Page 3 of Darkest Dredge

“Jesus. This thing is freaky.”

Most people would have been unsettled by the mutated creature. For me, a marine biologist specializing in the research of new species, this was better than Christmas. “It seems to have traits of an osteichthyes, yet it has no jaw, like an agnatha.” I spoke a mile a minute, and as Noah worked, he listened while I gushed. He always did.

I winced at the first cut. The fish flopped, and if my ears weren’t deceiving me, hissed.

“Fuck! Get back!”

Heeding Noah’s warning, I leaped back as viscous fluid burst from the fish and onto the desk with a wet splat. My sketchbook dropped from my hand in shock, as I watched the boiling hot fish guts eat through the wooden deck like acid.

"Ph'nglui mgiw'nafh Cthulhu R'Lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn," Noah rasped beneath his breath.

My shipmate was more versed on Eldritch lore than I, but I knew the phrase well enough, and it translated roughly to "In his house at R'Lyeh, dead Cthulhu waits dreaming."

He said it from time to time, usually with more wistful frustration. We’d been searching for the sunken city for years, the allegedly fictional place that was first brought to light in H.P. Lovecraft’s work The Call of Cthulhu.

While the author’s works were mostly fictitious—and often problematic—mentions of the sunken city appeared in other texts throughout history. It was said to be the original temple of Cthulhu, an ocean creature thought to be the high priest of the seas. Or to put it stupidly, the king of all fish.

It didn’t take long for my excitement to override my shock from the acidic fish innards. I carefully stepped around the hole in our deck, which provided a view of our galley, and crouched beside Noah, who was very carefully pulling out the foreign object.

“What if it’s some kind of eldritch artifact? That could be why the fish is so mutated—oh!”

With a sickening plorp, a large bowl-like object dislodged from the fish carcass. Taking a holding bucket filled with ocean water, I poured it over the thing to clean it before gingerly picking it up.

Noah drew closer to me, and his salty musk wrapped around me like a warm blanket. “What is it? An octopus?”

It had tentacles. But it wasn’t organic. The object had been crafted from stone, but it didn’t appear to be carved. There were impressions, like it had been molded by fingers, yet there were no fingerprints.

I turned it over in my hands, marvelling at its craftsmanship. It was terrifying, with many eyes and tentacles. “No, it’s… a mask.”

Chapter Three

Noah

It was cold as shit. I should have been freezing my ass off. Instead, I was hot all over. Seeing Beatrice this excited had a way of keeping me heated.

Fuck. She was so cute, practically bouncing in her boots as she examined the strange artifact in her hands.

I frowned. I didn’t like the way the mask’s many eyes were looking at her. Which was stupid, it was an inanimate object. Nothing to be jealous over. So why were my nerves fraying like a rope at the mere sight of that thing?

I’d been obsessed with Lovecraft’s work, eldritch lore, and the mysteries of the sea since I could remember. And this was the first tangible proof that everything I’d grown up believing was real. We’d been ridiculed by colleagues for dumping our savings into this expedition and sailing to one of the most remote parts of the frigid arctic, in search of what everyone else had written off as nothing but a spooky bedtime story. It should have felt cathartic, finally having proof in our hands that we were right this whole time.

Instead, I only felt a foreboding slithering sensation across my skin. Like invisible tentacles coiling around my limbs and throat, making it hard to breathe.

“Give it to me.” I practically snatched the mask out of her grasp, making her jump.

“Geez. Fine. Someone’s excited.”

My brows furled as I turned the thing over in my hands. It appeared to be hand-molded, not carved. How? The thing felt as though it were made of stone, but it wasn’t heavy. Even with the tentacles clustered around the mouth piece. It was a wonder none of them had snapped off after all these years. It had to be ancient as fuck.

“This calls for a celebration, yeah? We should get drunk.”

“We’re out of beer.” I didn’t look up with my reply. Couldn’t. I was lost in the mask’s eye holes. There were five of them.

“Noah.”

Bea’s tender voice, and the sound of my name on her lips, had my dick stiff. With that, I tore my scowl from the mask, my expression softening under her blue eyes. “Bea.”

Her throat bobbed with a swallow. “Uh, we could break open that bottle of Kraken we’ve been saving?”