Estimated reading time — 23 minutes

Hello there, I managed to scrounge up a pile of power banks left behind by previous passengers.

In total, these could last me a combined 47 hours worth of laptop battery perhaps more if I used them sparingly.

I will try to be quick, so the spent battery is not wasted.

I am not alone, there are others with me, they’ve descended into the lower levels, cautiously taking a path safest towards the boiler room, I am not envious of their current task, but neither is mine a walk in the park.

I am barred within passenger cabin three, the only room with its door labelled by a lotus in my current floor.

I have been tasked to survive alone in this room till the end of next week, and if they manage to get the generator running, then I will join them at the lower levels, I only hope that the scratching at the door stops, the noises unease me.

I’d have gone insane not without posting this, to get this all off my chest.

Luckily, before Thomas left with the others, he had fixed a router near the passenger cabins, the internet still reached us, despite where we were, it lagged like hell, but it still functions.

We figured out that the place we’re in, messed with compasses and non mechanical clocks.

I am positive that I managed to write this post and send it out to warn you, all of you, and let you know, If you’re ever in the River Thames, never get on a ship, called the “Tartarus Express”, especially if its late at night.

I fear that it may already be too late for me and many others stuck on this boat from hell, and posting this may be a last desperate effort for a hail Mary, though I’m anticipating this comes in handy to someone, anyone, and even if this may be a feeble attempt, we will not be silenced, the deaths of my friends . . . they will not fade unspoken.

Should you ever find yourself on this ship one day, I hope this post aids in your survival.

Apologies in advance if the recounting of events in the following paragraphs may seem graphic and overly descript, but it is for your own good, to understand what kind of fate awaits you if you’re not careful, if you make the same mistake as we did of boarding this cursed ship.

I’ve managed to compile a few notes about this God forsaken vessel.

I trust it will serve you well if you’ve already boarded it, and I pray we may never meet if you still haven’t, for if we do, you may possibly never find yourself getting home ever again.

Before I was separated from the rest of my group just a week ago, they’d left behind notes that they’d taken during our nine month voyage in this cruise from hell.

Names, titles and important details, I have bolded, as per suggested by Aliyah’s notes, it is well in due respect that it was my friend Thomas’ suggestion to post our compiled notes here.

I did not do this alone, these information are fruit born from the deaths of our colleagues, and that they are graphic for good reason.

Lauren, in her wisdom suggested to me to make a rules system for you, to keep in mind, should you have read this, and regretfully find yourself among monsters and tortured spirits.

It shall be posted at the end of my recounting, I only want my and my friends’ story told, not for glory or some sort of legacy, but to serve as a reminder and warning, so no one else has to suffer, I pray we are the last to be taken, but I’m afraid the ship will claim more.

My name is Ezio, I am part of a batch of students that went on a field trip near Port London on October 15th, 2024. We boarded a boat labelled as “Tartarus Express”, and we haven’t docked ever since.

It was a rare sight honestly, many of us thought it was a publicity stunt at first.

Especially since the Tartarus Express was not listed on any official schedule, you’ll never find it on Transport for London’s app, and if you ask around, no one will have a clue about it.

What does it look like?

Its an old Passenger Liner, iron clad, paint chipped, the sort of vessel that hasn’t passed inspection in decades. From what we’d found out about it, it runs on steam, has a boiler room, promenade and quarter deck.

It fashioned a large antenna attached near its sun deck, and as far as we’ve seen, it had large, steel rudders and propellers, no crew was present.

Even in the portholes, not a single figure in sight.

The hull was streaked with rust, weeping down trails of what looked like dried up blood, in the right light, you would see, among the rusted scum on the hull, the caricature of large, scarlet letters spell out its cursed name. Tartarus express.

I’m sorry, I don’t know much about ships to continue about this, I feel my ineptitude creep around me and still taunt me, weakness that festers deep within like mildew in rotten flesh, sorry, I am sorry, the recounting, I’ll continue.

