The Creeping Kelp

What did not need conjecture was the fate of the men after that.

The black ooze lay over the bodies like a wet blanket—one that seethed and roiled as if boiling all across the surface. Pustules burst with obscene wet pops and flesh melted from bone even as the men screamed and writhed in agony.

Mercifully, their pain did not last long. All too soon the blackness seeped in and through them until even their very innards were liquefied and, with the most hideous moist sucking, drank up by the beast, which was now three times larger than previously, grown plump on its feeding. It opened itself out, like a black crow spreading its wings, the tips touching each side of the hold walls.

All along the inside surface of the wings wet mouths opened and the air echoed with a plaintive high whistling in which words might be heard if you had the imagination to listen.

Tekeli Li. Tekeli Li.

The very sound made the blood run cold in my veins such that, although we sailed in the Tropics, I felt a chill such as one might in the sea far to the north where the floes fill the horizon.

The thing swelled and ebbed, as if breathing in deep, rhythmic spasms, a wet, gurgling noise accompanying each breath. The whole room stank of corruption and if there is indeed a Hell, it can be no worse than that hold on that night.

My every instinct told me to turn and flee. But there was nowhere to escape to except the sea itself, and that was a choice no sailor would make. Instead I stood my ground while Massa, stout coxswain that he is, brought forth some firebrands. Only then did the thing seem to cower and retreat, and only then did I remember the circles of burning oil we had crossed on entering the black temple in the jungle.

I called for a barrel of pitch and tried to hold the beast at bay with a brand until aid might arrive. It seemed my adversary had other ideas. And now that it was free of the casket its powers had increased. It probed at my mind, searching for my weaknesses, taunting me with my dreams. I saw things no man should have to see as I was shown the atrocities that had been committed in this thing’s name by the savages in the temple. Blasphemies beyond the wildest imaginings filled my thoughts, dark red fury where bodies boiled, bubbled and seethed in a soup that might once have been men.

The grip on my mind grew stronger.

I saw vast plains of snow and ice where black things slumped amid tumbled ruins of long dead cities. And yet, although dead, something slumbered there, something so ancient as to be unaware of the doings of man, something vile.

And while our slumbering god dreamed, we danced for him, there in the twilight, danced to the rhythm.

We were at peace.

I know not how long I danced there, and I might be there yet had a flaring pain not jolted me back to sanity. I smelled burning, but took several seconds to note that it was my own hand that had seared. The coxswain, stout man that he is, had broken the hold on me by touching his firebrand to my skin.

I had no time to thank him, for the beast had shuffled ever closer to me while I dreamed, and even now it threatened to engulf me in its folds.

Once again I held the firebrand ahead of me, and with the aid of the coxswain I held the beast at bay, struggling to keep its grip from settling on my mind. Indeed, if the barrel of pitch had not been brought, both the coxswain and I might have succumbed.

When the pitch arrived I ordered it poured on the deck between the beast and us. It seemed to take an age to pour and all the time that black tar probed at our minds. Several of the men took on blank stares but, mindful of the coxswain’s earlier success, we were able to jolt them back with a burn to their flesh. Finally the pitch lay on the deck and I was able to step forward and set it alight. It took slowly at first, but soon a good fire burned in the hold.

Burning the pitch enabled the recapture of the beast to proceed more rapidly. The heat from the flames threatened to set fire to the deck of the hold itself, but I refused to allow the men to put it out until we had driven the beast back into the casket.

Even then it had one last surprise in store for us, for as we forced it ever backwards an array of white lidless eyes opened along its flanks. As we ensured the last of it drew back into the lead box the eyes blinked, like the wink of a coquette, before drawing down into the shadows.

I have ensured that the box is sealed completely, and it is now stored at the furthermost end of the hold. All I can do is keep the crew as far away from it as is possible on this small vessel,

That, and hope that in our dreams we do not fall again under its spell.

But it is hard. For every time I close my eyes I dream, of vast empty spaces, of giant clouds of gas that engulf the stars, of blackness where there is nothing but endless dark, endless quiet. And while my slumbering god dreams, I dance for him, there in the twilight, dance to the rhythm.

In dreams I am at peace.