Just like many times before, he walked through almost organic-looking hallways, following a voice, an inhuman sound, resembling a slow disharmonized song guiding him.
Regardless of it being patternless and unrecognizable by the human ear, the meaning behind the melody was clear to him.

Come ...  come to me ...

He moved carefully, leaning on the ribbed blackened walls, reflecting the little light he had back at him via slimy surfaces that sullied his gloves.
His mind struggling with the dissonance between reality and dream, and the tingling sensation that drove him mad only intensified as he was getting closer to the source of the sound.

"I’m ... here. I’m here!" he shouted as if comforting the crying voice.

Finally, he set his eyes on it for a mere moment before a loud knock woke him up.

* knock, knock * "Mr. Smythe. Is large waves. Captain making fuss. Coward. Wants to turn ship. Go talk. Ivan no good talking. Ivan use fists, throw captain in sea, so ...  better go talk Mr. Smythe."

After getting up and sitting on the edge of his bed, Smythe put his face into his hands, taking a moment to get back to reality and to shake off the disorienting feeling that the constant ship’s rocking, brought him.

"Thank you ... Ivan. I’ll be there as soon as I can."

Footsteps could be heard outside of the cabin, leaving in a hurry.
Still having his face buried between soft white gloves, he tried to recall what he saw in his nightmare. The shape of the being was hard to recall, but he was sure it was humanoid. It was floating inside an organic-looking bubble. He could remember the color yellow very clearly as the being seemed to glow.

I ... better get up there.

Smythe thought, then grabbed his cane, slowly making his way toward the captain’s cabin.

The ship wasn’t large but it had enough space to accommodate each individual as well as the captain and crew, small in numbers.
Now rocked by the increasingly large waves, the ship was making creaking sounds and its sails fought the strong gusts of the incoming storm. The rain started to pour as soon as the professor stepped out onto the deck.

"Tsk ... " he clicked his tongue in frustration.

Climbing up the stairs he entered and shouted to outvote the wind’s howling.

"I thought the contract was pretty clear!"

"No gold is worth our lives. Don’t you think?" the captain replied as one of the crew members tried to figure out the map and their current location and heading.

Smythe observed the situation for a moment, then turned around and headed down the stairs. He was headed for the quarters of their cartographer, Mr. Pam Carter.

On his way down he encountered Mr. Pickman’s son. Looking pale was nothing new for the young man, but puking all over the deck while holding the wooden fence was something new to add to his unsightliness.

"Are you going to be alright?" Smythe stopped for a moment, helping the skinny man get back on his feet.

The boy turned to face him, wiping a white slimy substance off his chin. His eyes were always half closed as if he was constantly sleepwalking. His dark hair, now wet, fell around his eyes, and stuck to his face. His eyes were always kind of lost and almost empty looking.
He nodded quietly, thanking me for the help.

"Good ... good ... " Smythe patted him on the back and took a step forward but stopped immediately as he heard a squishing sound beneath his foot. Looking down into a puddle of white puke, he saw a greyish creature, too large to be a snail, stuck to the bottom of his boot, still wiggling and writhing in pain as it was cut in half.

"Ugh ... " he shook it down and pushed it into the sea with his cane, leaving the creature’s entrails mixed with the smelly substance.

Quickening his step as much as the cane and the boat’s rocking would allow, Smythe, continued toward the lower decks.

"Pardon my intrusion. Pam, I need you to do something for me," Smythe put his arm around the man as soon as he entered his cabin without knocking, taking him outside into the rain while explaining on the way.

Carter was a relatively young man with short brown hair who wore glasses, just like Smythe and Annabella, whom, Smythe noticed, he was looking at yesterday during the meeting in the motel.

"Wha ... I ... I mean ... " the cartographer was struggling to leave the papers he was holding in order to avoid getting them wet, but he was outside in the rain, following the professor before he knew it.

"Listen carefully, Pam ...  the captain and his crew are making a huge mistake. They would turn this vessel around and head home in this storm. Fortunately for them, and us all, to be frank, we have a renowned cartographer at hand, who will point them in the right direction."

"I ... don’t quite understand, sir ... " said Carter reluctantly.

Smythe put both of his hands on the man’s shoulders and as the rain fogged up both of their glasses, squeezed and repeated more clearly.

"I need you to convince the captain to keep going. There is too much at stake to turn tail at the slightest inconvenience."