Our guide thought it had been a promotional, and led us up those step, confidence in his voice as he herded us in, that solemn day, 15th of October, on that early noon, we knew little that we had just damned ourselves to otherworldly agony.

“Come along, let’s follow the Superstructure, we should hopefully get a hold of the Captain, or spot a crew man that might lead us to him.” Said Mr. Albert. He was quite mighty then, we could have never imagined he’d go down the way he did.

“It appears it may rain soon, we should hurry inside.” Mr. Oyama added, his glasses reflected the sun, and somehow, watching the refraction of light reflect from the lens of his spectacles, I realized that it took us three hours to fully realize this was no promo.

How stupid we were. WE had three hours to leave, and we didn’t, we thought it prudent to stay and take note of the antique furniture, and architecture, fill in our project with Mrs. Wells, we stood there for three hours, unaware time slipped by.

It was a mistake, a massive mistake, I wish I could go back and yank myself and my friends from ever stepping foot on that horrid ramp.

I remembered feeling the structure creak unnaturally as our feet touched the surface of the incline, my stomach twisting at the promise of sea sickness awaiting me.

How I recall our nerves, and our excitements. Some of us were hesitant, I was among that camp, while some were eager. . . .

“I don’t feel good about this . . .” Aliyah said when we boarded the ramp. We should’ve listened to her.

“Its bloody mental” Louise responded, seeming awe stricken. . . I wonder if she’s still hanging up there, oh valiant, brave, adventurous Louise, she was the most reckless out of all of us.

“I ought to reckon if they’ve gotten a skeleton prop somewhere.” Thomas mused, while I shuffled behind the group.

Counting heads, paranoid of the feeling that, that there were eyes on us, unseen and hidden in the darkness.

There were sixteen of us, I myself included.

We had three chaperones, Mr. Albert was a local that our university hired to serve as a guide alongside our anthropology professor Mrs. Wells, and our homeroom teacher Mr. Oyama.

I fear that they’re all dead now. It should’ve never happened but, we were reckless.

Our hubris and ignorance, it led us to misguidance, misguidance that which held the cleaver, that butchered our friends like pig to a slaughter.

October 15th, 5:00pm.

On our first night there, we didn’t notice anything off, at least for the first few hours.

It should’ve been enough encouragement for us to leave, there was no reason to stay, when we were still by Port London up until the sun fell to dusk, casting orange beams as the ship began to move on its’ own.

We were just about done exploring, our papers filled out and to be collected by Mrs. Wells, when we felt the deck creak, the rusted door to the exit connecting to the ramp, sealed shut.

Allison’s scream alerted us, gathering ourselves we ran up the bow, watching helplessly as we were far from the port in an instant, the seemingly empty ship moving without a crew to handle it.

“What happened?” I was the first to speak, breaking the malignant tension.

“The ship. The ship, it-it-just started moving, I felt my bones vibrate, I knew something was wrong, when I got up here, and I saw that!” Allison pointed, our eyes followed, and at the lower deck, we saw someone, a human like form, but wrong, twisted and all grotesque, illuminated by the moonlit crepuscule.

We tried to make out what the shape was, it was far too uncanny to be human, and looking at it was one of our many mistakes, as when it saw us, it suddenly galloped up the stairs with hooved feet, thudding to the connecting halls to the upper deck, we panicked, and scurried back to the others with shaky legs.

Wasting time by arguing.

“Is this a prank?”, “You’ve got to be kidding”, “Bollocks” Their responses wasted precious time, each group we idled more minutes than we should’ve afforded.

Finally when all of us were gathered, we tried to tell them what happened, Allison broke into tears, I found myself stuttering like a fax machine, when Larry threatened to cave my face in for scaring his sister.

They didn’t believe any of it at first, not until we’d seen the door to the luxury suite creak open.

