Author's Notes:
Each episode in the "An Inhuman Love" series will be a stand-alone novelette, meant to be read and enjoyed in a single sitting. Expect a monster/human pairing in each episode, with all the juicy details included.
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You can only peel potatoes for so long before you want to die.
Eric groaned, finished a potato, and reached for another. From a barrel, into another barrel. From a barrel, into the cleaning bucket, and once they were cleaned, into the pot. Day after day, night after night, it was potatoes. He'd served aboard a ship a few years back that didn't do potatoes; they had salted meats, cheese, and biscuits. It'd been a delicious trip, but he'd come back to his family quite sick. A man needs potatoes!
But he doesn't need to peel a thousand of them.
"Captain, I don't like the waters. The sky is clear but the water churns like my wife when she's angry. Something's out there." The sailing master pulled the Captain to the port railing and pointed down at the water. He was a paranoid man, the sailing master, and it made Eric laugh each time the fat fellow argued for their safety. He was missing a few fingers, an eye, and one of his feet though, so maybe his paranoia was warranted, peg leg and all.
"Just a week out from Haiti, Jacob. Keep your head on straight before you—"
"Captain, I swear it! I've seen these waters before. Something churns, something... unnatural!" Jacob grabbed the captain by the shoulders, and shook him. "I lost my leg to such waters, Captain, and the last captain — bless his poor soul — sits at the bottom of the sea for ignoring my warning!"
The captain rolled his eyes. His back was to Eric, but the cabin boy could read the older man well enough to tell he was annoyed. The captain was tall, thin, and starting to wear down with his age. His fancy long coat, his well-cared-for captain's hat, his compass in his pocket by a chain, and his ever-calm demeanor all spoke of a true captain. The rest of the shipmates wore dirty trousers and dirtier shirts, but that only made the captain stand out more, like he should.
"Jacob," the captain said, and he put a hand on Jacob's shoulder before walking him back toward the center mast of the ship. "Breathe my boy, breathe. I've seen these waters myself, a thousand times. We're in for a small storm tonight, nothing more than a touch of rain and wind. Can you handle that?"
"Captain I—"
"Can you handle that?"
"Aye, I can Captain. But it's not the rain or the wind that I fear. It's beneath the waves my worries come from." Jacob looked over his shoulder back to the railing, to Eric, and then back to the captain. "It tore at the ship from beneath! And came at us with claws and teeth!"
"We'll keep an eye on the water then." The captain patted the man on the back, and escorted him up to the helm.
Eric watched after them. Jacob was a loud man, jolly when drunk, and superstitious. Half the crew was just like him. But, as much as Eric wanted to dismiss Jacob's worries like usual, something about his words stuck out to him. Claws? Teeth?
One of the crewman spotted him. A shorter fellow, with a big back from a lifetime of hauling god knows what. Eric was a normal-sized boy, average height, a strong body from his duties, and much younger than these men. He was only just old enough to be considered a man, so, he expected some teasing.
"Cabin boy," Marters said, and he sat down next to Eric and the barrel, butt on the step.
"Marters."
"How's it going Eric?"
"Same as always." He threw a potato into the pot, stuck out his hand, and Marters filled it with a fresh one.
"Jacob having fits again?"
"Says something's coming, something in the water."
Marters shivered. "Jacob's a strange man, but I trust him. Saved me from more than one drunken mistake."
"Has he ever saved you from demons or devils or ghosts though?" Eric said, and he scratched at his sandy hair.
"Ha, rightly he hasn't." The crewman sighed, got up, and stretched himself out a bit. "What's for supper?"
"Fish and potatoes."
Eric glared at Marters, but before long, the two of them were laughing.
"Anything else?"
"Nope."
"What if I told you I'd sneaked in some oranges?"
Tempting, but not likely. "That haven't started growing limbs?"
"Bah, just adds to the flavor!"
Eric rolled his eyes as the crewman walked off, laughing and hollering at the other men to get back to work. It was a fun ship, a good ship, with a good crew and a good captain. He could do without the potato peeling though; such was the life of a cabin boy. Laughing, he got up, walked over to the railing, and looked out over the sea.
The crystal blue of the Caribbean sea spread out before him for all directions. The air smelled of salt — just a pinch — and the water rocked against the vessel with a quiet, gentle groan. The breeze was calm but consistent, the sun was hot, and the sky was clear. A perfect day for sailing.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jacob wasn't so crazy after all.
"Captain!"
"Eric, get the cargo anchored! I'm not going to let one storm ruin this voyage!"
"Aye aye, captain!"
