Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

    From $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    N is for Nautical: A-Z of Horror, #14
    N is for Nautical: A-Z of Horror, #14
    N is for Nautical: A-Z of Horror, #14
    Ebook287 pages5 hours

    N is for Nautical: A-Z of Horror, #14

    By P.J. Blakey-Novis

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    N is for Nautical is the fourteenth book in an epic series of twenty-six horror anthologies. In this book you will find a selection of thirteen terrifying tales from some of the most talented independent horror authors writing today. From sirens to sea monsters, ghostly occurrences to mysterious islands, N is for Nautical brings a variety of ocean-themed horror tales that will have you desperate to get back on dry land.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherRed Cape Publishing
    Release dateMay 23, 2022
    ISBN9798201399306
    N is for Nautical: A-Z of Horror, #14

    Read more from P.J. Blakey Novis

    Related to N is for Nautical

    Titles in the series (23)

    View More
    View More

    Related ebooks

    Anthologies For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    • UNLIMITED

      Stories To Make Them Shake

      Oct 7, 2021

      Scary Diary Press publishes titles of dark sci-fi/spec-fic/bizarro and horror fiction focused ‘on world issues that need a-fixing’. Currently they want short story submissions, 2,000-5,000 words, for an anthology (working title Bloody Rock) which ‘co

      1 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Bleat Child Of Mine

      Dec 1, 2021

      Bleat Child Of Mine
      3 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Parasite Lost

      Dec 1, 2021

      Parasite Lost
      3 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Mail

      Mar 22, 2022

      Mail
      1 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      The Man In The Mask

      Dec 1, 2021

      The Man In The Mask
      8 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      WIL WHEATON on Stand By Me

      Nov 18, 2022

      WIL WHEATON on Stand By Me
      5 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Ghost face Protocol

      Nov 11, 2021

      Ghost face Protocol
      10 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      A Cosmology Of Monsters

      Jun 17, 2020

      RELEASED 30 JUNE 448 pages | Paperback/ebook Author Shaun Hamill Publisher Titan Books Shaun Hamill’s debut arrives with a fierce buzz and a glowing Stephen King cover quote. That feels apt. A Cosmology Of Monsters may riff heavily on HP Lovecraft’s

      1 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Like 'Goosebumps?' Here's Another 30 Years' Worth Of Horror For Kids

      Aug 12, 2018

      From the late '60s to the rise of Harry Potter in the late '90s, horror fiction had a hold on young readers, and there was something to scare everyone, from realistic thrillers to possessed dummies.

      3 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Apocalypse Now!

      Aug 19, 2021

      Apocalypse Now!
      3 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Paul Tremblay

      Jun 17, 2020

      IT’S ALWAYS BEEN ONE OF MY BIGGEST FEARS that I would live to see the end of everything,” says Paul Tremblay, speaking to SFX from his Massachusetts home in the middle of lockdown. It’s a singularly peculiar time, and a peculiar interview for him to

      3 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Dracula’s Child

      Oct 7, 2020

      RELEASED OUT NOW! 569 pages | Paperback/ebook/audiobook Author JS Barnes Publisher Titan Books A sequel to Dracula is a great idea on paper, but it’s been written on too many pages here. Dracula’s Child has drained Bram Stoker’s poetry, and replaced

      1 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Teasers return To Oz

      Sep 12, 2024

      Teasers return To Oz
      3 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Hot Right Now

      Apr 27, 2023

      Hot Right Now
      1 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Martian wants Drabbles

      Jul 7, 2022

      Martian is a zine for SF drabbles and the team publish new ones twice a week. Drabbles are very short stories of exactly 100 words (excluding title) and they are tricky to write. Read what’s published here to see how other writers do it. The editoria

      1 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Remembering Steve Ditko: Forget Kirby Dots, Let's Talk Ditko Sparkles

      Jul 8, 2018

      The idiosyncratic co-creator of Spider-Man, Doctor Strange and many lesser-known comics characters died last week. His distinctive storytelling style shaped generations of comics readers.

      6 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Sunshine HORROR

      Sep 5, 2024

      Sunshine HORROR
      6 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Walk On The Shadyside

      Jun 16, 2021

      Walk On The Shadyside
      5 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Bill And The Tooth Fairy

      Mar 10, 2021

      Bill believed in the Tooth Fairy. Big deal, you’re thinking. Lots of kids believe in the Tooth Fairy. Well, Bill wasn’t a kid. He was twenty-eight years old. You don’t believe it. My girlfriend Mary Beth didn’t believe it, either. We were having dinn

      15 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Monster

      Dec 1, 2022

      Monster
      7 min read

    Related categories

    Reviews for N is for Nautical

    0 ratings

    0 ratings0 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

      Book preview

      N is for Nautical - P.J. Blakey-Novis

      Red Cape Publishing Presents…

      The A-Z of Horror: N is for Nautical

      DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

      Copyright © 2022 Red Cape Publishing

      All rights reserved.