Revealing a set of fingers stained by dried out blood, long-pale, and claw like with the nails being as brown as oak, spindly limbs and pearly white flesh, almost like a wraith, this pale set of digits felt malevolent, as it tore apart the door from its hinges, splintering wood and brass.

I was petrified, frozen in terror, as the alabaster skinned monster entered the room in slow, lethargic movement, it stood towering over us all, it was hunched, too tall to fit inside, so it crawled and moved on its hands and legs.

Its mouth opened up with a wet smack, it was an outstretched gape, drooping in a low bow, like a pale fleshy proboscis, the trunk like organ had serrated teeth, rows and rows, hundreds if not thousands, miniature but sharp.

It reminded me of a leech, though what’s worse was that between those jagged rows of sharp teeth, was a long dangling tongue, that had a sharpened tip, everyone else backed away, as the creeping monster approached me.

I thought back to this many times, had I died here, would things have gone differently than they are now? Would it have been better? or worse?

I sensed that the stench of its hot, damp breath was awfully foul.

The smell of iron, and sewage, I felt its tongue slither from my ankle and to my cheek, leaving a slick trail of horrific mucus, red and a sick color of grey, I can only assume was its previous victim.

It felt like a blood marmalade was just smeared onto me, I had to hold in the urge to gag, thinking it had not heard my whimpers, or how I began to silently cry and pray for my life.

I was pushed down with its weight, with intentions to devour me, from the head first.

Yet it took its time, the horrid, cruel thing took its time.

It studied me with its warm, and moist sensory organ, the same way a serpent flitters its tongue against the air.

I thought that was where I’d die, whimpering like a coward, as the undulating flaps of its proboscis widened to swallow me, claws digging against my arms to keep me in place.

Its teeth grazed my head, barely creating cuts, as inside, I could see several shapes moving, I opened my eyes, wanting to see, wanting to stare down the death that would take me, it was not what I expected.

Rather than a uvula or organs, it was just a hollow space, the fleshy walls throbbed, each wet inhale and putrid exhale it did, I saw lifeless faces, not heads, faces, FACES, welcome me into their flayed legion, how their hollow skin moved while the creature’s throat took me deeper.

I did not know what happened next, vividly I remember my vision blotting dark, like ink spilled to my eyes. Next I was aware of my environment, I awoke, to find myself in a cot.

Reviewing my notes, it never made sense how I made it out, how they managed to retrieved me from that thing.

We’ve decided to call it the Lurker, that 9.ft something beast was taller than Mr. Oyama, it was lean, slender, and almost bony, the skin was all veiny, and translucent, it had large, dark eyes, and they seemed to devour light, rather than reflect it, they pop out of their sockets, attached to a prehensile tendril, it was something straight out of horror.

A day later, October 17th, I was taken to a lobby, where everyone gathered, messed and rugged, huddled together like lemmings.

They interrogated me, crowded me till I couldn’t breathe, it took a moment, before Andrew pulled me from the cluster of eager mouths and ears.

Too eager for me to recount what it felt like nearly being eaten alive by that. . . that thing.

“It must’ve been blind” Aliyah said, shifting the attention from me, to the monster.

Mr. Albert soon spoke with concealed lips, glanced towards me, and whispered loud enough for everyone to hear. “It spat Ezio out, after he fainted. Then left without a care, it didn’t take anything.”

“We’ll camp here until we find a way to turn this ship around, there’s enough rations to last everyone at least a week or two. You children find a way to fortify the lobby, your teachers and I will try to look for answers. Ms. Smith (Louise) is in charge while we’re gone.” The elderly man’s military experience reared its brilliant head felt hope, and confident we’ll go home.

A pity he was the first to go, that poor Mr. Albert, he bought us time to escape and hide on our fifth night here, October 20th, 2024, our ears witness to his excruciatingly slow slaughter, I remember hearing him scream, guttural and raw, painful . . . and because of that, his end had satiated the Scalper, at least for a while.

Everything went wrong when something from the boiler room followed them back, they didn’t know it did.

