I was sitting upon my ship’s bow, fishing rod in hand as I waited patiently for a final catch when the fog rolled in, curling around the bow of my boat like a blanket. It was thick, thick enough to smother out the moon's light. Deciding to take the fog as a sign I should call it a day, I pulled up the rod and returned it to the compartment in the lower hull with the other fishing gear, before grabbing a couple lanterns and returning to the bow of the ship. Lighting the lanterns and tying them around the mast, I grabbed the oars and started rowing across the still waters of the lake towards the shoreline.

Then, a silhouette cut through the fog, but despite appearing quite large, it was silent. The water was still, even as the shadow approached. I made several attempts to contact her crew, but no response came till I received transmissions of a hostile nature. The voices cursing my name, when all of a sudden the dark silhouette ascended through the God-like mist.

As it approached, I recognized the image of an old deserted ship. I was aghast at the sight of a derelict vessel sailing that awkward night, appearing like a black floating cadaver. There was not a single man aboard. Her torn sails cloaked her like a cobwebbed widow posed against that nightmarish horizon. I shuddered, for the temperature had suddenly dropped. And it was at that moment I realised the absence of a sound that always accompanied me every time I set out to the waters of the lake, a sound that was present a mere moment ago. The ticking of my grandfather’s clock. I suddenly felt smothered by a shroud of fear, for that watercraft was a ghost ship upon a funeral quest.

Fortunately, this atrocious mystery had set sail away from me. And, as it passed by my ship, I recalled tales told by sailors claiming other seamen beheld such sights, most dying during fog-clad days and nights. The ship had vanished as suddenly as it had appeared, and I questioned if it had even been there at all.

As soon as the bow reached the pier, I scrambled out of that boat as quickly as I could and got in my car, returning home with trembling bones and pale skin. My husband asked me what had shook me so, and I told him and my daughter how I saw something I thought to be witchery, which they found quite upsetting.

As we went to bed about half an hour later, I kissed my loves goodnight then closed my eyes to forget what I had seen. The room suddenly shifted into a bleak and dismal scene. Once my consciousness had vanished deep within my mind, the first thing I realised was I was taking a severe beating from someone in the middle of the night. Between the shocking fragments of cold fists that were pounding on my face, I could see a man wearing a black hat causing harm upon me. While he was laughing and striking me, I managed to grab his throat with both hands and push him over to the left side, where my husband slept at night. I grabbed the pen I kept on my nightstand, and stabbed him in the face until both of his eyes liquidized. Haphazardly in anxiety I maimed his face extremely and still he laughed loudly.

I got a good look at the man who had attacked me. His clothes looked rather old; a stench like dead things and a ragged captain's coat. So many stabwounds, sixty, maybe more. His face simply shattered while blood decorated the floor.

Then, there was the sound like a snarling hound. I left the room to look around, it guided me to my daughter’s room. Her door was locked, and I was terrified of what I might find behind it. So quickly, I climbed the stairs to the old attic and found my double-barreled shotgun. I loaded the weapon, and gripped it tight enough to turn my knuckles white. I had to end this horrific lucid dream. Rushing back downstairs, I broke down the door forcefully, a vicious false dog is what I saw. I pumped two close ranged shots into that wild beast, and yet it was still alive. I brought down the gun upon its skull over and over, till it had finally stopped breathing. Panting, I turned around and again I was just an inch away from that face I carved up previously. He was still laughing... then suddenly... Thank god, I was awake!

Laying in bed covered in sweat, the horror I had seen was just a dream. Clouded was my sight, I found bloodstains on my hands as I rubbed my eyes. No! What had I done?! My husband was beside me, still alive, but his face was simply gone. His beauty had been maimed by my hand, disfigured. I ran to my daughter’s room, and a dead hound is not what I found, the bloodstains on the wall came from my daughter’s corpse slaughtered on the ground! Carefully cradling her corpse in my hands, I returned to my own bedroom, and placed her upon my bed beside my lover. With tears in my eyes, I placed one last kiss upon my husband’s trembling hand, before I cupped his throat and squeezed, cutting off his windpipe. He made a few weak thrashes, but I kept my grip until his heartbeat faded away.

That sighting, it was a portent of doom and the consequences were most macabre. I called the police and told them that a murder had taken place. As I await their arrival, I have one question going through my mind, “Hector, what have you done?”

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