I’m someone who loves to take long walks on the beach in the early mornings when very little to nobody else is there. The sea spray on my face and the salt air in my nostrils always help make the eight hour shifts I spend behind a desk somewhat tolerable, and the sight of the sun rising out on the misty waves has always filled me with a sense of calm. However, that changed yesterday when I was out for my walk. It was a slightly rougher day; the waves were crashing on shore a bit harder than normal, and the wind was whipping something fierce. As I strode across the beach, I noticed something out of place being pummeled around in the surf like it was a pinball. When I drew closer, I saw it was a plastic bag which had been sealed with duct tape at the top. Inside was what looked like a book of some sort, and driven by curiosity, I waded into the waves up to my ankles to retrieve it. When I got back to my car, I managed to open the bag and found that the book was actually somebody’s journal, as stated by the inscription on the inside of the cover. It declared it belonged to a man named Anthony Hodgson, as part of an ocean crossing sailing trip from almost 20 years ago.

As I was late for work, I didn’t read any more of it, and instead, tucked it into my briefcase for safekeeping. I figured I could find out more information later on that night and try and return it to its rightful owner. When I got home that night, I immediately took the journal out and began reading excitedly. However, as I got further and further towards the last entry, my intrigue and excitement crumbled to dust, and it was replaced by some of the strongest dread and horror that I have ever felt. I wasn’t sure what to do with it once I finished reading. There’s not much I can do. I can’t send it to anyone, and if I turned it over to any newspaper or TV station, I’m sure it’d be dismissed as a hoax. Finally, I decided that the only place I could come to share it would be here, as I know many others come to share what they’ve seen and found. Let me know what your guys’ thoughts are on this. But, for me personally? What I’ve read has given me some of the worst nightmares I’ve had since I was a child, and will probably keep me out of the ocean. Forever.

Here are the entries:

July 15th, 2004, 3:34 PM

Well, here we are journal. Today is the day I’ve been dreaming about for most of my life. Ever since I was a little child, spending time at my aunt and uncle’s house in Maine, reading their old sailing magazines, I’ve always had the desire to make an oceanic crossing, using nothing more than my skill, knowledge, and determination to get me to the other side. After almost thirty years of waiting, it’s now finally my turn. And thanks in no small part to the group of friends I’ve forged in this journey called life! All in total, there are six of us who will be making this trip. Myself, Darryl, Xander, Winston, Holly, and Anastasia. It was Xander’s idea for us to begin saving and pooling together our money to purchase a sailboat over twelve years ago, and now, I sit in my cabin on what took what seems like an eternity to attain. Her name is the Lunging Lyon; a fifty-two foot Sparkman & Stevens Yawl from 1950, and God, is she one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. And for something almost fifty-five years old, she looks as good as the day she first entered the water.

We’re currently docked at a pier in Boston, and I can hear the others loading the final crates of supplies and barrels of diesel fuel onboard. Tomorrow, we will sail at the crack of dawn from here, with our bow squarely aimed for none other than jolly old England! I’ve done the calculations, and if we can average between ten to fifteen knots with the wind, it should be no more than a week and change to make it there. Almost three thousand nautical miles of the Atlantic lie between us, and the end of a journey that we will remember for the rest of our lives. I would love to keep writing, maybe even wax a bit poetic about this undertaking, but I can hear the other’s calling to me to help them, so this is where I have to end this entry. For a first one, and as someone who’s never written in one of these things, I don’t think it was that bad. Write later!

July 16th, 2004, 11:17 AM

Good morning, journal! We are officially on our way! We woke up at just a little after six in the morning, and after a last few consultations of our charts, and farewells with the harbor master, we cast off our lines, and used the diesel engine to motor out of Boston harbor. Once we were clear of the last marker buoy, we killed it, and opened up the sails. I’m happy to report that the second they did, the wind blowing from the west caught them, and we shot off like a bullet from a gun! Currently, according to the readout, we’re sailing along at a pleasant nine knots. Not what we were hoping for, but still adequate. I do have to say, though, there is an extreme, almost sense of peace already. Boston and all the rest of land is slowly, but steadily turning into just a thin line behind us, and with the Lunging Lyon under only sail power, the only sounds that can be heard are the creaking of the boat’s wooden hull as she slices through the water, the sails and the rigging as they are slapped by the wind, and the cries of the seabirds as they follow us out to sea.

