Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction Group 3 | Page 205

The crews are huddled around the campfire as the sun goes down; the events of the day
and the island’s surprising temperature fluctuation have taken their toll on the men, who claim to
be hallucinating. Needless to say, everyone’s spirits were rather dampened as the crew heard their
orders from our chief officer: “Tomorrow and on, you will proceed to forage into the forest and
report your findings to our petty officer. Two sailors will be assigned per commissioned
cartographer, and the rest of you follow their orders.”
For the first time, our crew is discontent with the orders and one of them grumbles loud
enough for the officer to hear: “Bull**it! Always we who do the work. You prissy eunuchs sit
around and complain about how what we do is always wrong.” Our officer spun around and
glared him in the eye. He brandished a gleaming ceremonial broadsword at the haggard crew
member, who jumped up and almost leaped at him. His friends were only just able to hold him
back before he killed the officer and perhaps initiated a mutiny, which meant a direct opposition
to the orders of the Emperor.
17 February, 1421
There is something far worse here than beasts or savages; this island is cursed. The
Emperor of Heaven willing, we will be granted swift and safe passage through the seas and away
from this forsaken place. We woke up to find six of our men missing, and conducted a search
through the forests where a carpenter found their mangled bodies. One of them was missing a
head, arms, and the intestines were strewn in the branches of a nearby tree, while another bled
from his eyes and ears, the result of a hemorrhage: he had literally died of fear. The expressions of
pure terror and shock on their faces sent chills down our spines, and we quickly left. The corpses
of those who die in pain are omens of ill fortune and are best left alone.
We’ve lost six men and four more are ranting and raving, trembling in perpetual fear. We
have no medicine men among us so there is no real hope of restoring those men’s health, but we
cannot leave until this entire island is mapped, and accurately, or defy the emperor’s orders and
face execution when we return.
18 February, 1421
The members of our crew who have been alone in the forest are delirious, and in their
feverish state are proclaiming to be seeing flying lights and pale, slender figures in the trees with
teeth as long and sharp and crooked as those of the monsters in fairy tales, all of which started
seeming increasingly real after a piercing scream of pain cut through the forest. We believed then,
Lord preserve us, we believed then. We stopped keeping count of the missing and the dead after
this victim, a morbid reminder of the trivial task that still kept us here.
19 February, 1421
The monsters showed themselves in the small hours of the morning, walking—no,
floating into our camp and dragging off the guards who were keeping watch. They were tall,
naked, and the sight of those bottomless black pits for eyes was enough for some of us to piss our
trousers. But the teeth, the teeth were the worst. Blood stained where they were not ivory white,
these were not teeth- they were more 10 centimeter icicles that stuck out of the mouths in
convoluted rows. More of them came out of the forest; they numbered over a dozen by then. For
the first time, we were scared. Far too many men were dying, but if we abandoned this island, we
would bring eternal shame to our families. Not returning to China was not an option- we were
hundreds of miles from any significant continent. After watching the monsters jump on one of our
cook Ah Jing and tear him apart, we finally broke: surely the loss of at least a score of his bravest
sailors will be enough to constitute our redemption. I am writing this from the bottom deck of
one of the two ships that we left with. My hands are shaking as I try to record the happenings in
case it ever gets lost in time. My word goes out to you: never venture beyond the sixth island
south of the Java…