Lost at Sea

My greatest irrational fears have been realized. One moment I was sitting comfortably in my living room and the next moment I’m in this rubbery, inflatable raft at sea with no land in sight. I have no idea how I got here. I’m deathly afraid of the ocean and its impenetrable depths. Whatever horrible God sent me here only knows what exists, slithering below me at this moment, just waiting for the right moment to slip up to the surface and gobble me up. I’ve been at this thinking for about an hour now since winding up in this hell. I feel the lapping of the water at my bottom and on my feet only imagining the creatures that could be bumping up against my skin if it wasn’t for that small amount of rubber between me and the ocean.

I suppose that it’s about time to take stock of what I have available to me for my means of survival. I look about the inflatable raft. Thankfully, it is one of the newer models with the sunshade that arches overhead to give some sort of refuge from the heat of the day. The raft itself is an alarming shade of yellow. Up against the back of the shade I spot a small box that must be survival implements. Next to it sloshes a small pool of blood, a pen, and what looks to be a journal. A choice lies before me, do I open the survival box first or the journal?

I opened the survival box. To hell with whatever lies in the journal. Besides, I seem to have all the time in the world left to me to read. I’m worried more about dying than being entertained. I grabbed the case and noticed that some of the blood had sloshed onto the bottom. So, I leaned carefully over the edge of the raft and rinsed it with sea water, gently touching the bottom of the case in the water, knowing full well that if I should drop this case it could float away, and I would be stranded with absolutely no supplies whatsoever.

Inside lay several implements. There was a small cylinder containing what I believed would be matches, a small first aid kit containing band aids and ointment, a compass, a small sewing kit, some fish hooks, some heavy duty string, a wind up flashlight, a small flare gun with no flares that looked like it had already been fired, and a multitool. I sighed. I had a feeling that none of these would do me much good unless I could find dry land. Hidden behind the box was what looked like a small extendable paddle. Well at least I could tool around the ocean in a random direction if I wanted to.

I turned my eyes to the journal. Perhaps it would contain some valuable information about where the hell I was in the world and how to get out of here. I opened the journal and skimmed the first page. There was a name written, “Mortimer Van Buren”. Underneath this was written, “The travelogue on the expedition to the cave of Kiranouie and subsequent knowledge obtained therein.” Wow, I thought.

I read what was contained in the journal as the sun began to fall in the sky. Most of what was it was the wild ramblings of a man who set about an expedition to find what he called, “a demon of great power”. I skipped a great deal of the ramblings and focused mainly on the locations visited along his journey. Apparently, the cave of Kiranouie was a cave somewhere in the southern Philippines. So, if this was his raft, that would put me somewhere in the Pacific Ocean. I read further.

The secret held within the cave was a thousand-year-old manuscript that detailed, via Latin and pictograph, the location of this demon and the ritual by which to summon him and bequest his servitude. The location was, unfortunately for me, somewhere over one of the deepest trenches in the middle of the ocean, about as far from land as one can get. The rest of the journal describes the tail of his booking a crew aboard a private yacht and the subsequent mutiny. Upon reaching their destination, the crew learned of Mortimer’s true intentions and decided to toss him overboard in this very raft with the few supplies that were ultimately left to me. However, it was the last few sentences in the notebook that contained my fate:

"Fortunately, this has given me enough time to formulate the summoning ritual. The fools don’t know what kind of terror I will rain down upon them once summoning the greatness of Thallasomaul. My first task will be to get out of this godforsaken purgatory, and I’m sure that Thallasomaul will require a sacrifice or trade of some sort in order to expedite my departure. I almost pity the poor sap who is going to have to take my place for me to embark once again upon dry land. Somewhere in the Americas should suffice, should I have a choice.

"Unfortunately, Thallasomaul demands some of my blood for his sacrifice, so I’m hoping that I perform the recitations correctly as I will only have one shot at this before bleeding to death. My second goal will be to have Thallasomaul pull those mutinous bastards straight to the bottom of the ocean for what they’ve done to me.

"If you’re reading this, sacrifice, know that I have made all your resources mine through methods both nefarious and magical. If you should survive this ordeal, and I don’t think you shall, you’ll have nothing to come back to. So, don’t bother coming back. In any case, I highly doubt you’ll have a passport in order to facilitate such travel in the first place. I have no doubt that you’ll be able to glean from my writings approximately where you are in the world. So, I would like you to know that the Philippinos will probably not take kindly to strangers like myself."

Well, now I know what the blood is from. So, apparently, I was magically pulled here by the wizardry of this Mortimer and his demon pal Thallasomaul. Nowhere in the journal does it spell out the way in which he performed this ritual. So, I’m not going to be able to use that to get myself back and stick some other poor sucker in my place. I certainly know nothing about this demon Thallasomaul, and I definitely don’t want to get caught up with demons. I suppose my best option is to try and survive out here long enough to signal someone to find me. I don’t really know how well that paddle is going help me until I actually see some land because I have no idea how far I am from the mainland. I suppose the only thing I can do is get that fishing line out and try to catch something. Whatever happens, if I survive, I’m going to find that Mortimer and kill him.

Nobody drags the head of the biggest Mexican drug cartel out to sea with no way back and survives.