I never saw what it looked like, nor would I ever want to, the thing that killed Mr. Albert, its method of preying wasn’t the worse part, its the fact that you never see it coming, and that it likes to lure and play games with you.

He was a kind man, too kind for his own good, he had a weathered stoic face, warm sea green eyes, short but greying hair, he was wise for his twilight years, and had a prominent scar on his cheek that served as a reminder that he used to be part of the English Royal Navy.

Though I suppose there is no use in retelling a dead man’s story, I just felt it necessary to tell you that, well, there is no use fighting these things.

If a man like Mr. Albert was killed in such a manner, how would anyone stand a chance, I pray my eventual passing be at the hands of a less sadistic entity

Forgive me, I’ve grown pessimistic of survival, after nine months being on this ferry.

Many things happened in the span prior to before I got to where I am now.

I remember spending my 17th hidden under a bed in one of the passenger rooms- as the Lurker decided to wish me happy birthday by gracing us all with its presence, taking Mrs. Wells with it, her screams echoing through the halls for hours with no end.

Sharing spoiled rat meat day after day with my friends Aliyah, Neal, Thomas and Andrew to mask our scent from the monsters, and hearing screams of people I know who have died, every night echo through these cursed halls, on repeat again and again, it killed all hope of escape.

I only wished I got to tell them, all those that died, that it was all my fault.

I was the one that suggested to Mr. Oyama a trip to the river Thames, rather than the initial plan to head to the Scottish highlands for our anthropology project.

I’d gotten everyone dammed eternally over a stupid fascination.

I am so afraid, so scared, I constantly want to vomit, to hurl every last bit of spoiled meat I eat, to starve myself, if there were any other way, to escape, to atone, I would have done it.

If it had been that simple of just killing myself would have made amends for that sin of mine, that I’d thrown myself overboard to drown rather than attempt to survive these monsters day after day. . . I’d have done it already, if not for the fact that if you died on this ship, you will never escape, you become bound to it.

Mr. Albert, he’s become part of the ship now y’know.

Somewhere in the boiler room, you’ll find him roaming. Perpetually choking on his own blood and torn scalp.

His maw cracked too wide, the jaw sagging to his chest, as you would see him picking up objects and stuffing them down his mouth, applying them to his scalped head, desperately trying to mend his broken form.

I remember, during November 30th, 2024, when I first ran into him, it was when another creature we’ve decided to call the Disembowler fancied to make a meal out of me, it chased me from the deck to the boiler room, I locked myself in there, when I thought I was safe, I felt a cold, slimy hand with wrong, outgrown fingers too large to be human’s grip my ankle, I stifled the urge to scream, as . . . the scavenger (Mr. Albert), dragged me under a deactivated massive steam engine and hid me from the Scalper.

CLICK CLICK CLICK, The sound of ticking, and clicking, the Scalper makes them to tease and taunt, the further the sound, the closer it truly was, the further it is, the closer the sound.

We hid there, for who knows how long, Mr. alb-The Scavenger, kept its foul hand against my lips.

The stench of blood and rot smashed on my cheek, the smell made me gag, but I held it in, I was silently crying the entire time, as the bloodied creature held me in embrace, a cruel hug that was a constant traumatizing reminder that a fate worse than death awaited me should I be caught.

Till finally, it let me go. I crawled out, panting deep, as I scurried to the corner holding myself tight, it cornered me, its wide, inhuman eyes staring at me, in that moment, I caught a glimpse of the kind elderly man that bought us time to hide . . .

If not for him, I’d have suffered a similar fate.

He’s peaceful, that I understood, but I also realized that he was not entirely harmless, his sober presence always meant that the Scalper was nearby, and it seems it knew I was there, and it let me go.

After that, it went back to what it did, grabbing dead rats, and scattered trash on the ground, rubbing it on itself with a self destructive belief that its wounds would mend. It still had his empathy, but it was not Mr. Albert. . .

