Captain Smith looked out over the roaring waves of the ocean. His face was still and expressionless, even with the cold sea air blowing fiercely, stinging his cheeks and making his overcoat flap behind him.

The men in the lifeboat rowed and rowed, and their oars plunged into the frothing icy water. Their muscles were burning with exhaustion but still they toiled.

“How much further, Captain?” shouted Winters, the first mate, from Smith’s side, such that the man could hear him over the raging winds. “I fear the men cannot keep up this pace and the storm will never subside. That monster – that thing – that sunk The Imperial must surely be in these waters still and giving us chase!”

The Captain raised the spyglass to his eye again, looking through the raging rains for that far-off piece of land that was to be their salvation.

On the island Smith saw gray trees blowing in the breeze, then rising into the air and twisting, twisting and roiling and elongating into thick black fleshy tendrils, and the rocks of the island shifting. As the leviathan plunged beneath the waves the last thing Smith saw was its giant eye, an eye that must have been as large as The Imperial had been herself, staring back at him through the glass.

“Captain?” Winters shouted again.

Smith lowered the telescope.

“Keep rowing,” he said.

Beneath the Sea

“Enough already, ya damn fool! Go on and jump! Don’t be lily-livered! Die with some dignity, damn you!” The Captain pushed the point of his sword harder against the back of Thompson, propelling him forward another step toward the end of the board.

The crew, riled and rowdy for this spectacle, hollered and jeered. They called out “the plank, the plank! walk the plank!” Others stood in silence in the chill breeze, ready to watch one who had a mere day ago be one of their own plunge to his death in the icy waters of the merciless sea.

Thompson swiveled his head back toward the gathered crew of The Bastard’s Wish, half-turning as much as his bound hands and narrow walkway would allow.

“I warned you,” he shouted. “We cannot go after the Bounty of the Black Dog! He guards it from beyond the grave! You’re leading us all to our deaths! Our deaths!”

“Aye, well, you I is,” laughed The Captain. The crew hooted and hollered. “I shan’t have no men stirring up mutiny on my watch, Mr. Thompson, ‘specially not from ghost stories and old wives’ tales. Go join ‘im ya bloody bilge rat! Off the plank with ya! Go see The Black Dog an’ his men ‘neath the waters of Poseidon! GO!”

And with the last word The Captain gave Thompson one final push with the point of his sword, and the men watched him fall, a stone, a dead man, into the cold waters of the ocean.

The Captain went to bed that night with a clear conscience, a man who knew his place in the wheelhouse, steering his men to glory, to riches, to the annals of the history books; until at the darkest stroke of midnight he awoke with a start.

All was black in the cabin. The smell of seawater was everywhere, the sharp brine smell of the ocean mixed with something fetid. He looked out the window and saw dark shapes moving, slow shuffling shapes that looked like men.

Outside on the deck, the night watch cried out as the shuffling figures surrounded him. They covered him with their reaching hands and his cries died against the black night of the open seas.

There came a thumping at the door of the cabin. The thumping became louder, louder and faster, and from beneath his door The Captain heard groaning. The noise crescendoed, louder and faster still, until finally the door burst open with the sound of wood breaking. That smell, that salty wet smell of the sea and something rotting, grew stronger still and flooded the air of the cabin.

The Captain made to rise for his sword, but before he could act the things were upon him, wet, sludgy hands holding him down. He struggled and screamed but he could feel the shapes surround him in the darkness, as more wet hands pinned him to his bed. Something slimy and rotten pushed his head down, and another entered his mouth. He gagged. As The Captain writhed and struggled to take his last breaths, he heard, from out on the deck, the sounds of men singing a sea chanty:

Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum
Blackdog and his men do come
Fifteen men on a Dead Man’s Chest
You and your crew ‘ll join the rest

If his treasure hid you seek
Your words ‘ll die before you speak
Fifteen men on a Dead Man’s Chest
Beneath the sea is where ‘ll rest

The Jellyfish Dream

I dreamt of jellyfish.

I floated peacefully in the clear blue of the ocean, naked, and watched the beautiful alien creatures drift with me. I was unafraid. I did not hold my breath, I knew I didn’t need to.

