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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The seas were calm as we set sail from Portsmouth on a clear summer morning. The HMS Endeavour sliced through the small waves with ease, the brand new steam engine powering us steadily southwards. As captain of the finest ship in His Majesty's Navy, I felt a swell of pride along with anticipation for the journey ahead. We had received reports of a rogue pirate vessel that had been raiding merchant ships along the African coast. All attempts to capture it had failed thus far; the ship was incredibly swift and able to evade pursuers with apparent ease.
But I had no doubts that the Endeavour, newly fitted with long-range cannons and steam powered paddles, would be able to run the black-flagged fugitive down. My well trained crew was itching for a fight, the lure of prize money making them especially keen. The rumour was this pirate captain had amassed quite a fortune from his string of daring raids. We meant to put an end to his adventures and line our own pockets in the process.
It was on the eighth day out when we spotted a ship on the horizon, its black sails stark against the crystal blue sky. "Sail ho!" came the expected cry from the crow's nest high above. I trained my spyglass on the distant speck, a smile forming on my bearded face. "That's our prize, lads! Run out the guns and make ready for battle!" The men let up a lusty cheer in response, scurrying to obey my commands with vigor. We had all heard the stories surrounding our quarry. Some believed the ship was crewed by the damned, its captain a demon from the deepest hell sent to plague the living. But these were just foolish superstitions meant to intimidate. Whatever darkness waited for us, the might of the Royal Navy would prevail.
Our quarry did not seem keen to fight however. As we powered towards them under full steam, the black ship adjusted course and raised more sail, clearly trying to flee. But it was no use. Our powerful steam paddles and sleek iron hull rapidly closed the distance. By midday we were near enough to make out men skittering about her deck like ants. Still the pirate ship did not strike her colors in surrender. Her crew seemed unwilling to admit defeat. Very well then, I thought. If it's battle they want, battle they shall receive!
When we drew within a hundred yards I gave the order to open fire. The forward cannons let loose with an ear splitting boom, heavy iron shot streaking through the air towards our foe. Astoundingly not a single ball struck home. It was as if an invisible force were protecting the pirate ship. Muttered curses rippled down our gun decks. How could all our gunners have missed from such close range? Another thunderous volley blasted forth with a blinding gun flash. And again somehow all the shot just narrowly missed their target. Bloody inexplicable! Inside I felt the first small prickling of doubt. Was there some witchery at play here after all?
As we paused to swab out and reload the guns, I noted uneasy expressions forming on the faces of my men. They crossed themselves and muttered prayers under their breath. "Steady lads!" I called. "No devilry can stand against English steel and courage!" This seemed to rally their spirits, my words followed by spirited cheers. We continued the pursuit as the smaller ship led us on into the night. I kept us close, awaiting the dawn and another chance to attack. Their luck had held out...for now.
