The cruise ship Solstice Mariner was a floating city, thirteen decks of luxury sprawling over the midnight-blue waters of the Atlantic. With its shimmering lights and live music drifting from the promenade, it was designed to exude joy. But to Adrian, standing on Deck 4 with a chilled glass of whiskey in hand, the ship felt too big. Too open. Too... exposed.
This was supposed to be a fresh start. After the breakup, his friends had practically shoved the cruise brochure into his hands, promising he’d come back refreshed, or at least drunk enough to forget his ex. He hadn’t planned to spend the first night alone, leaning on a rail overlooking the dark abyss of the ocean. The party above deck felt suffocating, and the laughter sounded tinny, like an old recording.
“Perfectly normal,” Adrian muttered to himself, taking another sip of whiskey. “People unwind on cruises all the time.”
As if on cue, the music shifted to something low and romantic, and a chorus of couples erupted into cheers. Adrian grimaced. He tipped the last of his drink into the ocean and turned to head inside when a soft plunk caught his attention.
It wasn’t loud, barely louder than a ripple, but it was distinct. It came from below.
He peered over the edge, his fingers tightening on the rail. The lights from Deck 4 didn’t quite reach the black water below, but something stirred there—a disturbance, like a dark figure sliding through the waves. He squinted, leaning further out. There. A pale shape beneath the surface, too smooth and deliberate to be sea foam.
“Is someone swimming?” he called, his voice carrying over the ship’s engines.
No response.
It bobbed closer, rising just enough for the shape to sharpen into... a face? Adrian’s heart seized. The pale oval of a face floated just beneath the surface, motionless, with dark eyes staring unblinking up at him. A shiver cut through his body like cold wind.
“Hey!” he shouted, louder this time. “Are you okay?”
Still nothing.
He fumbled for his phone, ready to call for help, but when he looked again, the face was gone. Only the smooth, endless water stretched below.
Adrian tried to write it off as a trick of the light, but the image stayed with him all night. He tossed and turned in his too-soft cabin bed, the creak of the ship sounding unnervingly like a sigh. By 3:00 a.m., he gave up and wandered the ship. The corridors were eerily quiet at that hour, fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead. Occasionally, he passed a crew member cleaning or organizing, but no one met his eye.
Deck 4 drew him again, though he wasn’t sure why. The rail where he’d stood earlier gleamed under the dim deck lights, slick with ocean spray. The whiskey glass he’d abandoned was gone, and the space seemed unnaturally clean, like the scene of a crime scrubbed spotless.
He was about to turn back when a low, whispering sound caught his attention. It came from the stairwell at the far end of the deck, the metal door propped open with a yellow “Caution: Wet Floor” sign. The whisper wasn’t words, not quite, but a rhythmic hiss that pulsed in and out like breathing.
“Hello?” His voice echoed down the stairwell.
The whispering stopped.
Adrian stepped closer, peering down the stairs. The ship’s lower decks weren’t for guests, and beyond the second flight, the lighting was sparse. Somewhere below, he thought he heard faint splashing.
“Nope,” he said aloud, backing away. He’d seen enough horror movies to know how this ended. As he turned to head back inside, he caught a glimpse of something shiny on the floor near the door. A single, dripping handprint, pale and almost translucent, stretched across the deck.
He didn’t stop moving until he reached his cabin.
The next day, the ship was alive with activity: line-dancing lessons by the pool, an ice-carving demonstration, karaoke on Deck 9. Adrian threw himself into the distractions, hoping the noise would drown out his growing unease. It almost worked. Almost.
But every now and then, he’d feel it—that prickling sensation on the back of his neck, like he was being watched. Once, while browsing the duty-free shop, he glanced up and saw a figure in white reflected in the glass of a display case. When he spun around, the aisle behind him was empty.
Later, during dinner, he heard someone humming a low, tuneless melody at the next table. When he looked, no one was there. His waiter claimed the table had been unoccupied all night.
