The Sea Terror

While marooned in the West Indies in the spring of 1718, a pirate encounters a menacing sea monster lurking beneath the deep waters of the Caribbean.

Created & Produced by Samuel Weston Evans

Written & Directed by Samuel Weston Evans

Sound Designed & Edited by Samuel Weston Evans

Vocal Performances by:

Bertie Whistance as William

Samuel Weston Evans as The Keeper

Cover Art Illustrated by Mongemanuk.std

Website: https://aloneintheattic.buzzsprout.com/

Instagram: @_aloneintheattic

Transcript

Copy Transcript Copied

Right this way.

I’m pleased you have returned. I suppose you’re set for another story?

Alright. Let’s begin then.

Which spirit will call to you now?

Interesting. The pistol you possess in your hands belonged to William Gibbens, a pirate seeking plunder, who instead discovered something menacing beneath the ocean’s waves. Here is the story of...“The Sea Terror.”

Just like always: close your eyes, open your ears, and journey back to that frightful evening.

’Twas the 16th of April, seventeen hundred and eighteen, on a small island in the middle of the Caribbean Sea. The desire for riches was the reason for me plight, and ’tis what led me to becoming a pirate.

I first found meself in the West Indies some fifteen years back, at the start of Queen Anne’s War. As a sailor from Cornwall, I was commissioned by the government to serve as a privateer in Port Royal, Jamaica. Authorized with letters of marque, we attacked and raided French and Spanish shipping vessels. The Crown took only a small portion of the cargo, so the majority of the loot was shared between the members of our crew. For ten years we lived bountifully, profiting from our plunder at sea. But when the Treaty of Utrecht was signed in seventeen hundred and thirteen, the war, as well as our engagement came to an end.

For months we struggled to find employment in the port. Work aboard merchant ships became scarce and paid only half of what we were making during the war. Soon, the riches we had earned while privateering dwindled till there was nothing left. Neglected and left in poverty, we had to resort to other means of survival.

Benjamin Hornigold, a fellow privateer who I had served with, grew weary of our circumstances and decided to take matters into his own hands. He convinced a gang of us to join him in continuing our plundering, but this time free from the service of any government. We would loot Spanish ships in the Caribbean for our own gain, under the black flag of piracy.

From Port Royal, our nascent band of pirates first sailed to the Bahamas. Captain Hornigold knew that the island of New Providence had been mostly deserted during the war and that Nassau would serve as a well-protected port. The island was a prime location to operate from, with Spanish colonies to the west, European trading ships coming from the east, the North American coast to the north, and the West Indies sugar colonies located just south.

Over the following months we sailed around the Caribbean, looting merchant vessels and plundering sugar plantations. When we returned to Nassau with our spoils, the port was brimming with fresh faces and provisioned ships. Within two years, over two thousand former privateers were living in New Providence. The island had become known as “The Republic of Pirates.”

One of these new residents who we became acquainted with was a man named Edward Thatch. He was a towering and menacing figure with a long, sable beard, and, like me, he was from the West Country. Captain Hornigold was impressed with the fellow’s skills, so he welcomed him into our gang.

Over the following year, we continued our endeavors in the Caribbean and sailed up the North American coast. After seizing a small sloop, Captain Hornigold placed Thatch in its command. With multiple ships in our fleet, we strengthened our might on the sea and commandeered even larger vessels from the French and Spanish.

However, when the crew sought to attack and seize British ships, Captain Hornigold refused. Throughout all our years of piracy, he had maintained his privateering ways and never attacked a vessel flying the British flag. So the crew took a vote on the matter, as per the shipboard articles of agreement, but when Captain Hornigold opposed, he lost his command of the ship. I had not wished for him to be deposed, but the majority of the crew seemed only to care for more plunder. With no authority over his vessel, nor respect from his crew, Captain Hornigold soon returned to New Providence. I stayed aboard the ship, now serving Captain Thatch.