For reasons that escape me, The Scalper allowed me to return to the cabin area unharmed.

I couldn’t bear another second in the boiler room, as much as I am grateful to The Scavenger, I felt disturbed staying there with it, whenever those eerie, sunken sea green eyes observed me, I felt helpless, selfish and guilty to leave him there, but I knew he could not leave, I just knew he was stuck where he had been killed.

Out of respect for the man that gave his life for ours, I will consider Mr. Albert dead, and that thing, a separate entity.

There are no burials in this Godless place, so preserving memories of those that succumbed to this places’ foul affliction, the best we could do to mourn and remember them, was remind ourselves who they were in life, and not what they’d become.

Will I be like them someday? or will I continue to rot and stagnate, its already been so long since I felt land on my feet, its been so long since I’ve had to stand without feeling the surface beneath me creak and groan, my surroundings swaying.

Its been so long since I had slept that was not filled with nightmares, recently, my run in with the Disembowler plagued my conscious and dreams with continuous memories of it.

You would always hear it, the sound of its entrails dragging on the floor, as it crawls on mangled limbs, overgrown flaps of putrid rotting flesh sagging alongside it, as outward stretched ribs poke from the gaping maw on its stomach, the squelch of its intestines moving about, as black tinted blood pools and drops on where it crawls, leaving a horrid trail of clotting red puddles in its cursed wake.

Its flesh sagged in strips, half rotted and sloughing off the withered bone, twitching with every moment as if it hurts just by existing, the stench was overwhelming, the smell of bile, curdled stomach acid, sour meat that practically turned to jelly, you could taste the stench before you saw it.

It was a choking mix of copper and decay, it stuck to your throat like warm vomit, flies dared not to land on it. It was greasy and excreted a foul odor that reminded me of compost pits under a sweltering summer.

If you don’t hear it first, then Gods, the smell . . . the smell will let you know if it is within a thirteen yard vicinity.

I would rather experience dreamless sleep once more than meet it again. For three months my dreams were haunted by those three encounters, I’ve resorted to fantasies of harming myself to distract my mind, to cut and graze skin. . . that was another thing, this place, it messes wit your mind.

It fills you with self destructive thoughts, until one day . . . it just bursts out.

Allison, oh Allison, if only we noticed sooner, during the 23rd of December, a day before Christmas we found her one day, sunken into the wall, absorbed by it. The worse thing was she was still conscious, she spoke not in tongues, but wrote them on the wall with bloodied fingers and broken nails.

“Η Κόρη γίνεται Περσεφόνη”, I tried to search it, but among compasses and clocks, it seems translators fail in this place as well.

She, we- suspected that her depressive episode caught up with her, pushing her to a brink of unseen metamorphosis, this place changes you, if you die here, you return, not as yourself, but as a tortured cursed apparition, if you let yourself go mentally, and physically, you become a loathsome thrall of this place.

We should have, he could have done better.

None of us understood her, but somehow . . . . somehow, Julian understood, perhaps it was because they were lovers, or perhaps he felt too guilty he could not do more for her, but he ordered us to leave the room, and from outside, we can hear him break down, screaming in grief as he presumably put her out of her misery.

I shiver to imagine what it must have been like for Julian, to slay his own lover.

I just saw him come out the room, bloodied, his eyes looked dead inside, and he collapsed, vomiting.

Aliyah and I tried our best to console him, but not once did he spoke to any of us, not until the day after . . .

Will I be like Julian or Allison someday? I fear, I fear it may be, I feel sick, accursed curiosity I checked into Allison’s cabin, and there. . . there I saw a massive growth of flesh, a massive graft of skin stretched too much, it had no body, it was gummy and clay like, but somewhere in the disgusting pile, that was webbed up and positioned like a fleshy hammock . . . it was a giant facial skin grafted on the wall.