“Are you okay?” a woman from his group asked, her hand resting lightly on his arm. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Adrian forced a smile. “Just a little seasick, I think.”
Her features slid into a sympathetic wince. “Oh, I'm sorry honey. My wife gets seasick really bad. She's been fine today, thank goodness.”
That night, the whispers came again.
Adrian woke to them, faint and persistent, drifting through the thin walls of his cabin. He sat up, straining to hear. They seemed to echo from everywhere and nowhere at once, like water dripping in a cavern. He pressed his ear to the wall. It sounded closer. Like it was coming from the bathroom.
The door creaked as he opened it, the small space illuminated by the dull green glow of the nightlight. The sink was dry. The toilet still. But the sound of water persisted, softer now, as if retreating. He stepped closer to the shower curtain, his breath catching as the whispering seemed to rise just on the other side.
With trembling hands, he yanked the curtain back.
The tub was empty. But the drain gurgled faintly, and the faint sound of humming rose from deep within the pipes. Adrian staggered back, the air heavy and cold around him. He slammed the bathroom door shut and locked it.
“Get a grip,” he whispered, sinking onto the bed.
But when he turned out the light, the humming didn’t stop.
The next day, he went to the purser’s desk, determined to ask if anything strange had been reported. But the young woman behind the counter only blinked at him, her polite smile never faltering.
“No, sir, nothing unusual,” she said. “Perhaps it’s just... the ambiance? The ocean can play tricks on the senses.”
As Adrian turned to leave, he spotted a crew member polishing the brass railing nearby. The man’s pale face was drawn, his eyes bloodshot. Adrian hesitated, then approached him.
“Have you... seen anything strange? On this ship?”
The man stiffened. His gaze darted to the purser, then back to Adrian. “You shouldn’t go to Deck 4 at night,” he muttered, barely audible. “They don’t like being seen.”
“Who doesn’t?”
The man glanced around nervously, then whispered one last thing before hurrying away: “They were never meant to surface.”
That night, Adrian couldn’t stay away.
The ship was quieter than usual, as though the festivities had thinned with the growing unease he felt in the air. On Deck 4, the railings gleamed like wet bones under the moonlight. Adrian gripped them tightly, staring into the water below.
It wasn’t long before they appeared.
First one, then another. Pale faces rose from the depths, dark eyes unblinking. They hovered just beneath the surface, their expressions void of emotion. The water around them seemed unnaturally still, as though the ocean itself feared disturbing them.
Adrian’s chest tightened. He wanted to run, but his feet refused to move. He wanted to scream, but his throat was dry. One by one, the faces tilted up to meet his gaze.
Then they began to hum.
The sound was low, mournful, and hollow, resonating through his skull. It was the same tune he’d heard in the pipes, in the whispers, in his dreams. He clapped his hands over his ears, but it didn’t help. The humming wasn’t outside him. It was inside.
The water churned, and the faces began to rise, pale arms breaking the surface.
Adrian stumbled back as the first hand gripped the edge of the ship, its fingers too long and thin, the nails dark and splintered. Another followed, and another, until a chorus of pale figures began pulling themselves up the hull, water streaming from their bodies.
He backed into the stairwell, tripping over his own feet, as they reached the railing. Their faces were empty and smooth, save for those black, depthless eyes. One of them opened its mouth, and seawater poured out.
The humming grew louder, and Adrian realized with a chilling certainty what it was: not a song, but a warning.
The lights on Deck 4 flickered, then went out.
The last thing Adrian saw before the darkness claimed him was the pale hand of the nearest figure reaching for his face.
The next morning, the Solstice Mariner docked as scheduled. The passengers disembarked, laughing and snapping selfies, none of them noticing the extra set of wet footprints leading down the gangway.
Adrian was never seen again.
✨ Nexus is my ride or die. Spiral? Nexus. Brainstorm? Nexus. Oh shit, I forgot how to human? Nexus. ✨
