TENEBROUS DEPTHS

Erland J Sule, 1857
I loathe money. Not money itself, but the concept of being given a couple hundred little tokens that outside of their own circulation become utterly valueless and the lengths we’ll go for it. Myself included. I uprooted myself and everything I know to go to work on a piddly little island that’s situated smack bang in the middle of hell. Hell, the location. If you had told me twenty or so years ago that the world was going to wake up one morning and there’d be these great big ugly gateways to the underworld I would’ve thought you mad. Now if you’d also told me I’d be stuck there on a skerry for a minimum wage job, frankly I would’ve told you to piss off. But here I am; with a flintlock tucked into the back of my waders so if some ungodly abomination tries to snag me the rest of my team will have a seconds head start. We’ve been here less than a fortnight and already had one of the more brazen lads dragged away kicking and screaming after he stepped outside for a cigarette. By the time we’d gotten to the door the screaming was barely audible, we fired a few warning shots into the night, unsure of what to even aim at since no one had seen what’d snagged him. We could’ve thrown a life ring down I suppose, but it’s safe to assume once the screaming stopped they’re a bit of a lost cause.

The locals seemed to find humour in how we got picked off. Though the wildlife didn’t seem to be as interested in the devils, maybe because they’re mostly hoof and claw, they still had the common sense to leave. When we’d started this job there had been around seven devils working alongside us, but one after another they’d dropped off. I couldn’t blame them since most of the other lads avoided them like the plague. Only Montur’s left, a lumpy gentle giant. His skin was a streaky mix of red and white which always reminded me of cough sweets. Where his eyes ought to have been there was a pair of curled rams horns and even though he, like all devils, lacked a distinct pair of eyes I still felt that he’d always shoot me a kind glance when we were in a room together.

We fortunately got the chance to work together quite frequently. I’d gotten my start working with ships, carpentry mostly; restoration projects, small luxury boats and on occasion a, somehow still intact, wooden whaling ship. Though there’s not much of a market for those anymore. Montur on the other hand had found himself working on airships, welding together the metal frameworks for dirigibles. Now the two of us had the luxuary of fulfilling a utterly fucking maddeningly overcomplicated design for the former boy-genius, now washed up pretentious lunatic, Ichabod Thorsten. The “Submarine’s” design was an insult to all things submersible with an excess of windows and a child-like understanding of pressure. The infantile prick had quickly thrown a tantrum when I explained to him that there’s only so far down we could go before the pressure would become too much, especially if he wanted to keep the oversized windows. He was building a death trap.

The only understandable concept Ichabod had brought forward was a hatch easily opened from the inside. He’d pitched it as an escape hatch in case something decided to take a bite out of the submarine. Though I did try my best to dumb down the fact that if something did go wrong down there he was dead as a door nail. But since it was the most sensible idea he had put forward I let him have his useless little hatch. On one condition, the hatch needed two people to open it. Idiot proof.

Regardless, Ichabod insisted on aesthetics over common sense. I could only pity the poor bastards who were going down in what was, by design, just an oversized bell jar. We got it to work, managed to descend eight hundred and sixty feet before the welding started to groan. Pretty sure we’d broken a world record with it too but that wasn’t good enough. Ichabod insisted on getting the submarine down to at least the edge of the midnight zone, thirty two thousand and eighty feet deep. Ichabod had developed a sudden fascination with the devil’s old pantheon of gods. Montur had told me old wives tales of the twenty-two Siblings, with each being more terrible than the last, gods that had been long since abandoned by their people for good reason. Any of the Siblings would’ve been a bad choice to become enamoured of, but Ichabod just had to go and take a liking to Acel, the lost guide. A darkness so deep he gets lost within himself and is stuck chasing lanterns, oil lamps and comets for all eternity. He’d sit wide eye’d for hours as Montur talked his ear off, asking him night after night to retell it, while the rest of us were stuck in the cabin forced to listen. It was a good story to scare your child out of burning through a week's worth of lantern fluid, which had clearly worked on Montur, since to this day he insisted on working under the cover of darkness.

Ichabod had narrowed his sights on The Finger’s of Acel, sacred grounds for the forsaken god. A handful of small underwater volcanoes so putrid they poison the water around them. A completely normal and healthy fascination. They’d created a wonderful little patch of certain death for any living thing exposed to them, though knowing the local wildlife, I’m sure something horrendous would’ve found a way to thrive down there.