And, of course, the shouts and laughs of my friends and I. Everyone’s spirits are at a crescendo as the object of many late night conversations turns from the stuff of drunken speculation, to reality. I should point out that everyone on board has a job to do. Darryl and Winston are the two with the most practical knowledge on sailing, as they’ve actually sailed from Washington state down to Baja four or five years ago as part of a competition. They’ll serve as the captain and the navigator for our trip. Thank God for them, or we’d be in way over our heads here! Xander and myself have some knowledge, but only from small trips, usually from Portsmouth up to Bar Harbor in Maine, so we are to help with piloting, while Holly and Anastasia will be working the rigging, raising and lowering the sails as needed, with our help, of course. Additionally, Anastasia will be serving as our cook for the duration of our trip. And considering some of the meals she’s made, I am all for that!

I just took a look at the depth finder mounted just beside the main hatch in the cockpit. According to it, the bottom is already over three thousand feet below us. I know many other people might find such a revelation scary, but as someone who’s loved the sea as long as I can remember, it’s thrilling. I can only imagine what strange and wonderful creatures swim and float beneath us, in the dark and cold waters, listening to the sounds of our hull creaking, reverberating for miles away, as sound travels farther in water than air. Darryl just asked me to take over the helm for a while, so I’ll end this entry here! Write again soon!

July 18th, 2004, 1:37PM

Well, I can’t exactly say good afternoon, as things aren’t as smooth sailing (pardon the pun!) as I would’ve liked. You see, we’ve come across a rather large fog bank, which almost seems to have risen up from the waves and ensnared all in its reach, ourselves included. You can’t even see twenty feet in any direction, and whenever a sound is made, it tends to bounce off the fog back to you in a rather sharp echo. We’ve had to pull some sails down and reduce our speed to six knots to be safe. To tell you the truth, journal, it’s really rather eerie. It almost feels like the entire world has been swallowed up and disappeared, and we’re all that’s left. Thankfully, though, Winston told me that he’s seen fog like this before, and that it won’t last longer than a few hours. I’m grateful for that; honestly, if it lasted longer, I feel it might pull on my sanity a little. The magazine articles and photos never showed or spoke about this, and I wish they would. It wouldn’t have changed my mind on this trip, but it would have prepared me for what to expect.

Something loud just splashed out in the gloom. None of us could see what caused it, but everyone topside heard it. It was only a single splash, one which echoed like the crack of a gunshot in the fog. When I asked Darryl what it could have been, he shrugged his shoulders. “It could be anything, Tony” he said, “Lots of things splash around in deep water. Could be a whale breaching, could be a shark going after a school of fish. Hell, it could even be a piece of flotsam getting tossed about by a particularly tall whitecap”. The explanation brought me more comfort; instead of a sense of unease about the unknown, my mind is now filled with natural explanations. According to the radar, we are about four hundred miles off the coast of the US, and the depth sounder shows the bottom has dropped away to six thousand feet.

We all need to keep a sharp eye out, so I’ll stop writing for now to help the others. Write again soon!

July 19th, 2004, 1:17AM

What. The. Actual. Fuck. Just happened? Not even four hours ago, myself, Xander, and Holly laid down to get some sleep, as we’ve worked out a schedule where we sleep three at a time, changing out during the night to allow the other team to rest. I’d just managed to drift off when I flew out of my bunk onto the floor. It literally felt as if the boat had slammed into another vessel. For a moment, that was my biggest fear, and after checking on the other two down below with me, who both had slight bruises from their own unexpected flights, I dashed topside to the sounds of chaos. Winston and Darryl were shouting back and forth to each other in confusion, and I could hear Anastasia moaning somewhere closer to the bow. When I asked what had happened, they told me they didn’t know. “It was like we sailed straight into a damn block of concrete!” Winston exclaimed to me.

When I went to check on Anastasia, I found her lying on her back on the deck. She’d cracked her head on the main mast, giving her a rather nasty bump on her left temple, and received a cut on her cheek. The three of us carried her down below and laid her down in the forward berth, where Holly is looking after her. She says she’ll be okay, but she needs to rest for the rest of the night. I, for the life of me can’t understand what we hit. It could have been a whale or a large piece of wood, but, nobody saw anything, and it was a perfectly clear night, something that Darryl tells me will end the night after tomorrow, as a storm is coming our way. And I’m fairly certain that the two most experienced of our crew wouldn’t jeopardize us so carelessly. If they say they didn’t see anything, then I believe them. I’ve gone back down below to try and catch at least an hour’s more rest before I help take over the late night to early morning shift at the helm. According to the charts and radar, we’re now about eight hundred and fifty miles off the coast, though I didn’t look at the depth sounder this time.

