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The barnacles grow upwards, each at an awkward distance from the other, making their positions not so friendly but still perfectly graspable by hand. If I grab one barnacle with one hand, another comes into play, making it the best option for ascending.

For short distances, I bend my arm, and for longer stretches, I extend it. If a gap is too far, I stretch my arm out to grasp on tight, and if that fails, I squish myself against the barnacle, pouring my sticky lifeblood onto it to cling as if to steel.

Ah, how easy it is to climb! It’s like riding a ladder! My body hops over the surface like a fish going upstream.

Thud. Thud.

A ghost’s arm rises up, writhing like a water snake, its long limbs slithering across the deck, followed by a bloated form that twists grotesquely, proving itself to be a meat chunk. Small legs move behind it, stretching into ropes.

The elongated arms secure themselves at perfect spots to brace the body, turning legs into lifelines, providing passageways for the ghosts climbing up.

Thud. Thud.

The sound of a ghost’s palm. The sound of a ghost’s feet.

Splash. Splash.

The sound of waves rocking the ship. The ghost’s skin flopping about like a balloon as it bounces on the uneven deck. It jiggles but lacks elasticity, sticky yet rubbery.

How can this be said to exist in the real world?

Only by sight can one claim existence, and being visible means impacting the world.

It feels good.

Hehehe.

The water ghosts climb aboard, and it feels so darn good.

[Ah, the smell of human flesh! It’s sour and rotten, yet also sweet. Though it’s not painted over, it’s not repulsive, but caked in sweat, it’s bound to stink if bitten. Yet blood is warm; it’s nice for heating the body, and just a sip makes one feel hot inside, like drinking homemade brew.]

[Keep pouring, pour it all out! Fill me to the brim and don’t stop!]

Pitter-patter, drops of water falling.

Wet skin scraping against the deck.

Peeling skin sounds.

Melted flesh drops to the floor, exuding a disgusting odor, while ghosts dragging their decayed bodies slither around. From a distance, they look like rotten grapes squirming, or plump honey jar ants bustling about.

But their faces are filled with obsession, determination, and greed.

A fixation to turn the living into ghosts just like them.

A greed to drink the blood of the living and tear into their flesh.

They busily searched for humans and, when the deck became swarmed, they finally found their prey.

[Oh look, there’s a person!]

[How merrily they chatter amidst the rocking!]

[Let’s go taste that meat chunk!]

[Human flesh has a triangular grain. Tearing once, twice, and thrice would surely be quite the delight.]

A person.

It’s a human.

The water ghosts have found their meal.

At the gaze of the water ghosts were patrolling soldiers.

Yet, at a glance, they appeared to be mindlessly distracted instead of protecting.

The apparent senior was busy harassing the junior, who remained stoically tense, absorbing punches and insults with a strained face.

What led to this moment?

Perhaps the junior dozed off, provoking the senior’s fiery wrath, or maybe the notorious mischief of the Self-Defense Forces was at play. The anxious soldier might be venting unease and anger out on the rookie for stepping into foreign waters, or maybe the junior carelessly pointed a gun at the senior.

It could be the senior’s fault, or the junior’s.

No one knows how the situation turned out this way.

But one thing is sure.

They are certainly not patrolling effectively.

If they had been focused, they might have noticed the ghosts ascending unnoticed.

Due to the lax patrol of the soldiers, the water ghosts could rise unimpeded, occupying the deck, and continue climbing.

But if those two had been attentive, would it have made a difference?

Had they been tightly wound in vigilance, the jinseng would have swiftly dealt with the ghost without leaving it to fate.

Fortunately for the ghosts, they were not paying attention, allowing enough time to turn the deck into a ghost den, still not realizing until the very end.

And the outcome is a tragedy.

Thud!

With a splat, a silent ghost struck the skull of both soldiers with a powerful smack. The bloated, soaked ghost’s palm became a whip and a club, easily incapacitating a human.

The ghost’s hand splattered against their skulls, causing them to roll their eyes up and bash their heads against the wall. Blood oozed from the cracks, and like a monkey relishing a broken coconut, the ghost feasted on the spilling blood, but the obsession of killing remained, vigorously choking their necks.

Creeeak!

A large palm wraps around one neck.

Another hand stretches over, wrapping around the neck.

A third hand follows next.

Another hand slides in from behind.

Layers of hands.

Layers of ropes.

Layers of intent to kill.

[Oh, sweet! How did I not know such sweetness existed?]

[Warmth will melt the chill, oh how good it feels! If only I could taste more, what joy!]

[Let’s go, hurry, let’s go! Can’t you hear those voices bustling below? It’s been days since my belly felt meat – my skin has stuck so tightly it’s as if it’s just the shell left behind. If my belly hadn’t been filling, I would have been fluttering like a flag on a pole!]

[Hehe, will there be enough?]

And thus, two lives were snuffed out.

Two soldiers, gone.

They were bled dry and choked, leaving indigo handprints around their necks, tongues outstretched as they breathed their last.

Even in the faint unconscious state, they seemed to feel pain, their eyes rolled back and excrement oozing from their physical holes.

With each bite from the ghost, they twitched, and the body parts stuck to the ghost’s tongue and palate made it feel like a place of the living, not hell.

The ghosts.

Hungry ghosts.

Ghosts devoid of any reluctance to consume human flesh and kill.

The ghosts move.

Thud.

Thud.

Plop.

Using their bloated, waterlogged hands and feet, they shuffle towards the tight passages. Their inflated bodies squeeze in, collapsing like balloons, using arms and legs to propel forward.

One hand on the roof, feet on the ground, moving.

Sometimes upside-down, hands in the air, leglessly traversing.

They coil their limbs around their bodies to squeeze into the narrow passages, bouncing like balls, stretching out, crawling down hallways like slugs.

The ghosts enter in droves, seemingly endless in number.

In their wake is left a stench of water and flesh, the terrible odor serving as a warning of their presence.

And even noticing such a warning is too late.

The ship is cramped, the passage limited.

If only they had emerged onto the deck.

They could have jumped into the sea, called out for help, or moved onto another ship.

But alas, this spot is a nest of ants.

And in this ant nest, monsters are pouring in.

Their lives now hang in the balance, in the hands of the ghosts.

*

“AAAHHHH!”

Is this the sound that echoes from the abyss?

Even if someone were cast into hell and burned, they wouldn’t scream like that.

The screams reverberate in the cramped passage, encapsulating the agony of being devoured alive, sending chills down spines and weakening knees.

Strength drains from my legs, and I feel myself defecating.

“LIFE! Save me! No, just kill me!”

How is it normal to yearn for death over life?

That horrific pain…beyond comparison.

“Huh, huff….”

And thus they hid.

They gave up fighting against that dreadful monster and chose to hide.

Or perhaps, to be precise, a bit differently…

Those who chose to fight are all dead.

“Huh….”

And now, they are dying.

Devoured alive by the suddenly appearing ghosts, they are fading away.

“Ancestor! Please save me! Rescue me…! Please give me the aid to escape these evil spirits…”

 

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