A vessel picks up a coffin afloat at sea.
Originally posted in a Tweet thread.
A vessel picks up a coffin afloat at sea.
It’s heavy, and the captain orders that they open it to see if there are any identifying features, so they know to whom they should return it — no nails hold it shut, and it opens easily.
The bed is dry, but empty.
Unnerved but in many ways relieved, the sailors toss it back.
That night, the alarm is raised when it appears on deck again, silently, with no trace of who had brought it back aboard.
The empty bed beckons.
The sailors toss it overboard again, this time heavy with ballast.
It reappears: the ballast is gone.
The empty bed beckons.
The sailors begin to get into their heads the idea that this cursed box will not leave them until one of their number is laid to rest inside it.
One of the riggers, a japester, lays himself in the bed as his friend pushes it over the side: it is a bright morning in shallow waters, and it should be impossible to lose sight of him for even a moment.
The coffin disappears.
The rigger is not seen again.
That night, the coffin reappears on the central deck, leaned against the foremast, upright this time.
Its empty bed beckons.
Thanks for reading! I have books out, and I’m also on Twitter.
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