      Cover Design & Interior Artwork by Red Cape Graphic Design

      www.redcapepublishing.com/red-cape-graphic-design

      With special thanks to our supporters on Patreon and Ko-Fi

      Lesley Drane

      Dusk Zer0

      Verona Jones

      Craig Crawford

      Blazing Minds

      Support us at www.patreon.com/redcapepublishing

      www.ko-fi.com/redcape

      Contents

      Talman Sound by Richard Beauchamp

      The Palatine Star by Donna Cuttress

      Voices from the Sea by Paul Chown

      Flotsam by Tim Mendees

      Storm’s Coming by Rachel L. Tilley

      The Siren of Lake Ontario by Michael Anthony Dioguardi

      Seventeen by Alexander C. Bailey

      It Came from the Mud by Jason L. Kawa

      Off Martinique by Stephen A. Roddewig

      The Below by OD Smith

      Hartwell’s Legacy by Malina Douglas

      Rising Like a Second Sun by Joseph S. Walker

      The Phantom Island by Kaitlin Tremblay

      Talman Sound

      Richard Beauchamp

      Story header art crop

      The Year of Our Lord, 1698, 13th of March. Talmond’s Sound, Massachusetts.

      Palms wept blood. Auburn hair caught in the ocean breeze, the smell of the ocean temporarily overpowering the miasma of kerosene. A crowd looms before her, eyes bright with the expectation of violence, of vengeance, of cleansing.

      I thought we’d escaped this madness when we left the mainland. Unholy land, claimed by savages. We were wrong to try and tame it. They cursed us. Turned our women into witches, turned us against each other. But it seems I’ve underestimated the powers of corruption here, a middle-aged man yelled, addressing his congregation, his back to her, a spitting torch in his left hand. I thought Talman Sound was a place we could start over.

      I beg you, reverend, have some bloody sense! Miriam isn’t a witch! A man stumbled forward from the crowd, his frame haggard, his gaunt face hidden by a salt and pepper beard. Tears cut tracks through the dirt on his face. They all have dirt on their faces. Or sea grime. Filth was the price to pay for escaping oblivion.

      And what proof have you of that, Robert? Reverend Joseph retorted. He looms over Robert, his frame plump and non-emaciated, unlike the others. Robert does not back down, meeting the reverend with a bloodshot gaze.

      "She was with me the last week. She doesn’t ever leave her home unless it’s to help with the traps, she attends Sunday services. You could make her recite the Lord’s prayer right now and she wouldn’t burst into flames. Hold a cross to her skin and she wont blister. Hell, you have her nailed to a giant fucking cross right now!" Robert bellowed, spittle catching in his mange of beard.

      I have tried, Mr. Dunphey, to let her demonstrate her innocence. But she refuses. She will not speak to me or look me in the eye.

      Because you’re an ignorant, power-starved bastard, Miriam suddenly said from her crucified position, her tone flat, the sentence spoken as if it were a commonly known fact. Eyes raised to her; it was her first utterance of speech since her summons some four hours ago.

      And we have it on the authority of the town that the last person who was seen with Elizabeth Pendlebrook was your wife. Is it mere coincidence that Elizabeth is now missing? Doomed to be one of the abominations that we keep pulling in from the sea instead of the shellfish we rely upon for sustenance? Reverend Joseph said, ignoring Miriam. Robert looked up at his wife, total desperation on his face.

      Miriam, please. Why are you doing this? You’re innocent. Just recite the Lord’s prayer, please, I beg—

      No, she said simply, and finally tore her gaze from the sea that surrounded them, its endless expanse allowing them a miserable coexistence on this god-forsaken rock. She gave her husband a flat, unreadable look. "No matter what I do or say, they’ll find a reason. I can’t explain what has been happening, those things from the sea. But I know this: We are always afraid of what we do not understand. There were never any supernatural forces at bay on the mainland. Only hysteria and hearsay. Yet we burned and prayed anyway. We are doomed to ignorance no matter where we seek refuge. Burn me, and smell my burned flesh, so that you may remember my charred corpse. It could be your daughter, or your wife who is up here on the pyre next. It is—"

      Enough! Joseph bellowed and set the torch to the kindling. A dull whoomph sounded in front of the crowd. Heat warmed their faces. There was a scream, but not from Miriam. Robert clawsed at the reverend, his eyes gone feral with rage. But he’s held back by the other villagers, restrained, forced to watch his wife burn. He watched as the flames ate away at her dress, her flesh bubbling and then blackening. The reverend forced him to watch, holding his face in two pudgy hands, making him bear witness to the horror as eyeballs ruptured from the heat, molars exploded in gums.