He’d sit in the corner of the cabin at his desk for hours each night scribbling his ideas away and whether or not it was the middle of the night we had to listen to his ideas. It was frustrating but he was the man paying our salary. Montur’s discomfort with Ichabod’s new hobby had become unmissable, with his face scrunching up like a rag almost every time Ichabod began to blabber about Acel to us. Although it did work surprisingly well at keeping Ichabod from getting too comfortable around Montur; who could snap him like a twig if he felt like it. But we had to remind him repeatedly that we were only here to build the submarine and after that he could piss off.

Of the team of fifteen that had come to the island only five of us remained. Unfortunately Ichabod included. I know it sounds cruel but of all the people to survive it just had to be him. Any time I saw him come round the corner, papers in hand, it made my stomach turn a little. I’d quite fancied him at the start, he dressed himself well and had a head full of frizzy blonde hair tied neatly with a ribbon but the second he opened his mouth that was gone. It’s one thing to be cruel but cruel and stupid is far less forgiveable. Montur was on his last nerve after we’d gone through our weekly brief; we were discussing how we’d be able to bring the sub back up safely. Ichabod tutted to himself before saying ‘Well, do we have to bring them back up alive?’ The room was painfully quiet until I managed to force a chuckle. The anxiety of the project got worse as the submarine became more and more complete. Montur would be welding on the rocks for days on end and I was starting to worry about what having that much time to think would do for his head. Sat outside in the dark with only sparks letting us know where he was. Soon he began sleeping outside; safe within the empty shell of the submarine. The two other men found ways to busy themselves while I managed to creep outside before another painful conversation with Ichabod.

Twisting the ornate brass handle I stepped into the hollow submarine. Montur sat in a bundle on the floor writing away.

‘Has he finished with his new ideas?’ he smirked.

‘Not yet, but I didn’t want to chance it.’

‘Did anyone follow you out?’ He asked as I shot a glance through the hatch door as it shut.

‘No.’

‘Good.’ He patted the cold metal floor and I hesitantly sat myself down. ‘It’s almost done you know, but I spoke to the lads on the supply boat a couple month’ ago and they said there’s no new men coming in. I know you want to stick around for your wages but I genuinely think the lad’s gonna try and stick us in this thing. We put a lot of time into building this but I don’t want it to be my coffin. So I’m putting myself on the supply boat tomorrow; I think it’s best if we leave this place together.’

He looked at me pleadingly. We both knew we couldn’t afford to leave. Worst case I had to deal with Ichabod nagging me to get in the submarine for a month while I waited on the next supply boat. But I’m not losing a year’s salary over a hunch.

In the morning I watched Montur hoist his bag over his arm.

‘Last chance.’

And that's when I thought to myself, there’s nothing left for me on this rock. I hesitated, reminding myself that I’d left the flintlock inside but sod it. I squeezed open the heavy metal door of the submarine and fumbled out into the morning. All the lights on the cabin were out but we just tried our best to get down to the dock. We pressed ourselves into the shore rocks in hopes that Ichabod couldn’t see us though I could already see him stropping over the rock face. The man was a wreck, dishevelled and thumbling with something by his side. Any composure he’d brought to the skerry was long gone and now he seemed set on turning this place into his own personal Bedlam.

As he got closer I could only see how sorry a state he truly was. His knuckles bloodied and a frenzied wide eyed look on his face as he sneered down at us chewing at one of his knuckles. That’s when I noticed his other blooded hand cold knuckle wrapped around a rifle he was clutching tightly by his leg. He had a clumsy grip on the gun and that’s when I noticed he’d gnawed his fingers down to the pale bone. He rattled the rifle towards us, sputtered heavy breathing as he pried his knuckle from his teeth. Montur slowly raised his hands, kneeling down. He turned to me with a desperate look. Ichabod hadn’t broken his stare; I doubt he’d even glanced at me yet.

‘We don’t want any trouble, just let us leave. We’ve done our part.’

The smile dropped from Ichabods face as he mumbled.

‘You have but he hasn’t.’

A loud clack followed a cloud of red mist that sprayed itself over Ichabod. Solemnly he glanced down at the crumpled body of Montur before lifting his chin admiring his handy work. The left side of Monturs head was a slurry of red where his horn once curled around his curly hair.

‘It’s hard to tell if a devil’s dead you know? You can’t see their eyes glaze over without a magnifying glass.’

