Not really chilling. Or a conclusion. But it's the last one I wrote. I planned on doing a bunch but, well, you know how it goes. FART.
A Lost Girl On The Mother's Tomb!
Current mood: Shazbauth! What is this?!
I tossed a vitamin pill in my mouth and it let it grind down my dry throat before stepping out of my quarters and into the cold, damp air. Too many days without sunlight and nothing to eat but fish and salt and my blood was feeling thin.
She was standing there beaded with mist and looking nervous. The majority of the crew had given up and had went back to drier confines as they could ply no information from the girl, with eyes wider than the horizon and clutching a dead rabbit to her chest.
“Okay,” I began. “You have to talk to someone if you want us to help you. So please, at least tell me your name.”
She glanced up at me.
“I think I lost my way,” she sniffled.
Indeed. Here we were 13 days out to sea, miles from coast and not a light flickering distance each night. But this girl was dry, relatively, and showed no signs of the malnourishment that was beginning to grow inside the rest of us. And her skin was dark like she had been in the sun. The sun which hasn’t broken through this rainy haze since we left port.
“Where are you from?” I asked.
Then she stopped trembling and something slithered down from under her raspberry colored dress and into a knot in the planks. I dived after it and wedged my fingers violently into the hole, digging and scratching, but came back with a hand full of barbed splinters and cracked fingernails.
It was in the oven because I heard the pipes creaking from the kitchen. I turned on the gas and struck a match determined to roast the thing alive but by the time I found one that wasn’t soaked I had lost interest. Back upstairs I marched, frustrated, and grabbing her by her cotton collar, held her up in the air. I would have thrown her back to sea in some animalistic frenzy when she vomited onto my shoulder and I saw the eggs for the first time.