Am I cursed? Of all life's unanswered questions, this one haunted her the most. She knew her life brimmed with blessings. Having a loving, hard-working husband and a healthy baby on the way was more than some obtained in their dreams. Still, just as the darkness and blue flames tormented her dreams, she felt a terrible misfortune was on the rise. It was always a few steps behind her, waiting for the moment it could catch her unawares.

As the blue light swallowed her, she despaired, searching in futility for the moment this curse crossed her path. It was possible that she was born with it latched on to her. Many children were born bearing terrible burdens in one horrendous form or another. Was her father responsible? The image of the man's glazed eyes and bloody hands lay burned into her head as a torturous brand. Perhaps in his frenzied rambling, he heaped a curse on her head. She wished she never descended into that basement. How much better would life be if she left well enough alone?

When Anne's sight returned, she found herself on the ship deck. Standing in soaked clothes, she struggled to shield her face from the rain’s savage onslaught. Where had the storm come from? She was sure that it was only fog that hindered the ship’s progress. What greeted her was a sight from a disaster film. Huge waves rose as towers tumbled down as if an explosion tore loose its foundation. The deck rocked beneath her feet, hurling her against the metal floor. Her teeth rattled as her chin struck the ground.

“What are you doing?” a voice shouted over the thunderous din. Dazed, she found someone approaching her. Two hands grabbed her shoulders, hoisting her to a shaky, standing position. “It’s dangerous out here for a dainty little girl,” Marcus, an older shipman, barked. Anne had only met him once before, but he wasn’t the kind of man anyone forgot fast. On his right hand, his ring finger was a stub halfway up, making handshakes awkward as the nub pressed against her palm. He walked with a severe limp, with his right heel turned out to keep his balance; watching him hobble around made Anne nervous that he could fall at any moment. Though missing his left eye, he never wore his eyepatch, leaving the gaping hole for all to stare at in disgust. On his left forearm was a tattoo of a once-alluring mermaid who grew fatter and more wrinkled as the years passed. Underneath his faded shirt and worn-out pants, various scars decorated his skin. His aging, deformed body was a source of pride. He could “spot a gawker a mile away,” as he liked to put it. The instant he noticed anyone staring at him. He flashed a gap-toothed grin, saying, “The price of a sailor’s life.” Each of his oddities had a story behind it. According to Al, the stories grew in intensity and outlandishness with every retelling.

Needless to say, his reputation preceded him. Few could match Marcus in knowledge of the sea or keep up with him on deck. He worked harder than five lesser men. “They don’t make ‘em like they used to,” Al mused many times when discussing Marcus’s work. There were plenty of times when the old man taught Al a thing or two, which the younger captain took to heart. “When you’re on this boat,” Al instructed Anne on the day of their departure. “Listen to Marcus. His words are one of the few things we can rely on. He’s our Oracle.”

As the rocking ship threatened to throw her again, Marcus served as a faithful cane, steadying her as they made their way through the storm. “Come along, ma’am,” he urged her as he hobbled along. Men trudged across the deck, struggling to keep their ship afloat as the ocean fought to swallow them whole. Ravenous waves crashed all around them as the torrential rain buffeted their bodies. Steadfast Marcus guided her through the chaos. At last, they reached the stairs leading below deck. “We’ll get you downstairs where you can be safe.” He beckoned her ahead, but that was one thing she couldn’t do.

“No,” she exclaimed, the darkness surging through her mind again. The haunting eyes of her father burned through the black. They would consume her within the ship’s maw. Whatever happened, she had to stay above deck. Nothing good awaited her inside the belly of the metal beast, only death. “I won’t go.” Driven by fear, she shrugged off the helpful embrace of the old sailor. As soon as she broke free, the sea turned the full force of its rage against her. The boat jumped as a massive wave crashed into its port side. Anne flew off her feet as fresh foamy water coursed over the deck beneath her floating body. My baby, she realized in horror.

Every first-time mother has her period of constant worry over her unborn child. Anne’s was worse than most. She wanted to know everything she ate, in case something could harm her progeny. For months, she exercised utmost caution when she walked, plodding along with slow, well-placed steps. She wouldn’t allow a simple slip on a slick floor or trip over a cracked sidewalk cause her to fall on her stomach. To experience such a mishap had to be a fate worse than death. It made no sense to anyone else, but in her eyes, she was the only sane person where her baby’s health was concerned.

Now, despite her caution, not long from her expected time of delivery, nature itself wanted to inflict great harm on her child. Giving no thought to her neck, head, or other vital spots, she wrapped her arms around her stomach, providing a cushion around her baby’s temporary home. Anne had no idea how long she flew through the air. It didn’t matter. When she hit the metal floor, pain shot through her shoulders. The force of the fall sent her careening across the deck, far from the staircase. Pain wrecked her every inch of the way until she slammed into the railing. Air drove out of her lungs. Savage bursts from her lungs struggled to regain her wind. Cradling her stomach, she huddled against the railing as the continual rain and waves drenched her body.

