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.

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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 and...no, 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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