      Eventually Robert stopped struggling, his grief turning him catatonic, and he was transported back to his shack as the remains of his wife smolder among the ashes.

      ***

      The Year of Our Lord, 1698, 20th of March. Brigot Bay, Massachusetts.

      Samuel Levenworth was excited as he felt the weight of the net. It had taken his father a week to train him in the fine art of throwing a cast net, getting it to pancake out just right, letting it sit for just the right amount of time. He was also trained in properly docking his boat, of which there were only five on the island. To be a fisherman on Talman Sound was to be a man of great importance, of great responsibility. He’d seen the way the local fishermen were treated when they brought in the armfuls of mackerel, flounder and striped bass. Treated like saints, for they were the sole providers of real sustenance on the island. There was a small patch where some of the wives attempted to grow potatoes and corn, but their efforts were usually pathetic at best, the soil too rocky, too salted from the constant ocean spray as waves relentlessly exploded against the shoreline.

      No, he would be like them, the heroes of Talman Sound. Samuel needed to be needed, to demonstrate his worth, so that perhaps Edith Livingston would stop making eyes at Arnold Glastetter’s son Frederick, and instead focus her beautiful blue eyes on him.

      He felt something big thrashing in the net. His arms strained and he splayed his feet out to keep his balance in the narrow boat as he hauled aboard his catch. Just before the net broke the surface, the thought raced through his mind that he would catch one of those things. He hadn’t seen them, but he’d heard of the abominations some of the men caught from the sea. Their descriptions were almost so horrific that Samuel dared not believe them, thinking the elders were just making up tall tales to keep the kids from going out near the treacherous coastline that surrounded the island.

      No, they killed that bloody witch. Even if the tales were true, we killed the witch. God looks upon us kindly now, he thought as he got the net halfway out of the water. No, that was a big yellowfin tuna in his net. He could see the ridged spines of its back, the trademark yellow fins, and adrenaline coursed through his veins. He was about to let out a loud whoop of joy, when the fish in his net beat him to it. A loud, gargled scream came from the fish. It was the sound of a woman being tortured alive. Samuel nearly fell out of the boat as he pulled the last of the net in, and with it the thirty-pound creature entangled within.

      The boat shook as the creature thrashed free of the net, the screams no longer burdened with the wet gurgles as its mouth was free of seawater and kelp. Samuel stared in disbelief as the creature continued screaming, agonized shrieks of pure human suffering.

      He stared at the face of Charlotte Livingston, who’d been missing for three weeks now. There was no hair along her transmogrified head, her face ending at the jawline as it was somehow juxtaposed onto the body of a tuna. Her eyes found his, her lips sucking and puckering before quivering into an open O as she let loose with another terrible wail, loud enough to be heard above the crashing surf, loud enough to make Samuel’s ears ring. He cowered away from it, not knowing what to do.

      His first instinct was to club it, he’d had a small club fashioned from one of the pine trees on shore just for the purpose of subduing larger fish, and he grabbed this, raising it high above his head. He froze for a minute, looking at the face of his beloved’s mother. Edith… This was her mother… somehow… He couldn’t smash it, could he?

      My god… was this what had happened to all the people who’d gone missing on the island? Turned into these… monstrosities? he thought to himself as he stood there, the club trembling above his head, as a realization struck him like a thunderbolt.

      His mother, who was one of the first to go missing when they made the pilgrimage to the island. It had taken him and his father months to grieve properly and accept her fate. There was closure in knowing she was somewhere in the bottom of the sea, dying the fate of a true fisherman’s wife. But he stared at the thing that which should not be in his boat, and he felt something deep inside of him break at the thought that his mother’s face had been on one of the many abominations the men pulled from the water.

      He dropped the club and collapsed against the boat. He began to scream along with the fish thing, their bellowing synchronizing into a hellish discordant chorus of madness.

      It was his father who finally noticed the screams, far and distant, but the water carrying the sounds far. Saw his son floating far out past the relatively calm waters of the bay, towards the gulf at the mouth of Brigot Bay, where the waters seem to churn and thrash with preternatural malevolence.

      It was his father who commandeered one of the five fishing skiffs they’d used to get out to this hellhole in the first place, and frantically paddled out to meet his distressed kin.

      James Levenworth found his son lying in the fetal position of the boat, mimicking the hoarse croaking cries of the abomination that sat in the hull with him.