The haunting memory of her first encounter with Marcus poured into her mind. While everyone else took care of their various jobs, he stared at the ocean. All he said was, “A storm’s a-brewing.” When she asked what he meant, a curious glint flashed in his eye as a frown stretched out over his face. He paused, looking up at the overcast sky, the same one they sailed under for days. “On the sea, there are few things we know for sure. A storm is one of them. It’s more fickle than a woman, doing as it pleases for no reason other than it can. All a sailor can do is wait for its coming, and pray that it passes quick.” Was this the fickle sea of which he spoke or was this a result of something more foul?

My curse. She struggled to breathe as the rain slapped her in the face. Her eyes whipped around the deck, searching for an escape, but there was only Marcus. His hand reached through the storm, beckoning her to enter the metal leviathan. “Hurry,” Marcus snapped, staining to pull her up again.

“I can’t,” she wept, realizing the bleakness of her situation. Out in the ocean, no one could resist or hide from the ocean’s nature or a curse’s wrath. Her fingers tightened on the railing. At least against the metal bars, she could see her death when it came for her.

“You must,” he ordered, dragging her to her knees. “Stay here and you’ll die. We have to hurry or we’re...” He never finished that thought. His voice cut short, jaw hanging slack. For a long, petrifying moment, Anne saw all sense of life vanish from the elder’s body. He stood as a statue, looking on the raging sea with cold dead eyes, face chiseled into a vacant mask of despair. “No,” he murmured, “that can’t happen.” His fingers clasped one arm in an intense grip so tight Anne gasped in sharp pain. His blank eyes burned into hers, but they didn’t look at her. They saw something else.

A sudden fear crawled out of the darkness, baring its piercing fangs. “Let me go,” she cried out, struggling to pull away to no avail.

His fingers gripped harder, holding her in place. Severe tremors coursed down his arms. His breath came in low wheezes. Big tears slipped down his cheeks, intermingling with the rain. His lips trembled. Blubbering, he groaned, “Oh, pity this generation. How blessed are the dead that they might not live to see such days. Is there no mercy to spare us, anything to stay the fell blade that dangles above our heads?”

Another sudden wave pounded against the side of the boat. The force of it hurled them into the railing. Anne wrapped her arms around the metal bars as Marcus’s fingers slipped from her skin. His body hung over the rails, but he remained on the boat. When Anne’s eyes met his again, she found that his face had changed again. The despair was gone, dropped into oblivion as if it never existed at all. Taking its place was the drunken contentment of the accursed. “It’s already too late,” he whispered, wind driven from his lungs. “Oh, who will comfort us in our sorrow?”

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

The storm’s fury exploded around the ship. Wind, screeching as a woman in travail, ripped across the deck. Cascading rains hailed from the heavens. Wave after wave pummeled the boat, drowning it under their weight. Her fingers tightened on the rails, desperate to keep her life from being snuffed out by the sea’s wrath. Marcus slapped against them again as a limp statue. He paid no attention to her, no matter how the storm threw her fragile body. His eyes were held by something out in the distance. Something she could not see.

Blood poured from his broken nose, puddling onto his lips. When he spoke, droplets of blood flicked into the air, landing on her face. “The storm we face is not meant for mortal eyes,” he hissed, lips trembling. “One must hide from it. For what comes seeks out the meek and lowly. Hide and let your life be spared.”

A thunderous noise split their ears. “Woe is me!” Marcus cried into the storm. “Cursed be the eyes that see the day of destruction. Blind me, O Lord. Spare me from this horror.” His prayer was answered when the boat threatened to capsize, a little toy rolling around in the ocean’s childish hand. The old man’s body slipped away and dropped down the metal incline. She caught the faintest glimpse of his body bouncing across the deck as the ship tried to right itself. His body flew over the side and vanished into his watery grave.

Anne cried out. Bile rushed from her guts, cutting her voice short. Clinging to her tether, she released a short burst of stomach acid and faint traces of her dinner into the wind and rain. Her weak interlocking arms burned from the strain of fastening her body to the railing, her metallic lifeline. If she let go, she’d slip down the boat and share Marcus’s fate. Please, she prayed, though she did not know to whom. She hoped that whoever granted Marcus his oblivion would hear her feeble cry. If you find no good in me, please show mercy for my child’s sake.

Perhaps the great Posideon found her fair because, when she reached the limits of her strength, a wave rose under the boat, lifting it back to some semblance of its correct position. The sudden movement threw her onto the deck. Pain surged through her back. “Thank you,” she hissed. However, she was not out of the woods yet. She feared that her demise still loomed just behind her.

Slipping and sliding to her feet, she recalled what Al said if the boat should risk capsizing. Get to the lifeboats, she remembered. Imminent death all around her, she forged through the storm. One hand shielded her eyes. The other protected her stomach, the cradle of her child. Weathering the wind and rain, she lost count of how many times she was knocked to the ground or pushed against something on deck. No matter how they struck, she pushed herself to continue on.

She would not realize this until later, but as she made her way through the dozens of metal crates and over the various walkways, no sailors raced around the deck. When the boat risked overturning, several members of the crew met the same end as Marcus. Those that endured hid beneath deck, hoping that the storm would spare them. One tried to reach the lifeboats. The ship rocked underneath him and tossed him overboard. If she saw the demise of the crew, would she have continued? Could she believe in herself when others failed or lost heart?