I felt completely at peace as I slowly drifted with them. They were all around me, their translucent amoeba-like forms slowly undulating, slowly pulsing and pushing them through the warm salty water. They were so beautiful; so beautiful and so alien. I felt a oneness with them around me and their impossibly long tendrils, which snaked down from their mushroom bodies like running droplets of fleshy red ink.

The current rose and suddenly I was afraid. The water was pushing me toward the jellyfish and I could feel their thinking; their thoughts were alien, cluttered, buzzing, but I could tell they meant to hurt me. I tried to turn and swim away but found I couldn’t. Slowly, ever so slowly, they flapped their translucent bodies and floated closer toward me. The terror rose in my chest as their stinging tendrils crept ever closer to me, helpless and floundering.

The first tentacle dragged along the skin of my leg and it stung like acid. Then they were slowly closing in, still pulsing, and surrounding me. Oh god. Oh god, no. The burning. They flapped and flapped, now faster as their tendrils stung me over and over and they swarmed. My skin was searing, my heart pumping fast, my body twisting, flailing; I was tangled in them now, and in a panic. I thrashed my arms but they were wrapped in the malicious searing tendrils. The burning, oh the burning. I was tangled. I tried to swim, up, anywhere, shake them off me – and then, one, coming toward my face – oh god it hurts oh god don’t let me die oh god….

I awoke in terror and a cold sweat. The tentacles of my imaginary aquatic aggressors tangled around me were the sheets of my bed. I panted and my heart raced. Slowly, my breathing subsided and reality faded in. I was alive. I wasn’t drowning. I wasn’t dying. There were no jellyfish.

Where was Chelsea? She had being lying next to me, come to sleep against me because she’d been scared of the monsters.

I looked over to see Chelsea’s body, her face blue as the ocean in my dream, the sheets tangled and wrapped around her tiny neck like a tentacle. She had choked to death in the night. She’d suffocated in her sleep right next to me while I was wrapped in the sheets and my horrid nightmare.

I shook her lifeless body, screaming her name, hoping that somehow my anguished cried words would bring my daughter back. I cried, hot tears of rageful sadness and not understanding.

I wept and my tears were the salt of an ocean – a dead, uncaring ocean without mercy, one full only of the beautiful pulsating forms of the heartless jellyfish.

(for Ready, Set, Done 3 at The Daily Prompt)

Burial at Sea

I awoke to find myself not in the comfort of my bed but instead encapsulated in a tiny dark space. All around me it was warm and black.

Immediately I was overcome by the overwhelming panic of claustrophobia. I thrashed about in the tiny dark space. I smashed my hands against the top of the enclosure and clawed the walls. I writhed in agony, in terror. I could feel the hotness of my hyperventilation caught in the space in front of me. The temperature of the air in my tiny prison increased from my paroxysms.

calmdown calmdown calmdown calmdown calmdown
calm down calm down calm down calm down calm down
calm down. call down. call down. calm down. calm down.
Calm down. Calm down. Calm down. Calm down.
Calm. Down. Calm. Down. Calm. Down.
Calm….. Down. Calm…….. Down.
Breathe……    Breathe…… Breathe.
In……………….. huuuuuuhhh. And out. huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh.
Huuuuuuuuh huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh

Get a hold of yourself. Stop. Think. Don’t panic.

I started to panic. The claustrophobia rose again like a balloon in my chest.
Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod I’m going to die ImgonnadieImgonnadieImgonnadie

No. Stop. You’re not going to die. Calm down. You’re not going to die. You’re wasting oxygen because you’re hyperventilating, and if you don’t get a hold of yourself you’re definitely going to die when you use up all the air.

Ok. Stop, slow down, and breathe. Assess the situation.

I am alive. I’m trapped in a small space. Okay, feel the space out. I tried to raise my arms up as far as they could go. I had four, maybe five inches above me. It was awkward, but if I crossed my arms in front of my chest and I could still bring them up to my face.

I scratched my nose.

I reached out the other way. I had about the same amount of leeway in the horizontal dimensions – four, maybe five inches at most extending out from my body on either side. I turned my wrists over and pushed my palms flat against the wall in front of me. It was solid wood, I could feel the grain. The panic start to rise in my throat again, and pushed it down as best I could. In. huuuuuuuh. And out. huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh. Breathe.

