"Phantom" (Image Copyright Wylddane Productions, LLC)
"The Phantom Ship"
The fog rolled in thick and heavy, blurring the line between the sea and the sky, until it seemed as if the world had been swallowed whole. From the dimly lit restaurant, perched on pilings above the shore, the soft clink of silverware and the low hum of conversation filled the air. Below, the water lapped gently at the supports, and the occasional creak of the old structure was the only sound that punctuated the quiet.
It was a night like any other. But tonight was different.
Ken had been coming to this restaurant for years—since the early days when the owner’s grandfather had run the place. He liked it here, the quiet, the solitude. It had always been his escape from the rush of life on land. He’d sat at the same table many times, watching the fog roll over the bay, the silhouettes of distant boats slowly disappearing and reappearing in the mist.
But tonight, something was off.
He wasn’t sure when he first noticed it, but through the fog, drifting silently across the water, was a sailboat. Not the typical dingy or cruiser that came into the bay now and then, but something far larger, more elegant. The masts seemed impossibly tall, like something out of another time, and its hull gleamed, catching the faint light from the restaurant’s windows.
The boat didn’t belong here.
Ken blinked, wondering if the wine had gone to his head. No, the boat was real—he could hear the soft melody of jazz music drifting through the fog now, and the sounds of laughter, of voices murmuring in conversation, too close for something so far out. He peered harder, trying to make sense of it, but the lights—the golden, flickering lights—had an almost otherworldly quality to them. It wasn’t right.
Curious, he grabbed his phone and snapped a photo, the flash momentarily cutting through the dimness of the evening. But when he looked at the screen, his blood ran cold. The boat in the photo didn’t look anything like the one he was staring at. The lights were too bright, too steady, like lamps on a stage, and the water around it seemed unnaturally still. The fog seemed thicker around the boat, too, as if it were clinging to it, pulling it deeper into the darkness.
He glanced up. The boat was gone. Just gone.
His heart began to beat faster. Had he imagined it? The fog was thick, after all, and the night so still. But he knew what he’d seen. Or had he?
He walked out to the small balcony that jutted over the water, his breath coming faster. There, just beyond the edge of the pilings, the boat had returned—emerging again, like something from a dream. The lights were even brighter now, almost painfully so, and the laughter—it was louder this time, clearer, the voices indistinct but unmistakably present, filling the air around him.
Then a voice broke through the sound, clear and inviting. “Join us, Ken.”
The words hung in the air like smoke. He hadn’t heard anyone speak. Who knew his name? No one here did. No one in the restaurant had said a word to him. And yet, the voice seemed so... familiar, as if it had been waiting for him to listen.
The boat was closer now, its shadow long across the water, its crew still hidden by the bright lights. The music stopped for a moment, and in that sudden silence, Ken could hear the sound of the water slapping gently at the pilings below. His heart pounded. He felt a pull, something almost magnetic, as if the boat was calling to him.
But before he could take another step, it happened. The boat—its bright lights, its laughter—vanished into the fog, as suddenly as it had appeared. One second it was there, the next it was gone, swallowed by the mist without a trace.
Ken stood there, frozen. The sounds of the restaurant resumed, the clink of glasses and the low murmur of conversation, as if nothing had happened. The fog rolled over the bay, quiet and still, the surface of the water glassy and untouched.
He turned and stepped back inside, the question lingering in the air, unanswered. But something gnawed at him as he glanced at the window—at the emptiness of the bay. The fog seemed a little thicker, the night a little darker, and for the briefest of moments, he could have sworn he saw a shape moving in the distance.
Something that wasn’t there before.
~Wylddane
(copyright Wylddane Productions, LLC)
The fog rolled in thick and heavy, blurring the line between the sea and the sky, until it seemed as if the world had been swallowed whole. From the dimly lit restaurant, perched on pilings above the shore, the soft clink of silverware and the low hum of conversation filled the air. Below, the water lapped gently at the supports, and the occasional creak of the old structure was the only sound that punctuated the quiet.
It was a night like any other. But tonight was different.
Ken had been coming to this restaurant for years—since the early days when the owner’s grandfather had run the place. He liked it here, the quiet, the solitude. It had always been his escape from the rush of life on land. He’d sat at the same table many times, watching the fog roll over the bay, the silhouettes of distant boats slowly disappearing and reappearing in the mist.
But tonight, something was off.
He wasn’t sure when he first noticed it, but through the fog, drifting silently across the water, was a sailboat. Not the typical dingy or cruiser that came into the bay now and then, but something far larger, more elegant. The masts seemed impossibly tall, like something out of another time, and its hull gleamed, catching the faint light from the restaurant’s windows.
The boat didn’t belong here.
Ken blinked, wondering if the wine had gone to his head. No, the boat was real—he could hear the soft melody of jazz music drifting through the fog now, and the sounds of laughter, of voices murmuring in conversation, too close for something so far out. He peered harder, trying to make sense of it, but the lights—the golden, flickering lights—had an almost otherworldly quality to them. It wasn’t right.
Curious, he grabbed his phone and snapped a photo, the flash momentarily cutting through the dimness of the evening. But when he looked at the screen, his blood ran cold. The boat in the photo didn’t look anything like the one he was staring at. The lights were too bright, too steady, like lamps on a stage, and the water around it seemed unnaturally still. The fog seemed thicker around the boat, too, as if it were clinging to it, pulling it deeper into the darkness.
He glanced up. The boat was gone. Just gone.
His heart began to beat faster. Had he imagined it? The fog was thick, after all, and the night so still. But he knew what he’d seen. Or had he?
He walked out to the small balcony that jutted over the water, his breath coming faster. There, just beyond the edge of the pilings, the boat had returned—emerging again, like something from a dream. The lights were even brighter now, almost painfully so, and the laughter—it was louder this time, clearer, the voices indistinct but unmistakably present, filling the air around him.
Then a voice broke through the sound, clear and inviting. “Join us, Ken.”
The words hung in the air like smoke. He hadn’t heard anyone speak. Who knew his name? No one here did. No one in the restaurant had said a word to him. And yet, the voice seemed so... familiar, as if it had been waiting for him to listen.
The boat was closer now, its shadow long across the water, its crew still hidden by the bright lights. The music stopped for a moment, and in that sudden silence, Ken could hear the sound of the water slapping gently at the pilings below. His heart pounded. He felt a pull, something almost magnetic, as if the boat was calling to him.
But before he could take another step, it happened. The boat—its bright lights, its laughter—vanished into the fog, as suddenly as it had appeared. One second it was there, the next it was gone, swallowed by the mist without a trace.
Ken stood there, frozen. The sounds of the restaurant resumed, the clink of glasses and the low murmur of conversation, as if nothing had happened. The fog rolled over the bay, quiet and still, the surface of the water glassy and untouched.
He turned and stepped back inside, the question lingering in the air, unanswered. But something gnawed at him as he glanced at the window—at the emptiness of the bay. The fog seemed a little thicker, the night a little darker, and for the briefest of moments, he could have sworn he saw a shape moving in the distance.
Something that wasn’t there before.
~Wylddane
(copyright Wylddane Productions, LLC)
RSS Feed