Voices from the Deep

Whispers in the dark warn of a calamitous age.

The ferry to Mackinac Island spat up a rooster tail from its stern, cutting through the Lake Huron chop on a dreary overcast morning. The mist blowing off the waves and wind chill were reminiscent of early October in Michigan, not a harbinger of the summer solstice. Amanda pulled her jacket tight against her chest and zipped the front, regretting the absence of her knit hat and gloves. She could never get used to the unpredictable weather affiliated with the Great Lakes State.

A fine spray of water drifted over the side of the boat and onto Amanda’s cheeks. She shivered and folded her arms against her body. Victor Dupree, the man sitting next to her, gave a sideways glance. His temperament reeked of disgust, or possibly pity toward her — pity for a lowly columnist trying to resurrect a failing newspaper from the claws of obsolescence. Victor wore khaki pants and a plaid button-down shirt — odd, business casual attire for a man known to be an eccentric conspiracist. She read his theories, watched videos online and understood why he avoided dramatic flare. And yet, she still expected him to exude the presence of a man on the brink of insanity.

Amanda didn’t know what else to call it but insanity. No sane individual believed a calamitous apocalypse would be ushered in by the “old gods” as Victor called them. These gods must have symbolized judgment, a personal desire to exact justice on present enemies, or maybe bullies from the past. She didn’t dare voice the opinion directly to Victor, not with any conviction, not after the recent voices started whispering from the twisted nightmares she experienced with increasing frequency. Those voices spoke gibberish, dictating events in an ancient language she could not understand.

Victor singled Amanda out of the masses for this trip, the only one-on-one interview granted to a journalist. She didn’t know whether to be honored or fearful of his intentions. His popularity continued to grow in recent months after he successfully predicted two earthquakes near the upper peninsula, to the day and hour, both measuring above seven on the Richter scale. Podcasters speculated connections with clandestine government figures or private shadow organizations hellbent on the destruction of humankind.

Real scientists were baffled. Michigan, while no stranger to tectonic plates exhibiting mild indigestion, had never been home to a true natural disaster. The odds of predicting such an occurrence by happenstance were astronomical. As a result, Dupree’s followers increased by the thousands. Soon after, Amanda received a call from Victor’s sister and assistant, Colette, granting her a unique opportunity.

“Are you often unprepared?” Victor asked.

“I thought we were meeting in the city. I would have dressed warmer had I known we were visiting the island,” Amanda said.

“The island and surrounding waters have secrets to tell. I know them, and you will, too. The whole world will know,” Victor said.

The Mackinac Bridge, which connected the lower and upper peninsula, faded into the background. Amanda shifted in her hard plastic seat, uneasy in Victor’s presence. Leaving the safety of the mainland tugged at her insides, subconsciously pulling her away from their final destination even as the ferry chugged closer and closer.

The Grand Hotel stretched out behind a grouping of trees on the island and all Amanda could think about was The Overlook Hotel in Stephen King’s book “The Shining”. She shook loose visions of blood-soaked walls and a room occupied by a rotting temptress. As a child she had visited the island several times, enjoying the clip-clop of horse hooves and prohibition of motor vehicles. But she never toured the hotel and didn’t know of its history or stately presence among the tourists and guests.

Victor reached into a backpack sitting at his feet and pulled out two matching leather bracelets. Amanda recognized the symbols adorning the attached charms. A fog lifted and the mysterious language from her nightmares instantly imprinted a full codex. She didn’t know where to start, where to begin reading. The whispers she heard were connected to the markings, the two working in concert to deliver a clear message. A warning. Visions of black waters and undersea caverns danced in her head, which grew light by the revelation. Victor slipped one of the bracelets onto his wrist.

“Do you mind wearing this?” Victor asked.

“I’m not... comfortable. What do those symbols mean?” Amanda asked.

“Don’t worry, this isn’t an attempt at courtship. Everything will be revealed. Put it on and you’ll get your story,” Victor said. Before Amanda could consent, he slipped it over her hand and onto her wrist. She needed to use the opportunity to question him, to take advantage of his apparent goodwill and hospitality.

“People think you’re a cult leader,” Amanda blurted.

Victor laughed and said, “They do.”

“You don’t care?” Amanda asked.

“It’s not the first question I thought you would ask,” Victor said.

Amanda sat quiet a moment, and then asked, “Why me?”

“Now we’re getting somewhere. You write bizarre stories without fear of consequence. Self-described serious journalists would shy away from tales focused on people who live on the fringes of society,” Victor said.

“I could find plenty of vloggers and podcasters who would disagree,” Amanda said.

