Cursed by the Sea

Can you really cook an egg on the sidewalk when it gets hot enough outside?

Enjoying the comforts of a shade the hardtop provides, a man pulls down his shades and rests his head back on his chaise lounge's headrest, sighing as the ocean breeze wraps around him like a soft towel, its playful waves washing over him with a sweet and salty essence, and just a little to his immediate left, a glass covered with tiny soft beads of moisture derived from the cool beverage half-filled inside is placed on a small table.

No, he doesn't care to find out.

It's brutally hot this summer, with all the humid and the relentless sun literally burning the earth's surface, he wouldn't risk a heat stroke to find that out. In fact, perspiring is one thing he utterly despises.

Unless he’s working out, sweating is unacceptable.

Rocking a pair of white loose beach pants that hang dangerously low around his taut waist, showing off his V-tapered physique and jaw-dropping ripples of perfect steel contours, it's only fair to say he’s in his comfort zone, ready for a good dose of vitamin sea.

So far it has been a beautiful day, the palpitating pulse of the sea is steady and peaceful, the murmuring of the waves is rather hypnotic, the fresh breeze has far been blowing away the discomforts of the raging sun and the scenery, a captivating neon blue sky threaded with silver is perfectly mirrored by the steady waters he’s been floating on.

The mix of loud music, cheers, chatters, and constant splashes as people dive into the surrounding clear waters in the background, is enough to tell he's not the only one who’s having a blast. The only difference is, he’s more content in his own private space.

On the main deck below, the mid-sized yacht bursts with variety of eye candies. From string bikinis that flaunt beach-perfect curves to light shorts for geezers showing off chiselled abs; either gallivanting, dancing, or diving into the cool water, everyone seems to make the most of their time.

“YO, FLYNN!! FLYNN..!!” A good-looking blond who stands with a pretty brunette calls, squinting up at the flybridge, both leaning over the guardrail at the bow. Getting no response, he stops a passing waiter and places his drink on the tray, then takes a couple of steps forward, halting much closer, “FLYNN!! YOU FUCKING RASCAL!!”

Shortly after, a man wearing white loose pants appears, kneeling on the couch by the flybridge rail, sliding up his shades to peer down at the blond geezer, “WHAT IS IT?”

“GET YOUR DAMN ASS DOWN HERE! WHAT YOU DOIN' UP THERE?” he asks, holding his waist.

The man, Flynn, only sighs, a small smirk pulling at the side of his full lips. His electric blues briefly glance at the sea horizon, slightly squinting as the sun illuminates his face. He brings his hand up to shield the weak rays from his sensitive orbs; it’s going to be dusk soon, he observes, before shifting his attention back to the waiting man below, “YOU KNOW THAT'S NOT MY STYLE, EUGENE!”

“COME ON DOWN, MAN! STOP PLAYING THE SNOB CARD.” The blond, Eugene persuades.

“LOOK, I MADE IT CLEAR WHEN I LENT YOU MY YACHT. I’M NOT A PARTY PERSON-“

Eugene cuts him short, “-JUST COME DOWN, COUSIN. THERE'S NOTHING WRONG WITH BEING A BIT SOCIAL.” He spreads his hands in the air, beholding the active background with a smile.

Arching his brow, the man sternly responds, “DON’T MAKE ME TELL THE CAPTAIN TO TURN THIS BITCH AROUND. I'M STARTING TO MISS THE BEACH.”

Eugene holds his hands up, slowly backing away, “FINE MAN, FINE. SHEESH! DON'T YOU GET TIRED AT ALL?”

The man smiles, the breeze ruffling his brown hair, “DON'T YOU GET TIRED OF PARTYING?”

Eugene laughs, “ALRIGHT, YOU WIN!”

“NO SWIMMING AFTER DARK, I'M WARNING YOU!” he echoes with a smile.

Sighing, Flynn watches on as his cousin goes back to mingle, immediately joining a group of smiling ladies. For a rich twenty-six-year-old, it's typical of him to do what he does. It’s not that men of his age don’t do it, it's just it has never been his style, even when he was Eugene's age.

The only reason he’s putting up with the chaos is that he’s fond of him. He considers him as a little brother he never had, for all he has is a spoiled brat for a sister.

Noticing a slight shift in the air as the sky slowly turns molten brass, he turns to the captain who’s sitting by the helm, his gaze studying the radar on the helm screen. Slowly moving toward the seated man, he stops by the second adjoined empty seat, and slightly bends to curiously study the Simrad sensitive screens, “Everything alright? I'm off to my cabin.” he inquires.