I immediately knew it was Allison, and she smiled at me. Her fleshy lips grinning, to reveal an inner jaw that made me fall back in repulsion, Oh gods. . . .her eyes I only noticed it then, her eyes, Oh Gods, her eyes.

It was horrid, thick, yellowy white maggots infested the empty sockets, writhing out, were stout, fat globs of wriggling masses that ate her skin, and it grew back, if not the sockets, then her stretched face, it burst out of her, popping out like outward conical shapes, they bounced around, fat and hefty, larger than my arm.

Sorry. I need to stop.

This, you don’t need to read more of this, please, just know, keep yourself sane and stable, no matter the cost, death isn’t the only way of being stuck here, as long as you’re alive, there is a sliver of chance to go home.

Harm yourself if you have to, gorge away on rotten flesh if you must, kill a rat, or ruin an object you cherish if need be, just remind yourself of the grotesque and vile forms that may come from your demise should you succumb to this ship’s games, all of it, just to remind yourself to NEVER GIVE IN.

Sorry, I spiraled again.

I will pace myself. I must, I need to get a hold of my mental faculties, for everyone, so that our damnation in this hell scape is not fully in vain.

My attitude has grown for the worse in these past few months, stuck in here, I can feel it change me, change who I am.

No, doesn’t matter for now, all that matters is you understand this.

The entities residing in this vessel, there are three kinds, there are the Thralls, those that naturally dwell here, the ones that hunt, maim and kill out of pure sadistic pleasure, beings like the Scalper, Lurker, and Disembowler, whose nature is to kill.

The Hollowed, beings that come as a result of a person’s death aboard the Tartarus Express, like the Scavenger.

Then lastly, are the Lost, creatures borne from the total corruption and degradation of a human’s will to live and escape, their will to fight, and their desire to resist. Allison . . .

This ship is evil. It taunts us, it toys with us.

It feeds on suffering, whether you go down crying, or screaming, or in a blazing glory, you become part of the ship, and it will eat and engorge itself on your eternal pain.

The water yes, I nearly forgot, sorry, its been two days now since I last ate, my stomach is in constant pain, and I keep misplacing my notes.

Going overboard, throwing yourself overboard is not a wise action to do.

Julian, our class athlete, tri-cup winner of our nation wide swimming competitions.

Oh poor ignorant Julian, he was confident, that cold ruthless evening of December 24th 2024, when he’d had enough of eating scraps, when Allison was taken the night before, he told us to watch from our windows, that he would jump and swim to shore,

We held with baited breath, as it struck midnight, of December 25th. Julian leapt, and we never saw of him again.

Many of us had hoped he made it, and those that remain still think he did. But I knew, I knew the water took him, turned and warped him into something else, I saw it one evening, during New Year’s 2025.

The Hollowed never come during holidays it seems, but the Thralls, those that were the result of being murdered, killed, or have died, they do not follow this rule.

Julian, or the THING, that spawned from his demise, it was disgusting, it looked nearly human.

It had gills, a bloated, swollen body, veiny like a rotten grape, its’ skin stretched too much, the entity’s torso appearing like it was ready to pop at any time, it was wet and full, looking at it made me pale in aversion.

It was an abomination, that drooled slime everywhere, it had pallid grey skin, and constantly bled from the eyes, ears and throat, it gurgled out nonsense, muffled by drowning croaking noises. His limbs sagged, so he had to drag them around.

It seems like it is blind, and deaf, but its scent of smell appears strong.

The slime it secreted seems like an adhesive, as the way it breathe came in wet, sucking gasps, like lungs filled with liquids, its hunched back had a sack like growth that inflated and deflated like a balloon, filled with dripping mucus that caused parts of the ship stick together like welding iron.

It likes to hang around the pool area, during cold foggy nights, it leaves it, able to roam where water is present, one of the few exceptions to what we knew about the Hollowed.

On the 15th of May 2025, Louise went to it, the bloated sac of liquid and mucus, she lured it to the deck, near starboard side, she promise she’d return safe, holding Julian’s sea shell necklace.