One additional thing to note, that may not have any meaning, but I’m still going to write down. There was one strange thing I noticed when I went topside and went to help Anastasia. There was a rather putrid scent in the air, something I couldn’t place. If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve said it was ammonia, but we have none aboard which could’ve spilled, so I don’t know what to make of it. Probably nothing, but still noting. Anyways, good night. Hopefully no more surprises!

July 20th, 2004, 4:37 PM

Good morning, journal! Things happily seem to be more on track today than they have been the last two! I’m currently sitting behind the helm, using my foot to keep it straight as I write. Most of the others have gone below to have dinner, which I’ll have myself when they’re finished. Someone needs to steer, after all! I’m happy to report that Anastasia is back up and, aside from the bump on her head, seems to be in good spirits. She’s currently making clam chowder, a favorite of all of ours! We’ve picked speed back up to about eleven to twelve knots with a strong tailwind; although earlier it died, causing us to have to tack back and forth before, regrettably, having to fire up the engine to carry us a bit farther. The sound of it was almost heresy out here in the silence, only broken by the wind and the waves. It was worth it, though, as I saw a truly amazing sight about half an hour ago. A sperm whale! It breached out of the water, not more than a half a mile away from us! Seeing that gigantic black leviathan leaping from the waves is a sight that filled me with joy, to tell you! It did so a few more times, seeming to move around in a circle, before disappearing below the waves. I’ve honestly never heard of a sperm whale doing multiple breaches in such a short succession, but there’s a first time for everything, I guess.

Anyways, I look ahead now, and in the distance, I can see the storm clouds on the horizon, lightning occasionally flashing in the dark grey fluff. According to the report we got from a tanker on the ship’s radio, it will be a bad one, meaning our initial plan to make it to England in just over a week is going to be extended to just about two weeks. Fine by me, as despite our setbacks and problems, I still am thoroughly enjoying this journey-

Good Lord, did that just startle me! I heard a loud splashing sound off our stern behind me, and swung around. There was nothing there, but it was so close I swear I could feel the water droplets hitting me on the back of the neck. Anyways, Xander’s coming up to take over helm duties, so it’s time for me to head below and eat! According to the radar, we’re now over a thousand and three hundred miles out to sea, close to the halfway mark of our trip! The depth sounder says twelve thousand feet of water lie between us and the seafloor. Write later!

July 21st, 2004, 07:18 AM

I….I don’t even know where to begin with this entry. I’m honestly lost for words, both in my shock. And my grief. I suppose there’s no other way to put it other than bluntly. Holly’s gone. Last night, we sailed into the storm at just a little after eight; the waves and wind became something fierce, something that I only read when reading novels like The Perfect Storm and The Old Man and the Sea. The waves crashed down on the deck with all the ferocity of a freight train, and the howling of the wind sounded like a banshee screaming into our ears. All of us, save for Anastasia, who was cleaning up dinner dishes in the galley were topside to keep the Lunging Lyon straight and true. But the storm battered about our sailboat like it was a child’s plaything in the bath.

I don’t know how big the swells became, but we would ride up one, and almost drop in a seventy five or eighty degree angle down into the trough before the next set. The lightning flashed, momentarily illuminating the hell we’d sailed into like it was the middle of daytime, and the thunder boomed and rattled my eardrums. Darryl and I were at the helm, fighting to keep the rudder straight while the others were working the rigging and the sails. Holly was working the rigging underneath the mainsail when it happened. A sudden change of wind slammed into us from the port side, shifting the boat sideways. It also caused the boom to change direction suddenly, swinging across the deck like a charging bull. Xander and Winston managed to duck under it, but….Holly didn’t. The huge wood and fiberglass projectile caught my friend on the side of the head and shoulders in its arc, and before anyone knew what was happening….she was gone. Knocked over the railing and into the churning waves.

For a moment as we panicked and looked around us, I thought I saw her in a flash of lightning, about fifteen yards behind the boat, waving her arms and her mouth open in a scream as she bobbed in the waves, kept afloat by her life jacket. But when the next flash came, not even four seconds later, I saw nothing. We couldn’t turn around in the storm; not unless we wanted to swamp ourselves and sink. We could do nothing but helplessly sail away from our friend. Xander hasn’t been able to stop crying. Holly and he were an item, and losing his life partner has destroyed him in a way I can only imagine.