Around this time, in the autumn of seventeen hundred and seventeen, the King issued a proclamation for suppressing pirates in the West Indies. It granted a pardon for acts of piracy to those who surrendered themselves within the year. Bounties were to be placed on any pirates who did not comply.

Captain Thatch and our crew ignored this warning, continuing our pursuits in the southern islands of the Caribbean. Off the coast of Martinique, we captured a large French vessel called “La Concorde,” which we refitted with 40 cannons and renamed “Queen Anne’s Revenge.” Now sailing the seas with a powerful warship, Captain Thatch became feared throughout the West Indies and was notoriously known as “Blackbeard.”

Not two months later, while we were raiding Spanish colonies in the Gulf of Mexico, news had spread that Captain Hornigold had taken the King’s Pardon. I was surprised to hear that me former captain, the man who had built the Republic of Pirates, had turned from piracy for good. Many others had taken the pardon as well, out of fear that retribution from the Crown would soon be at hand. Recently, a gang of pirates who had been caught off the North American coast were tried and hanged in Boston Harbour. It was an ominous account to hear.

While we continued plundering Spanish colonies in the Bay of Honduras, me thoughts often returned to this troubling report. The fear of succumbing to the same fate as those pirates festered in me mind. British forces were increasing their presence in the West Indies and there was no telling when they would be upon us. I pondered Captain Hornigold’s departure from piracy and determined that he had made a wise decision. The King’s pardon ensured an escape from execution and offered the opportunity of a new life. With our ship bound for Nassau, I resolved, at last, to take the pardon when we returned to port.

On our journey from the Bay of Honduras back to New Providence, me spirit grew lighter at the prospect of a fresh start awaiting me. But me thoughts soon weighed heavy again when I recalled the poverty I had suffered after the war. I worried I would be unable to find employment after taking the pardon. If I were in possession of plenty of doubloons perhaps I would be able to manage without issue. But our plundering of the Spanish colonies over the previous months had yielded only a small supply of loot. In order to ensure me security, I knew I had to obtain more riches before arriving back to Nassau.

As per the articles of agreement, the loot we plundered was divided evenly between our crew, with each member receiving one share. However, the captain and quartermaster were both entitled to two shares, and the carpenter, gunner, and boatswain each received one and a half. Captain Thatch planned to sail up the North American coast after our stop in Nassau, to continue raiding the colonies. Since each of the crew members would soon have the opportunity to seize more spoils there, I reasoned they would not be needing their present shares as much as I would. So, after much consideration, I made me decision and devised a plan to obtain the riches.

I waited until the hour was late and most of the crew were asleep. There were a few members still awake keeping watch on the top deck above, but I was hidden from their sights along with the rest of the dormant crew below deck. I dared not steal from the captain or quartermaster, for they resided in their own cabins. But the carpenter, gunner, and boatswain slumbered close by, within reach to take from.

I laid silently in my hammock for a few hours, feigning sleep and listening intently to the hushed breaths and faint murmurings of the crew as they dreamt. Once I was sure that everyone was sound asleep, I slowly sat up and eyed the three men who I aimed to rob.

The carpenter’s hammock was closest to me own, so I carefully swung me feet to the floor and quietly crept towards him. He was lying on his side, facing me, but did not react as I approached, seeming to be fast asleep. Tied to his belt was a leather pouch filled with doubloons. After taking one last look around the quarters to make sure no one was stirring, I leaned in and slowly untied it. He remained in the same position, never moving. With a final draw, I gently lifted the purse without waking him.

Next, I snuck over to the gunner who was sleeping in a hammock across the deck. I did not need to check if he was asleep, for he was snoring quite loudly. His pouch of coins was tied to his belt as well, so I repeated the measures, as before. Yet as I slowly finished untying it, he stopped snoring. I ceased right away and held me breath. After a short moment, he rolled over onto his side and began snoring again. I quietly released me breath, relieved he had not waked. But I then saw that the purse was trapped between his body and the canvas of the hammock. 