“Charlatans, entertainers, unbelievers, all of them. You’re different. Everything you write is entangled with a sincere, child-like faith,” Victor said.

“I’m not religious, if that’s what you mean,” Amanda said.

“So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal. There’s something out there. Unseen. You believe it just as I do. Tell me about the nightmares,” Victor said.

Amanda leaned away, then scooted back against the railing of the ferry. Nowhere to go. Their journey toward the island would be complete soon, but her distress grew to levels she couldn’t ignore. She remembered the lessons her mother taught her as an adolescent girl, about the dangers of men offering candy from rusted out vans with tinted windows and about boys with nasty intentions and vacationing parents. It developed an awareness of her surroundings, a deep familiar discomfort that insisted she run away in a situation like this.

“You are one of few who have heard the message. Seeing the bracelet brought a certain clarity, didn’t it?” Victor asked.

“Something else is telling me you’re dangerous, not to be trusted,” Amanda said.

“Every judge is a danger to criminals,” Victor said.

“You think I’m a crim—,” Amanda started to ask, interrupted by the ferry leaning toward one side. She gasped, as did several other passengers, surprised by the sudden shift in balance. She grabbed hold of Victor’s arm, then let go as the boat rolled back the other direction, slowed its speed and then stopped. Victor stood up and walked to the railing, peering over the side and then toward the shoreline, a few hundred yards away. He sat back down, unconcerned, his face a glow with holy devotion to an unnatural cause.

“Should we be concerned?” Amanda asked.

The ferry’s engines revved, trying to shake free from the grips of an undertow or an obstruction beneath the surface. It failed to gain momentum and the bow dipped down with immense violence, eliciting a scream from a young woman nearby.

“Colette’s projections were not entirely correct. Growing pains have started. Can you swim?” Victor asked.

“Yes... what do you mean growing pains?” Amanda asked.

Another scream pierced Amanda’s ears, boring a hole into the unfathomable primordial recesses of her brain. When she turned toward the source, a large gush of water rose into the air, carrying with it the scent of fish and death. The creature riding the spout landed on the railing, its webbed feet perched, body hunched over, slick skin glistening with water and slime. The body and head resembled a fish, contorted by an unnatural evolution. Long gills near the shoulders strained and pulsed, while large beady eyes rotated on their axis, bearing in on an unsuspecting victim. It reached out and plucked a man from the deck, hugging him in a disagreeable embrace, then jumped back in the water, the two wedded in matrimony.

“The bracelet is your protection. It’s the mark of an ambassador,” Victor said.

Amanda could only nod, partially aware of the surreal events unfolding, threatening her existence. More spouts soared into the air, elevators transporting monstrous occupants. A cacophony of screams could be heard, but the adrenaline flowing through Amanda kept her focused on escape. Victor sat next to her, passing along instructions. Legs and feet over the side. Push off and jump. Don’t look back. Swim. The old gods will follow the doctrines, the prescribed order signaling the end of times.

The cold sting of water slapped Amanda and she paddled away from the catastrophe, using whatever combination of swimming strokes she could remember. Victor coasted, head above the water, keeping pace for fear she would drown if he didn’t. Both of them made steady progress toward the shoreline, but Amanda needed to witness, to confirm the devastation. She trod water and turned as the ferry’s air horn issued a plea for help.

The boat listed side to side and survivors dived overboard, but before sinking, an impossibly enormous tentacle lifted up in slow motion. Hungry suckers embedded with razor-sharp talons adorned the underside of the snake-like appendage. It crashed down onto the vessel, splitting it with the ease a child might split a single dry spaghetti noodle. More tentacles followed, all throwing a temper tantrum, bashing to pieces what remained. A guttural organic noise, pre-prehistoric in nature, echoed over the surface of the lake, announcing victory and impending doom.

“Amanda! Keep moving. The time is near,” Victor shouted.

They swam to the nearest beach front, where people who had witnessed the scene stood gawking in quiet desperation. One woman with a mess of black curls who wore a long flowing sundress and white sweater, raised her hand, signaling to Victor. She didn’t appear frantic, but rather authoritative, like a crossing guard holding up a STOP sign for wayward children and distracted drivers. Amanda knew it would be Colette.

“You’re late, Victor,” she said, undeterred by their sopping wet clothes and Amanda’s glazed over appearance.

“You need to brush up on your linguistics. Your miscalculations nearly killed us. I hope you’ve brought me a change of clothes,” Victor said with a tinge of irritation in his voice.

“Spare me the melodrama, my brother. We’re ambassadors of the almighty ones, and no harm will come to us,” Colette said.

