"Do as I say! I know my own ship!" Charles roared toward the boiler room before looking down at the first mate on the floor. "John! Go unload half the cargo!"
He knew this was no time for hesitation; staying alive was more important than anything.
"Yes, sir!" The portly old man kicked open the cockpit door and charged out.
Listening to the heavy splashes of cargo hitting the water, Charles felt his heart bleed.
Fortunately, their desperate measures worked. After several more impacts, the lightened *Rat* began to pick up speed, gradually pulling away from whatever was behind them.
It wasn't until the navigation buoys actually appeared off the bow that a sweat-drenched Charles finally loosened his grip on the ship's wheel.
The trembling boy on the deck crawled over to Charles's feet and clung tightly to his legs. "Captain... Captain, I just... I just saw—"
Charles pinched the boy's cheeks, stopping him from saying more. "Before you came aboard, what was the third rule I told you?"
"Don't look at or think about the monsters in the water unless they get close to our ship. Even if you see them, don't say anything..."
"Good. Now get up, drop anchor, and then inform everyone to assemble on deck. I need a head count."
After giving his orders, Charles let go and walked out of the cockpit. The deck was a wreck, covered in water, with the ropes that had secured the cargo floating aimlessly on the surface.
Wading through the calf-deep seawater, Charles reached the stern. The spindle-shaped aft was smashed inward as if struck by a massive hammer and coated in some unknown, black, viscous slime that gave off a continuous, foul stench.
Judging by the shape of the dent, it was easy to imagine the size of the creature that had struck them. However, eight years at sea had worn away Charles's curiosity. He was preoccupied with other problems. Fixing this is going to cost a fortune... he thought, irritated. His dream felt another step further away.
Just then, the whispers rose again, seeming to creep out from the surrounding darkness. "ph...nglui mglw...nafh..."
"Fuck!" With a furrowed brow, Charles clenched his fist and repeatedly struck his own forehead with the back of his hand. The pain dulled the agitation brought on by the whispers.
When he saw the rest of the crew starting to gather on deck, Charles lowered his hand and walked over.
Seeing their captain approach, the men, of varying heights, quickly formed a line. Regardless of their appearance, their faces were all as frighteningly pale as Charles's.
"John, First Mate," the portly old man reported. "I assist the captain, organize work plans, prepare the cargo stowage plan, and serve as helmsman for the 12:00 to 24:00 watch."
Standing next to old John was a tall, powerfully built man whose blue clothes were covered in oil stains. He reported immediately after. "James, Chief Engineer. Responsible for maintaining the proper working order of the boiler, the propulsion system and its attached equipment, as well as lubrication, cooling, and fuel."
Next to the big man was a skinny one, as tall and thin as a telephone pole. "Frey, Chef. Responsible for the crew's meals."
After the chef was a pale-looking Deep. He was swaying slightly, as if he still hadn't recovered. "D-Deep... Able Seaman. Responsible for deck cleaning and the maintenance of the anchor, cables, and loading equipment."
Charles's eyes swept across the four men, and he immediately noticed one was missing. "Where's the sailor chief?"
The four men glanced at each other, but no one answered.
"AAAAAHHH!" Suddenly, a bloodcurdling scream echoed from below deck.
"Something's on board! Grab your weapons!" Charles shouted, leading the men as they charged toward the sound.
When they reached the dim crew quarters, a chill shot up everyone's spine. The cabin held only two people. One was standing—the *Rat*'s sailor chief, his face a mask of terror. The other was a person lying on the floor, unrecognizable because his skin had been completely flayed off. Without its protection, every twitch that brought his raw flesh into contact with the floorboards made the bloody figure shudder in agony. He lay there as a writhing, blurry heap, screaming and struggling desperately as his breathing grew weaker and weaker.
"Jim! Go find out who he is!" Charles yelled, quickly drawing the revolver at his hip.
The sailor chief crawled over fearfully and leaned close to the gory, mangled head to listen.
After a few seconds, he turned back, his face filled with panic. Pointing a trembling finger at Charles, he stammered, "Captain... he says he's you!"
"Me?"
Hearing the shuffling, panicked footsteps of his crew behind him, Charles decisively aimed his gun at the sailor chief. "Charles, Captain! Responsible for the ship's safe transport and administration, for ensuring the utmost safety of the vessel and the lives and property of the crew, and for handling all emergencies decisively and steadily! Helmsman for the 00:00 to 12:00 watch! Sailor Chief! Report your duties now!"
"Quick, kill him! He's not your captain anymore!" the sailor chief shrieked, pointing frantically at Charles.
BANG! Charles pulled the trigger. A hole appeared in the sailor chief's forehead, but what oozed out wasn't blood. It was a semi-solid, dark yellow liquid.
With its cover blown, the shot sailor chief's body began to twist and transform. Its mouth split open to the back of its head, its limbs swelled rapidly, and it let out a bizarre shriek as it charged at Charles.
BANG! BANG! BANG! Bullets slammed into the creature's body. The human skin tore like a rotten sack, exposing a dark, putrid, twisted trunk underneath that looked like the hide on a toad's back.
Even after taking all six shots, the monster wasn't dead. It spread its limbs and lunged at the man before it.
Charles seemed to have been through this many times before. His face was calm as he rolled to the side, dodging the monster's attack. While dodging, he hadn't been idle; he had already reloaded the revolver. He flipped the weapon over and fired another six rounds.
Under the assault of twelve bullets, the monster's reverse-jointed legs finally gave way, and it collapsed powerlessly to the ground.
Panting, Charles glanced at the corpse, a sight that inspired instinctual revulsion. He then turned to his terrified crew. "Don't just stand there! Throw this damn thing overboard!"
Charles then walked over to the motionless, flayed body. Ignoring the overwhelming stench of blood, he turned the head to face him. When he saw the missing front tooth in the exposed jaw, Charles knew this was his real sailor chief. The one he had just shot was a sea monster in disguise.
A flash of pain crossed Charles's face, but he quickly suppressed it. He reloaded his revolver again and began to patrol his ship, searching for any other creatures that might have slipped aboard.
Deep and First Mate John struggled to haul the monster's body away.
The boy spoke to the first mate in amazement. "The captain is so incredible."
"Ha, of course he is. Why else would he be the captain while you're just a sailor? You know, he was just like you when he first came aboard."
"Really? What was Captain Charles like back then?"
"That's a long story. It was about seven or eight years ago. I was a third mate on another ship at the time, and Charles just came drifting out of the sea. When we first found him, he couldn't even speak."
"Seriously? Then how did he become a captain?"
"The old captain took pity on him and let him follow the ship from a distance. When we returned to port and confirmed he wasn't a monster, he was allowed to stay. He learned to be a sailor while learning how to speak. Not long after he could talk, he announced he wanted to get his own ship and lead all of humanity back to the Land of Light. We all laughed and said he was crazy."
"What happened after that?"
"He worked his way up from sailor to sailor chief, then from sailor chief to third mate. Just when we all thought he would get promoted from third mate to second officer, he actually saved up enough money to buy a small, secondhand cargo ship. Yep, this very *Rat* we're standing on."