A Wake Beneath the Wakes

October 30th, 1943.

Allied Intelligence reports. Middle East Command.  

The magnetic audio reels will play the discussions of the prisoners and patients.

 “Please, put me in the stockade, but don’t bring the ship to shore. Let the valleys of the abyss claim it again. I’ve witnessed the screaming in the camps, and the blood inside the bunkers. Imagine that but on a global scale. That's what these beings want, for all of us. The U-boats pale in comparison to the leviathan made known to us. The beast that swallowed Jonah.”

 Ensign Mathersons story will never make declassified reports. His story matches that of the enemy prisoner. He now resides at the Naval Hospital in Monterey. His letters are under observation. His mother keeps making inquiries to the press.

Ensign: “I always dreamed of jumping into the depths, nothing but a dagger and dynamite hand in hand. That's what they sold me outside the recruiting station at the state fair.  The cold tides and angry winds have stabbed every inch of my body. but there's no amount of warm chow and steam baths that can take the chill I found on that ship. There wasn’t a drop of blood or powder burns on the deck. That made the little bells in our brains ring at once.

We primed the bombs and prepared to raid below the platform. The howling echoed across the floating tomb. People weren’t supposed to create those sounds. The enemy crew suffered from lacerations from broken pipes. Scarlet pock-marks matched the red shotgun shells buckshot wounds outside of the communications room.. I assumed a coup had taken place inside the hulls of the ship. Logic drifted out to sea once our flashlights came across the sailors' self-inflicted wounds. Jagged glass and combat blades slid across cold flesh. 

 Hudhra Gaandi.

 The words were scrawled across walls like a frantic child. There is a piece of the human soul they can’t grab that fights the calling. That's why all those people killed their crews. The enemy was a friend to man that day.

Hudhra Gaandi. I know We are far from the sea but even here, we shouldn’t repeat their name. 

The official report of battle stress has been stamped on his official discharge papers. A promising military career sunken by the limits of what the human mind can withstand. 

The working theory is exposure to hazardous chemicals found in enemy naval ships combined with high-stress living conditions caused erratic behaviors on both sides. The Office of Naval Affairs has corroborated reports that match with British and French biologists, who found bodies in the water. There was no bullet or punctures made by man.  The examiners report it as if something burrowed in and wanted to get out.  The Department of Naval Science has placed the organisms found in the recovered bodies for further research and examination.  They will be petitioning subcommittees for funding.

The artifacts inside crates sit in the harbor. The valuables found on board match findings dating back to early sea-farers. Was the siren call that caused men to wreck into the crooked coves merely a myth?  We may obtain secrets of the stars long before we uncover what's beneath the blackness of the sea.

 I once believed man was the apex killer on the planet, our savagery and resourcefulness have proved that. The way those men feared what was out at sea more than each other, they weren't the only ones. I now put our dominance in doubt.”

Today-  The Waning Days of the War on Terror:

Every sailor worth their salt yearns to be laid to rest beneath the crashing waves. But that's merely the façade they present - what they truly desire is to pull us deeper into the abyss. My trembling hands deftly loaded another sinister black and yellow shell into the merciless barrel of the shotgun. Within this tale, two narratives intertwine: the eternal struggle between man and man, and the ceaseless battle against the wrath of nature. I reminisce upon my days as a naive cadet stationed in the untamed skies, soaring across the vast azure expanse. It was then that the enemy struck - a suicide bomber ruthlessly rocked the side of our sturdy hull. I stood firm, devoid of any fear-induced humiliation. But now, as the imminent danger looms, I found myself drenched in shameful relief. 

The primal instinct of man versus nature surges within me, driving me to reclaim our rightful place at the apex of the food chain. My former lover once accused me of infidelity, oblivious to the true source of my desires - it was never the enchanting sirens of the shore, but the allure of the shores themselves that captivated my soul.

The translucent white crests of the waves possessed an uncanny ability to sedate any man, luring him into the depths with an irresistible temptation. "I'm so thirsty," whispers a haunting voice from the depths below deck. The dwindling reserves of freshwater torment those who have not yet succumbed, with each desperate soul clawing at the promise of relief. The battle for survival rages on, its chilling grasp tightening around our very beings. The darkness engulfs us, leaving only echoes of our futile struggle against our relentless adversary. The job description was simple: If you go on the website.

Monitor for Maritime Threats Such As:

>> Stowaways or illegal immigrants

>> Drug smuggling Illegal trafficking of weapons, people, or other contraband

>> Theft of cargo

>> Terrorist attacks

>> Organized crime

>> Hazardous materials or biological weapons.

Shell companies with LLCs in the Caribbean don’t have the best benefits, but when you sucker punch a warlord that sells people, that doesn’t help win hearts and minds. Hearts and minds win medals for sons of Admirals. I remember the black stars and spiraled stars etched in his skin.

