The salty breeze whipped across the deck of HMS Mermaid’s Tear as she cut through the choppy waters of the English Channel. Captain Elias Blackwood stood at the helm, his weathered hands gripping the polished wood as he gazed out at the horizon with steely determination. The weight of responsibility pressed down upon his broad shoulders, along with something else - a secret burden he’d carried for far too long.
“Steady as she goes, Mr. Marsh,” he called to his first mate. “I want us well clear of the coast by nightfall.”
Silas Marsh nodded curtly, relaying the captain’s orders to the crew. He cast a sidelong glance at Blackwood, noting the tightness around the man’s eyes and mouth. In their years serving together, Marsh had learned to read the subtle signs of his captain’s moods. Today, there was an edge of anxiety beneath Blackwood’s usual stern demeanor.
As the shoreline of England receded behind them, an air of unease settled over the ship. The Mermaid’s Tear was a fine vessel, newly commissioned for His Majesty’s Navy, but whispers had already begun to circulate among the crew. There was talk of ill omens - a sailor claimed to have seen a ghostly figure on the fo’c’sle in the moonlight, while others swore the ship’s bell had rung of its own accord in the dead of night.
Superstitious nonsense, Blackwood told himself firmly. He had no patience for such foolishness. And yet… his hand strayed to the inner pocket of his coat, fingering the small leather pouch concealed there. The weight of it seemed to burn against his chest.
“Captain?” A woman’s voice drew him from his brooding thoughts. He turned to see Quartermaster Amelia Roth approaching, her quick stride and sharp gaze belying her youth.
“Yes, Ms. Roth? What is it?”
“Sir, I’ve completed the inventory of our cargo and supplies as requested. Everything appears to be in order, save for one discrepancy.” She hesitated, her brow furrowing slightly. “There’s a crate in the hold that doesn’t match any of the manifests. Heavy thing, no markings that I could discern. I wondered if perhaps-”
“That crate is not your concern, Quartermaster,” Blackwood cut her off brusquely. “I trust you’ll keep this to yourself and focus on your assigned duties.”
Amelia’s lips thinned, but she nodded. “Of course, sir. My apologies for overstepping.”
As she strode away, Blackwood’s eyes followed her. The girl was sharp - too sharp for her own good, perhaps. He’d have to keep a close watch on her.
Below decks, Dr. Thaddeus Gray hunched over his small desk, scribbling furiously in his journal by the light of a guttering candle. The ship’s gentle swaying was second nature to him after so many years at sea, but there was a disquiet in his bones that he couldn’t shake.
Day 2 of our voyage, he wrote. Already I sense a pall over this ship, a heaviness in the air that goes beyond the usual superstitions of sailors. Captain Blackwood seems… changed. There’s a hardness to him I’ve not seen before, even in the heat of battle. And that damnable crate…
A knock at his cabin door startled him from his musings. Hastily, he snapped the journal shut and called out, “Enter!”
Silas Marsh ducked through the low doorway, his broad frame filling the small space. “Evening, Doc. Thought I’d check in, see how you’re settling in.”
Gray forced a smile. “Well enough, Mr. Marsh. Though I confess, I’m not entirely easy about this voyage.”
Marsh’s expression grew serious. “Aye,” he said quietly. “You’re not alone in that.” He glanced over his shoulder, then leaned in closer. “Listen, Thaddeus. Have you noticed anything… odd about the captain lately?”
Gray hesitated, weighing his words carefully. “Elias has always been a driven man, Silas. You know that as well as I do. But I’ll grant you, there’s something different this time. Almost as if…” He trailed off, shaking his head.
“As if what?” Marsh pressed.
“As if he’s afraid,” Gray finished softly. “And in all the years I’ve known Elias Blackwood, I’ve never known him to fear anything.”
The two men fell into an uneasy silence, broken only by the creaking of timbers and the muffled shouts of sailors on deck. Finally, Marsh straightened up with a sigh.
“Well, whatever’s going on, I suppose we’ll find out soon enough. Get some rest, Doc. I’ve a feeling we may need your services before this voyage is through.”
As Marsh left, Gray turned back to his desk. He opened the journal once more, dipped his quill, and added a final line:
God help us all if my suspicions prove correct.
Days passed, and the Mermaid’s Tear sailed ever southward. The initial unease among the crew deepened into a pervasive dread. Men spoke in hushed whispers of strange noises in the night, of shadows that moved of their own accord. Two sailors came to blows over a game of cards, each accusing the other of cheating. The ship’s cat, usually a placid creature, grew skittish and ill-tempered, hissing at anyone who approached.
