I was a fisherman because my father was a fisherman. And his father was a fisherman before him; this is all my family has ever known.

I worked on my father’s boat as one of his deckhands for years. We caught crabs in the Bering sea. Essentially, we would dunk massive metal cages into the water, trapping the crustaceans miles below. It's a tough living, and definitely something not for the faint of heart. You wake up to the murky haze of sunrise, the sea breeze chilling your bones, the smell of salt and the fresh guts of fish clinging to your nose like rust to the hull. Ninety percent of greenhorns never make it past their first day. Many of them were drifters, new to our community. The job paid well, so it attracted men who were eager to work. And my father was always willing to give anyone a shot. But the truth of it was, the job just wasn’t for everybody.

Something always hurt: whether it was your neck, your back, or your joints. It didn’t matter. If you left the harbor in our boat, you best be prepared for the grueling day or my father would toss you over himself.

I watched many a man perish on expeditions, swallowed up by the ravenous sea. Careless or stupid or just plain unlucky.

Things had been going smoothly, though, recently. There were a lot fewer casualties and some very nice yields. A few of the older deckhands at the pub had even quoted this as a “legendary” year. We drank to our good fortune. It wasn’t the same story we were hearing from some of the other vessels, but some years were better than others. It was just how the tide turned.

As I said, it’s an honest living and all I’ve ever known is Thally. It was renamed after my father’s first love, but he’d said if Mum ever asked it was named after the Greek Goddess of the sea. The ship had seen its fair share of tumultuous expeditions, but it always managed to steer us home with my father at the helm.

The day I realized he was in trouble, it was far too late. My father had slipped past the point of no return. In actuality, he had been slipping for months, but he was an incredibly stubborn man, impossible to deal with at times. You would just have soon put a bullet in his head if you kept him off the water. But the signs were there. His now shaky hands had once been the most steady spearfishing hands our town had ever seen. His lungs were once exceptional: many old timers at the bar claimed he could hold his breath for ten minutes. Now, he would cough out a watery tar-like residue from them. He stumbled over his words, occasionally forgetting some of the greenhorns’ and deckhands' names.

The signs were all there, and I chose to ignore them.

I think it was because he was the strongest man I ever knew; I couldn’t fathom him needing help. He taught me everything—how to fish, how to swim, how to gut and cook them once you were done. And that was everything in our fishing community. But I guess strong men get old too.

The only reason I caught him was the fussy latch on the door. He jiggled it in frustration as he left, another project left by the wayside. The wind swung the door open in a violent clap; the howling and whistling traveling through the home. A moment later, my coat was on and I followed him into the cold.

The conditions were wretched: the rain fell from the sky in a ruthless downpour. I followed the beacon of light from his lantern. He walked onto the dock and untied the mooring line before entering Thally. The beating of the rain was so intense it drowned out my footsteps and pleas for him to stop. But there was a whistling that could be heard. Its high-pitched tune seemed to float through the conditions, lingering by the dock.

I sprinted once the lights turned on, the motor purring. I barely managed to slide on deck before it drifted off to sea.

***

I’ve been on the water long enough to know we don’t belong there. This stormy night was no exception. The precarious weather would mean waves as tall as houses. In much milder conditions, it was easy to get tossed off deck, plunged into the depths of the dark unknown. High tide was not to be messed with. My father understood all of this, and yet he steered Thally into the choppy waters. The waves sloshed back and forth, creating slick pools that slid from one end to the other.

It was reckless. Unforgivable. Only a fool would steer into the eye of a storm, and my father was far from a foolish man.

He was a very superstitious man, that I knew. He believed in many silly things. Most were innocuous and standard to sailor folklore. Try to bring a banana on board (even so much as an item containing artificial flavoring, the kind you’d find in candy that tasted like awful chemicals) and he’d send you packing. Every morning he’d kiss the rosary above the helm and say a prayer before we’d dock. They made me smirk, these superstitions, but it wasn’t my place to say anything. Our best years came under his reign, and when he made money, we all made money—including all of the businesses down the supply chain. The man just seemed to have a knack for it. He knew all the sweet spots and had a feel for where we should be.

Lightning sparked above us. I held onto the railing and stumbled my way toward the entrance of the wheelhouse. The thunder that followed made me flinch. It erupted above, sending trails of jagged light zig-zagging across the cluster of ominous clouds. I twisted the handle, but it didn't move. I could see a faint hue of light past the cloudy glass and the steps ascending upwards, but no sign of my father. Banging on the door was useless, the water continued to pummel everything in its wake, drowning out the noise.

Except for the whistling. It was steady. Unwavering. The calm song seemed to dance above the water, hovering around the main deck.

I threw my hands up in frustration. My father had finally lost it. They always said too much time at sea would do that to you.

Searching for something to help me gain access, I held onto the handle for dear life. With a sudden jerk of the ocean, my hand slipped. I rolled across the deck, my back slamming against the railing on the periphery. My cheek felt cold against the soaked wood floors. A gush of water quickly followed, flowing into my face and sneaking into the crevices of my raincoat, invading my wooly sweater and long johns underneath. I moaned in agony, spitting out a sticky gob of salt and blood.