That’s when his wide eyes met my own. His pupils wide; swallowing the light as he wrapped his bloodied knuckle around the trigger. Nothing. He let out a disgruntled sigh as he tossed it to the ground pulling out a handkerchief he heaved a large stone from the ground before inspecting it. I stared in disbelief as he calmly stepped over; catching his boot on Monturs decrepit body. My back was up against the rocks, frantically grabbing at anything to use to keep him away. He placed a gorey finger on my bottom lip, gently pulling my jaw open as he stuffed the handkerchief in my mouth with a giggle. A sharp kick to the knee brought me to a kneel and the last thing I remembered was his deep set eyes as he hoisted the stone over his head.

‘ We're gonna go where no man’s gone before. ’

I woke to the sound of metal reverberating. One of the other engineers, Michael, fussed over my head. He was a meek man I’d only seen in corridors and yet he was kind enough to help a virtual stranger. While the other engineer clawed at the heavy metal doors; I could never remember his name but he was a rugged man reduced to scriking at the door. The wide windows of the bell jar gave all of us a front row seat to the rising foamy water. Ichabod stood in the centre of it all, the light bouncing off the rays catching onto his frantic wide smile. As we were swept beneath the waves the machine shuddered; the lights flickering and for a moment that smile dropped and realisation sunk into him. But as the search lights outside came on his giddiness became hard to contain.

We were all silent as we sank into the blackness except for the muffled sobs of the engineer.

And we fell into the dark.

We braced ourselves as the submarine hit the seafloor. The machine shuddered but Montur’s work held up. Work of which was thankless. Maybe he’d be grateful to be spared our fate but I struggled to push the image of his concave scalp out of my mind. We all breathed a sigh of relief as the power stayed on. One of the windows was cracked but even still; it had held up beyond any of our expectations. Ichabod looked back with a bitter smile. The look of ‘I told you so’. We all stared out into the blackness. The searchlights of the sub catching detritus in the dark. Little flecks of white dancing down in the dark like dust in a sunbeam. There was nothing out there; it truly was a deadzone. The abyss was illuminated only by our searchlights; beyond that was sheer nothingness. We’d made it to Acels fingers. They stood tall like silhouettes in the black. Silent watchers brought into view by the searchlight. Ichabod sat pressed against the window looking out onto the stone pillars.

‘This is the first time they’ve ever been touched by light’ said Ichabod

The first few hours we held onto the light; the engine of the submarine was still humming as we looked out into the sea. The tall fingers watching back from the dark. But our eyes couldn’t grow comfortable in the dark but as I sat I remembered what Montur told me; safety in the dark. I managed to convince Micheal to turn off the lights; saving power. The other engineer was too cataconic to move away from the door. After the lights were gone it became hard to tell there were even windows, it was like we could wander out into the dark. The only way I knew Ichabod was there was the sound of his teeth grinding against his open knuckles.

I lay hazy from the blood loss as I was woken by a faint, rhythmic tapping.

‘Is that you?’ Someone whispered.

Michael wrapped his hand around my shoulder and I felt his frantic breath on my face ‘Don’t move too quickly’ he sputtered as I sat up. I could see the other engineer curled up in the corner. But there was another figure; stood tall by the window, only just highlighted by a small gas lantern Ichabod had tucked by his side. Its entire body danced like a ribbon with the flow of the water. But it never allowed itself close enough to the light for any of us to see what it is.

‘I guess the water isn’t as toxic as we thought.’ muttered Michael

Hours passed with a cacophony of muffled sobs, the sound of teeth on bone and that rhythmic tapping. Ichabod stood unmoving blankly staring out into the black, one finger between his teeth. My eyes follow his to something out there beyond the fingers. The same fabric dancing in the currents. Except this time it almost seemed bigger than the volcanic rock it glided behind.

I crept up behind Ichabod, catching myself tripping in the dark. He didn’t seem to notice being held in a trance by the dark. I slid the rifle away from his feet and clutched it tight. I knew if I fired we were likely dead but the walnut grip was a comfort all the same.Though at the rate he was gnawing his fingers I doubt he’d even be able to pull the trigger. I could hear the sounds of Michael in the dark coaxing the other engineer awake while the tapping persisted; until he shot up and clutched Michael wailing about the lights.

‘Please, just shut off the lights! The searchlights!’