I’d already loosed it from his belt, I just needed to confiscate it. I carefully pulled the canvas away from his side, making sure not to jostle him. Once I found the pouch, I delicately retrieved it and readjusted the hammock without disturbing his slumber. With two prizes obtained, I took a deep breath and readied myself for the final share.

I turned around to face the boatswain who was sleeping in a hammock right beside the gunner. He was lying on his back with his right arm and foot dangling over the edge of the canvas. In his left hand he clutched his purse close to his chest. He was murmuring, so I waved my hand in front of his face to check if he was awake, but his eyes remained shut. After glancing around the area one last time, I attempted to slide the pouch from his hand. But his grasp was too tight and the small sack of coins did not budge. Unwilling to yield, I began gently prying his fingers to loosen his grip.

However, as I did this, I noticed his mumbling start to get louder, and his head tossed slightly from side to side. It seemed as if he were having a nightmare. I quickly let go of his fingers, so as not to wake him, and when I did, he released the pouch and stopped stirring. Seeing his loosened grasp, I was unable to resist reaching for the coins. But when me hand touched the purse, his fingers clenched shut around it and he awoke suddenly in fright. His dangling arm had swung upward and knocked the two pouches in my other hand to the ground. A stream of doubloons and pieces of eight spilled out, clattering and rolling along the wooden floor. Every crewmate in the quarters waked in the dark, and when a lantern illuminated the scene, I was found at the center of it.

With looks of fury upon their faces, the crew clapped me in irons. I was taken to the top deck to confess me crime to Captain Thatch. I could not look him in the eyes, for shame of what I had done and in disbelief that I had been caught. I knew what awaited me and was consumed with dread.

In the articles of agreement, the punishment for theft committed against the crew was marooning. So, at the first light of dawn, I was rowed out on a skiff to a remote island in the middle of the Caribbean Sea. I was given only a bottle of water and a pistol with one shot. A gift of mercy.

From the shore, I watched Queen Anne’s Revenge sail away, along with the promise of a new life. I stared at the horizon, looking all around. I could not find a single sign of land in any direction, nor any other ships in the distance. All that I saw was a continuous solitary line separating the sky from the sea.

The shape of the island resembled that of a shark’s tooth, and I was able to circle it entirely in only a couple minutes. I scoured the white sand to see if anyone else had been there before and left something buried, but I found nothing. In the very center was a small cluster of palm trees, which did not yield any sustenance, but provided some shelter from the scorching sun.

I quickly grew thirsty in the heat, but only took a few swigs of water each day in order to ration me supply. By the second day, me hunger started to make itself known. I could feel me stomach eating away at itself. On the third day, the gnawing ache grew worse and a harsh dryness burned in me throat. Even with conserving the water I was given, I had drunk every last drop by that evening.

Under the vast sea of stars, I collapsed in the sand and leaned me back against the trunk of a palm tree. I weakly lifted the pistol and stared at it in me blistering hand. Closing me eyes, a tempest of dire thoughts swelled in me mind, but soon fatigue washed over me and I fell into a deep slumber.

The next morning, I waked to the sound of something jostling against the shore. Slowly opening me eyes to adjust to the blinding sun, I could faintly perceive the outline of a skiff washed upon the sand at the edge of the water. Rubbing me eyes, I squinted at the small boat, unsure if I was still dreaming or had begun hallucinating from lack of hydration. In a delirious state, I staggered to me feet and walked over to inspect it further.

Gently rocking with the crawling waves, a small rowboat laid before me upon the shore. Still in disbelief, I reached out to touch it and was astonished and relieved when me hand made contact with the weathered wood.

I swiftly scanned the horizon, searching in every direction ‘round the island to see where this possible salvation had come from. Yet I did not see any ships on the water.

Examining the skiff, I could see that the outer planks were marred with scratches, and a single broken oar slid back and forth inside. The shaft had been snapped in half, with the grip gone. I supposed that a storm or reef had battered the boat and thrown whoever it belonged to overboard.

