You clutched a piece of flotsam and pulled away from the bony hands, but they pulled you in, an unhallowed rescue. They dragged you, your head reeling from the unnatural sight, your lungs choking on the rotting stench of these corpses dressed in scraps of torn flesh. You could not fight the grip of the damned dead.
You dropped to the blackened deck, forced yourself to look up. A pallid figure with mad eyes stood at the pilot's wheel. Clumps of sea salt clotted his wild hair and beard, his torn and moldering coat. He seemed unaware of you at first, but as you tried to creep away, those mad eyes gazed down at you, and you gazed back... into Hell.
"You're mine, now," the captain rasped.
And the damned dead dragged you screaming below the decks.
Maintenance has been requested to fix 2nd floor…
4 years ago