Eric pushed his way past the crew. Dozens of men were running back and forth with ropes in hand. They worked the sails, while the ship was steered into the waves. Better than capsizing, but it made each few seconds a dance with gravity. Up and down, up and down. Even Eric was starting to get a little sick, but he forced down his gut and got to work.
Rain poured over the deck, smacked against the skin with stinging water drops, washed everything away, and any man who didn't watch where he stepped fell onto his side with the snap of wind pushing him. Eric pushed through the crowd of struggling shoulders and pulling ropes, and slipped several times as he squirmed past the bigger men. He had a job to do.
The cargo hold, deep below deck. The stairs were waterfalls, and try as he might, an upward shove from the vessel knocked his footing down a stair too fast. He slid down the rest of the stairs with the water pulling him down, and landed on his ass against the wood. Boxes and barrels were teetering, rolling over, and sending provisions onto the floor. He had to move faster, or they'd have have nothing to deliver!
Barrels, heavy and rolling. He got them back up, one painful squat at a time, and jammed them into the corner before tying them off. Water dripped down over his head, and more crashed into his ankles in waves. More than once he found himself on his ass with feet flinging up into the air. As the ship rocked back and forth, it sent him into the pillar of the main mast like a bad habit, until his hands were sore from the collisions.
Wasn't like he could stop though. Through the groaning of wood and the rage of the sea, he could hear men screaming and wind screaming right along with them. The sea was angry, no doubt about that. But yesterday's sky had said nothing, the winds had said nothing, only Jacob and his crazy prediction had seen this coming. You can't predict a storm from bubbles in the water.
On his ass again. Water poured down the stairs, flooded over him until it was hard to breathe. He scampered for some hanging rope and hauled himself back up, but his breathing was racked and his body was shaking. He'd need help to get things secured. No chance of that. He just had to make do alone, even if it meant they lost their cargo. Better the cargo than the ship or their lives.
Of course, the moment he thought it, the wind softened, the howling of the sea, and the cry of the bulkhead waned. Water stopped pouring down the stairs, the ship stopped rocking like a wailing baby, and the hollering of the crew died down.
"Oh thank god, no more." He dragged himself through the ankle-deep water and started to climb the stairs.
And then he heard a different moan. At first, he thought it was the bulkhead, still bending under the pressure of waves and wind, but it was different. It was deeper. Vibrations filled the water around him, made it dance like it was still raining. The sound was coming from all around him as the wood trembled and the men upstairs went quiet.
He climbed the steps onto the deck. Everyone was standing at the railings and looking down.
"What's... going on?" he said.
Jacob motioned him over. Looking down over the railing and into the blue of the dark sea, lit only by what cracks of moonlight could get through the clouds, he could see nothing. At least at first. But in the blue of the Caribbean sea, something dark was moving. Something huge. Long, humongous trails of dark moved around in something of a circle, far beneath them where it was like watching an underwater, black cloud. And it was getting bigger.
Again, the moan poured out through the sea until the vibrations had the ship's deck, the mast itself, even the water of the sea around them quivering. The sound was deep, loud, and the men raised their hands to cover their ears. But no one moved from the railings. Not Jacob, not Marters. Even the captain, with water dripping from his hat and fancy coat, stepped down to join them, mouth agape and eyes wide.
Whatever it was beneath them, it had eyes. It had teeth. And it was coming up to them.
The world froze. And all at once, it came back in thunderstorm of pain, exploding water, and a breaking ship.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He awoke to the sound of seagulls, the rocking of gentle waves, and the salty air. For a moment, he thought he was on his fishing boat back home, and drifting around the bay with his line out. And then he remembered the ship.
He sat up, groaned with aching muscles, and looked around. The sun was up, the clouds were few and white, and any remnants of the storm were long gone.
"You ok boy?"
Eric almost jumped. "Marters! You're alive."
"Hell yes boy. Take more than some sea devil to kill me." The man winked at him.
Eric smiled, looked down, and felt his smile fade. They were sitting on a chunk of the deck, big enough for him and Marters but no more. Around them, he could see bits and pieces of the ship floating in the water, scattered far and wide, and some barrels. No bodies, as if something had taken them down to Davy Jones's Locker.
It was like God had come home drunk from a bad day at work, and decided he didn't like his toy boat anymore.
"Oh god... oh god oh god." Eric pulled his feet up, hugged his knees, and started to rock back and forth.
"Calm down boy. We'll live through this." Marters reached out and patted him on the shoulder.
Not likely. Not a ship to be seen, or land. No food. No water. The sun was getting higher and it was bringing scorching heat with it.
They'd be dead in three days.