I tried to think back to the last thing I could remember. Everything just got fuzzy and disjointed – trying to take even a short jaunt through short term memory was like wading into a thick fog.

The last thing I remembered going to bed with my wife, but that seemed like days ago. Maybe weeks. Now I was trapped in this warm, claustrophobic blackness of unknown origin or purpose.

I ran my fingers along the edges of the box. There a carved lip on the walls of my prison, and a segment jutting out from either side of the piece above that rested on them. It seemed like a puzzle that had been assembled with me inside.

And then I started to realize the truth. I ran my fingers along the course grain of the wood once more. I touched the sides and ran my one thumb along the top edge of my tiny box once more, just to be sure.

Yes, there was no mistaking it, I was in a coffin. Whoever, whatever, had done this to me had abducted me out of my ordinary life and thrown me into a box meant for the dead.

I was buried alive.

Time passed. I drifted in out and of consciousness. I thought of what I had read about U.S. soldiers going over to Iraq, and how they tested their mettle with sensory deprivation. Depriving the human body of sensory input was enough to cause it to try to fill the void – all of the participants hallucinated within a very short period of time: auditory, visual, tactile. No sense was excluded.

I was starting to feel that way now. All I had was the blackness of the coffin, the feeling of my warm breath, and the feel of the unsanded wood beneath my fingers.

I was in a coffin.

My breathing was under control now but began to feel the panic slowly rising in my chest once again. I was in a coffin. Buried alive. Only the air in the box to breath and no way out. No way out. No way out. No way out…

Before my mind could spin up into a panic any further, I was snapped back to reality by everything shifting. I felt it, unmistakeably. The coffin had shifted down and to the left, and then slightly back to the right. How could the earth shift in such a way?

I lay still in my prison and listened to the sound of my breathing, and felt the warmth of my exhaling in front of me. I could feel it now; the coffin was shifting ever so slightly back and forth. There was a slow, rhythmic oscillation to the box I was entrapped in – how could this be?

My anxiety and claustrophobia were pushed aside by my mind racing for answers: I was moving, but why? How?

I took a step back mentally. What did I remember? Nothing really. What did I know? I was in a coffin; yes, that much I could ascertain from my sense of touch and the rough wood around me.

But I had merely assumed that I was buried alive. Six feet under. Deep within the earth. I was encased in blackness and had only my sense of touch to go on; all that I could take in was in the walls of my tiny prison.

As I felt the rhythmic swaying slowly rocking my universe my mind was cleared by a startling realization: holy fuck, I was underwater. The oscillation I felt was the coffin swaying in the liquid around me.

Could it be? How? Who? Why? What would snatch me from the night and not only wipe my memory, but bury me within a coffin not deep within the earth, but in the depths of some body of water? I knew only what I surveyed within my prison and what I could feel – if I was, in fact, submerged, I could be in a small tank or at the bottom of the deepest ocean; there was no way for me to tell.

I had to be sure. I shifted as far as I could in the tiny space and slammed the weight of my body against the side of the coffin. The loud thunk of my body connecting with the wood was followed by a gross sense of disorientation, as my environment swayed wildly back and forth and threw me against the enclosure walls. The amplitude of the pendular motion attenuated, and my prison stabilized.

Well, that settled it. I was underwater.

A prison such as the humble one I found myself in now would surely rise to the surface due to the air inside; surely my weight was not enough to keep it submerged. My casket could not be weighed down otherwise it would not be free to shift as it just did, or with the periodic motion of the water around me.

I could picture it now – not only was I imprisoned in a casket underwater, but also chained to a point on the bottom: suspended, but floating free.

Fuck. Imgoingtodie Imgoingtodie Imgoingtodie Imgoingtodie. I clawed at the coffin again, wildly. I writhed in the tiny confines that were now my universe. Slowly, sense overtook me again and my breathing slowed.

I felt the gentle currents of the ocean rock the coffin back and forth in a long gradual motion. It was almost calming, in a way. If my mind wasn’t so focused on my mortality I would have found it relaxing; almost soporific.

Okay, now what did I know? One, I was trapped in a coffin. Rap rap. I banged my palms flat against the board above me. Yup, there was never any doubt of that. Two, I was most likely, if not surely, underwater. Three, the gentle rocking motion that I felt almost surely meant that I was in the ocean, or some other large body of water.