He promised to save us when he left it, but now, that promise seemed hollow.

As empty as the greedy fat eyes of the bloated abomination that was beached on the ship’s deck.

I was never personally present for what happened, but Louise never returned from her trip to the deck, I planned to reviewed a camera footage of the deck, one that Thomas managed to scavenge from the security room.

None of them wanted to tell me what they saw. I was stubborn.

I wanted to know, I needed to know what happened to my friend.

Suri wrestled the USB from my hand, Aliyah begged me not to.

I relented, but I am ashamed to admit this, I stole the USB from her just a day before they left for the boiler room.

Fast forward to now, June 3, 2025. I find myself alone in a room, typing all this away, everyone had opted to relocate to the captain’s quarters once they got the generator running.

I volunteered to stay behind and ensure everything we’ve gathered so far is accounted for.

I will join them soon, I will go with them, in hopes that we could hold out, if help ever comes, if not, then I hope you take this warning well, and I plan to document more if I manage to survive the oncoming week.

I intend to search this hell hole entirely, figure its secrets, and understand it, to ensure that it will have a hard time feeding itself. Though I wonder, if anyone can help me, what is the correlation of the word Kore to our predicament?

Mrs. Wells managed to transcribe that on a symbol plastered on each decorum on the cabin doors, just before she got taken by the Lurker.

We also found a captain’s hat by the deck at some point. It had the name ARCHON, written on it. Is this a clue? I’m not sure . . . .

Though I hope this increases your survival, if you find yourself stuck here with us, which I truly hope you never do, I promise to do my best to find ways for you to keep yourself safe.

If not, stay away from the ship, if it ever appears anywhere else outside the River Thames, please call authorities, alert the coast guard, do anything but boarding it.

I am scared so scared that none of us have a shot of going home, but somehow, I am more scared of the idea, that this post just acting as a lure to anyone foolish enough to seek the Tartarus Express for a sick thrill.

This is no game, neither is it a joke.

People are dying, and we are in a constant state of purgatory.

I still hold out hope, and on an unrelated note, I have found a bunch of Narcissus flowers around my room, any case, here are the rules we’ve come up to ensure a higher chance of survival on the Tartarus Express.

Rule 1: Evenings are unsafe.

Starting 5:00 pm to 3:00 am, Thralls roam the Ferry’s halls, The Lost do not follow this rule, and will be present in just about anywhere, they disappear at random.

The Hollowed never disappear, but they are always bound to one place. JULIAN CAN ROAM, JULIAN CAN ROAM, the Bloater can roam. Be careful near the pool.

We were wrong about the Lurker, it doesn’t disappear, it just hides, it doesn’t disappear, it just hides.

Rule 2: DO NOT EAT THE POMEGRANATE

I know starvation is awful, and that hunger gnaws away at you like a parasite, but never in your life eat the pomegranate you find growing around the ship, or any kind of pomegranates at all, we don’t know what happens, but Mrs. Wells warned us before she was taken.

Rule 3: Learn to eat spoiled meat

One of the few things that mask your scent, from creatures like the Disemboweler and the Bloater JULIAN, those that rely on senses of smell, cannot detect you if you are covered in rotten meat, of ANY KIND, or just simply have incorporated eating it in your diet.

I suggest stick to rotten rat, you’re less likely to succumb to regret and mental repercussions if you avoid cannibalism all together.

Rule 4: The Passenger Cabins are safe spaces, but are not absolute.

Entities often lack cognitive function and logic to open doors. They are pure monsters that rely on their senses, as long as you are quiet during the night, and do not do anything to stand out, you’d be safe, but if you hear clicking noises, I’m so sorry. There’s only a small chance of survival when it comes to the Scalper, even if your door is closed and locked, and you are hidden under the bed.

Rule 5: Do Not Allow Intrusive Thoughts To Win.

