It.
The storm rocked the ship gently, like a baby in a cradle, a view not shared by the boat’s crew, who were viciously thrown off their vessel as great waves crashed into the side. John, scrambling to recover his notebook and at least one of his prized pens, ran for the escape boat, upon which his wife and a few of the crewmen were waiting.
The second his boots left the ship and entered the tiny motorboat, they dropped the ropes and cascaded down onto the stormy sea, taking their chances and accelerating across the waves, hoping to gently bridge them and ride down the backside. The writer’s wife hugged him tightly, gentle salty tears sinking down her rose cheeks, joining the slashes of water that whipped up from Poseidon’s turbulence beneath them.
“I left my necklace.”
“It’s okay hon… As long as we made it.”
“It’s irreplaceable.” She whispered, as the crew made their way into the fog of the night.
A scream and a splash woke them up minutes later, as a crew member shrieked and swam to the canyon’s edge. Great obsidian walls rose from either side of them, peering down at their tiny boat, eyes filled with maleficence. The world around them began to swirl, the distinct stench of rotting fish filled the mist, as if the fog itself was a vessel for evil. Another crewmember screamed and swam away, the wife hugged her writer tighter. A great being looked down upon them, and comprehension left.
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