The waves have lessened some since, but our boat has taken major damage. Both the radio and radar have been damaged in the storm, making any kind of call for help impossible, as well as knowing our exact location. To make matters worse, there seems to be something wrong with the propeller for the diesel engine, as when we discovered some tears in the mainsail, we lowered them to repair and continue under engine power. But, though the engine roared, we didn’t move at all. Darryl says he’ll check it out once the storm lets up a little more. For now…all happiness of this trip has flooded out of all of us. Now it’s marked by the loss of one of us. I just honestly want to get to England at this point. Will write later.

July 21st, 2004, 03:13 PM

The storm finally abated enough for Darryl to check on the prop. As the waves petered out, and we seemed to move into the eye of the storm, he donned a pair of flippers and a mask, and jumped overboard to inspect it. When he popped his head above the waves, his face bore a look of confusion and worry. Treading water beside the boat, he told us that the prop had been sheared half off by something. The one remaining blade had been bent so that it couldn’t turn anymore, but the rest was just…gone. I remember his exact words. “I’ve sailed for fifteen years, and I’ve never seen something like that happen in open water. You usually have to run aground to do damage like that”

Unnerved myself, I asked him to come back aboard. As he swam back to the swim ladder on the stern, I swear…I swear I saw something below the waves. A shape darker than the rest of the ocean, one that seemed to move on its own power, slowly rising up towards us. Whatever it was, it looked big. I fully admit, when I saw that dark shape, I couldn’t help but reach over the transom and grab Darryl by the arm, almost wrenching him out of the water. It’s beyond ridiculous, I know, but. Given our recent events, I feel on edge. Hell, we all do. Now, I sit behind the helm in the cockpit as I watch Anastasia and Xander try and sew up the torn sails. I hope they’ll do good progress soon; I want to be out of this area before nightfall. And more unnerving, is the fact that that ammonia like smell is back. This time, Winston smelled it as well, holding his nose and complaining about “That God-awful stench”. We looked around, but saw nothing. I’m beginning to regret being the one who thought this trip of ours up over a decade and a half ago. Write Later.

July 21st, 2004, 06:13 PM

Darryl’s gone. What the fuck, what the fuck, what the actual FUCK is going on?! Just before dusk fell, he came back topside, in one arm holding a waterproof flashlight; in the other, a brand new propeller. He told us that he’d brought a spare along in case of any emergency, and we felt a wave of relief wash over us that we’d be able to get moving. The storm wall was fast approaching, and Xander and Anastasia hadn’t finished mending the sails yet. He also had a yellow pony bottle, which he pushed the regulator into his mouth, and after picking up a wrench, put on his flippers and mask, and slipped back overboard. We all saw his light click on, and he slipped out of sight underneath the boat.

Every couple of seconds, we saw a burst of bubbles break the surface as he breathed out, and a quick flash of his flashlight swing around. For a few minutes, we felt the tension ease up, and despite the grim mood from Holly’s death, Winston told us a joke about sharks and a razor lined surfboard which made us laugh a bit. But then, that jovial mood deflated as quickly as a bully popping a kid’s party balloon. “Hey, what’s going on?!” we all heard Anastasia cry, and we looked over the railing down into the water. Darryl’s light was dancing about as if he was turning rapidly around from one side to the other, the air bubbles coming in faster streams. Then, two things happened in rapid succession. The first was that the beam from his light disappeared. It was as if he’d just snapped it off; one second it was there, whipping around, the next it was gone. And the second, was that a huge stream of bubbles came to the surface at once.

It was only for a second, and then. Nothing. We waited and waited, the seconds drawing into minutes, but our friend, and one of our two leaders never resurfaced. It was as if he’d never even been there. We debated for a few minutes about having someone else go into the water, and after many refusals, I finally relented and grabbed a mask. I wouldn’t be going in all the way, though; I would just drop down the swim ladder enough to see under the boat, and that was it. As it stepped down and felt the freezing water touch my feet, I felt goose pimples rise all over my arms and legs. I couldn’t understand why, but I felt my primal flight or fight instincts kicking in as I stuck my head in the water and shone another flashlight around.

