"Abel Brown"

I had landed at an irreligious place; that I knew from the first glimpse. God would dare not follow me here even though I had followed him through hell and high water. I was fully aware of this before enduring the journey, one I had been preparing my whole adult life for, and finally I had completed it. My goal was to sail upon seas unmarked on any maps, to walk shores of white sands unscarred by human pollution but mostly, above all else, to dock at Mater Venena Harbour, roughly translated as Mother of Poison Harbour. For the last ten years I had read profusely on the subject. My fellow professors at the University of London had regarded it as a fictional place and so of course I did not speak to them a word of my plans to find it, I kept my voyage secret to but a select few friends. Alas, none wished to join me, which I had expected but hoped that they would surprise me. I would have much enjoyed their company and the perilous nights would have been not so damaging to my mental state. Oh! But do not think that I am mad. Yes, my mind was ravaged and tormented by the vulnerability which one is succumb to when being thrashed about in the mouth of a great wave. Yes, each night my body convulsed and my own voice screamed inside my head when the seemingly endless pit of black tar replaced the pleasant, blue waters that lapped playfully at the side of my cutter. I first realized I was near Mater Venena Harbour when at mid-night I looked up and saw not a star in the mock sky. You understand correctly, dear reader, the sky was not what I had first believed it to be. When I looked below the bulwark at the waters beneath me I saw dozens of tiny lights floating an inch or so beneath its surface. The more I looked the more I saw them and soon the whole ocean as far as my tired eyes could see was decorated in white lanterns. Up I looked again and saw no stars, again, in the sky and so it could not have been a mere reflection. I believe this was a warning to me, telling me that the place I was drifting towards was not a place of logic or sanity.
Hours must have passed before I hit shallow water but with my time keeping piece having been broken a week into my expedition I had no way of being sure as the sun hadn’t rose yet and the moon was nowhere to be seen. In fact, now I have had time to collect my thoughts, I can say that the moon hadn’t been in my sight for at least three days. When I landed at Mater Venena Harbour it was still the dead of night. The sky was a pale grey colour of which I had never seen before but it only hardened my belief that I had finally reached the fabled land of the damned. I secured my boat and changed into my foulies. The wooden peer was slippery and covered in thick, dark green sludge as though it had not long been out of the water and a strong odour of rotting fish attacked me on all sides which I found out had also successfully penetrated my oilskin when I lifted the sleeve up to cover my nose. It felt as though this world had claimed me as its own as I had hoped to do to it. It wasn't until now I fully understood how pathetically ignorant I had been. I almost ventured to jump back into my boat and sail home but being easily intrigued I wanted to further explore.
There were other boats besides mine docked in that mid-sized marina including a Corvette, a Galleass, a Schooner and some Herring buses just to name a few. All of which were beyond repair, it appeared to me as some sort of graveyard for ships. My vessel looked marvellous compared to the others.
I walked a little away from the marina and arrived at some sort of sixteen century town almost as obsolete and out of service as the warships and fishing vessels, each door of the five houses I tried were bolted shut and the wood was so thick men twice the size of me would struggle to make a mark on it. They were completely windowless which struck me as strange and also struck me with fear and I suddenly wanted nothing more than to hurry back to my boat where I felt more at ease. On my way back to the dock I heard something on the breeze; it was melodic like a siren’s song. I had heard many tales where foolish sailors would be blindly led to their death by hypnotic music. This however didn't strike me as such music. It was hearty and nonsensical as though sung by men enjoying merry times drinking grog. I went in the direction of the sea shanty in hope to catch more of it and if I felt I was in good company I’d perhaps join in with them. Closer I could hear it more clearly; it went something like this; “Where am I going to sleep tonight said Abel Brown the sailor, where am I going to sleep tonight said Abel Brown the sailor”
I stopped outside a hulk that appeared to be being used as an Inn or Public House, a lantern was lit outside although yet again there were no windows only a small wooden door. The shanty was being sung within by many voices (I could tell there was more than one voice as a couple were singing a little out of pace) but they all sounded the same, as though it was a recording of one man’s voice being played on multiple devices. As I strained my ear at the door a horror washed over me as I recognised that voice as my very own. In my fear and confusion I had not noticed that the singing had ceased and the door which I had been leaning on was thrown open by some giant men, three of them at least eight feet tall. They looked human from first glance but at a second I saw that they were simply wearing human masks with fake pink arms and fingers worn over thick, black tentacles that squirmed uncomfortably under their rubber disguise. I started to run as they began to chase, making a deafeningly loud choking and screeching sound as they came after me. I slipped several times on the seaweed covered dock each time my heart and gut wrenching in unison that they might catch up with me, fortunately their hideous outfits were inhibiting their movements. Before I could reach my vessel the dock disappeared before my eyes and I was now climbing over the rip rap surrounding a working lighthouse. This sudden change startled me and I nearly fell to the frothing sea below, but securing my foothold I continued forward not knowing exactly where I was going – just wanting to be free of those demons. I turned my head to see if they were still following, and to my terror there were hundreds of them scuttling and oozing over the rocks. This vision frightened me so much that I relaxed my hands and feet and fell backwards into the awaiting deep.
When I woke I was back in my boat sailing just off the coast of Gibraltar, the locals saw I was delirious and semi-conscious and waded out to retrieve me, I was very grateful and told them in my best Spanish of my travels but none of them believed me. When my fellow professors came to collect me I told them too what had happened to me and how I had reached Mater Venena Harbour but they dismissed it as a mere delusion in my hungry, exhausted state.
Only I know what abhorrent lands dwell in the deepest recesses of this earth and I warn you, curious traveller, do not follow in my footsteps!

Your friend and advisor,
Prof. Adrian Knox