I could feel myself getting tired. Soon, I would be lulled to sleep by the gentle rocking of the ocean, and the thickening warm air, which was growing ever more oxygen-depleted with every breath I took.

What were my options? Not many. Crying for help would do no good. Could I dig my way out? With what, Sherlock? I felt in my pockets for my keys but they were gone. Could I smash the coffin? Surely whoever went to all the abducting me, encasing me in it and suspending it from the ocean floor would also make sure it was sturdy?

Once more I thrashed in the coffin. The lid above me would not budge; it had the weight of the entire ocean above pressing down upon it. When I hit the sides I felt them give a little. The wood was soft, I could feel it.

It is a well-known but little-considered fact that the average person possesses far more strength in the legs than other parts of the body. This is why it is always so silly to see an action hero in a blockbuster film attempt to break down a door with his shoulder – this will only result in frustration and some very bad bruising. As any SWAT team member or well-trained police officer will tell you, the most effective way to break open a locked (but unbarred) door is to place several well-aimed kicks right at the lockset.

Which is why the tight feeling of dread and impending doom in my chest was briefly replaced by a warm feeling. A feeling of Hope. I was still wearing my heavy work boots.

There was barely any room within the confines of the coffin to draw my leg back but I had to try. I brought my right leg up as far as I could, and to the side a little where there was space.

Thump. The soft wood gave a little under my kick. Now the left. Thump. I felt the wood flex and the vibration shake the rest of the coffin beneath. Goddammit, I was going to do it. I was going to live. I was going to fight my out of this stupid box or die trying.

I kicked with my right again, harder. Thump. The wood gave a little. Again the left. Thump thump. I could feel it weakening. I began to kick wildly at the bottom of the coffin in rapid succession. Thump. Thump. Thumpthumpthumpthump the exertion energized my body to a fever pitch – I shouted nonsense now, and screamed as I thrashed and kicked at the bottom. thumpthumpthumpthumpthump pain rose in my legs. I couldn’t keep this up much longer.

imnotgonnadie imnotgonnadie thumpthumpthump thumpathumpa

I stopped kicking and panted. A slow trickle. I kicked once more, still panting. I heard another crack, shorter and lower this time. I felt an icy cold wetness against the bottom of my calf. Water was pooling in the bottom of the coffin.

Water was pooling in the bottom of the coffin. I had cracked the board and now the box was slowly filling with ocean. If I didn’t break the coffin apart instead of suffocating to death I was going to drown.

The pain in my legs still burned but I steeled myself and brought down my heavy boots against the bottom of the coffin again. Thump. Crack. Thump. Crack. More trickling, louder and faster now. The sound of water streaming into more water, like someone taking a piss. Thump. Crack. Thump. 

Goddamn you to hell you fucking bastard I’m not gonna die like this

I brought both legs up as far as I could I kicked out with the last of my strength and heard a final deep crack. I gasped one last short breath and then there was the sound of rushing water and the coffin imploded. Everything after that happened very fast.

Shock as my body was surrounded by cold and wet. The lid coming down and striking my head.

All was black, all was cold, all was wet.

I pushed the lid as hard as I could and felt it be taken up by the water. I put my arms up above and felt no resistance; I was free! I couldn’t see but I pulled myself up in the water. I kicked off my heavy work boots and pulled and pulled and swam through the blackness in what direction I could only assume was up.

My lungs began to burn. Still I pulled. Still I kicked. I pulled and pulled and the blackness around me began to give way to grey, and then to fingers of moonlight dancing in the water above me. Hope rose in my chest. I pulled. I pulled. So close now. Lungs burning.

At last I breached the surface of the ocean and felt cold night air against the saltwater on my face I did it. I was alive. Alive. I was awash in euphoria. Waves of my elation joined those of the sea. I had done it. I had escaped.

I looked up into the beautiful full moon and felt more alive than I’d ever felt. I smiled a giant smile and breathed the cold fresh air of the sea. I looked down from the sky to see the gentle rolling waves of the ocean illuminated in moonlight. All around I saw only the ocean stretching out to the horizon; a perfect plane, extending off into infinity in all directions.

I was adrift at sea.

I missed the warm blackness of the coffin.