Dive into the fathomless dark of "Abyssal Whispers," a chilling anthology that plunges readers into the haunting abyss of the world's oceans. In this collection of tales, a cadre of contemporary horror writers steers you through the uncharted waters...
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2000 feet beneath the waves, the mini-sub Nereus slowly descended through the inky blackness toward its target - a crippled nuclear submarine resting on an undersea plateau, its twisted hull straining under the immense pressure of the abyss. Inside the cramped confines of the mini-sub, the five-person salvage crew anxiously checked their gear one final time.
"Approaching the Thresher now," announced Kyle Mitchell, the grizzled ex-Navy captain piloting the sub. "Docking collar is extended. Brace for impact."
With a muffled clang that reverberated through the hull, the Nereus latched onto an emergency hatch on the Thresher's conning tower. Water began to drain from the space between the two vessels as an airlock was established.
Veronica Hernandez, the team leader, keyed her radio. "Link-up successful. Prepare to board."
The inner hatch hissed open and the crew filed into the Thresher's darkened interior, sweeping the passageways with the beams of their helmet lamps. The silence was eerie and oppressive.
"I've got a bad feeling about this," muttered Owen Becker, weapons specialist. "Why aren't there any bodies? A sub this size should have a crew of over a hundred."
"Cut the chatter," Veronica snapped. "We're here for the package, nothing else. Now let's move."
They made their way toward the missile compartment, sloshing through knee-deep water pooled on the decks. Strange organic detritus floated by - bits of seaweed, tangled ropes of kelp, gelatinous egg sacs. The walls were encrusted with barnacles and colonies of pallid, eyeless crabs.
Suddenly, a bloodcurdling scream pierced the gloom, followed by a wet, fleshy tearing sound. The crew froze, pulses pounding.
"What the hell was that?" hissed Natalie Chen, medic.
"Sounded like Olivia," said Owen, voice trembling. Olivia Rojers, the crew's engineer, had been bringing up the rear.
They advanced slowly, panning their lights down the passageway. 40 feet back, a trail of crimson blood and clumps of shredded viscera lead to a ragged hole torn through the pressure hull. Sea water gushed in, widening the breech.
"Jesus," breathed Kyle. "What could've done that? These hulls are six inches of solid steel!"
"I don't know and I don't want to find out," Veronica said firmly. "Double-time it to the warhead, we need to get the hell out of here."
Moving faster now, they reached the missile bay - a cavernous space lined with towering SM-2 rockets. Most of the missiles were smashed open, their nuclear guts spilling out. At the far end, one warhead remained intact, secured in a launch tube.
"There's our baby," said Owen. "Let's grab it and go."
As he and Kyle approached the missile, Natalie wandered over to a darkened corner of the bay, peering at a pulsing mass of translucent membranes draped across a bulkhead.
