Thirty Days Without Wind

a short story about a ship trapped without wind at sea and the cost of surviving

After twenty days without wind, we ran out of salt cod and ship’s biscuit and the men grew restless. "We'll make it back," the captain said. "We have Montesque. That old mute is good luck. He's survived a thousand sea voyages and close shaves."

Montesque nodded, his dark, sleepy eyes void of concern. None of us knew him well, but we'd heard stories of his good fortune. Our grumbling abated. Still, the sails hung limp in their masts, and the men slumped at their posts.

After thirty days, the mewling of our bellies grew too loud to ignore. We talked of mutiny and the captain retreated to his quarters. The next morning, we woke to find Montesque standing in front of the captain’s door as if in a daze. He opened his jaw impossibly wide to reveal a long tunnel of flesh and teeth that seemed too large to fit within him. Into it he sucked the door, the empty salt cod barrels, rigging, planks of wood, bits of sailcloth, and one by one, every sailor, until only the captain and I were left. Then he closed his mouth, dragged the captain from his room and struck him until he fell still.

"Now you know the price of surviving," Montesque said to me in a voice as calm as the water around us. "The first time it was just one man, but after that... You carry the weight of it inside you, and over time it grows into something heavy and hollow and endlessly hungry. One man isn't enough. It needs a whole crew, and the only way to find a new crew is to leave someone alive to tell the story of how they survived through your good luck."

"W-w-why would I do that?" I stammered, but I already knew the answer.

He kicked the captain's unconscious body toward me and my stomach roared with hunger. "Because you're going to carry the weight of it too."

Short story written by Peter Chiykowski

Story prompt taken from a photo by Armando Castillejos