Here I was thousands of miles from home to the blue yonder I used to call home. “You don’t want to drink the salt water," I warned the cook, observing his white knuckles tightly gripping the butcher knife. With a swift motion, I released the high-voltage cartridge into the cook, witnessing a brilliant flash of icy-blue and fiery white that sizzled his motor skills.

My foot pressed firmly on the man's body as I swiftly subdued him, causing the knife to slide away. Desperation crept in as I realized my limited options for non-lethal force. The sensation of squirming bumps urged me to act, reminding me of the creature concealed within the cook's skin.

In a desperate attempt to provide some respite, I hastily grabbed a cup and cooled the man's parched lips, mimicking the actions of a condemned prisoner in the depths of hell. Regretfully, I should have opted for the hard shot in the red shells, as the poor bastard would have found solace in such a fate. But he had a family awaiting his return, and the last thing I desired was to become another statistic of the veteran who snapped. 

Retreating back into the lab, I sought solace in the playback of audio files while my gaze fell upon the clear bottle of liquor resting adjacent to the microscope. Thoughts of what to do with a drunken sailor plagued my mind, serving as a constant reminder of the darkness that resided within me. I decided to save that particular bottle for the day when the weight of my burdens became too much to bear, contemplating the possibility of putting the barrel directly into my mouth. If the demons ever infiltrated my very bones, I knew it would signal the end of my existence.

The Audio Reports of Dr. Enderstone:

“You can smell the whale meat from below the stack. The coastal predators sink their serrated teeth into the whalt from rocky shores. The United States Navy denies anything but routine training. I would bet my student loan deferral there is weapons testing, testing that is far beyond the eyes of Congress. Yes, these sea creatures are protected by federal laws and international agreements.

I can’t believe those sons of bitches on capitol hill are lobbying to erode their protection status. I.. I need a minute. My throat is parched.  I'm glad we have these bottles of water. The water pipes need some love on this ship.” I flipped through more files, the generator would hold out long before I did. Where was the calvary? Once again company men trimmed the fat on the latest and greatest technology in order to use experimental tech their friends in Silicon Valley were still getting the bugs out.

A chilling echo reverberated within my ears. Hastily, I retreated to the bow, my eyes laid upon the figure standing defiantly, a gory stump taking the place of his hand. It was Dr. Michael Enderstone - that wretched individual had cunningly employed jagged fragments to sever himself from the restraints that bound him. The thirst I felt was unbearable, a siren's call that possessed a potency surpassing that of even the most addictive narcotic. In terms of academia, he may have surpassed me, but I was no fool like my comrades back in the sandbox.

We had been exposed to parasites in the water. He enlightened me on how the most formidable armada in the world deserts islands littered with debris, unwittingly creating homes for invasive species within our floating junkyard. Despite his intellect, he was not merely a bookworm - he possessed a charm that endeared him to all. It saddened me as I aimed the front sight of my weapon, following the crimson trail of teardrops.

"Isn't it amusing how we all originate from the dark abyss?" I remarked, employing gallows humor.

He would have made an exceptional Captain. "Now, it is to this abyss that we shall return." The first explorers to emerge from the water were the creatures themselves. By returning to the inky wake, I defied this tradition.

"They require the water to propagate and thrive," he explained. The area around his intense gaze bubbled and murmured as if the creatures beneath the surface teased the boundary of his flesh. "They breed within us."

The implications were downright nightmarish. Our bodies had become breeding grounds, akin to sailors seeking solace beneath the ship's deck.

"They might not have been this aggressive when I first encountered them. But there is something aboard this vessel that terrifies them, compelling them to seek escape." I prayed silently, hoping that he would venture closer to me. Such evidence would be invaluable in a court of law.

I could choose to numb my mind with liquor. I refused to lose him to the merciless tides. If he wasn't claimed by the immediate impact, the parasitic creatures would surely be his demise. The path ahead was treacherous, but I considered hastening his end.

Yet, he chose the more arduous route, or perhaps it was chosen for him.

"Hudra Gaaaaaandi..."

Those final words lingered as he submerged himself in the depths. Determined, I made my way towards the handcuffs. The once gleaming chrome now bore witness to the dulling effect of blood. Examining the maimed hand, I discovered a sigil etched deep into the flesh.

The symbols that adorned it sent a shiver down my spine - black stars and spirals. Resolute, I descended beneath the ship's deck, no longer relying on non-lethal ammunition. Anything that dared to emerge from the shadows would be swiftly met with force.

As I navigated through the passageways, the flickering blue and white hues of unfinished shows and unanswered emergency calls illuminated my path. The words "Hudra Gaahandi" were scrawled in sooty black, originating from the vents and other grimy recesses within the ship.

The internal sonar within my mind, the one that had guided me away from an untimely demise, emitted a violent SOS that assaulted all my senses. It urged me to seize the closest life raft and gamble my fate with the unforgiving sea. But, I drowned out this desperate call with one final swig of vodka. My legs carried me towards the orange container, where a familiar scent beckoned me onward.