Please, she prayed again as she fell to her knees. Utter dismay bubbled around her heart, longing to consume her. With each passing second, she felt more lost than the moment before. It was hard enough to find the lifeboats on a sunny day. She feared she’d never find them in the hideous maelstrom. Send me a guardian angel.

“Anne,” a voice called.

“I’m here,” she shouted, fighting to be heard over the storm. Bursting out of the dreary darkness, Al rushed to her side. His uniform was tattered around the arms, torso, and legs. “You lost your hat,” she muttered, not realizing that was a strange detail to notice under the circumstances.

“What are you doing out here?” he barked. Though they were only apart for a little while, it felt as if days had passed. She tried to throw herself into his comforting arms, but his embrace wasn’t to shield her from the storm. It was to battle the storm. “Hurry,” he ordered as they navigated the dangerous walkways. “Our engines are down. The lower levels are taking water. We’ve lost the ship.” It was a small eternity before he guided her to the only means of escape: a small motorboat floating by ropes.

He hurled her into the lifeboat. Lightning cracked overhead as the storm’s rage swelled to a deafening degree. She turned, waiting for him to jump in after her, to find him remaining on the ship. His fingers rested on the lever, ready to fling it. She called for him to join her. He said something. It was impossible to hear him over the din, but she didn’t need to hear his words to understand what he was doing. An old sailor saying came to mind, “The captain goes down with the ship.” Her heart sank. An image flashed through her mind. Al held their child for the first time. Their child cried out for milk. He handed the baby back to Anne for nursing. Al grinned as he helped burp their bundle of joy. His child smiled at him, knowing to call him Da-Da one day.

It was the first of many images that flashed through her mind, each more painful than the last. All of it will be taken away. “No,” she cried, staggering to her feet. She couldn’t leave without him. Swinging her hands across the gap, she reached out for him. His face was hewn from stone. “Don’t leave me.”

With a sudden snap, he grabbed her hands and pulled her close. His lips met hers. For a single moment, the storm vanished and they were back on the beach. It was their honeymoon. They sat by the water on a chilly April morning, watching the gentle waves lap up against the shore. A wet swimsuit clung to her body though she didn’t feel the cold. The warmth of her love was the one sensation she felt. Cradled in its embrace, all her pain faded away. Nothing was out of her reach. Perhaps a picture book ending awaited her.

As their lips parted, the storm returned, shattering that peaceful image. “I’ll find you,” he shouted. “Wait for me.” Before she could reply, he flipped the switch.

Everything vanished from her view as the lifeboat plummeted down the ship's side. Crying out for her husband, Anne clung to the lifeboat for dear life. She knocked her chin against the floor when it met the water. The ocean snapped the boat in its furious grasp. In a childish tantrum, it flung Anne's raft far from the ship before she had the chance to wipe the blood from her face.

"Al," she shouted into the din. Scrambling to the motor, she pulled the starter cord hard. Nothing happened. Biting back a curse, she tried again, putting her back into it. She couldn’t remember the last time she drove a motorboat. Her head pounded as she raked through her memories from her first lesson. If she didn't recall her skills fast, she'd end up in a watery grave. Her heart beat in her throat as the small boat rocked in the ocean’s upheaval.

On the fourth pull, the engine roared to life and not a moment too soon. As Anne grabbed the handle, a wave rose to plunge her boat beneath the surface. Guided by her hand, the motorboat sped off like a skipping stone. Her eyes never left the ship. No matter how the sea tried to turn her around, she held the course. It made no difference what Al said or intended. She couldn’t give up the family of her dreams.

They died as a low inhuman groan split through the storm. A gasp dying in her throat, she froze, hand slipping off the handle. The boat lost course, swerving to the left as the motor came to a sputtering stop. For one eerie moment, a silence fell within the tempest. Crashing waves stilled. Howling wind silenced. Even the rain ceased to fall. The entire sea held its breath in the presence of the rumbling uproar. Stuck in the middle of the false peace, Anne trembled.

Utter catastrophe broke the tranquility. A thunderous fireball lit up the darkness, burning bright as the sun. It devoured the lower deck, setting off a series of explosions among the cargo. Flames leapt high into the air, seizing control of the upper portion of the ship. What followed was an orchestra of shattering metal screeching as the ship’s hull burst open. “No,” she wailed, grabbing the handle again. It wouldn’t be long before the entire ship was at the bottom of the ocean. She never got one inch closer. The storm returned in full force, converging its strength on the lifeboat. It did nothing to quell the flames which continued chewing through the ship’s wreckage. Fighting for control, she watched as the ship grew farther and farther away while the torn hull slipped deeper under the raging sea’s surface.

Anne tried to scream. She wanted to cry out his name just one last time. Not a single word croaked from her throat. She reached a quivering hand to the collapsing cage that was dragging her husband to his death. Icy despair ensnared her heart as she collapsed. Anguished tears flowed from her eyes. She wrapped her fingers around her stomach, where Al’s child resided. Mother and child. They were alone. Many more would find themselves alone after the fog rolled in. This was just a foretaste of what was to come.