The fishing boat bobbed in the fog. Slow black waves melded with the night sky, and enveloped the crew of The Mary-Anna in an impenetrable darkness.
“Lights aren’t doin’ us much good, Captain,” said one of the deck hands.
“Nar, at this point they’re so we don’t get rammed by another boat more than anything,” said Captain Beak.
Captain Beak walked to the bow and took a bit of his orange. The captain had a habit of eating his oranges in the same way a normal person would eat an apple. Flakes of orange skin hung from his beard until the wind blew them away.
“Which way are we facing anymore, navigator?” he asked.
“Well captain,” said Navigator Thomas, “I’m pretty ashamed to admit I just don’t know. There must be metal in the seabed. My compass is all over the place.”
It was true. Navigator Thomas’s compass spun in a steady circle.
“Cut the engine,” Captain Beak said into his radio. The Mary-Anna‘s engine chugged to a halt.
The crew met on the main deck.
“Alright crew,” said Captain Beak, “here’s our situation. Nary of our insturments-”
“What does nary mean?” one of the deck hands shouted.
“It’s a kinda orange,” said another one.
“No no no,” said Navigator Thomas, “it means none.”
“Then why didn’t captain just say that.”
“I imagine he were tryin’ ta puh on a more sea faren voice.”
“Now that’s enough,” Captain Beak shouted, “this is serious now. Nary- sorry- none of our instruments are working. We can’t find North, and our long range radio is on the fritz. Now, we don’t want to sail farther away from shore, so we’re just gonna sit tight until dawn, or until we see Fog Watch lighthouse.”
“Coastal folk never was creative with names.” piped up another member of the crowd.
The crew took turns watching for the lighthouse while the rest slept. Captain Beak stayed up with each. At 4 o’clock in the morning the captain checked his own compass. It was spinning faster than the navigator’s was six hours before. Then, in the sea, came a sound other than the lapping of waves. It was a low rumble.
“Was that a fog horn, Captain?” said one of the crew.
“I don’t know,” Captain Beak stood. “Never heard one like that. Too low.”
The sounded happened again.
“Return call,” he said into the radio.
The Mary-Anna‘s horn sounded bright and chipper against the black mist.
The sound returned again, but stayed constant. It was so dark the crew didn’t see the wave until it crashed into the boat. Water ran up to the Captain’s waist. He couldn’t see his own knees. He felt things rushing passed his legs in the frigid water. Men were screaming, pulling each other toward the inside of the ship. Captain Beak grabbed a rotted rope from the rigging. In the black, very far away, and very deep in the ocean, he could see a pulsing purple light rising to the surface.
“Is that a facking UFO,” someone shouted.
The light hovered in the air for about thirty seconds. Captain Beak could just see the outline of the ship. Strange curving edges. The low vibration was a roar now. Then it was just gone. After a few minutes the ocean calmed, and the crew sat on the deck in a circle, filling the sleeping members in on what they had seen. Navigator Thomas checked his compass.
“Works fine again, sir” he said.
“Very well. Back to work then.”
Short Stories 