The Silent Ship

The ocean roared a final time, the ship went down below, And left us in a tiny boat with nowhere left to go. The six of us sat huddled there, the salt upon our skin, Praying for a miracle before the night pulled in. The horizon held a flicker then, a shape against the grey, A massive tanker drifting slow, a mile or two away. We rowed until our hands were raw, our voices thin and dry, Until that wall of rusted steel stood up to meet the sky. A ladder hung along the side, we climbed it one by one, And stood upon the metal deck beneath the dying sun. But as we looked around the ship, a silence held the air, The engines didn't hum or thrum—no sign of life was there. The bridge was filled with maps and charts, a coffee cup was full, But not a single soul was found within the metal hull. We called into the corridors, we shouted down the halls, But only hollow echoes came from off the iron walls. Then as the moon began to rise, the shadows started shifting, It felt as though the ship itself was through a nightmare drifting. Young Miller screamed and pointed out across the oily deck, A pair of boots were walking there, without a man or neck. They marched along with heavy thuds, a steady, rhythmic beat, Yet where they stepped, they left no mark of water or of heat. The heavy doors began to slam, though not a breeze was blowing, As if a dozen invisible hands were coming and were going. We gathered in the galley then, and locked the heavy door, But then we heard a scratching sound beneath the metal floor. The lights began to flicker fast, a sickly, ghostly green, And faces formed in rusted spots, the worst I’ve ever seen. The radio, all stripped of wires, began to hiss and moan, A thousand voices cried at once, and then a single groan. "You should not be upon this ship," a whisper cold and clear, Went crawling through the six of us and filled our hearts with fear. We saw a shadow on the wall, it looked like Captain Crane, But when we turned to look at him, he shivered in his pain. A misty hand had grabbed his coat, a vapor white and thin, And tried to pull him through the wall and tuck him deep within. We pulled him back, we fought the air, we didn't stop to think, The tanker groaned and tilted hard, as if about to sink. But looking out across the rail, the sea was flat and still, The ship was being pulled below by some dark, ghostly will. The air grew cold, our breath turned white, the walls began to weep, A black and thick and oily blood began to crawl and creep. We realized then this wasn't steel, or oil, or rusted plate, The ship was made of hollow souls and bound by awful fate. We ran back to the rusted rail, the ladder still was there, And leaped into the little boat with gasps of salty air. We rowed away with all our might, not looking once behind, Leaving that cursed, lonely ship for other fools to find. The tanker vanished in the mist, without a splash or sound, While we were left in open sea, where silence can be found. The six of us are safe for now, beneath the morning light, But none of us will ever sleep without a light at night. For in the dark, we still can hear that heavy, rhythmic beat, The sound of boots upon the deck, and phantom, walking feet.