Despite its weathered condition, the vessel remained intact and appeared sturdy enough to survive on the ocean. Seizing the opportunity to escape me plight, I boarded the skiff and pushed off from shore.

Using the broken oar, I paddled away from that desolate isle, grateful to be free from its confines, which had seemed inescapable only the night before. Every so often, I looked back to watch the small mass of sand and palm trees shrinking in the distance, until finally the island disappeared completely.

Before departing, I had brought along me pistol and the empty bottle so I could collect any water if it were to rain at sea. Me throat and belly still ached with hunger and thirst, but the hope of soon finding rescue spurred me to keep going.

For hours, I continued ahead and looked all around for ships and land, yet all I could see was the open ocean stretching without end in every direction. Bright blue water and sky surrounded me throughout the day, but as the sun started to descend, they both began to darken.

Hoping to find anything before night closed in, I tried to paddle faster, but me weary body would not let me. When the last glimpse of light had dipped below the horizon, I was engulfed in darkness, all alone.

I squinted to see if I could spot any lights in the distance, but the only visible glow came from the pale moon above. Its white beam glistened across the surface of the sea, though it did not illuminate anything below. The once clear ocean was now opaque, and I could no longer see the blade of the broken oar as it dipped beneath the waves. Staring at the splintered wood against the inky black water, an unsettling thought entered me mind. I began to wonder if something other than a storm had ravaged the skiff and taken half the oar.

I had heard tales from me former crewmates of ships being attacked and sailors getting dragged to their watery graves by a giant monster which came from the depths of the sea. I always took them as mere stories, meant to scare any fainthearted mariners, but being alone in the small boat at night, I began to worry if those tales could be true. Not wanting to look into the dark water any longer, and feeling the exhaustion from paddling all day, I pulled in the oar and closed me eyes to rest. The familiar sound of the waves lulled me to sleep.

But soon I was waked from me slumber when I heard a loud thud against the hull. I quickly sat up and looked around. Still adrift, I did not see anything that the boat might have hit. Yet as I looked out at the stream of moonlight shining upon the water, I noticed a slight bubbling at the surface. I could not tell if there was something swimming below or if the movement was simply an illusion from the light. But when the waves started traveling rapidly toward the skiff, I hoped that it was just me feeble mind playing tricks on me.

The size of the swell grew larger as it approached, and I could see that there was something enormous beneath the water. I ducked into the bottom of the boat to brace for the imminent collision, but while huddling with me eyes shut...it never came. I opened me eyes and peered over the gunwale to see small waves knocking against the side. The creature had descended beneath the boat. Perhaps it was just a whale that had come up to the surface. I saw no fin, so it could not have been a shark, but I trembled thinking once more of the monster from those tales.

I stayed perfectly still, listening intently and closely observing the black water. The waves settled and I saw no movement upon the surface, yet I could not escape the thought of the creature lurking unseen in the darkness below.

Suddenly, the boat was hit from behind with great force and a large wave of seawater splashed into the boat as the creature emerged and quickly dove back down. I was unable to get a good look at it before it descended, but I could tell it was no whale.

Terrified, I put the oar back in the water and paddled as fast as I could to try and get away. Using all the strength I could muster, I swiftly pulled the oar through the sea to propel me vessel forward. The shallow pool of water spilled back and forth in the bottom of the boat, carrying the empty bottle with it. I was unsure if the creature was following me, but I continued onward without looking back.

Suddenly, when me oar dipped below the surface, something strong tugged it from me hands and dragged it down into the darkness. When I looked over the side to try and find it, I instead met a sight of utter terror.

Giant tentacles rose from the waves and towered above me. I ducked into the bottom of the boat as they came crashing down, shaking the skiff violently. While crouched, I noticed me pistol lying beside the empty bottle. I quickly grabbed it then looked up to see the creature’s head emerging from the sea and watching me. Aiming me pistol at the massive, dark, malevolent eye, I pulled the trigger. There was a click, but no fire. The powder was wet. Me heart sank as the creature rose with fury. More tentacles swung up from the below, battering the skiff and knocking me overboard.