Like I mentioned before, you would for the best, prefer to remain sane and mentally stable. If you happen to fall too much into depression, or do something rash while under influence of anything— there’s a high chance you become Lost.

So do everything in your power to take your mind off stress, entertain yourself in any way possible that don’t endanger yourself or others. The Lost in my opinion are the most dangerous, it will not disappear, and will haunt these halls without limits.

Rule 6: NEVER FORAGE IN THE CAFETERIA

Larry wouldn’t listen, if you take food from the cafeteria and eat it, something comes for you, if need be look in the passenger rooms marked with lotus symbols, risk starvation, or find a rat, a seagull or catch a pelican, just never take anything from the cafeteria, no matter how fresh or enticing it seems, especially the water.

Larry grabbed just a single bottled water, and the dawn after, he came to us, with his right hand sawn off, and a bloodied piece of paper on his table, labelled with “Ambrosia and Nectar, not fit for mortal consumption”

Whatever it is, YOU WOULD NOT PREFER TO ENCOUNTER IT.

Rule 7: Hide from the Rain

Don’t let yourself get wet by rain water, it changes you. Not drastically, but it kills all manner of emotions. Empathy, and humanity.

Suri changed, she got dripped on by a single rain drop, on her shoulder. She acts like a machine, she doesn’t smile, get angry, or even just a single emotion. She’s just there now, we all feel uneasy around her, but we understand that its still her.

Don’t think about boiling it and drinking it, its not a wise idea either.

Rule 8: Find a Lotus Marked Room

These are anomalous, they refill every three days with bottles of non alcoholic wine, bags of crisps, and pomegranates, do not eat the pomegranates. Clothing that fit you, objects you find interesting, they appear, just sleep in one for an evening, and you claim it, that room belongs to you, as long as you live.

It is your best bet at surviving hunger. It will not hide you from the Scalper, but it will shelter you from most monsters.

Rule 9: Don’t Use The Restroom

Each room, with a lotus mark or not has a personal restroom, use that if you must, but never go to the designated restroom near Commercial Hall B, the Disembowler fancies it as a nest.

Don’t even think about pissing on the pool, I know we’re surviving and are stuck in a ferry from hell, but please try to be civil.

Rule 10: There are no faces on the walls.

Ignore them. Just ignore them, these are memories taken shape, if you stare at one too much, you would dream about their life. You would not enjoy being plagued by excruciating deaths in your dreams, that is just going to hasten your mental decline.

Rule 11: REMOVED

This had proven too risky, I scrubbed this one out immediately, just trust me please. I had no idea who even wrote this one in my journal, forgive me.

Rule 12: Time Does Not Flow Normally

This one doesn’t change too much, but it really screws your body clock over. Night is longer, and comes first before the day, there are 19 hours during the night, and there are 6 hours during the day.

There are 25 hours in a day here, we have yet to figure out what this entails, but it is odd. You have little time to get sunlight, and neither do you want it to last longer, although the monsters come during the night, during the day, the sun blazes so hot, if you stay out too long in an area unprotected by shade, you would burn alive.

The sun is not your friend, but neither are the stars. The stars are not stars, do not look at them. Please don’t.

End of list.

That ends the list section and a summary if events so far, as I’ve promised, Aliyah, Hugh, Thomas, Andrew, Larry, Suri, Hanna, Harry, and Lauren, I hope things are going well for all of you, I know that the boiler room is not exactly the safest place to be, but I hope you succeed.

Now I fear that something has changed.

The door was thrown wide open, allowing cold air to fill the room, I fear my time had come, but no, rather than being gored or eaten, I could feel my tears drip, my body violently reel back, as I heard a familiar voice call to me.

Sitting here, contemplating, I believe I just understood what the Lurker took during our first night here, because when the door just opened, standing before me, with eyes deep and sunken, and skin pale as moonlight . . . a look indifferent but relatable at the same time,

It was none other than my anthropology professor, Mrs. Wells.

Credit: Chance Twilight

Reddit