The boat continued to teeter violently with the waves in large, helpless dips. I managed to get to my knees, desperately clutching the railing. My back felt like it had been scorched. All the while, I cursed my father.

I needed to find shelter or it was a matter of time before I would be underwater. The main deck was largely open. It would be impossible to get to the living quarters or engine room, the water was too treacherous and the distance too far. I needed to go back the way I came and get to my father before it was too late.

Amidst the haze of the rain, I spotted the tool bench that housed some basic tools. I waited until the ebb and flow of the waves had mellowed before timing my staggered run. When the deck leveled, I ran. I felt the muggy squish of salt water between my water-logged boots. As the boat began to rise again, I grasped one of the railing barriers wrapped around the metal bench. A wave of water dropped down, chopping at my body. I swayed momentarily before my feet were sent airborne. The arctic chill brought shivers as it whipped my drenched skin. I gasped. The tips of my fingers were numb as I scrambled to my feet.

Once the waves settled, I fiddled with the combination. The lock clicked open, and I grabbed the first two objects that looked like they could do damage—an iron mallet and a pair of pliers—and waited for the next sequence of waves to settle. I trudged back toward the stairs. The waves tilted the boat at a harsh angle. I stumbled, losing grip of one of the tools. The pliers skidded away in the darkness, disappearing into the black waters. I clutched the mallet for dear life.

The window vibrated with every heavy thud. I brought the mallet down as hard as I could, my arms trembling. After a couple of powerful whacks, tiny spiderweb cracks began to emerge. It eventually shattered, allowing me to reach in and unlock the door.

“Father!” I bellowed up the stairs. My hands slid up the guard rail as the cool steel supported my clumsy steps.

“Charlie?” he called back. His eyes were full of terror: wide and jittery. “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” I shouted back. “Look outside! We need to turn back!”

Someone else stood by my father’s side. He stared blankly out the window, gripping the wheel. His long, ashy-white locks draped down from his head like thick sections of rope. He looked dressed and ready to work: a brown leather apron, and a cracked leather bucket hat, the string browned and weathered around his chin. The man glanced back at me, a grave look on his face.

“Who is this?” I asked.

“He shouldn’t be here, Ferris,” the man warned.

My father's hands shot to his face. The one missing a ring finger caressed his beard in panic. “Oh, Lord. What are we to do now?” he cried.

“What do you mean? Have you both gone mad?” I stormed the helm and pulled the wheel in the opposite direction. The older man held firm, battling me for control.

“Turn around!” I pleaded.

The man roared back, “Ferris, do something!”

The waves continued to wobble the boat violently from side to side.

“Charlie. Please stop!” my father begged. He gripped the top of my hand and tried to pry my fingers from the wheel.

“Are you crazy, Father? We are going to capsize!” The pressure from his hands finally was too much. I shrugged him off of me, and he dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes. He then drifted toward the opposite wall, dragged from one end to the other by the tide. Next, I leaned my weight against the man steering the ship. To my surprise, I fell right through him. I stared helplessly from the floor, my mouth ajar at the ghastly revelation. He barely glanced back, his narrow umber brown stare kept firm on the water.

The boat abruptly stopped before I could react. I was launched toward the window, my shoulder colliding with the switchboard. My father was a crumpled heap on the floor. Only the sound of clattering rain filled the air for a moment.

The light was undeniable past the foggy wet window. Blinding. A radiant glow of aquamarine encompassed the outside of the ship.

The man spoke, walking to the door, “It’s time to go.”

The ground felt steady, the rocking ceased. But my father still held the wall as he stepped toward the exit. Seeing him then, he appeared frail and uneasy.

“Stop,” I ordered, wagging my hand in the man’s direction. “Not until I know what’s going on.”

My father sighed, every word looked exhausting exiting his lips. “It is too much to explain now.” He pointed to the door. “You must come.”

“To what exactly? Where are we going?”

The older man held the door open. “To meet our destiny.”

***

Outside the wheelhouse, the incredible glow illuminated the deck. The old man strode toward the floating being. My father stayed a few steps behind, in apprehension. I could tell the tossing around on the ship had done a number on him: he held his wrist as he hobbled forward at a gingerly pace. I placed my hand against the small of his back, aiding him onward.

“Say goodbye,” the man urged. “No need to drag this along, Ferris.”

I observed the being, frozen in wonder. She hovered above the deck, her translucent body holding no color, but glimmering in a silky rainbow sheen like a ray of light hitting the surface of glass at an angle. Her body was beautiful: curvaceous, smooth.

“F…Father…what is this?”

Walls of water surrounded the perimeter of the boat, creating a giant bowl around the ship. The mountainous waves were held in limbo, suspended in the air like swirling blue arcs of impending doom. Schools of fish could be seen swimming in the waves.

My father glanced back as he approached the floating entity. His expression had softened, his stare was that of a little boy who had lost his mother. “I would have come for you, Charlie. I would have explained everything…after I gathered the right words.” I walked toward him and held his head at my chest. He began to sob.

“You must go now,” the old man ordered. “She grows impatient.”