 Each time I attempted to inspect this particular unit, I was deterred and informed of more urgent matters. The lock was damaged. As I illuminated the unit, the shadows seemed to shift.

Grasping the shotgun's grip and forearm, I noticed discarded chip bags and empty water bottles at the entrance. A beam of light pierced the darkness within the container, causing the shadows to seemingly blink.

Startling white eyes of stowaways focused on me, yet they paid no heed to my weapon.

"Do not be fragile," they said in unison, their accents an amalgamation of various nomads and mountain tribes from classified missions no one could talk about for the next twenty years.

The flashlight's dim flicker highlighted the strange whirring beneath their skin. "Initially, there was only an impenetrable darkness that surrounded our senses and minds. We inhabited larger aquatic creatures, but your primitive machinery drove them mad. The sounds they produced echoed like phantoms in an empty tomb."

I struggled to decipher how they formed their speech and wondered how they got on board and who allowed it while we set sail. Such matters were for inspectors and liability agents to dispute; there was no fight here. Caught between a shark and a fisherman's net, I felt like a mackerel evading one danger only to face another.

"Unlock the primary container; resistance is a human trait, but it will merely lead to exhaustion before inevitability," they stated, pointing at the blue container while uttering 'Hunra Gaahandi.' Defiance stirred within me despite our mutual weariness; after all, I remained head of security. "I appreciate these theatrics, but since we all speak English here, face the wall." When neither woman complied, I fired a warning shot upward—a universally understood gesture.

"Return the prison key and set him free; only then can we also experience liberation. The thirst is insufferable." Their desire to mate, reproduce, and perish reminded me of my fellow sailors. I questioned my continued presence and sanity, as the endless expanse of watery blue could undoubtedly inflict madness upon a man.

My reverie was interrupted by heavy footsteps invading my domain. The ship's cook had also fallen prey to the worms that multiplied within him, granting him newfound strength. Guilt buried beneath my instinctual reaction, I pulled the trigger in milliseconds.

The ensuing blast painted a macabre mosaic of violet and red as buckshot found its mark on his flesh. From the exit wounds streamed the worms themselves—refugees desperate for a new home.

The petite woman caught sight of the keys dangling from my belt. Like ravenous worms, her hands wriggled their way toward the metallic treasures near my waist. Reacting swiftly, I brought the butt of my gun crashing against her temple, the sickening crunch sending a shiver down my spine if only the ringing in my ears would cease long enough for me to register the impact fully.

It was when I saw those grotesque worms searching for a new dwelling within her skull that I decided to release her from this torturous existence using the red shell's pellets. Hudra Gaandi would never set foot close to those abhorrent creatures.

This time, I paid attention to the urgent SOS. My legs propelled me up from the lower decks, racing away from what lay beneath. The stench of sea salt mixed with putrid waste invaded my nostrils, and

I struggled not to retch. The remnants of my emergency rations evacuated themselves onto my boots as the urge overcame me. A word of advice: always scrutinize the fine print before accepting any job offer. I could sense thousands of eyes glaring at me from below; eyes that had only known an existence cloaked in shadows and despair.

Their life trapped within self-aware shells was an abomination incomparable to what one experiences fighting for survival at ocean depths. If those keys had such a terrifying effect on them, one could only imagine the torment unleashed upon any unfortunate soul that dared touch them.

Ghostly-blue flickers pierced through ominous gray skies as I approached the hatch, illuminating it like thin strands of hope amidst the gloom.

Grateful for an escape, I greedily inhaled the scents of fresh salt and motor oil wafting through the air. With haste, my hands slammed shut the entryway, effectively locking out whatever terrors existed on this accursed place. As adrenaline began its retreat and my body's fight-or-flight chemicals subsided, I found myself retching anew.

Hardly a glamorous detail to include in horror stories, yet, I soon discovered that nausea was one of the lesser evils one could face compared to countless other fates far worse than the mere loss of blood.

The final tape survivor  of the Anna May:

{The audio has yet to be authenticated. Believed to be left by the Chief of Security}

“Shit these protein bars, they really didn’t need to add mint to them. It's like biting into a pack of menthols. I can try to use the old plastic bag and rain trick. It would be better to put the plastic bag around my face and be done with it. Hopefully, that will get rid of them. Oh shit, I can feel like crawling around in my sleep. The thousands of years of genetic trauma the worms endured are locked in my brain now.

No no, that's just paranoia. Well just because you're crazy doesn’t mean they aren’t out to get ya. If you're listening to this. I haven’t put the barrel in my mouth just yet, I wouldn’t have a mouth anymore. If you see the Anna May. Leave it as a grave or set it ablaze. Consider this my resignation. The raft found dry land, a vacation here would have cost twice as my meager salary. Join the Navy see the world they say!

. If you found this look for my body laying on smooth sand next to the crooked coves.”