Through it all, Captain Blackwood grew increasingly withdrawn and irritable. He snapped at the slightest provocation, doling out harsh punishments for minor infractions. More than once, Silas Marsh had to intervene to prevent floggings for petty offenses.
It was on the tenth day of their voyage that things truly began to unravel.
Amelia Roth stood at the ship’s rail, pretending to study the horizon while surreptitiously observing the crew. As quartermaster, it was her duty to maintain discipline and order, but lately that task had grown nearly impossible. She’d never seen a ship’s complement fall apart so quickly.
Her gaze settled on a knot of men near the mainmast, heads bent close in furtive conversation. With practiced casualness, she drifted closer, straining to catch their words over the wind and waves.
“…telling you, it ain’t natural,” one sailor was saying, his voice tight with fear. “Did you hear them noises last night? Like something screaming, it was.”
“Aye,” another agreed. “And I swear on me mother’s grave, I saw something moving down in the hold. Something that weren’t no rat, neither.”
A third man spat over the side. “It’s that bloody crate, mark my words. Cap’n’s brought something cursed aboard, he has.”
Amelia had heard enough. She stepped forward, causing the men to start guiltily. “That’s enough of that talk, lads,” she said sharply. “Back to your stations, now. Any man I catch spreading rumors will answer to the captain himself.”
The sailors dispersed, muttering, but Amelia’s mind was racing. She’d suspected from the start that there was more to their cargo than met the eye, but now she was certain of it. Whatever was in that crate, it was the key to everything.
She had to know what it was.
That night, as most of the crew slept, Amelia crept silently through the darkened ship. She’d bribed the night watch to look the other way, and now she made her way carefully down to the hold, a small lantern clutched in her hand.
The crate sat in the far corner, innocuous enough at first glance. But as Amelia approached, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. There was a faint humming in the air, barely perceptible but unmistakable.
With trembling hands, she set down her lantern and reached for the crate’s lid. It was heavier than she’d expected, but after a moment of straining, she managed to lever it up just enough to peer inside.
What she saw made her blood run cold.
Nestled in a bed of straw was an object unlike anything Amelia had ever seen. It appeared to be some sort of statue or idol, carved from a material that seemed to shift and swirl before her eyes. The figure was vaguely humanoid, but with too many limbs, its features a twisted mass of tentacles and eyes.
As she stared, transfixed, one of those eyes seemed to move. To focus on her.
With a strangled cry, Amelia slammed the lid shut and stumbled backward. She collided with something solid and warm - a human body.
“And what,” Captain Blackwood’s voice hissed in her ear, “do you think you’re doing, Ms. Roth?”
Amelia’s heart pounded as she turned to face the captain. His eyes glittered dangerously in the dim light of her lantern.
“Sir, I… I can explain,” she stammered.
“Can you now?” Blackwood’s hand shot out, gripping her arm painfully. “I warned you to mind your own business, girl. Now you’ve left me no choice.”
Before Amelia could react, Blackwood’s other hand came up, something glinting in his grasp. She felt a sharp prick at her neck, and then the world began to spin.
As consciousness slipped away, she heard the captain’s voice, as if from a great distance: “Mr. Marsh! To me, if you please. We have a problem to deal with.”
When Amelia awoke, she found herself in darkness. Her head throbbed, and her mouth felt dry and cottony. As her senses slowly returned, she realized she was lying on a hard surface, surrounded by the smell of damp wood and mildew.
The brig, she thought groggily. Blackwood had thrown her in the brig.
She tried to sit up, but a wave of nausea forced her back down. How long had she been unconscious? What had the captain done to her?
A scraping sound nearby made her freeze. She wasn’t alone.
“Who’s there?” she called out, her voice hoarse and trembling.
“Shh,” came a familiar voice. “Not so loud. They might hear.”
“Dr. Gray?” Amelia squinted into the gloom, barely making out the ship’s doctor huddled in the corner. “What are you doing here?”
“Same as you, I expect,” Gray replied wearily. “Saw something I shouldn’t have. Or rather, the captain thought I had.”
Amelia’s mind raced. “The crate,” she whispered. “You know what’s inside it, don’t you?”
Gray was silent for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice was heavy with dread. “I have my suspicions. Tell me, Ms. Roth, are you familiar with the cult of Dagon?”
“The fish-god?” Amelia frowned. “I’ve heard sailors’ tales, nothing more.”
