You’ll find the specifics here.
When I got the restrictions for this one, the story I was going to write immediately clicked. There was no period of ‘do I do this, do I do that’, it was immediately ‘I’m doing this’. In the end, it didn’t quite turn out how I had hoped, but the penalty for leaving things until the last minute is that you have to settle for your first go. Maybe there’s a lesson somewhere in that.
Broken Integrity
The following is an excerpt from the final pages of the Captain’s Log for the merchant ship Integrity. She was found adrift ten miles off the Cornish coast on July 14th, 1897, with no trace of her crew on board. After every man that came in contact with her fell deliriously sick, including three fatal cases, she was burned for fear of disease.
Captain’s Log
June 4th, 1897
It is three weeks now since we have been becalmed, mired in this unnatural stillness of weather. As yet our supplies hold, though we are coming worryingly close to that no longer being the case. The mood amongst the men is for the most part agreeable, however we have suffered a massive blow in the death of a shipmate. Young Master Kane, boson’s mate, was found dead this morning, shot by his own hand. It is a surprise to us all – the boy was vigorous and full of life, and showed no indication to such inclination. As a precaution, I’ve had all firearms aboard the ship stowed away under lock and key, to prevent a repeat of such tragedy.
June 6th, 1897
Further tragedy has struck upon us. Mister Falks, ship’s carpenter, was found dead in his berth, his throat savagely torn out as if by some kind of wild animal. The ship was searched from top to bottom but no trace of a creature was found. The men have started to whisper of a ghost or an evil spirit. I would allay their fears, but I would rather they don’t consider the worrying alternative – that Falks was murdered by a member of the crew.
June 7th, 1897
I am writing this in the dead of night for fear that tomorrow when I wake, I shall think the event I transcribe here was a dream. I was awoken not ten minutes ago by a strange scratching at my door. I went to investigate but the passage was empty. As I returned into my cabin I thought I heard a faint voice. “I’m winning the bet three nil,” it said. Normally I’d dismiss it as the whispers of the night, but I will admit the crew’s superstition is infectious. I’d never show it in their presence, but I am worried. Hopefully in the light of day my fears are not so potent.
June 8th, 1897
It has not been a good day. We have lost two more crewmen, Messrs Morton and Trodge. Morton was found hanging from the mainmast. It appears like suicide, but for one detail I didn’t see fit to share with the crew – he had rope burns on his wrists. I suspect foul play. Trodge disappeared sometime around noon. Nobody saw him go overboard, but he is most definitely no longer on the ship. I fear we shall never determine his fate.
June 12th, 1897
After three uneventful days and the faint signs of improving weather, I had begun to hope that out fortunes were changing. But it was not to be, as we have now lost three more crewmen. Two of them took a boat and some supplies during the night. On seas like this, I wish the fools luck. The third, our cook Nodde, disappeared like Trodge before him. I myself was speaking to him early in the day, but by suppertime he was gone.
June 17th, 1897
The weather has returned to normal, but it is to no avail. The crew has been struck down by some mysterious illness, rendering all but a few unable to work. Many men have died to the disease, but some yet fight on. I feared that it was poison, that Mister Flint, our stand-in cook since the disappearance of Nodde, had engineered the crew’s destruction, until Flint himself was struck down. If we lose many more men, I worry that our chance for survival might be taken as well.
June 23rd, 1897
I heard the voice again last night. It taunts me, in the deep of the dark. We float, helpless and alone, my crew dying around me, and it taunts me like I’m some petulant child. I do not know why it has chosen me, but it is driving me mad.
June 27th, 1897
The disease has run its course, but my crew has been destroyed by it. We have seven men left alive aboard the ship, including myself, the cabin boy, Lacey, and the only survivor of the illness, Urkel, formerly the strongest man on the ship and now barely a shadow of his former self. He has been so ravaged by the malady that Lacey carries him about, for he is too weak to stand on his own. I hear the voice nightly now, and sometimes even in the day. I do not know how much more I can stand.
June 29th, 1897
This entry was marred by smudges, presumably caused by tears.
I know now what it means. It’s my [smudge] I didn’t mean for [smudge] happen, but she was [smudge] I just [smudge] it. This is my penance [smudge] my crew pays for it. May they forgive me.
June 30th, 1897
This will be my final entry. As I write it, I have my first mate, Isaiah Stephenson, and our three remaining crewmen preparing a launch with some meagre provisions. I am leaving the ship at their request. I wish to state, for the record, that it is not mutiny, but by my own choice. I understand everything now. I am leaving the ship before I cause any more death.
Jonas F. Trelbourne, Captain of the Integrity
There was one final entry in the log. Analysis has proven it was written by the same hand, though in a manic scrawl compared to the earlier, neater penmanship.
July 12th, 1897
The fool was wrong. So damned wrong. I’m all that’s left, and I won’t last. I pray the bitch is never found. May God have mercy on our souls.