I had been searching for the existence of the giant squid – sometimes called a kraken for the majority of my life. In point of fact this was the third time I, Captain Lemon, had taken a boat out to try to find the wretched thing.
The first time was fruitless. Day upon day. Week upon week until supplies ran out and we had to turn back. The seas were silent, seemingly devoid of life and the weather – mildly inclement. Eleven seamen in it for the money and one Captain with an obsession, a quest to prove the kraken exists. I was the only one who really gave a damn about the creature, the only one who knew that its survival was only going to be guaranteed by proving to the world it existed. And the only way to prove it existed was to kill the bugger.
The second time we took to the seas was stormy. The weather turned on us almost immediately, hammering down and forcing us under the decks into hiding until something surfaced. Not something. The squid.
The whole crew took to the deck to see the kraken but the rain tore into them, blinding as it did so. The screaming, the running, everyone hanging on as the waves hit the boat. Hit us and hit us and hit us as the kraken reared out of the deep, tentacles flailing in the gale. One of the men loosed off a harpoon and it connected, somehow it met its target and for a split second the foam on the crest of the wave was tinged with crimson. Somehow we dragged in the rope on the harpoon but even before it reached the boat we knew there was nothing on the line.
Third time – this time it was different. We could all feel it – like sailing on the moon the waters were so calm. We followed the trails into the horizon for two weeks, the directions from stories we had heard from fisherman combined with the places we knew it would be most likely to feed. And so we arrive at last night. The moon diving in and out from behind sporadic clouds, the wind cold against my face and there was a movement to starboard. The water stirred, I tied the wheel and lurched into a run to investigate, catching just in time the last vestige of tentacle slipping back into the salt water.
I panicked, ran to the harpoon, my finger jumping to the trigger and readying itself.
A tentacle broke the quiet water, tip first and began gracefully to rise. The barbed suckers that peppered its surface were a myriad of tiny eyes all staring, mid-wink at me as the thickness of the appendage increased exponentially. Then something else broke the surface – a sign.
A real one.
Flaking red paint on faded driftwood.
PLEASE
It rose slowly with the tentacle. I paused, my brow furrowing as my eyes followed.
DON’T
Up it went. I could no longer move, transfixed by the badly daubed letters, focussing on the soaked grain of the wood.
I’M THE ONLY ONE
I realised I wasn’t breathing and started panting to compensate. It was as if this thing was reading my mind.
TURN BACK CAPTIN LEMON
It was the final message at the thickest point of the tentacle, I gawped as what must have been the monster’s mouth came into view then the whole thing began to sink, the sea thick with foam as it moved away from me.
I walked calmly back to the helm and without giving it another thought turned the boat around.