I was submerged beneath the turbulent waves, choking on salt water, unable to see anything. I flailed me arms and swam upward until I reached the surface, gasping for air. Disoriented, I looked all around for the skiff, until I spotted it nearby. I swam toward it, as fast as I could, desperate to get out of the water. I could no longer see the creature, but I knew it was somewhere below.

Reaching the boat, I threw me arms onto the gunwale and tried to hoist meself back up, but I suddenly felt something slimy wrap around me leg and—

William Gibbens was dragged to a watery grave that evening, swallowed by the sea like many other pirates of his day. But now you have rescued his spirit from the depths of the Attic.

We have some time left before my brother returns, so would you like to hear more of the Attic’s origins?

Well then, let’s continue from where we left off.

When we last spoke, I explained how the druidess, Scáthach, performed a ritual on Samhain night to conjure a place between the realms of the living and the dead. She combined sacred wood from the mortal realm with a mystical staff from the Otherworld in the fire and chanted an incantation to craft the wooden room. Completing the ritual by spilling blood from her hand into the flames, the Attic was created and my brother and I came into existence.

When I awoke from darkness and opened my eyes, I was standing by that wall there, in this very room. The shadowy space was illuminated only by a small flame in the center, across from the door. And near the opposite wall from where I stood, towered a dark creature. It had sharp claws, scaly skin, and large, bat-like wings. With distant, gray eyes, it stared back at me, never blinking.

I had no memory of anything from before I awoke, yet I somehow possessed the knowledge of language. I attempted to communicate with the creature, asking who it was and how it got here. But it remained silent, and I sensed it was unable to understand the words I was saying.

The imposing creature loomed in the shadows, and in the eerie quiet of this unfamiliar space, a sense of fear washed over me. As it did, I noticed the cold eyes of the creature darken with a predatory desire. With a low growl, it began to stalk towards me. I warily backed away, trying again to communicate and pacify it…but suddenly it lurched forward and pinned me to the ground.

I tried to push the heavy creature off of me, but it sunk its jagged teeth into my right arm. I howled in pain, as the flesh of my arm began to burn and melt away. But as it did, the creature’s right arm started to turn to ash as well. I looked over and saw that one of the walls of the attic was beginning to blaze too.

The creature quickly released its jaws, and the searing pain immediately ceased. The flames which enveloped the wall and each of our arms were snuffed out, leaving charred scars behind.

Exhausted from the struggle, the creature and I both crawled away from each other to opposite sides of the room. My weariness was compounded by an immense hunger that I had been feeling since I first awoke, though I was unsure of what I craved. I could tell that the creature felt a similar ravenousness, which was why it had gone after me. However, the creature never dared to attack me again, having learned that to harm me would injure itself and destroy our dwelling.

From my side of the room, I watched it curl up in a corner, hidden in the dark. It closed its menacing eyes and entered a deep sleep. As I leaned back against the wall, the fatigue and hunger caught up with me too, and I swiftly dozed off.

I soon awoke when I heard the door slowly creak open. A woman stood in the doorway, with soot-stained clothes, a sickle tied to her waist, and a bloody linen cloth wrapped around her hand.

That is all we have time for tonight, but I shall continue our story again soon, starting with Scáthach’s arrival in the Attic.

Listen out for the door. I shall open it and call you back again. We thank you for your help. Stay safe out there...and don’t venture out on the ocean alone at night.

Thank you for listening to Alone in the Attic. Tonight's episode was written, directed, and edited by Samuel Weston Evans, with vocal performances by Bertie Whistance as William and Samuel Weston Evans as The Keeper.

Join us next week to hear the haunting tale of “Hidden in the Tall Grass.” Outside Kyoto, Japan, during the Onin War, a samurai is forced to retreat into a field of reeds, but soon discovers he is not alone within the towering stalks.

Find out next time...Alone in the Attic.