"But isn’t that dangerous?!"

"Did you think this was going to be a field trip? I’m not offering you a vast amount of money to go sightseeing. I thought you made your decision back in the motel. Am I wrong to assume you still want the gold?"

"No! Alright, I’ll do it!" the young man nodded, "But how ...  how will I convince them?"

"You will tell them that the island that is our destination is closer to us now than the shore. Tell them it would be wiser to reach the island and wait out the storm than to travel all the way back. Understood?"

"Y-yes sir. I got this. You can count on me," he nodded.

"Good," Smythe let go of Pam’s shoulders and followed after him.

* * *

Lit only by a small petroleum lamp hanging from the ceiling, they gathered once more around a wooden table, while the crew tried to sail through what was now a serious storm.

"Where is miss Annabella?" the professor asked Ivan, who was trying to count the expedition members.

"I’m here!" the lady just came down the stairs, almost falling down as she missed the last step.

"Easy!" Smythe managed to catch her by the forearm even though she appeared behind him, almost knocking them both down.

"Thank you," she smiled at him. Her hair and green pullover were completely wet and she took off her glasses to wipe them. Smythe stared into her eyes until she put them back on.

"Now ... " he showed her to the table," ... are we all present?"

"My son ... where is my son?!"

"Calm down, Mr. Pickman!" Smythe reassured him, "I’m certain we will find him."

"No! I won’t calm down! I’m going to search for him," he stood up and headed outside.

"I’ll help too," said Annabella.

"No, we can’t have that!" Smythe hit the table with his cane.

"All of you are to remain here, or else we will only have more people to search for!"

"But—"

"Silence!" he raised his voice and everyone seemed to have stopped.

He let out a deep sigh before continuing.

"Ivan and I will search. We will be back before you know it. Remain here, or by the gods, I will have your contracts revoked. Do I make myself clear?"

The lamp kept swinging, bathing the paralyzed men in soft yellow light. A loud thunder broke the silence before Mr. Pickman spoke.

"Alright ... but hurry, please!"

* * *

Where could the damn boy be?

Smythe cursed under his breath, struggling to keep his balance, as wave after wave kept hitting the side of the ship. It rocked up and down, tossing the man like a doll. His leg didn’t do much to help. Grabbing onto the fence for dear life, he took off his glasses as they didn’t do him any services in this weather. The storm was relentless and the skies were dark and swirling above the ship. The darkness would only be lifted for mere moments every now and then when lightning struck the sea.

Sea ... sea sickness. The boy was on the deck, barfing over the fence!

Remembering where he last saw him, Smythe hurried to reach the spot before it was too late. If the boy lost consciousness, he would be dragged into the sea and the expedition would have surely taken a turn for the worst.
Why was everything set against him, hell-bent on ruining his plans, as if driven by a sentient force? He struggled with the thoughts when he saw the boy for a moment longer as the flash of thunder would allow.
He was indeed at the spot where they met earlier.

"Boy!" he shouted, not even knowing his name.

"Pickman! Pickman junior?" Smythe shouted, limping toward the silhouette, struggling to maintain any balance whatsoever.

He reached the boy and turned him around. His eyes were not normal. Unlike the usual empty stare, there was something much worse in those eyes now. They were filled with fear, a terrible ancient fear that now slowly crept into the eyes of the one staring at them. Smythe copied the boy’s frightened face subconsciously, wondering what was it that made him frozen and paralyzed like that.
Then, it arose.
Behind the boy’s shoulder, it stood up, like a human would, staring now at Smythe with its large empty eyes. A creature of grey scales and purple veins stood on almost human limbs, mouth open agape.
It spoke simultaneously with the boy in a language not known to man. Gurgling sounds were coming from deep within its long, fish-like body.

Unable to move a muscle, Smythe failed to blink as the rain hit his wide-open eyes. In a single moment of clarity brought by another lightning strike, he reached for the handle of his cane with his other arm.

1 ... 2 ... 3 ... *click*  ... *slide*

Before the thunder even reached his ears, the head fell down to the deck and the loud thunderous sound would take place instead of a scream coming from the open mouth of the young man’s face, now staring at Smythe from the floor.

Smythe turned around to face the man standing behind him with an equally frightened look on his face.

"Did you see ...?"

"I-Ivan see nothing."