“Nothing out of the ordinary, we got this.” The man says, referring to his assistant in the lower level.

Shifting his gaze from the second screen, he shortly studies the first screen that shows the cruise in perfect condition; he nods, seeing that everything is under control. “Dench, see you later.” He mutters, turning away, starting toward the hatch nearby.

The captain nods as Flynn strolls through a mini bar, making it to the railings that frame a see-through hatch. Flipping it open to reveal a floating staircase, he slowly climbs down the steps that take him straight to the sitting area where he stops, eyeing the people having fun by the platform and those who swim nearby.

“Hey, Flynn..”

He turns to his immediate right, finding a cute blonde bending to retrieve soft drinks from a small refrigerator integrated right under the narrow floating staircase, but her dark sapphires remain fixed on him as she smiles.

Right.. and who is she?

“Hello,” he says, then turns around, starting for the side deck, sauntering through the narrow walkway. He would’ve used the inside route, but he really doesn't wish to bring attention to himself. The last thing he wants is an “unwelcomed guest.”

He doesn’t trust anyone with his things, especially Eugene, that's the only reason he’s here. Or he’d be in his beach house, enjoying the scene quietly by his balcony. That's where he usually stays during summer if he’s not travelling. He casts a last glance at the coastline, taking in the land so far away now, with all the glimmering lights as the sun is starting to set, before going through a door he finds.

Going down into the lower deck accommodation, he ambles through the carpeted corridor, passing through two cabins before coming to a stop in front of a door that he opens, and strolls into a master suite. Closing and locking the door behind him, he goes straight to a refrigerator, pulls out a juice box, and trudges to his Queen sized bed in the middle of the room. Plopping on, he grabs a remote nearby, switches on the telly, and sits back, downing the contents in the box.

The stripe mood lighting in the ceiling softly lights the room and illuminates the darkening sea outside that can be seen through the window to his right. The weather is calm enough, perhaps it was just him being a tad tired that he thought the air has shifted.

Resting his back on a soft cushion, he places the juice box on the nightstand and diverts all his attention to the playing screen. Now it's time to watch the new sci-fi movie everybody has been talking about. Hopefully, he won’t sleep through it this time.

Wrong.

And just like that, a full hour peels through with him sound asleep like a babe whilst the party outside gets crazier.

Far in the distance, the horizon begins to quiver. Low bruised clouds hang on the unsettled skyline, tugging nature’s plague behind them. The silent waves no longer idly stare at the world above them; instead, mother nature’s infuriated army, massing, stares back, beckoning them to join their ranks. No longer silent, nor idle, the waves embody all of nature’s wrath, lashing and whipping anyone and anything in sight.

Alarms flare and the crew jumps into action, helping all those who are still in the water, panicking at the frightful change of the weather all of a sudden. Alert, the captain shouts orders, beckoning everyone on deck as fast as possible, for it's time to apply all the speed there is to escape whatever that's coming for them.

An unearthly caterwauling sound fills the air and the wind whips up into frenzy. It is a shrieking, keening omen of the carnage to follow as the clouds continue racing across the sky, thrumming with the charged energy they are desperate to release. Big, sopping drops of moisture, wild and indiscriminate plump missiles of mass destruction start to splatter onto the deck and all over the raging sea, and with them comes the first blast of thunder that sets the gloomy night alight with a bright scintillating flare.

Upon the last successful pull of a crying lass out of the water, the engines roar to life aiming to escape a close approaching gigantic wave created by the wind charging the water at high speeds.

And the chase begins. The captain works hand in hand with his assistant to steer out of the impending doom whilst the waves grow colossal; the vessel rides up and down in a pitch motion and the blasting wind does nothing to help. Frightened, cruisers rush into the lounge, slide the doors shut behind them, and wait, hoping they make it out alive, for every second that passes proves to be worse.

But the worst is yet to come.

As the vessel tears through the rough waters, the most forceful and abrupt gust embalms her from behind—it's as if chaos is chasing after them, and it's winning, for the yacht heels at the impact, causing the rudder to lift out of the water. At that brief moment, she becomes uncontrollable and consequently, the most furious wave yet, countless feet high, hits, causing her to round up unexpectedly.

Ear-piercing screams boom inside as the passengers fall here and there, tossed like silly matches in a box, and at the same time, a dead log falls out of the bed and jolts awake, stirring up with a start with nothing but confusion clouding his mind.

Finally, the true horror rises: a black gigantic tentacle emerges from the raging waves and slams onto the cockpit panes, the forceful impact leaving cracks all over the front glass window. Horror-stricken, the captain ducks, and so does his assistant while the stupefied guests behind flinch with bulging eyes.