      Dear sweet Jesus and Mary… he muttered under his breath as he awkwardly scooped his son up in his arms, putting him in the boat he came in on. He looked back at the face of Charlotte Livingston, who’d been one of his late wife’s best friends. She stared at him with the cowed stupidity of a deer that’s just been shot. He does not want to touch the thing, does not want to hear its terrible cries, but he remembered the Reverend’s words. All corrupt creatures that manifest themselves on the island must be cleansed by fire. It was the only way, he said.

      He took off his shirt, the cold air and spray biting at his skin as he shoved the sweat soiled rags into Charlotte’s mouth, if only to mute the cries for the time being. He hauled the abomination aboard with him, lashed the empty boat to his, and paddled back to the island, aiming for the one narrow slot of coastline that was navigable.

      That night, while Samuel lay gibbering and ranting about his mother still being alive, being a fish person, James clandestinely took the fish, which was somehow still alive, the goddamn things defied all known natural laws, staying alive on land for an indefinite amount of time, and dragged it over to the smoldering ash pile in the middle of the island. Fire was a vital but scarce resource out here in the damp cold hellscape of island coastline they’d tried to call home. Someone was ordered to keep the fire going at all times, while once a week the adults of the village drew straws to see who had to go back to the mainland to harvest firewood for the island. One of the most dangerous and contested jobs on the island, it was vital so that the cleansing fire could stay burning.

      The reverend stood by the smoldering ash pile; it was his sentry post at night when the rest of the village retired to their forlorn shacks. He would often just stand and stare at the fire, stirring the bones of the abominations they killed with a stick until the last of the villagers went to sleep.

      Reverend, James said, producing the fish, Charlotte’s screams muffled by his shirt. He unwedged the shirt, not wanting any linen that was in the thing’s mouth to touch his body, but he had no other clothes. It was his only shirt. He reluctantly put it back on.

      They don’t ever die, do they? Reverend Joseph said with a sigh, and promptly took the thing by its female head and shoved it into the ash pile, its brief cry once again muffled, the sizzle of flesh on hot coals taking its place. Smoke wafted up from the body as the reverend blew on the coals, stoking them into a fire. They both caught a whiff of it.

      It was terrible. Not because it smelled bad, but the complete opposite. It smelled wonderful. Their stomachs roiled in unison as something other than the smell of cooking fish filled their noses. Red meat. Real sustenance. Neither man would admit their mouths watered and their stomachs grew cavernous.

      Porter says we’ve been catching less and less lately. People will go hungry soon, Reverend, James said. Joseph didn’t respond for a while, only staring down at the fish as its body trembled and spasmed while it roasted. They both knew at the end of the night, the only thing that would be left was the ashen half skull, the fish body disintegrated. Do you think… Maybe… We could try— James began, but the reverend shot him a sharp look.

      Absolutely not, you fool. That is what the devil wants. He plagues us with these horrors, and then rubs salt in the wound by baiting us into temptation. If we eat the flesh of these things, no matter how succulent or plump their bodies look, we will be damning ourselves forever, he said, and turned to look across the bay.

      On the far shore, he could see the faint twinkling of torches. The settlement of Kingston taunted them from across the bay, with their modern amenities and pseudo-civilized way of life. Both men looked with silent longing at the settlement, which they’d exiled themselves from whenever the witch hangings took place, the heretics of Kingston blaming Reverend Joseph and his lot for inciting unnecessary hysteria which led to a gross loss of human life, according to the Plymouth County Commonwealth, of which Kingston was a part.

      Their silent rumination was broken as James spotted a figure walking along the shoreline to their right. James blinked, squinting his eyes against the meager light the fire provided.

      There’s someone out there! James called, and ran after, bringing with him the kerosene lantern he’d had in hand. Hey, stop! he called as the silhouette neared the edge of what the villagers dubbed Judas Bluff, a treacherous outcropping of rock that jutted out at an unnatural angle from the island. It almost resembled the executioner’s plank of a ship with how perfectly the rock formation was designed so that one could jump headlong into the roiling water some eighty feet down below. The reverend followed after James at an unhurried pace, not feigned by this aberration of the night.

      James grew closer and saw it was Lauren Marigold, wife of Thom Marigold. She was completely naked, her pale alabaster skin standing out starkly against the black rock, the black night. She stood at the edge of the bluff, arms outstretched, the scent of her body odor floating to him off the sea breeze.

      Lauren, what in God’s name are you doing? James nearly yelled. She turned her head slowly towards him, her eyes wide, pupils dilated as if she’d ingested a strong opium tincture.

