Shadow on the Sea

I, J.D. Paine, tried my best to be prepared for the expedition, I was to set upon. The legends of this island had become nothing but the whispered tales, of half-drunken fishermen, and those trying to make a name for themselves as adventurers. Thankfully, my associates at Miskatonic, had gathered enough evidence to secure funding for a small expedition. Using the latest scientific methods, and more educated deduction, we believed that we had finally pinned down the location of the island. After several months, at sea, we had finally succeeded. And not only had we found the island, we had also found evidence of other landings!

As I sit here, huddled in the semi darkness, cold and damp, I have little, other than this old logbook, to help me retain some small sense of sanity. My Davey lamp, will run out of fuel soon, and I will only have the darkness, and my nightmares to keep me company. My crew is gone, as far as I can tell, and so are my companions. The log seems to be written in part Italian and part English, which I find unusual, for the time. I can only assume that there was a man of some education, trying to hide his writings, from other crew members. The sounds outside are maddening. Especially at night. Nothing could have prepared us, for this. Whatever these creatures are, if they don’t personally see the end of me, their incessant chattering, in the darkness, will drive me insane, and that will surely see the end of me.

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___17 (late 1700s. The ink was too faded to read.

We moored, off the shore, of this accursed isle, believing we could find clean water and, hopefully, wild boar, or some kind of fowl. What fools, the captain and his officers, were. All we found was Death.

The captain, was the first of us to vanish. At least, the first one that we noticed. I am now writing, what I can, in his log. It is the only thing I can find to write in. Our sister ship, Signora del Mare, is several days behind us. I am doubting that the men, who fled in the long boat, would have found her, safely, if at all. Those of us, who are still here, aboard the Cacciatore delle Onde, huddle together, in fear, holding out some hope that the Signora will reach us, before our slim supplies, expire.

We didn’t notice how many of us were missing, until the Captain had disappeared. The morning of the ______, (I no longer know the date), the men gathered for the usual roll-call, but, the Captain did not appear from his cabin. He may have been brutish and cruel, but he was a stickler for his own conduct. A murmur, went out among the men. Some believed that he had perished, during the night, following the strange, haunting noises, that many of us had heard. Others believed, that he had gone ashore, to the island, in pursuit of some men, who had decided to jump ship. There were a few noticeable absences, from the crew. Dissenters, bullies, and troublemakers, mostly. Those who always seemed at the receiving end of the bosun's vehemence. Despite these rumors, going about ship, the crew still carried out their duties, set by the first mate, for fear of the Captain’s return.

They carried out their duties, in silence, until, one of the crew made a grisly discovery of a severed finger, in a pile of ropes.
“Il Capitano! Il Capitano!” One of the crew screamed hysterically. Jabbing his finger, toward the part-rotten appendage. No doubt, recognizing the rather gaudy, large, ring firmly wedged in place, by the bloody, rot-swelled, knuckle. Once the initial shock of the event cleared, the entire crew turned, as one, to look in the direction of the captain’s cabin door. Some of the more religiously inclined crew, crossed themselves, as those on deck, slowly edged their way closer, to the door. The bosun, pushed his way through the men, and struck the door, heavily, with a sea-calloused hand. Only silence answered back. He struck it again, and, once again, got silence as the only response.

He was about to strike the door, for a third time, when one of the other crewmen caught his wrist, and said something quietly, to the bosun. I do not know what was said, but, the bosun looked at the man sharply, and wide-eyed. He then grabbed the door latch and pushed into the captain's cabin. Only a few seconds had passed, when he came out, looking pale, confused and scared. I made my way to the door, and wished that I had not let my curiosity get the better of me. The cabin was in a state of disarray. Most unlike the captain, but, worst of all, was all the blood and the stench, of rot and degradation, that came wafting out of the small room.