A monster emerges from the shadows. He is followed by another, and another, until the world is inhabited by new beasts of its own creation. This anthology incorporates stories from various genres and timelines, exploring what makes us who we are.
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Captain Doyle plunged into the icy waters.
They soon robbed him of all feeling. He gasped for breath only to writhe as the ocean filled his stomach. Blue became black. Too exhausted to swim up, he sank into the depths until he saw, heard, and knew nothing.
Yet he woke, tickled by the morning's light.
Dawn caressed him, burned him pink.
He lay atop the ocean on a meager wooden structure—held together with good, fat ropes.
"Swee' Jaysus!" Doyle cried.
Then he gulped.
What kept the raft floating he couldn't say.
Its beams were molded, its ends disproportionate, and it appeared in danger of overturning with the slightest lapse of the current.
A seagull squawked, flapping by overhead before spanning its wings, airplane-like.
The captain rolled face up as he glared at the bird.
Did it fly to escape the ocean?
Next to him on the raft sat another man.
"Brendan Keane!" yelled the captain, his voice hoarse and prickly in his throat. "Will ye just look at him?"
Doyle paused.
His eyes lowered.
Quivering, he remembered his ship going down and him thrown from it.
"One storm." He fought back tears. "All it takes is one Irish storm."
The waters had now gone peaceful.
Brendan, his first mate, raised his hands. "Ye gave me a scare. Welcome back. It's an honor to be with ye in turmoil, since I rescued ye from the ocean."
Doyle sat up, hugged his knees, and shivered. "Thanks, and could it be we're alone in this, our end? Have others survived the gale?"
Brendan's eyes jetted left, then right. "No tellin', sir."
"I failed ye, Keane." Doyle wove a hand through his matted hair. "I failed everyone. Oh, God. I'm a failure."
"Ye're no failure, sir."
"Why should ye and I go on?"
"Please rest, Captain."
"There must be other survivors."
"Maybe there are. I just didn't notice anyone."
"I owe ye me life, First Mate Brendan Keane. Swee' Jaysus, I owe ye me life."
"A pint when we get to shore will do."
Quiet now, the men floated upon their raft.
They admired the ocean's endlessness and talked of their wives.
"Ye'll hold yar family again," Brendan insisted.
"No, no," the captain whimpered. "I think this is it for us."
A fog overtook them.
It dimmed the sky.
The waters grew pale, reflecting the overcast.
Doyle squinted ahead. "First Mate Brendan Keane?"
"Yes?"
"I think I've lost me mind."
"What, sir?"
The captain pointed at the distance.
Brendan turned to look.
Out in the vast, landless cold, something gigantic rode the waves.
The men folded their hands as if in prayer.
Before them was their ship, preserved in an enormous glass bottle that flickered like a cloud ribboned with lightning.
"I've gone mad," said Captain Doyle.
"Well then so have I," added First Mate Brendan Keane.
Their ship neared.
It was entirely unharmed.
"For the love o' Mike an' his troublous kids," the captain said.
Brendan dipped a pinkie in the water.
A giant lurked on the horizon far off, a man rivaling a mountain in size. He waded in the ocean as if it were a brook. Never did he stop to consider the pair on the raft. All he did was move, heavily, like the oldest, saddest titan.
Doyle marveled at his imprisoned ship.
The huge bottle it occupied even had a cork.
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