitting over the side. “They do all kind of weird shit.”
The ocean loomed ahead of us, pure darkness pierced only by our headlight. No one ever talks about how dark the ocean is—not a single streetlamp, or window, or car to break up the dark. Just pitch black. In every direction.
Well. I could still see the lights from the dock behind us. But it wouldn’t be long before they were swallowed up.
I’d been on several search and rescue missions before. Thankfully, they’d all ended well. But Bobby was right—they were all storm-related. Laypeople not knowing the wrath of the ocean. Thinking they can make a little trip into the water for someone’s birthday or whatnot when the sky is raging above them and the waves are swelling into mountains.
Respect the ocean, and maybe she won’t kill you, my mentor had told me. Those words stuck with me, even a decade later.
And then, before I knew it, we were approaching the yacht. The lights were on, reflecting in the inky black water. Bobby shifted gears and we pulled up to it, slowly, quietly. And that’s when I realized how truly massive it was. I’d guess it was a fifty or sixty-footer—easily dwarfing our boat.
Bobby grabbed the megaphone. “US Coast Guard,” he said. “Can you hear us?”
Nothing.
Kim and I started with the rope. As we worked, preparing to board, I kept looking up at the yacht; but from the outside, nothing appeared amiss. Golden light bled out of the tinted windows, reflecting placidly on the water. I heard low, instrumental music playing somewhere. I didn’t see any damage to the boat, or people in the water.
Kim boarded first. I went next. Bobby stayed in the boat, preparing to search the surrounding water.
Kim slid open the glass door. “After you.”
I swallowed and stepped inside.
The doors opened up into a small, but lavishly decorated, room. A kitchenette/bar area stood to the right, and a dining area with tables and booths sat on the left. That’s when I noticed the food.
Even though the room was empty, the tables were set with food, as if people had just been there moments before. Glasses of champagne, still bubbling. A filet of salmon, a few bites missing. Lipstick smeared on a napkin.
I pressed my hand to the salmon—and my stomach sank. It was still warm.
They were just here.
I glanced at my watch. 2:51 AM. They’d sent the SOS not even twenty minutes ago. How did they go from eating and drinking to just—nothing?
Kim made her way over to me. “I checked below deck. No one’s there,” she said.
“The food’s still warm.”
Her eyes widened. “What the hell? Where did they go?”
“No idea.”
We made our way towards the stairs. Towards the top deck. I doubted we would find them there, but we had to be thorough.
The top deck was open to the air. I glanced at the captain’s chair, the steering wheel, the little U-shaped sofa behind them. It was empty. Nothing out of place. “They’ve got to be in the water,” I said grimly. “They’re not here, that’s for sure.”
I looked out below us. At the inky black water, the ripples glinting in the light. I turned, looking around the boat, into the water—
My heart stopped.
“Where’s Bobby?”
Our boat was still linked with the yacht. But it was empty.
“Dammit, he must’ve boarded,” Kim snapped, charging for the stairs. “He never follows fucking protocol. I always tell him, it’s going to get someone killed, but no, he just has to do things his way…” Her rant grew muffled as she descended towards the deck.
I followed her.
But Bobby wasn’t downstairs. He wasn’t in the dining area, or in either of the bedrooms below deck. My heart pounded in my ears as I grew more and more frantic, checking tiny closets that couldn’t possibly fit a person, opening the storage cabbies that held the life jackets. “Bobby! Bobby, where are you?!”
A hand clapped over my mouth.
And then something shoved me to the floor. I tried to wrestle away but then I saw a flash of red curls above me—Kim—she was dragging me under the table, whispering, begging me to keep quiet—
Squelch.
Both of us froze. My eyes locked on the source of the noise—and I saw two rubber boots on the carpet, rivulets of seawater dripping off them.
I glanced up.
Bobby was standing there, in the center of the room.
But something was horribly wrong with him.
He was soaking wet, from head to toe. Seawater sloshed in his boots; streams of water ran off his sleeves. His skin was pale and bluish, and there was a patch of white, crusty salt along his jawline, almost reaching his eyes.
And his eyes…
They were pure white. Pupilless. Blank.
Squelch. Bobby took another step. Squelch. And another. Kim’s nails dug into my arm. We watched as Bobby—no, not Bobby, not anymore—continued walking towards us. I held my breath, shutting my eyes. Please don’t let him see us. Please.
Squelch.
Two rubber boots. Right in front of our table.
Squelch.
He continued deeper into the cabin.
I let out the breath I was holding. Kim’s grip on my arm loosened. As soon as Bobby’s steps sounded on the stairs, Kim whispered to me: “Run.”
I didn’t want to. But then she shoved me, hard, and I was rolling out from under the table. I scrambled up—just in time to see Bobby freeze on the stairs.
He slowly turned around, his white eyes locking on mine.
I ran. Faster than I’d run in my life. We scrambled out onto the deck, then made our way into the boat, as fast as we could. Kim made it first—then she grabbed my hand, pulling me towards safety—
Squelch.
Bobby’s hand locked onto my ankle.
Except they weren’t just hands. His fingers were jointless, like tentacles, wrapping perfectly around my ankle. Covered in fleshy suction-cups.
And his face—it was rapidly changing. Before my eyes, his salt-encrusted features were morphing, until I saw a woman, then an older man. His flesh squeezing and bloating into its other forms effortlessly, like an octopus squeezing through a tiny hole. But his eyes always stayed the same. White. Blank. Empty.
This is how I die.
But then, with a loud pop, I went flying. I crashed into the floor of the boat, pain shooting up my side. By the time I scrambled up, we were several feet away from the yacht, plowing into the ocean.
Back home.
I was so relieved. So thankful. Whatever that thing was, I’d escaped it. I felt better than I had in years. Like all my problems were tiny grains of sand.
But now, I’m not so sure.
Because, this morning—when I looked in the mirror—I noticed my face was encrusted with white flakes of salt.