Tales from the P.A.D.

The Mariner's Omen

There are many legends of the sea that man has created over the centuries. Most of them are thankfully born of ignorance. Tales of the Kraken more than likely come from giant squid sightings. Experts say that mermaids were probably just manatees: a silly concept to imagine indeed. One of our jobs at the Paranormal Anomaly Department is to deal with those legends that are true or, at least, the ones based in truth. I know not how much of the legend is true for that albatros, the one some call the Mariner's Omen, and perhaps it is best that way.

I know not how ancient the being is. It was discovered by some hapless treasure hunters at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean in January of 2010 near the rotted wreckage of some vessel dated around 1780 AD. The seafloor explorers took note of it due to the fact that it had not decomposed in the slightest. Upon closer observation, it was found to have its two legs tied together by some rope, and it was still alive. Some of our agents found out about this discovery, the bird was taken into our custody, and those who found it were debriefed and given appropriate cover stories.

The Mariner's Omen is not currently contained. We originally had it in an ordinary cell down at Site 23. After three days of containment, it was suddenly gone. It is currently unknown how it escaped. It had found a tiny blind spot in our cameras and disappeared during a brief moment where the on-site guards looked away. It did not take long to locate it, and it was found waiting in the site's cafeteria. There was something human in its eyes according to the custodian who found the albatros.

"I got the impression that it was willing to work with us, but it would be on its own terms, not ours," he told P.A.D. researchers.

Our next attempt at containing the Mariner's Omen was not any more successful. Researchers thought that if we put it in an aviary, it might be satisfied and no longer desire to escape. This containment only worked for a week. Once more it disappeared in an instant when nobody was observing it. It took us a few months to find it that time. I stumbled upon it while relaxing on the beach after work one evening. There was no mistaking it, given the rope still tied to its feet. I discreetly called it in and was asked to monitor it until night when we could more easily recapture it without the prying eye of the public on us. I had no qualms with the assignment and so continued to watch it as sunset grew near. I could almost swear that thing made eye contact with me. It knew I was there watching it, and it accepted me. Had it not, I would not be able to relay this story to you.

I was not alone at the beach. I had managed to find a more secluded spot, but there were still a few families who had chosen that stretch of sand for the day. They all seemed like lovely people save for one precocious little boy. We have all seen terrors like him. He had that horrid combination of high energy, high self-esteem, and little parental supervision. The other children had already given up on building sandcastles since this boy would trample them. He would meet his undoing on that beach.

A flock of seagulls had landed on the sand, exhausted from the day's flight. This little boy, as boys like him are want to do, repeatedly ran at them and tried to kick them, scattering them for a bit before they again landed. The albatros noticed the boy after his third attempt and elected to land in the middle of the flock. The child didn't seem to mind, or perhaps the albatros simply presented a larger target, and so he again charged forward. The Mariner's Omen did not fly away like the seagulls. It stood its ground and was summarily punted like a football into the ocean by that rambunctious boy. The albatros did not try to right itself nor did it float when it hit the water; it sank straight down as if it were made of stone.

"Don't do that," his mother casually said without looking up from her smartphone. I doubted her son even heard her.

I was on alert now, but I did my best not to show it. So far the anomalous bird had only shown itself to be strange. If it was also dangerous, then this fact would soon be revealed. Seconds turned into minutes, and still, nothing had happened. I was starting to relax when the boy ran into the ocean to play. The tide was high and a wave knocked him under. His parents didn't seem to notice. That boy was under the waves for a good minute before he was spat out onto the shore. The bird was now hanging limp about the child's neck. He coughed up seawater and stumbled back to his parents who had finally noticed their child.

"What on Earth is that doing there?" asked the father. He tried to take the bird off of his son, but the rope was a tangled mess that couldn't easily be undone. "We'll have to get a knife or some scissors. Honey, do we have any scissors?"

"Why would I bring scissors to the beach, Jeffrey?"

"I don't know. Just help me get this dead animal off of my son."

They both struggled to unwrap and untangle the rope to no avail as the boy began to cry.

"My mouth tastes salty! Mooooooom! Make it stop!"

"Here, honey," she said as she retrieved a water bottle from their ice chest. "Drink some water."

She unscrewed the cap for him and handed him the bottle. He drank from it, but immediately spit it back out.

"That's saltwater," he cried.

The mother inspected it, tasted some herself, then gave it back to him.

"It tastes like normal water to me. Stop crying and drink."

Again the boy tried, and again he couldn't keep it down. His parents grew more and more frantic as they continued struggling to remove it. Nothing they did worked, and the boy could not keep down any drink they offered him. I had agents intercept the mom's phone call when she dialed 911 for help, and the three of them were picked up by P.A.D. agents.

We kept the parents on site while we studied the child. Analysis of the liquid he would spit out revealed that no matter what substance he was given, it would turn to ocean water in his mouth, complete with plankton and other microbes. We tried giving him an IV, but that nearly killed him. A month went by without the boy being able to take in any liquids. He should have died, and yet he lived on. He was constantly thirsty and continued to suffer the entire time.

The rope that kept the bird tied to him could not be removed or cut by any known means. Knives would dull, lasers would fizzle out, and even the chainsaw we tried using burned out without cutting a single strand of the rope. Anyone who tried to untangle it, no matter how careful and cautious they were, would find the rope more knotted over time rather than less. We were beginning to think that nothing could be done until the very janitor who had found that anomaly in the breakroom stepped in.

He was a rock and roll fan, and while going about his cleaning duties at night he would often listen to music. One night, perhaps by fate or perhaps by coincidence, he was cleaning outside the poor child's cell while listening to Iron Maiden's "Rime of the Ancient Mariner". He drew a connection between that anomaly and the song, which itself was based on the 1798 poem of the same name by Samuel Taylor Coleridge. The researchers listened to his ideas and came up with a treatment plan that involved teaching the boy to genuinely respect the albatros as well as other animals. Sure enough, the bird began to decompose as the child changed, and one night the rope snapped and the carcass fell off. The boy was able to finally drink, and after it was determined that nothing anomalous remained, he and his parents were debriefed and released.

We never recovered the Mariner's Omen. Sometime in between it falling off and the boy's cell being opened, it had disappeared once more. The official stance of the P.A.D. on this anomaly is to always be on the lookout, but not to actively search for it. I can't help but agree. I imagine it has returned to the seafloor from whence it came, and I hope it remains undisturbed for as long as possible. Some legends are best left alone.