I saw no sign of him. The water under the boat was completely empty of life. No fish, no sharks, nothing. And no Darryl. I swung my head around, looking off into the gathering gloom, but still saw nothing. As I turned and looked down into the depths, however, I swear I saw a flash of changing color. It could’ve been a trick of the ocean, but I swear I saw one patch turn from dark blue, almost black, to a very dark maroon. That was enough to make me yank my head out of the water and climb back up from the swim platform. “He’s not there” I said to the others. “He’s just….disappeared” We all agreed then, that nobody else would enter the water. We’d take our chances being battered around by the storm. Currently we’ve started the bilge pumps before it reaches us. I can hear them roaring away in the recesses of the hull as I sit at the galley table and write this. And..I can’t help but feel a creeping sense of dread as I close my eyes and recall that dark shape I thought I saw. Plus the changing color I swear I saw in the deep. But, I can’t let myself lose my cool. We all need to keep a level head if we hope to get back to dry land.

I’ll write again soon. I hope to God it’s with better news.

July 23rd, 2004, 02:30AM

….If you gaze too long into the abyss, you’ll find the abyss also gazes back at you. That may not be the exact quote, but who gives a damn. Not when you’ve looked into the eye of a monster. Still, I should tell what happened.

The storm reached us that night, and all throughout it and much of the next day, we were battered by it. I thought so many times that the wooden hull would break apart, dropping us all into the monstrous waves and stinging rain. But, somehow, she stayed afloat. It’s true what they say; they don’t make them like this anymore. As daylight broke, though, the storm increased in its ferocity, and we were forced to venture topside to steer the boat into the waves to keep from capsizing. Myself, Xander, and Winston went up after donning life jackets; we told Anastasia to stay below for her own safety. When we emerged, it was like stepping directly into hell. The rain tore at our faces, and the wind almost completely drowned out the sound of our voices. Lightning pierced the dark, and we worked with our remaining flashlights to raise what little sails we had left whole, and then began to try and steer towards what our compass and charts indicated was England. We had no idea how far we were from it, or how blown off course the storm had shoved us, but we had to try. For three hours, we were battered and beaten, but we seemed to make headway.

That was when a familiar sensation struck our boat. The same concrete slamming sensation as before, making it feel as if we’d come to a dead stop in the waves, which began to wash hard down into the cockpit. Thankfully the main hatch was closed, so no water got down below. “What the hell did we hit?!” I heard Winston shout to be heard over the howling wind. “Hell if I know!” Xander called back to him, and I saw his flashlight beam shine down into the water. “I don’t see-“ His voice cut off. “You don’t see what?!” Winston yelled back, but there was no answer from him. Feeling a piercing fear seize me, I shone my own flashlight beam up to where he’d been, near the bow. It illuminated him, still kneeling and clutching at the railing, staring down into the sea. “Xander, what the hell’s the matter with you!” I screamed as loud as I could. Slowly, he turned to look up and back at me. What I saw made me feel as if the blood in my veins had been replaced with ice. I have never seen Xander even a tiny bit afraid before; we always said he was the most courageous out of our group. But, now his face had turned a shade of pale I thought only corpses could hold, and his eyes were about as wide as they could get. His hand holding his flashlight trembled. As I looked, I smelled that putrid stench once more; this time, though, it was overpowering.

That was when I heard Winston scream. I swung my beam back portside, and the beam. Oh, good God almighty…the beam landed on a scene that, however much longer am I alive, I’ll see whenever I close my eyes. Winston was still there, but…so was something else. Something which had come from the sea itself. My hand trembles as I write this next part. It was a fucking tentacle. An honest-to-God tentacle, looking like something out of the old 20,000 Leagues under the Sea movie from the 50s. But, unlike that, this was very much alive. I saw every detail in slow motion. The giant club of the tentacle, big enough to wrap around the mast and filled with dozens of huge, wide suckers. The arm of the tentacle, as thick as two men standing next to each other. It all was a dark maroon color. And then, I saw Winston.

Oh, God no. The tentacle had wrapped around my friend with the strength of seven boa constrictors, squeezing him so tightly I saw his face turn red, even in the biting wind and rain. He feebly pressed his hands to it, trying in vain to push it away. And then, as quick as one of the bolts of lightning flashing overhead, he was gone. It was so quick I only saw it as a blur, hearing a gigantic splash as he was yanked below the waves. I forgot all about steering the boat and scrambled for the side in some misguided and foolish attempt to save him. I shone the light’s beam down into the dark waters. And fuck me running, do I wish I hadn’t. Because it shone directly into an eye.

An inhuman eye the size of a wall clock. One which looked back at me with a cold and predatory gaze. The pupil contracted in the light, and it shot back underneath the boat. To the other side. Xander… I turned to scream for my other friend to get away from the railing. But…he was already gone. I hadn’t even heard him get taken over the wind and the rain. His flashlight rolled around on the deck near where he’d been kneeling. But he was gone. That’s when I saw another tentacle rise above the railing a few feet in front of me. It felt around on the deck, seeming to move by a sense of touch as it searched for its next meal. For me.

