Sea

Samuel ran them out chasing high tide; they had paid for eight hours of "a rustic tour" of local fishing spots and practices. They joked about their next stop being the North Sea, made some quips about Davy Jones' Locker, and had to be forbidden (twice) from taking the antique harpoons off of the walls to joust with them like adolescents. Samuel was a man of few words, but they had so many in them that his silence held no significance. "Yo ho! All hands!" they sang, rude and rowdy, and took no notice of the sea growing unnaturally calm (of the water turning from black to blacker still). "Be careful what you wish for, thieves and beggars," Samuel thought to himself, "for I will hoist the banner high." It was too late when it occurred to them that they could no longer hear the rumble and roll of deep water; too late to hear his answer to, "Dude, what's going on?" Samuel returned and docked early; no one inquired as to why. They were the hardworking seafaring folk, the people of Innsmouth, and did not play pirates. "Ia! Ia! Cthulhu fhtagn!" they sang on the docks at close of day.