I felt my father trying to peel away, but I held the folds of his neon jacket tighter.

“Let him go,” the old man hissed.

She drifted nearer. There were too many tentacles to count protruding from the base of her skull. Her lips remained pursed. She did not speak, but there was a vibration coming from her. A cooing. The gentle whistle sang from her reverberating gills.

“Tell me what this is, Father,” I cried. “I will not let you go!”

He held me close. I had never heard him cry so hard before.

The older man spoke for him. “Your father’s time is up. Like all of our times have come to an end,” he explained. “He has served well. Exceptionally well.”

My father finally let go.

“Okay,” he declared with a deep breath. “I am ready.“ He took one last look up at me. “I love you, Charlie. Tell your mother I love her too.”

What happened next happened in rapid succession. He took two steps forward and the tentacles wrapped around his body. A petrified scream escaped his lungs. His limbs jolted uncontrollably, as tiny electric sparks flashed from the tentacles. The smell of singed flesh replaced the salty breeze. His eyes rolled back as the entity’s jaw stretched open to an unsettling length. His head was plunged into the cavernous confines, her teeth as sharp as spearheads. She stared back at me as his body disappeared. Her jaw opened and closed in horrifying crunches. Alligator-like snaps.

I wailed helplessly. Was I next?

Her glowing eyes had a glint of satisfaction; her pillow lips moist with delight. They smacked together in a disturbing click. All the while, the whistling continued from its flexing gills.

In an instant, the waves were released, wooshing down from the perimeter. The tsunami was too much, it swallowed everything whole. I saw a flurry of bubbles as the waves crashed into me; I felt the frigid sting of the water mixed with an intense burning in my lungs.

The old man’s voice spoke in the flood:

“Good luck, Boy.”

Everything washed away.

***

I awoke in the wheelhouse, my arms and legs spread out like a starfish. My father was standing over me.

“Welcome back, Son,” he smiled. His gold front tooth was gleaming.

I sat up to see the bright bleed of sunrise peeking in through the clouds.

“How long was I out?” I asked, rubbing my forehead. My head pulsated like I was having a sinister hangover.

“A couple of hours?” he guessed. “It’s not important. What matters is that you are here.”

The rain had stopped, but the deck still had puddles of water pooled up on the surface. It miraculously looked like the boat survived the night with little to no damage.

“You still have time to make it back to work,” he assured me. He appeared content as the pier came into view.

“You won’t believe the nightmare I had.”

There was a flicker of sadness in his smirk. “It was no nightmare.”

I laughed nervously. “Sure.”

“I wish it was a joke, Charlie,” he said. He placed his hand at the helm and spun the wheel. A large buoy floated past. “But I am ready to explain.”

My father told me that the man from last night was named Hayden. He was my grandfather. He had died at sea before I was ever born. So had his father. And his father before him. This was the pact our family had made.

I rubbed my eyes.

“We all take, take, take from the ocean. Our family has been chosen to be the ones who give back, to try to breach the gap.”

The story left me frozen in my spot. “So, this is to be my fate, as well?”

He gazed out the window with an empty stare. The sun was now an orange ring fanning across the skyline. “The way I see it, you have two options.” He turned to look me in my eyes. “You can carry on and captain Thally. Just as you were destined to. It is your responsibility now—the livelihood of the community, the tradition—it all lives with you.” He paused, scratching his chin. “It is a cross to bear, Charlie. The strongest men carry the most weight. You will bring a lot of good men into grave peril. The sea will claim who they see fit, it is not for you to choose. But you must bring them, in plenty.” He cleared his throat. “But you will also protect the community. The sea will reward you so. You will also do much good.”

“Or?” I asked.

“Or…” he paused. “You dock the ship and walk away from it all. Forever. Start a new life. Change your trajectory.”

I contemplated what a new life would look like. “What would happen to Mother?”

“She must never know,” he said. “It will be a tough pill for her to swallow. But she is a tough woman, she will make do.”

We stood in silence, the squawk of the waterfowls and the rolling waves filling the space.

“If you take that path, you must stay away from the ocean. Forever. The sea is unforgiving. A betrayer of covenants, well, you will stand no chance.” He swallowed. “Your children will stand no chance.”

The pier slowly approached. The shadows of awaiting crew members were huddled together at the end of the pier, their lit cigarettes shone in the twilight.

“We are almost here, Son.” He kissed me on the forehead and walked toward the exit. His lips felt incredibly cold. “Just trust I support you in your decision. Whichever way you choose.”

I nodded, tears fleeing from my eyes. I swiftly wiped them away.

“Goodbye, Son. I love you.”

With that, he walked through the closed door.

I gripped the wheel and watched Thally glide toward the pier.

When we got close, I tied the ship to the dock. The familiar whistle cooed in from the sea.

I began to load the ship and felt a hand clutch my shoulder. Murphy grabbed me playfully, his crooked grin across his face. Chase, the new greenhorn, yawned as he shook my hand. I ribbed him about his uneven mustache. He stomped out his butt. More of the crew began to gather their things and hop on board.

We prepared for the daily catch.

For this was all I’ve ever known.

​

aproyal