“It’s far more than mere tales, I’m afraid.” Gray shifted, chains clinking softly. “There are those who believe Dagon is real - an ancient, malevolent entity from the depths of the sea. And they worship it, seeking power and knowledge beyond mortal ken.”
A chill ran down Amelia’s spine as she remembered the twisted figure in the crate. “You think that’s what Blackwood has brought aboard? Some kind of… idol?”
“Not just an idol,” Gray said grimly. “If I’m right, it’s far worse than that. It’s a key - a way to summon Dagon itself.”
Amelia’s blood ran cold. “But why? What could the captain possibly hope to gain from such madness?”
Before Gray could answer, the sound of approaching footsteps silenced them both. A moment later, the brig door creaked open, spilling lamplight into their prison.
Captain Blackwood stood framed in the doorway, his face a mask of cold fury. Behind him loomed the broad figure of Silas Marsh, looking distinctly uncomfortable.
“Well, well,” Blackwood sneered. “I see our guests are awake. How fortunate. You’re just in time for the main event.”
Amelia struggled to her feet, fighting down another wave of nausea. “Captain, please. Whatever you’re planning, it’s not too late to turn back. This… thing you’ve brought aboard, it’s dangerous. You must see that.”
Blackwood’s laugh was hollow and bitter. “Dangerous? Oh, you have no idea, girl. But it’s also the key to power beyond your wildest dreams. Power I’ve spent years searching for.”
He stepped closer, his eyes fever-bright. “Do you know what it’s like to lose everything? To watch your family, your future, all torn away in an instant? I swore I would have my revenge, no matter the cost. And now, at last, I’ll have it.”
“Sir,” Marsh spoke up hesitantly. “Maybe we should reconsider. The men are on edge, and if what the doctor says is true-”
“Silence!” Blackwood roared, rounding on his first mate. “I’ll hear no more of your sniveling doubts. You swore an oath to follow my orders, and by God, you’ll do so or join these traitors in chains.”
Marsh’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing more.
Blackwood turned back to his prisoners, a cruel smile twisting his lips. “Now then. You two are going to help me with a little ritual. And if you’re very, very lucky, you might even survive to see what comes next.”
With that, he gestured to Marsh. “Bring them. It’s time.”
As they were roughly hauled from the brig and up to the main deck, Amelia’s mind raced desperately for a way out. But with her hands bound and Marsh’s iron grip on her arm, escape seemed impossible.
The deck was eerily silent as they emerged into the night air. The entire crew seemed to be assembled, their faces pale and drawn in the flickering light of torches. At the center of it all stood the crate, its lid now fully removed.
The twisted idol gleamed wetly in the torchlight, its surfaces seeming to writhe and shift as Amelia watched. She felt her gorge rise and quickly looked away.
Blackwood strode to the crate, raising his arms dramatically. “Men of the Mermaid’s Tear!” he called out. “You’ve served me well, and now you shall reap the rewards of your loyalty. Tonight, we summon a power that will make us kings of land and sea alike!”
A murmur ran through the crowd - part fear, part awe, and perhaps a touch of greed. Amelia saw more than a few eyes glinting with avarice.
“Captain,” Dr. Gray spoke up, his voice strained but steady. “I beg you, reconsider this madness. You don’t know what forces you’re dealing with.”
Blackwood’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Oh, but I do, Doctor. Far better than you could possibly imagine.” He reached into his coat, producing a small, ancient-looking book. “The secrets of Dagon, passed down through generations of initiates. And now, finally, put to use.”
As Blackwood began to read from the book, his voice taking on an odd, guttural quality, Amelia felt the air around them grow thick and heavy. The torches sputtered and dimmed, and a low, subsonic hum seemed to emanate from the very planks beneath their feet.
She looked to Silas Marsh, silently pleading for him to put a stop to this insanity. But the first mate stood frozen, his face a mask of conflicting emotions.
The chant rose in volume and intensity, and with it came a sound that chilled Amelia to her very soul - a vast, inhuman roar from somewhere far below the waves. The ship began to rock violently, as if caught in a sudden storm.
“Yes!” Blackwood cried out exultantly. “Come forth, Great Dagon! Accept our offering and grant us your power!”
As if in answer, a massive tentacle burst from the sea, slamming onto the deck with bone-crushing force. Men screamed and scattered as more followed, writhing and grasping.
In that moment of chaos, Amelia felt Marsh’s grip on her arm loosen. Without hesitation, she drove her elbow back into his solar plexus and twisted free. She heard him wheeze in pain, but she was already moving, darting through the panicked crowd toward the ship’s wheel.
