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phil
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A glazing of frost covers the figurehead. It breaks from the stern and splashes through the water's surface, traveling into the dark chill below; coming to rest near the edge of an even deeper abyss.
Surrounding the caravel, the sea remains calm; no bubbles rise to the surface, but the waters churn and bow upward. A mess of tentacles delicately slither up the side of the ship, rocking the vessel, creeping toward the central mast; the rocking allows a tiny oasis of light to slip between my drapes.
I rise to my feet and peer out, expecting to see a morning storm, but it nears the end of day; beams of light are soaking into my eyes and I can hardly stand to swallow. Snow has blanketed the corpse of fire that rutted the deck.
Comforted by its world of death, a pierced skeleton stands shrouded by sails, watching a red and golden sun set; welcoming any creature that may wish to board. Through its ash covered ribs, a cold wet tendril embraces its spine, their shoulder blades rise like angelic wings, and curved chips of bone fall atop the curled planks as the decomposed form topples, bursting across the deck, leaving countless small dunes of snow in the radiating wake.
Three figures stand lurking, their lower halves a heavy and twisted skirt, full of mucus, murky brown and green flesh, and suction cups; a brilliant indigo lies hidden beneath the tentacles. Their top halves are stunning, fair skinned and golden haired maidens, but the finest has hair of black. By the trails of mucus in the snow, I can see they've only just arrived. My hounds lay silent, having stirred little, with only their snouts peeking from below the covers.
The dark haired abomination is sniffing at the deck, searching for a fresh kill amongst the scales and tackle. The other two are distracted by the grand icicle that has formed over the central mast. As the dark haired one stands, they all turn to look at each other, before spreading out like petals across the deck, to scan the remaining ship.
My weapons would be useless in my hands, I never studied them as much as I could, but they are part of my attire; I lift them slowly from the hook and step toward the pile of dingy clothing, near the side of my bed.
"Stay.", I say to the dogs and they obey.
It was apparent through their searching that the trio have a diminished capacity for sight, with the way they had moved close together and located objects only when they slithered near. Their hearing, smell, and touch, I can only assume are as sensitive as the other beasts aboard the ship.
The lower halves of these witches seem part serpent. Perhaps they kept them hidden amongst the reefs, drawing close sailors who were too long at sea . . . the word "Stay" had barely left my lips when my thoughts were intruded by the subtlest scratch near my door.
I have no habit of locking up, but the windows are locked and covered. Perhaps they have no familiarity with ships and doorways. I am hunched naked at my bedside, and begin slowly pulling up my breeches, with the faint clinking of steel, and move back.
I can sense them all around me, forming over my shoulder, crawling along the ceiling, lurking under the bed; a fog creeping in beneath the doorway. They have all entered my chambers now and I have never felt such a keen sense of dread, wishing to fling the doors open and run out screaming, to launch myself half-naked into the doomed waters, but I keep my wits and begin to tip-toe along the wall back toward the door.
It is not hard to remain silent in this creaking behemoth.
Peeking outside through the window, I see the two sirens, the dark haired one and the elder, some distance off. The third, their youngest and smallest, must be just outside; the source of the fog. Perhaps if I rush out, I could grab her, lest she grab me, taking her hostage at sword-point. It was a shit plan, but anything is better than waiting for fate's own unkindness to befall me.
I listen carefully, trying to get a sense of where she is through the door but can only feel her close beside me, dancing, frolicking, running up to whisper in my ear, "I have found you".
My hounds remain silent, perhaps they also sense the fog. Perhaps, they wonder, have I lost my mind? Have I? Are these creatures real? I have watched them and heard no more than a faint scratching, like a leaf flicking the door; perhaps that was a dream and the dogs are sleeping . . . no.
The fog disperses and I stand frozen, for an indeterminate time, fearful of leaving through the door or stealing a second glance beyond my drapes, fearful that I might see three creatures peering back in at me. If they are outside still, I will have little chance. I hope they have less patience resting aboard this strange vessel than I do, facing death.
I relent only when the dogs rise up and grumble hungrily, confident now that the trio are gone. I move to sit on the edge of my bed and unravel.
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