Work Text:
Statement of Captain Jonathan C. Banks regarding a voyage of inordinate length.
Original statement given in an unaddressed letter found aboard an unmanned and unnamed ship, that had sailed into a port seemingly of its own accord.
Statement begins.
It's been six months since we've seen any sign of land, and I know it's my fault. The navigator swears we're still on course, that we can't be going in circles, and that it is impossible for us to still be at sea. I know he is right, but I cannot bring myself to tell him why we’re still in open ocean. I'm not even sure he'd believe me.
The crew has been growing uneasy, and even the mate looks unsure of himself. I've only grown reclusive as the voyage continues on. I fear the crew, my closest friends, may mutiny if they learn I am the one who doomed us. Still, no one dares to speak about our situation. There's something heavy in the air, and everyone seems to understand that acknowledging what's going on will only serve to make things worse. Even I am hesitant to put this on paper, but if our ship somehow finds its way to a port, someone needs to know about this.
The only good thing so far is that our supplies aren’t yet depleted. We've been rationing of course, but it is nothing short of a miracle that our food has lasted even half this journey. I do not know if this is a blessing or a curse, as starvation may very well be a better fate than this purgatory.
The other day I overheard someone talking about our ship being cursed, the others quickly shut the poor boy up, of course, but little do they know how right he was.
You see, in the weeks before we set sail, I ran into a strange man. A man who smelled of ozone and sea salt. He was small, with peppered gray hair, and when he looked at me I felt a strange unease, as if I was standing on the edge of a bottomless pit. It was off putting, sure, but I didn't think much of it at the time. I’ve been doing this for many years, and plenty of odd folk hang around the various ports of the world. I'm sure at the time I made up some excuse for the smell and the feeling. I sure don't remember thinking it was out of place. It was only after the fact that I realized his clothes were blowing in the wind, even though the air was still.
I wouldn't have given the interaction a second thought, but then I kept seeing him. Only occasionally at first, but then with more and more frequency. After only a few days it seemed like he just happened to be wherever I was. Sometimes he was there first, sometimes it was as if he just appeared out of thin air. He started watching me at some point, though I couldn't tell you when. Always just staring, with a look of satisfaction, like he knew something I didn't. I didn't like that look.
Once, I made eye contact. Those deep blue eyes drew me in, and I felt such a rush of vertigo that I almost threw up. I quickly returned to my drink, but I swear his expression had turned smug. After that interaction he was around even more. No one else seemed to notice his presence, and when I asked my crew, none of them had even seen him. That was when the unease began to truly set in.
Eventually, the day before we were planned to disembark, he approached me. As he grew closer I felt a strange stillness in the air, like the sea before the storm. The chatter of the docks faded out, and my legs grew weak in a way they haven't felt since my first days of seafaring.
He told me I was to take him to some bullshit place I'd never heard of (Sannikov Land or something?) or “Suffer the consequences.” I of course told him to fuck off, that I wasn't some sort of ferryman and that stalking and empty threats were not going to change my mind. Especially if he didn't have anything to pay me with. I should've done what he asked.
The words that followed are ingrained in my mind as if they were chiseled into stone.
“A curse upon you, you sorry old soul. May the land, sea, or sky turn to swallow you whole. And forever never forget what you stole.”
I felt the ground fall out from under me, and the next thing I knew I was being stirred awake by the mate, and soaked to the bone. Realization began to dawn on me quick, as I pieced together what had happened. I should've called off the voyage. But instead, when the quartermaster asked what happened, I made up some lie about falling off a pier. The crew laughed and someone fetched me dry clothes, and that was that. I have felt nothing but regret since the day we set sail.
Two days ago a deckhand spotted large shapes in the water. I fear our time left on this earth is drawing to a close. This is why I am writing my story down, because I fear I may not get another chance to tell it.
Yours Faithfully, Captain Jonathan C. Banks