Owen McCuen

Protruding next to a salt shaker was part of a jawbone with a few teeth looking like someone trying to chew their way into the boat.

Uncertain about what to do next, I told everyone to go on deck and wait for me.

The three of them gave me a quizzical look, but I tossed my head in the direction of the stairs, and they got the message.

Tim looked back at me as he got ready to step out.

I'll be up in a second, I said.

One more place to look.

That one place was under a hatch in the floor that would have led to pumps and an engine, but I didn't think for a moment I'd find either of them.

I was right.

When I pulled the hatch door up, the space was empty, not even bilge water.

I lowered myself down and peered inside.

Enough light came in to see clearly, but I still poked my head in deeper.

I shot backwards, my head slamming against the table.

I sat there staring at the opening.

More than anything, I wanted to be mistaken, but I'd already seen the bone in the skull top, which quickly eliminated that possibility.

I crept back to the hatchway and looked in again.

There it was.

A face.

Or most of one.

The back half of the head was in the hull, but the rest of the face stared up at me, its mouth agape like someone gasping for air, but this time it wasn't just bone.

Decomposing flesh draped the skull.