MeatCanyon

I asked what he was doing, and the response was not what I'd hoped for.

I felt the familiar sick in my gut sensation.

Slowly, I crept over to the diver and turned his body toward me.

It resisted, but slowly turned its face toward me.

Its faceplate was fogged up, and I fought my better judgment.

I leaned in close.

I wish to this day I hadn't.

It was dark, but I could all too clearly make out the features.

Rotting flesh.

The person wearing this helmet had long since passed away.

I lost my confidence, starting to scream.

My comms were blazing, divers and topside were frantically trying to get my attention, but I was focused on one thing only.

I was scrambling backward, away from him, but I had fouled my umbilical around the rigging gear in my state of panic.

The thing had again returned its focus to the minivan.

As I frantically cleared myself from the slings, I noticed a telltale lack of bubbles coming from the helmet.

It was opening the minivan door and reaching inside.

As I swam away from the van, I watched it grab one of the passengers and drag them into the darkness.

This was when I began to realize I might not be cut out for working beneath the seas.

I continued diving for longer than I knew I should.

The entire time, the thought lingering in the back of my mind, I need to get a safer career.