They're coming...

A remote spot situated deep in the Atlantic ocean shouldn't hold heaps of danger...but it does. Lucking beneath the murky surface is a horror so true it skins you bare and leaves you for dead. All you can do is wait in terror because no matter what you do...they're coming.


1. The Awakening

Monday 9th May 1912

Day 4

Upon finally reaching a point where the island is in my sights I can feel the atmosphere changing. Yes, that sounds ridiculous and truely it is but seriously, somehow, I feel like the aura has swiftly changed from that of a placid nature to a more fierce penetrating mist of menace. I must continue if I am to reach the island before daybreak. Tuesday 10th May 1912

Day 5

Weird. Yesterday remember me saying that the island was in my sights? Well it was and still is. The thing is...I'm not getting any closer. I know I'm moving but I'm not removing the distance between me and that huge lifeline that continues to wait. The island I mean. I guess if I keep sailing I must reach it sooner or later.


Wednesday 11th May 1912

Day 6

Ok. Now this is seriously weird...the sea is getting rougher and the island STILL isn't any closer. Maybe I should just turn around, I can't. I've come too far now to just give up and deprive myself of the pride I will feel if I complete this task. I've decided I will keep going. The worst that can happen is that I'll get stuck and have to call for help, isn't it?


Thursday 12th May 1912

Day 7

The sea is getting rougher still. Forgive me if my writing starts becoming har er to re d. I' e found it hard to ke p goin late y. The nights are proving to be long r and the days longer still. The other nig t I swear I saw something move beneath the murky waters. That wouldn't worry me usual y because th re are ovbious y fish and such in the water but it didn't look like a fish it looked like...a...hand.


Friday 13th May 1912

Day 8

This can't be right. Surely the island shouldn't look days away still! I'm going to call for help. At night I hear silent whispers calling my name, coaxing me to the side of the boat. I always resist, being the superstitious, paranoid type and instead cup my ears with my hands.

There it is again. Marcus, Marcus, Marcus. Over and over and over again, a record stuck playing the same tune countless times...wait. There's something else. We are coming Marcus, we are coming.  Who's coming?

Ok. There is something definately going on. I hear distant footsteps on my boat. Please help me, please. I don't want to-


[End of Transmission]


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