      Don’t you hear it? she called, her voice dreamy, almost rapturous, a smile on her face. James paused, listened, hearing only the monotonous roar of surf breaking down below.

      Hear what? James called.

      It’s beautiful. The most beautiful sound in the world. The waters… They sing to us, she said.

      Lauren, please, step away from the edge, I beg you, he pleaded. The reverend ambled up to his side, and James looked at him, pointing. Do something Reverend, she’s— he began, but he stopped, his mouth hanging agape as Lauren promptly stepped off the edge, disappearing into the void of night. He screamed at the same instant the impact of her body hitting the sea sounded up from the ledge.

      Why is it always women? The reverend said, more to himself than to James, who’d sunk to his knees next to Joseph, clutching the ground.

      What is happening, Reverend? What did we do to be cursed with such blight? James asked.

      The reverend did not answer.

      ***

      The Year of Our Lord, 1698, 5th of April, Kingston Commonwealth, Massachusetts.

      Susan McCormick had been the first woman on the island to take with child, and it was she who was the first person to be evacuated from the island to the mainland, much to Reverend Joseph’s chagrin. He insisted they had everything needed to perform the birth safely, but lately there had been an air of dissent on Talman Sound. Food was growing scarce, the traps producing more abominations than fish some days, many of them resorting to eating the seaweed that washed up and clung to the rocks and drinking great mouthfuls of the rain water that constantly bombarded the island to wash down the bitter, salty vegetation.

      Susan was one of many who was willing to face the scrutiny of Kingston’s citizens if only to escape the nightmare squalor of the island. She, along with James Levenworth, had taken one of the skiffs in the middle of the night, waiting until the reverend had retired to his shack, having to paddle in darkness towards the distant twinkling lights of the settlement. When they got to shore, neither would acknowledge the terrible whispers that assailed them through the bay as they paddled on into darkness, nor the thick corporeal nudgings of large creatures that bumped against the boat.

      Susan’s waters had broken almost as soon as they reached the island, and it was a bewildered night watchman who first found the couple stumbling up from shore, their clothes in tatters, smelling of body odor and sea rot.

      Please, she’s gone into labor. We need a doctor! James pleaded. The nightwatchman hastily went to the woman’s side, helping her along towards the center of Kingston. James looked around at the brick houses, the smoking chimneys, young faces poking out from lit doorways as children gazed upon this peculiar aberration in their quiet nightly routine. There were no demons flying around, no hell on earth like Reverend Joseph had promised. All seemed quiet and peaceful in the township of Kingston.

      They came to the door of a large cottage on the east side of town, the watchman knocking frantically.

      Dr. Amherst, wake up! It’s an emergency! the man called. A few seconds later a flustered looking middle-aged man in a night shirt and britches answered the door, his frame rotund and full like the reverend’s.

      What in the bla—

      This woman has gone into labor, her waters have broken, please help us! James nearly screamed, pointing down at the blood spotted hem of Susan’s skirt. She was moaning and delirious with pain now, not even cognizant of where she was. Doctor Amherst blinked rapidly, taking it all in before coming to his senses and moving out of the doorway’s threshold, ushering them in. The doctor lived in a makeshift infirmary that doubled as his house, and a few lit lanterns revealed several beds. He directed Susan to the nearest one, and quickly began rummaging through a drawer, pulling out various instruments that looked totally foreign to James.

      You, please, step outside. You’re filthy and I wish for this child not to contract infection, he said curtly to James, shoving him back out the doorway. Arnold, go fetch midwife Lisa. On the double!

      The watchman nearly sprinted out the door and into the night, closing the door behind him. James was left to stand there, marveling at the modernity of Kingston. It had only been two years since Joseph and his band of disciples left towards Talman Sound, but in that time, Kingston seemed to have fully recovered from the madness that had engulfed it prior to their pilgrimage. No homes were burned to the ground. The gallows that stood at the center of town, where so many wives and sisters had been executed on charges of witchcraft, was gone. In its place was a church, its steeple high and regal, a white cross jutting from its highest point.

      James felt confusion and trepidation wash over him as Arnold reappeared with an older woman, her hair tied back in a silver ponytail, a dough spattered apron covering her front, her cheeks ruddy from effort. The two ignored James as she was ushered into the doctor’s house. He briefly heard the muffled moans of Susan, her agony carrying through the doorway as Arnold came back out, his job as usher done. He turned to look at James, regarding him like a strange insect.

      You’re the lot who went off to the island, right? The ones with the crazy preacher? he asked, producing a small pouch from his vest pocket, pulling out a small clump of dried brown leaves and shoving it into the corner of

      Enjoying the preview?
      Page 1 of 1