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 Descent
Dr. Ava Novak peered out the tiny porthole into the inky darkness of the abyss. Somewhere beyond the feeble illumination cast by the submersible's headlamps lay the ocean floor, nearly 4000 meters down. She turned back to her companions - her research partner Dr. Mikhail Sokolov, and the sub's pilots, Jack Thompson and Lena Dubois.
"Almost to the target coordinates," Jack announced, consulting the navigational display. "Should have visual any moment."
Ava nodded, trying to quell the gnawing unease in the pit of her stomach. When she and Mikhail had first noticed the anomalous readings during a routine analysis of deep-sea seismograph data two months ago, she'd been intrigued. Something big enough to create those kinds of pressure waves at that depth had to be massive. A hydrothermal vent field perhaps, or the birthing grounds of some colossal undiscovered Leviathan. The sorts of things marine biologists dream of finding.
It had taken weeks to secure funding and assemble an expedition, but now they were finally here, descending into the stygian gloom to see it with their own eyes. As they neared the source of the readings though, Ava found her excitement increasingly tinged with apprehension. Something felt...off, in a way she couldn't quite articulate.
"There!" Mikhail's shout jolted her out of her rumination. He was pointing at something outside the viewport.
Ava followed his gaze and felt her breath catch in her throat. Looming out of the darkness was the unmistakable silhouette of a submarine. A very old submarine, judging by the design. And it was massive - easily twice the size of their research submersible.
"A Russian Typhoon-class," Mikhail breathed, awed. "It has to be. But...what is it doing here? And in this condition..."
As they drew closer, Ava could see that the hull was heavily corroded, festooned with decades worth of barnacles and deep-sea detritus. It looked as if it had been resting on the seafloor for a very long time.
"Bring us alongside," she ordered Jack. "Nice and slow. Let's try to get a look inside."
The pilot eased their vessel towards a large rent in the submarine's flank and rotated the headlamps to peer into the murky interior. Ava gasped.
The gash opened into some kind of cargo hold, and it was filled with bodies - at least a dozen of them, perfectly preserved like macabre wax sculptures. They were dressed in archaic Soviet naval uniforms and appeared to have died where they sat or stood, frozen in their final moments.
"боже мой," Mikhail muttered. "What happened to them?"
"I don't know," Ava replied uneasily. "But I think we need to find out. Jack, is there any way we can get inside for a closer look?"
The pilot frowned. "I wouldn't advise it, Doc. That wreck looks like it could collapse at any moment. It's a tomb."
"Please," Ava pressed. "This could be the marine archaeology find of the century. We have to at least try to recover some of the bodies for study."