“SHIT, WHAT WAS THAT!!” Someone screams in panic, but no one gets to answer before the tentacle comes again, slamming the same area even harder, and this time, the esteemed hard windows made of stretched acrylic glass break.

The men by the helm instinctively dive onto the ground, shielding themselves from the flying shards and the forceful wind that brings the splattering rain inside. Ear-piercing screams fill the room, prompting the captain to tilt his head up and look straight at the gallery, only to gape in terror at the sight of the tentacle whisking a screaming man, pulling him up through his head, and he ducks again in fear, hearing nothing but the man’s hysterical pleas for help as he’s being dragged out through the smashed window and disappearing into the storm outside.

“Holy mother of fucks!” he shakily exclaims, and right on cue, a new tentacle rises and hits the sliding doors to the gallery, sparking fireworks of chaos inside with everyone crying out for their lives.

Almost immediately, the captain pulls himself up and leaps at the helm, hoping to gain control of the vessel again but the moment he puts his hands on the controls, a new tentacle shoots through the compromised window, wraps itself around his neck, and forcefully pulls him out.

In a split second, he finds himself outside in the rain, held up in the blowing wind, but that’s the least of his problems.

No.

Before him, on its massive terrifying glory, is a six grisly-headed abomination with twisted long necks floating in the air like viperous snakes. It has many tentacles, precisely a dozen of the black horrid things and a few of them have emerged fully, attacking the yacht beneath them, taking screaming people with them and throwing them into its torn-like mouths lined with triple rows of razor-sharp teeth.

Terrified tears stream down his face as he faces his impending doom. Closing his eyes whilst shaking profusely, he mumbles his last prayer as the tentacle throws him to his excruciating end.

The storm is now a mixture of crimson and pure chaos, to those few who remain inside, trembling like leaves, it has become their new mission to find any place that's suitable for them to hide, however, deep inside they know it's futile, for the yacht has already started to decline. Sooner or later, they'll meet the creature deep inside the waters.

Flynn, who's now made it to the gallery, hysterically searches for his cousin who isn't anywhere to be found. The vessel is sinking, and he’s torn between finding his relative or saving himself, even though the last part seems impossible with every passing second.

“EUGENEE!!” He shouts with panicked tears in his eyes, yet instinctively, he ducks as another tentacle shoots back inside and easily grabs a new prey, dragging her all the way to the shattered door. “NO!!” he cries, leaping forward to grasp the screeching woman's hands, but he misses, and he watches in horror as the woman is dragged outside to the black monster.

Marking its twelfth victim, the rest of its thick grotesque tentacles fully rise from the raging sea, slithering against each other as it lets out a disembodied screech. Paralysed in the midst of the battle, the feeble body of the vessel is continuously abused by each crashing wave – as though it's a deer within a lion’s den, entrapped, with nowhere to run.

A scintillating flare darts across the empty granite sky, stripping the air of its final breath. Bolts of rage blast the gloomy void as though the Gods themselves are partaking in the war; Zeus’ demonic spears hammer on the sickly sea, unleashing his rage upon the human world. As every strike of lightning keeps threatening the sinking yacht, the remaining crew decide to dive into the powerful waves of doom, ready to conquer the frightening odds.

Unfortunately, they weren't ready for what was yet to come.

Before them, the six long necks carrying hair-raising hideous heads merge into something horrendous that causes half of the remaining survivors to pass out, sinking deep into the sea to never be seen again. To Flynn, who’s fighting for his life amidst the monstrous waves, his terrified blues remain locked on a form more human-like—feminine, with grey-blue skin, breasts surprisingly, and long wet curly black hair that roughly cascades to its sunken abdomen. From its waist, the ghastly tentacles remain, now with sharpened points, readying to pick what's left of its feast from the whirlpool.

He gasps, eyes wide the moment their gazes collide, unimaginable rage and flames of carnage consume its cruel black eyes. But that's not all.

Pain.

He can see it clearly, but he has no time to wonder, for one of its tentacles is arched up high and descending dangerously fast, ready to send him to his death. His strength is seeping away, fast, the more he fights to stay afloat, the more painful it gets. He closes his eyes and braces himself for the impending impact.

He can already feel it, he can sense it.

So this is how he dies.

The anticipated impact is taking too long, and he has no strength, nor the will to keep fighting the wrath of the sea any longer. He’s too weak to open his eyes and find out why, even if he wanted to. It's all over, he gives up. It's either the sea or the monster's razor-sharp teeth. His body declines, and he lets the raging sea swallow him. It's for the best

Either way, he is going to die tonight.