“This is Amanda,” Victor said, drawing her attention.

“A pleasure, dear. Come, dry off, and we’ll discuss our present age and the age to come,” Colette said.

“You knew this would happen?” Amanda asked.

“The details are imprecise. They were knocking at the door. Victor and I simply answered,” Colette said.

“You invited them here!” Amanda exclaimed.

“You’re mistaken. We’re the uninvited guests,” Colette said.

“A room has been reserved at the Grand Hotel, where Colette and I will make the final preparations. You will give the world a sense of their place, their necessary sacrifice,” Victor said.

Colette grabbed towels from a nearby cabana and wrapped one around Amanda. She rubbed her shoulders as they walked across the street, trespassing through backyards and a golf course, nobody interrupting their unusual, casual stroll. A few residents ran past, crying, and shouts communicated the horrors unfolding. Several gun shots popped off, indicating the creatures were invading the island, ensuring no mercies would be offered to land dwellers.

After a few minutes they arrived in the opulent lobby of the hotel. Floral carpet prints greeted them, and a sea of rosy pink and lemon green chairs and couches crowded the room. Gaudy chandeliers and 19th century paintings with gold leaf frames choked out the spacious surroundings. The summer retreat, bright and cheerful, made her dizzy. Amanda wanted to sit and rest, to lay down and let her memories deteriorate into oblivion.

Colette directed their trio up the stairs. A couple hurried down, holding hands, concern plastered across their faces. Victor stopped on the fourth floor, walked down the hall and unlocked a room. When the door swung open, Amanda’s head sunk below the surface of consciousness, the whispers from her nightmares now shouting, crying out, begging for her to follow instructions. It overwhelmed her senses, and she fainted in the threshold.

Upon waking in the bed, Amanda stared at the backs of Colette and Victor, who were hunched over a table. They mumbled familiar words and phrases from the ancient language, in opposition to the voices calling out to Amanda, growing louder, accompanied by a thumping from the depths of the surrounding lakes. Her hosts turned to face her, then parted, revealing a round table housing a broken stone tablet. The pieces were positioned like a puzzle, fit together to reveal an inscription. At the top was a single vacancy, a missing fragment from a complete page she recalled with perfect clarity.

“The final piece is somewhere on this island,” Victor said.

“When we find it, this key will unlock the chamber holding back Ammoth,” Colette said.

Amanda climbed out of the bed and inspected the archaic letter, a message only she could understand. Her eyes rolled back and searched the texts gifted by an even greater power. When the words located matched the words off the tablet, she spoke them out loud, an incantation to bring forth an unspeakable terror.

Thunder clapped and the sky rolled out boulders, rattling the windows of the hotel. Dark clouds blanketed the horizon and from within the mist a terrible thing approached. Modern planes were mere flies to the gargantuan creature, with no courage to lay their eggs on the fresh meat. A mess of tentacles and millions of eyes spied the island and its inhabitants. Victor and Colette ran to the window to watch.

“For once, Victor, you have chosen a companion worthy of praise. She unlocked our destiny,” Colette said.

“Let’s greet the master,” Victor said.

Ignoring Amanda, they ran from the room and out of the hotel toward the beach. With great anticipation they considered their station among the old gods. Would they be gifted powers by Ammoth, immortality in the new age? Could they crush those naysayers who branded them charismatic impostors? Amanda studied them from the balcony, smiling and at peace, the words for her next column forming magically, an admonition to all of civilization. Victor misunderstood her nightmares in his blind devotion. They were not ambassadors, chosen for a divine purpose. They were a sacrificial warning. Do not awaken the beast.

A massive hammer dealt a crushing blow to the unsuspecting siblings, rocking the foundations of the island with a single stroke. Wings on the back of the leviathan flapped in unison, generating hurricane winds. The windows of the Grand Hotel shattered in submission. Ammoth, one of the old gods, content to sleep through all ages, opened its mouth and bid farewell with a deafening siren call. Diving down below the surface, it navigated uncharted terrain until it found a home once more in the deep, demanding no human disrupt its eternal slumber. Amanda would obey. It would be her job to make sure others do the same.

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Dear Reader: My next fantasy and science fiction short story collection will be named “Voices from the Deep”, and this is the title story! My goal is to publish before the summer is finished. I’ve created five custom illustrations to include and I’m excited by the progress.

Can you do me a favor? If you’ve purchased from Amazon my previous collection “The Stars Will Fall”, can you leave a five-star review? If you’ve read my stories on Future Thief, but have not purchased the book, can you leave a review on Goodreads? Reviews on previously published works help drive sales and reviews on future books. Thank you!