If she could just alter their course, maybe they could outrun whatever horror Blackwood had summoned.
But as she reached for the wheel, a hand clamped down on her shoulder. She spun to find herself face to face with the captain, his eyes wild with triumph and madness.
“You fool,” he snarled. “Did you really think you could stop this? It’s too late. Dagon rises, and with it, my destiny!”
Before Amelia could reply, the deck beneath them heaved violently. She stumbled, nearly falling, and in that moment she saw it - a vast, monstrous shape breaching the surface of the sea. A thing of tentacles and scales and far too many eyes, each as large as a man.
Dagon had come.
The next few minutes were a blur of terror and confusion. The creature - for Amelia could think of no other word to describe the horror before them - seemed to fill the entire horizon. Its massive bulk dwarfed the Mermaid’s Tear, and each movement of its countless appendages sent waves crashing over the deck.
Men screamed and prayed, some leaping overboard in blind panic while others huddled in frozen terror. Through it all, Captain Blackwood stood at the prow, arms outstretched in supplication.
“Great Dagon!” he cried out. “I have summoned you as was foretold! Grant me the power you promised, that I might smite my enemies and rule over all the seas!”
For a moment, all was still. Then one enormous eye swiveled to focus on the captain. Amelia felt a wave of alien intelligence and unfathomable malevolence wash over her. She wanted to run, to hide, to be anywhere but here - but her legs refused to obey.
A voice that was not a voice filled the air, reverberating through flesh and bone alike. FOOLISH MORTAL. YOU DARE PRESUME TO COMMAND ME?
Blackwood’s triumphant expression faltered. “But… the bargain. The ancient texts promised-”
YOU KNOW NOTHING OF ANCIENT BARGAINS, INSECT. YOUR KIND ARE NAUGHT BUT MORSELS TO ONE SUCH AS I.
With terrifying speed, a tentacle lashed out, wrapping around Blackwood’s body. The captain’s scream of terror was cut short as he was lifted high into the air, then plunged beneath the roiling waves.
As if a spell had been broken, the crew erupted into frenzied action. Men rushed to the lifeboats, heedless of rank or protocol. Amelia found herself being pulled along by Dr. Gray, his face ashen but determined.
“We have to get off this ship,” he shouted over the din. “It’s lost. We’ll founder any moment!”
Amelia nodded numbly, allowing herself to be guided toward one of the remaining boats. As they reached it, she felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Silas Marsh.
“I’m sorry,” the first mate said, his eyes haunted. “I should have stopped him sooner. I should have-”
“There’s no time,” Amelia cut him off. “Help us lower the boat. We can sort out blame later, if we survive this nightmare.”
Together, they managed to launch the small craft, joined by a handful of shell-shocked crewmen. As they pulled away from the doomed Mermaid’s Tear, Amelia looked back in time to see the great beast’s tentacles fully envelop the ship. Wood splintered and cracked, and within moments, the proud vessel was dragged beneath the waves.
For hours, they drifted in stunned silence, the sea around them gradually calming. Of Dagon, there was no further sign - but Amelia knew she would never forget the sight of that monstrous form rising from the depths.
As the first light of dawn began to paint the eastern sky, Dr. Gray cleared his throat. “We should… we should try to establish our position. See if we can make for land.”
Amelia nodded mechanically, reaching for the small sextant they’d managed to salvage. But as she raised it to her eye, something made her pause.
There, clutched in her other hand, was a small leather pouch - the one she’d seen Blackwood fingering so often. In the chaos of their escape, she must have grabbed it without even realizing.
With trembling fingers, she opened the pouch and tipped its contents into her palm. A single gold coin gleamed in the early morning light, its surface marked with strange, eldritch symbols.
She looked up to find Marsh and Gray watching her intently. “What do we do now?” Marsh asked softly.
Amelia closed her fist around the coin, feeling its weight - and the weight of the choice before them. They could try to forget, to put this horror behind them and return to their old lives. Or…
“We find answers,” she said firmly. “Whatever Blackwood was mixed up in, it’s bigger than just him. There may be others out there, tampering with forces they don’t understand. And someone needs to stop them.”
Gray nodded slowly. “It won’t be easy. Or safe.”
“No,” Amelia agreed. “But after what we’ve seen, how can we do anything else?”
As the sun rose over the vast, empty sea, the three survivors of the Mermaid’s Tear made their pact. Whatever came next, they would face it together - and they would make sure the horrors they’d witnessed never came to pass again.
For in the depths of the ocean, ancient things still slumbered. And there would always be those foolish or desperate enough to wake them.