All courage left me, and I abandoned anything topside and dashed below. I slammed the hatch closed behind me and locked it, knowing full well if it really wanted to, the tentacles could easily rip it off its track. Anastasia was shaking when I ducked down below and saw her. She’d been looking through the side windows and seen what had happened to the other two. To Winston, her husband. As much as I was terrified, I went to her. I held her in my arms to console her, and we sat there, sitting on the hardwood floor, listening to the sickening sounds of the tentacles moving underneath us over the hull and breaching the waves to search the deck. After a while, it stopped. The storm lessened a little, the waves ceasing their merciless battering of our boat. Anastasia finally drifted off to sleep in my arms, and I carried her to the forward berth. She needs sleep. So do I, but I can’t bring myself to fall asleep. I know I’ll be haunted by nightmares of that tentacle and eye. And I know it’s still there. I can still smell that ammonia scent, even through the closed windows and hatch. For now, though, I’ll just curl up on the galley seats. I don’t know what else to do. There’s nothing else I can do.

Who gives a fuck about the date

This will be my final entry in this journal. I don’t even know how many days we’ve drifted aimlessly on the waves anymore. The storm finally passed, and the waves have remained relatively calm ever since. If it weren’t for knowing what lies beneath them, I might almost call it peaceful. It’s anything but, though. Our food and fresh water is almost completely used up. All our remaining sails tore in the storm, and Anastasia’s in no shape to sew them up. And, unfortunately, I never learned how. It wouldn’t matter, anyways. Our rudder is gone. I know, because when I opened the main hatch and stuck my head out, I saw it, floating on its side about a half mile away from us. No doubt torn off by that creature, leaving us completely dead in the water.

I know what it is now. I was too terrified and confused to put together the pieces in my mind, but now, all the marine biology knowledge in my brain has allowed me to identify it. Architeuthis Dux. A Giant Squid. One far larger than has been seen by scientists before, at least sixty or seventy feet long, judging by the size of the eye I saw. A creature that has for centuries terrorized sailors, giving rise to the legend of the Kraken, pulling ships below the waves and preying upon the floating sailors. So many marine biologists and historians said that the stories of ships being pulled down to their doom were conjecture, wives tales. I can confidently say that they’re absolutely full of shit. The stories were right on the money.

The Lunging Lyon is slowly sinking. The pumps gave out yesterday; both Anastasia and I heard them die. When I went topside to check on them, looking around as if I were a fucking owl to make sure I wouldn’t be grabbed, and lifted the hatch to the engine compartment, I saw water in it. For a while, we tried bailing it out, but soon gave up. What’s the point, anyways? We can’t call for help; we can’t escape in the dinghy lashed to the deck, as we’d be set upon by the beast. That damned smell is always here now; one that signals its presence, along with the scrapes of its tentacles along the hull. We’re fucked any way we look at it.

And this morning…Anastasia stepped overboard. I don’t think she could take the waiting anymore. I awoke just in time to see it. She’d become closed off since the day before, barely saying a word. I couldn’t make out what she was thinking. But, I awoke, and saw the hatch to the cockpit was open. Feeling a new sense of dread course through my veins, I ran to the open hatch, just in time to see her step off the stern railing. I heard the splash of her dropping into the water. The sound of the tentacles rubbing on the hull stopped. And then, nothing. Silence.

I’m alone now. Well, not completely alone. That fucking thing is still there. The rubbing and scraping has started again. As I write this, the boat has sunk lower into the water. The entire transom is almost underwater, and as it bobs up and down in the waves, I can see it, sitting just below the surface behind the boat and waiting patiently. Staring at me with that cold, unblinking eye. It knows as well as I do that I don’t have long. Which is why I’m going to place this journal into a bag after I’m finished writing this. I’ll seal it with a roll of duct tape which floats around near my feet, and then I’ll throw it overboard, as far away as I can. Maybe, with some luck, it’ll wash ashore somewhere. So someone can know what happened to us.

The transom is lower in the water now, and the tentacles are beginning to reach over into the cockpit. I’m going to stuff myself into the forward berth as far as I can, and shut the cabin door. If I’m lucky….maybe I’ll drown before it can reach me. I don’t want to be torn apart by that monster’s beak. Like the others were. Please, whatever you do. Beware the open ocean. Monsters, real ones, dwell out here.

Goodbye.