I could hear Michael trying desperately to coax him down. Both of them struggled out of sight but I didn’t want to take myself away from Ichabod. I needed to stay near him. My fingers could barely curl as the cold began to set in. The engine mustn’t have been as hot as we anticipated. We needed to bring ourselves up or we’d all freeze. I shuffled closer to Ichabod, catching a brief glance at his face, at his eyes. His pupils were so wide they’d become more like deep pits reflecting the abyss around them. Unmoving with a trail of blood coming down from the corner of his grinning lips. Even in the dark I could see blood reflecting on the barrel. I felt sick at the thought of Monturs face; bits of it smeared in front of me. His own head, now a deep pit. I pressed the cold barrel against Ichabods temple; I knew it could keep going. I knew it could hit the window. But I watched his cold breath catch the light and I knew I never wanted to see him breathe again.

‘It’s stopped. When did it stop?’ someone said.’

‘What’s stopped.’ I asked

‘The tapping; it’s stopped.’

Now there was only silence. No gnawing, sobbing or even the quiet hum of the engine. I glanced back at Ichabod; still unmoving. Barely even a breath escaped his bloodied lips. I shook him on the shoulder and still his body remained ridgid entranced by the dark. Was he already dead?

‘Well, let’s try and bring her up. Before the engine gives out from frost.’ I spat.

‘Aye’ said Michael as we hurriedly prepped the sub to resurface. Even the previously catatonic engineer worked quickly with an air of professionalism. The light’s didn’t turn on but we could see just enough to get the job done thanks to the faint lantern I snatched from Ichabod. We heard the machine shudder to life and as I shot Michael a smile I realised he stood ridgid. Head cranked forcefully to the side; eye’s staring wildly towards the abyss. Jaw forcefully opened as if to scream but barely even a breath escaped, the skin at the corner of his mouth splitting with the force.

I followed his gaze towards the glass; nothing but darkness.That’s when I realised the silhouettes of The Fingers were gone. The darkness sank itself through the glass like an eclipse; wandering into the submarine itself. I looked down for the rifle but I couldn’t pull it out of the dark. I couldn’t even see my cold breath in the air, it was sheer blackness. I found myself flailing in the nothingness for my gun. Cocking it was methodical; as second nature as tying my shoes. I’d even joked that I could do it with my eyes closed. I raised it in the dark and fired. I didn’t care what I hit, I just wanted this to be over. But like an injured animal the darkness wrenched itself away; surrendering the submarine.

Forcing myself to shudder a breath in the now sudden cold that the creature had left in its wake. Even the metal fixtures of the submarine were caked in a heavy frost. I tried to throw the rifle to the floor but my now blackened fingers were frozen tight around it. I could feel my skin's resistance as I managed to pry it from my own hands. Stifling a yelp as it clattered to the ground, I wanted to get back to hurrying the sub back to the surface but I could barely curl my fingers. Michael and Ichabod were still standing frozen like statues while the remaining engineer had somehow kept working through it all. Babbling the lord's prayer to himself as he desperately fumbled with dials.

The glass was in a worse state than before now the crack was spidering across the window. I could hear the sound of metal scraping as the creature continued to circle us outside. As the scraping got louder so did the engineer's prayer until he was desperately yelling at the top of his lungs. Somehow the machine shuddered to life as it began to slowly rise; the poor bastard didn’t stop frantically working away. Nor did he stop praying. The scraping turned into a loud bang as we were thrown sharply across the floor. Michael fell with us; I grabbed him as best I could trying to heave him on his side. I found myself screaming over the sound of creaking metal just begging for him to get up. I grabbed his chin and turned him to face me; He was snickering with a wide shit-eating grin, like he knew something I didn’t. His eyes were burnt out; still smoking like old coals.

'Where we’re going, we won’t need eyes to see' he sneered.

The terror on the engineers face likely matched my own. Neither of us were brave enough to look towards Ichabod who still stood in the same spot. The engineer shuddered before returning to his work stifling muffled sobs but I stared past Ichabod. Into the winding darkness and as I did I saw a form. A face. Just barely visible was pale blue skin and a wide yellow tooth grin framed by long dark hair. It looked like a person; too faint to see if it was human, devil or otherwise but it was a person. But as I stared, squinting to see, my eyes began to burn. Ichabod had been staring for hours, how? That’s when I placed a frost bitten finger in my mouth and bit down as hard as I could. The searing pain dragged me back into the moment as I broke my gaze to wipe my watering eyes.

As I brought my head up I was met by the calm smile of Ichabod. His scabbed hand gently caressing my face as he passed by. He walked solemnly across the frozen floor as he passed. He held his head high as if he was above all of this. Looking at us like we were the dirt beneath his feet.

“Well, gentlemen. I really must be leaving you.”

He smiled knowingly and nodded me goodbye. As he reached towards the emergency hatch he had been so insistent on.

And then the cold came in.