So as a bit of seafarer bad luck, there shall be no Thirteenth Week of this voyage, especially as we continue to precariously sail close to the spookiest parts of the Bermuda Triangle.
The older sailors 'round these parts call it the Devil's Triangle. People have been.....disappearin', acting out of sorts. There are stories, always stories. But the Cap'n, he don't tell us nothin. It gets dark awful early these nights.
And then there's the screamin'. All hours of the night, whether from a cabin in the forward, an hour later one in the aft starts after the first one had barely stopped. Pour souls. There's always screamin' when we be traversin' the triangle. Ol' Ted swears we'll be out of this storm awful soon. It feels like we bin here for months.
Me, I think it's got something to do with all those lights miles below the surface. Just down there, blinking away. They can't be submarines, it's far too big. It'd have to be a whole fleet of thousands.
Sea crazy you say?!
I'll show you Sea Crazy.
GARHAHAFHSALFHASDGLHSFHASJFHRSJGHSLGJh.
Heh. :P
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