It was midnight at the caribbean sea. We escaped from Boston with the loot and had been sailing with the english dogs on our track since sun rise. We only lost them around the Gutted Wench Bay and were sailing to Haiti when we got caught in an unexpected dead calm.
It was weird and infiuriating, maybe a trick from Old Nick himself. A dead calm like that shouldn’t happen on that part of the sea neither on that period of the year. At that point I should have been in a brothel driking my share of rum with a whore in each arm if it wasn’t for that damned lack of wind, but good ol’ Davy Jones had other plans.
I was on the deck checking the ropes when a dense mist appeared on the horizon. First the dead calm and now the mist. The night just couldn’t get any worse… At least was what I thought before I heard the bell. It wasn’t a simple bell toll. That shit could’ve been heard all the way back to Boston so loud its sound. I look in the direction from where the sound seemed to come from and that’s when I saw the shadows. There were 3 figures, two of them were giants with form similar to men escorting a third much larger one that looked like some kind of fiendish work animal, with 4 legs swinging between heavy steps, its head and body were like an aquatic predator, elongated and dinamic, but much more robust to support the tenebrous burden on its back. A sustentation structure for the God forsaken bell, two paralel pillars supporting a third one from which hung a shadow of a bell bigger than our own ship. In the hand of one of the giants there was something that looked like a huge hammer, if that wasn’t part of the creature’s hand itself, with which the monster hit multiple times at the bell over the animal.
Soon all of the crew were on the deck to watch the approaching nightmare. The dread spread amongst the men and not even the capitain, know for his lack of scruples and for the fear he struck upon his men, couldn’t restore the order. The shadows were closing in and the sound kept getting louder and deadlier. The entire ship vibrated to the bell toll and the accursed giant kept it that way with each strike of its hammer stronger and faster than the previous. Nails jumped off the wood and tight stretched ropes waved like mandolim strings. Men’s ears started to bleed and sailors with more years on sea than land cried like children. They prayed or screamed in despair I believe, I couldn’t be sure, the bell’s sound kept me from hearing even my own thoughts. I had the unpleasure of witnessing the capitain’s last moments: with his expression devoid of any hope and blood running down from both his ears and eyes, he pulled one of his loaded pistols from its holster, and solemnly raised it to his temple. Like the punchline to an infamous joke, his brains scattered over the deck and showered the poor damned souls. With all her structures vibrating the ship began to shatter and colapse like a cards castle. Men one by one fell unconcious or dead. Some tried to save themselves sticking wax, or worse, knives, in their own ears, but the hellish toll could trespass even a stone stronghold highwall. The last thing I saw were the shadows finally arriving at our the site of our spontaneous disassembling vessel without never leaving the mist curtain however, that’s all they were: shadows.
Due to some joke of Fate or curse from the Goat I woke up in Porto Rico on a bed from some home for the sick; a deaf and mute survivor from a inexplicable shipwreck. Since I was illiterate, I could never tell my story right away. These words I write are the work of a lifetime of silence seeking to learn the words with the sole and desperate purpose to warn each and everyone I may reach about my tale and the shadows that haunt this Ocean’s waters.