The Frozen Ship

Well, hello there. I know we’re open 24 hours, but we typically don’t get many people out this late. Truckers, mostly, who drop in for coffee and then head on down the road, like that fellow over there in the corner booth. With that old station wagon of yours, though, I’m guessing you are trying to get somewhere and just couldn’t find a good place to stop for the night. Well, park your bones at the counter. Let me get you a cup of coffee before you head off across the road to get a room. They ain’t the best, but they’re cheap and clean.

Eh? The photo? Yea, that’s me, back when I was with the coast guard. It was taken, well, about fifteen years ago, damn near down to the day. Not long after it, well, something happened.. No, I don’t mind talking about it if you don’t mind shivers. Now, people around here say I’m crazy for the story I’m about to tell, but there’s a reason I put my diner up away from the ocean, damn near as far away from it as I could get.

Let’s see…It was about the middle of July, back in 2009. I was stationed in Maine at the time and we got hit by an ice storm out of the middle of nowhere. Half the coast got plastered with sheets of ice that covered everything. Everything stopped dead for a couple days. The standing order for the state was to hunker down and stay in place, with emergency services stretched thin just trying to keep people alive.

Well, we didn’t have that luxury. There was a radar blip off the coast, a ship heading directly for the coast and not responding to any hails. Guess who was part of the oh-so-lucky crew that was deployed to intercept it?

That’s right, me. We hit the ground running, well, sliding, damn near freezing our family jewels off. The damn bay was nearly frozen, but we were able to get out there as dusk was falling, temperatures approaching zero degrees threatening to turn us into meat popsicles along the way.

We drew in close to find a cargo ship, the ‘Sally’s Razor,’ looking more like an iceberg than anything else. Nothing moved when we swept her with spotlights, no one responded to our speakers, so what could we do except go aboard?

I’m telling you, as soon as our feet touched the frozen deck, we knew something was wrong. It just felt…off, like the shiver that ran down our spines had nothing to do with the cold. Part of the crew split off to go get the engines up and running so this thing didn’t rip itself to shreds on the rocks near the harbor and the rest of us spread out, checking for anyone. Jim Riley, the other fellow here in this photo, grabbed me and we headed to the bridge. I’m telling you, there was nothing on board. No cargo, no crew, nothing, like everything had just vanished.

We got to the bridge at about the time the engines came alive, lighting everything up, but it was still silent. You’d expect the roar of machinery, the buzz of electricity, something, but no. Deathly silent.

I found a computer terminal that seemed to be some form of database or something of the like. It contained video files, most of them corrupted, but I was able to get one to play. The sound was garbled, cutting in and out, but it looked to be the captain. It was dated a few weeks before, and I made out that they had gotten caught in a storm, and I swear that the video was the first sound we had heard since we had boarded the freighter.

The video cut out mid-play, and try as I could, I couldn’t get it to play. Well, Jim tapped me on the shoulder and I damn near jumped out of my skin, turning to snap at him, but he looked like he had seen a ghost. He didn’t say a word, just pointed at the screen. There, in the lower right-hand corner, was the date and time of the ship’s computer. It was correct, so I was confused until he told me to watch.

Well, it was one of those cycling displays, turns out. While I had been watching the video, he had been watching it. In about thirty seconds, it changed. You know what it read?

Last video entry: 6,486 years, 3 weeks, 4 days, 2 hours, 15 minutes, 16 seconds.

17 seconds.

18 seconds.

We ran.

We tried to find our C.O., hell, anyone else, but they had vanished. Gone. Completely. Nothing over the radio, no one down at the engines, and so we ran. We got back to one of the patrol boats we had used and got the hell out of there, heading back to land as fast as we could go.

The sun was coming up when we got back to the coast, and I’m telling you, there wasn’t an icicle to be seen. Yea, it was cold, but no more than any other morning in Maine. Jim Riley and I got back to Rockland and the coast guard station there, and that’s when we found out something that made us go crazy there for a bit.

We had been MIA for six. Damn. Years.

No one knew anything about a storm. No one knew where our unit had gone. The entire bloody crew was listed as MIA, and no record of an ice storm existed. Well, I got my discharge as soon as I possibly could and got the hell out of there, setting up here in the mountains. Haven’t been near the ocean since.

Yea, I see the skepticism in your face. No, don’t worry. I see it every time I tell that little tale, which is why I keep it to myself. Now, why don’t you head across to Jim’s motel and get some sleep? You can get yourself some sleep and be on your way in the morning. The mountain passes aren’t so scary in the daylight, you know.

Damn that was a cold draft. That’s mountain nights for you, always unpredictable- wait a second. Did you see that? It looked like snow.

It is snow. Not unheard of, not around here. Rare for this time of year, but not impossible.

That’s weird. Jim usually has his lights on in the office, and…wait. Where did that trucker go? The one in the corner booth?

Oh. Oh God. Oh God, not again. Go! Get to your rig and go! Drive! Don’t look back! Don’t-!