I was laying awake during a violent thunderstorm. I would see the lightning and then count the seconds, the same way I have since I was a child. Close, less than a mile. Water hammers against the glass in waves. And I picture waves in the ocean.

Then I see a man, treading water, and this story comes to life.

I grabbed a notebook, the number 312 is written across the top.

I turned to the first available blank page, and began to write.

---

The water is colder than I thought it would be. The lights of the Meridian are already just pinpricks in the distance, the engine sound fading to nothing. I've got maybe an hour before hypothermia takes me. Might as well use it to figure out how I became something I never was.

Three weeks ago, we found the Santa Isabella. Spanish galleon, been down there for centuries. When I brought up that first chest from the hold, gold coins spilling between my fingers like water, the whole crew gathered around.

That night we had a huge celebration. The champagne we brought for this flowed. And everyone ate greedy.

That next morning, Tommy didn't come down for breakfast.

I went looking for him, found his bunk empty. His gear was still there, cigarettes on the nightstand, boots lined up neat. Like he'd just stepped out and never came back.

"Anyone seen Tommy?" I called out during breakfast.

Shrugs all around. Tommy had finished dinner and went straight to his book like all of us last night.

We figured he'd turn up this morning.

He didn't.

Later that morning, I was worried sick. We searched every inch of the ship. Nothing. No blood, no sign of struggle. Just... gone.

"Could’ve slipped overboard," Rodriguez said. "Dark night, rough seas."

But Tommy was careful. Paranoid about safety lines. It didn't make sense.

That's when the thoughts started creeping in. What if it wasn't an accident? What if something had happened to him? Something... unnatural?

I'd heard stories about cursed treasure. Spanish gold, taken from conquered peoples, soaked in blood and suffering. What if bringing it up had awakened something? What if something down there had followed us to the surface?

Two nights later, Rodriguez was gone.

This time I'd had dreams. Violent, angry dreams I couldn't quite remember. I woke up with my hands dirty, fingernails caked with something dark. My mouth tasted like copper.

"Somebody was walking around last night," Davis mentioned over breakfast. "Were you moving around on deck?”

I didn't remember going on deck. I didn't remember anything after lying down.

I went down to the hold. The chest sat where we’d stowed it, lid open, coins catching stray light. Gold that should’ve stayed buried. I just stood there, staring, waiting for it to move, for some shape to rise out of it and claim me. My reflection bent and twisted in the coins, a dozen faces all staring back.

I thought, what monster did I bring up?

But the gold never moved, didn't give answers.

Marcus served coffee without comment, same as always. Quiet guy, Marcus. Did his job, kept to himself. Been cooking on salvage boats for twenty years, he'd told me when we hired him. Knew how to stretch rations, keep a crew fed on whatever we could afford.

That's when the real fear set in. The blackouts. The missing time. What if whatever had taken Tommy and Rodriguez was working through me? Using me while I slept?

After all I'm the one who disturbed the wreck, I'm the one that brought something out.

It would explain everything. How they disappeared without a trace. Why there was never any sign of struggle. They'd trusted me. Let me get close.

I started watching myself, looking for signs. The dirty hands. The dreams I couldn't remember. The way I'd feel disconnected the next morning, like I was watching myself from a distance.

Davis went missing on a night I'd dreamed of drowning.

The Peterson brothers disappeared together. I woke up that morning with salt water in my hair.

And each time, we'd search and find nothing.

The crew got smaller. The treasure got bigger. And I got more convinced that something was using me to clear the ship, person by person.

I started avoiding the others. Staying in my cabin, trying to stay awake. But I always fell asleep eventually. And someone would always be gone in the morning.

Last night, there were only three of us left. Me, Marcus, and Jenny.

Marcus served dinner as usual. Fish stew, bread, coffee. I ate mine without even realizing I was chewing. My mind off trying to figure out how I could be killing people and not knowing it.

Jenny ate hers. Went to her cabin right after, said she was tired.

I lay in my bunk, forcing myself to stay awake. Listening. Waiting for whatever force was controlling me to take over.

Even with all of my effort I fell asleep anyway and woke up the next morning.

I rushed over and saw Marcus making his bunk up. He looked at me quizzically “What's wrong?”

I didn't answer. I made my way to Jenny's bunk. It had been slept in but she was not there.

I frantically started to go all over the ship looking for her.

“Don't tell me I did this again!”

She was gone, they were all gone.

I stood at the bow, staring down into the water, wondering how I'd become a monster.

The pressure from behind. The moment of weightlessness. The shock of cold water.

When I surfaced, gasping, Marcus was standing at the rail. Not even pretending anymore.

He didn't say anything. Didn't gloat or explain. Just watched me for a moment, then turned and walked back toward the cabin. Probably to radio a distress call. Terrible accident, everyone lost at sea except the cook.

My arms are getting tired. The Meridian is disappearing into the horizon. Soon there will be nothing but the certainty of drowning.

I'm not possessed.

Not cursed.

Not a killer.

I'm just a fool.

The only thing I brought up with the treasure was paranoia.

The water is so cold.

So dark.

But at least it knows the whole story.

---

The thunderstorm has passed. I stare at the glass still damp with water from the rain.

And I ponder the narrator in this story.

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