Ship

A high pitched scream filled the saloon and shuted the music down. Everyone stopped dancing. People directed their gazes to the woman crying on the floor. Their eyes widened when they saw the pool of blood beneath her. More screams flooded the room and those who didn’t participate of the chant of despair covered their ears to not be left deaf. Someone was murdered.

Martin dropped the vase he was cleaning a second ago, and ran off the bar to see, still not aware of what happened. He could barely move through the forest of expensive tuxedos and revealing dresses. He saw the man dropped on the floor with a gap where his neck is supposed to be. He had served the man a martini just a few minutes ago. His body turned into a hedgehog, every single hair converted into a still and rect spike. His hands began to sweat and short-lived tears sprung from his eyes. He hadn’t noticed his mouth was wide open until a fly decided to make its way down his throat.

“Everyone please calm down,” someone a man began through the microphone on the scaffold, “This is the ship’s security speaking. Everyone please walk calmly to your rooms.”

Uniformed men entered through the large wooden doors behind the crowd. They made their way to the corpse and established a perimeter, pushing all civilians away. Martin kept his distance. He was one of the first to leave the room. He untied his bowtie and moved to the railing. He stared down into the liquid abyss that would mean only death to him. He hastened a cigarette out of his pocket, then a lighter, almost dropping the later thanks to his shaky hands. He let the unsavory smoke travel down his pharynx. Into his lungs. Three seconds after, the smoke turned its way up and outside Martin’s system.

His mind was blank. “This is your captain speaking,” the megaphone just a few feet above his head surprised Martin. “Please make your way to your rooms and remain in their insides. An investigation is proceeding and for the well-being of all our passengers, we beg you stay put.”

Most people were already shivering down their blankets. Only the ship’s crew was out. Martin locked himself in a room in the between deck hold iia. He wanted peace. Time for numbness was gone. He had to think now. That was totally a murder, in the middle of the crowd. The man’s head was tore off his body. Without anyone looking. Yep. Completely reasonable. Martin shook his head, trying to send the sarcasm away. This was serious. Someone was murdered. That means someone else could be killed tonight.

The lightbulb shimmered. Martin turned it on and off a couple times. It died. He heard a loud tug, as if the engines room had suddenly been moved closer. Just until this moment he forgot there were others in the hold, just outside his room.

Two more thuds. Louder. “What the-” A voice died before it could finish its curses. Martin hid behind the counter. Again, tug. He could barely see anything. The darkness and proximity of the walls overwhelmed him. He felt it digging into his heart, with care, like an old lady knitting a scarf. Slowly progressing. At first he could barely notice. But then seconds became minutes. And minutes turned into hours. There were no more sounds besides the ship’s engine roaring, turned into a faint scream from a far away place.

Something warm grazed his feet. From under the counter. He touched it. Water? Sure it was liquid. Seawater isn’t this warm, or thick. It took him a moment to realize.

He immediately crawled until his back met the wall. He placed one hand on his heart. The other covered his mouth. He felt the force forming in his stomach. His heartbeat rising both in strength and speed. The urge to let air create vibrations in his throat that would be traduce to the world as a scream. To others, as a beacon.

He swallowed. The need flickered. He uncovered his mouth. His lips twitched to form syllables and words far from human comprehension besides utter madness. Everything turned cold. Even the blood.

Two more thuds.

Echoes?

Surely. Whatever it was; It wasn’t there anymore. Martin rose, careful not to produce the most minimum sound. He held his breathing and measured his steps. He unlocked the door. Slowly, the metal door opened, but only a few inches. Martin peeked out. The emergency light was on. The red shimmer died and revived two times per second. A numb siren accompanied it. On the floor, a pool of red -almost black liquid was formed. Dozens of extremities floated in it. There were no corpses. Only arms and legs and heads. Though Martin could not differ any from the other.

He swallowed the urge to let his meal exit his body through his mouth. He noticed cuts on the metal walls. Definitely not a knife. He let the cool out for a second, trying not to lose his already weakened grasp on reality. The thought of this being a nightmare scared him more than if it was real. That’d mean his brain is much more wicked than he thought.

Thuds again.

Martin froze in place.

Three thuds.

The sound was louder. It was nearby. Martin tried to think. He couldn’t. He tried to move. That he could, at least. He jumped a crate and closed his eyes. Waiting.

Four thuds. It was here.

Martin heard the splashes of steps on the blood. His heart slowed to a crawl. The steps grew louder. Martin felt a weak breeze hit his nose. No. It wasn’t breeze. He opened his eyes to be met with a black void. His gaze lowered two centimeters.

It wasn’t a void.

Those were jaws.