SCP-3760

August 5th 1922

Goodness knows I'm the worst at keeping records, but this feels important. Every instinct inside me is saying that something is very wrong. I have to write this all down before I forget.

Nobody knows how Willis Riggs ended up in the drink, least of all Riggs himself. Several men saw him heading below deck at 1521. At 1522, we had reports of a man overboard.

It was Riggs. Nobody saw it happen. When they pulled him aboard, he said he couldn't remember anything that had happened since breakfast that day. He was also missing a good chunk of his left foot.

They ask me to examine him, of course. Sewed up his foot, put a cast on it, and then tried to suss out why he couldn't remember anything. Concussion, I had figured. But besides the lost time, there didn't seem to be anything wrong with him. I told him to get some bedrest, and when he was gone I called the higher-ups. Only explanation I could come up with was that he had gotten something to drink and fell overboard. But he didn't look intoxicated.

It was a strange case. Folks talked about it for a couple of days, but I didn't think too much of it. Things happen. I've seen worse.

But then things kept happening. All sorts of accidents here and there. I didn't find out about most of it till later on. These aren't the type of men to go crying to the doctor for any little thing. Worst case I had after the Riggs' incident was some foolhardy kid with a black eye.

About a week after he'd gotten his foot chomped, Riggs came stammering into my office. He said he hadn't been able to get any sleep the past few nights because of the noise. I told him that he ought to be used to noisy nights on a ship like this. Then he said it wasn't the loudness that kept it him up, but where it was coming from. He propped up his foot on my desk and asked me to listen to his cast.

I gave him some pills and kicked him out. Figured his concussion was finally showing itself.

And then, just last night, they dragged Riggs into my office. He was screaming so loud you'd think he was on fire. They had to hold him down while I cut off the cast.

I expected gangrene. Over two decades, I've seen some serious cases — smelled them, too. You learn to expect the worst in this profession.

But the miasma from inside that cast was the worst damn thing I've ever smelled in my life. It was like someone shit in a dead fish and left it in the hot summer sun for a week. The flesh around his foot was all kinds of black and green and maroon. There were these sharp, tooth-like protrusions sticking out of the skin where I'd put the sutures. They'd chewed through the thread in several places, leaving open gaps that exposed more rows of smaller, sharper teeth inside.

I told Riggs and the others that his foot had gotten infected. Had to scrap the whole thing up to the knee. Ever since the op, I can't sleep. It's been affecting my work, my judgment, even my vision. I've had this dark spot at the edge of my vision that keeps coming and going. Probably just need to stop writing and go to sleep.

August 8th 1922

They brought the kid with the black eye in again today. His right eyelid was swollen shut; blood trickled from it like a leaky faucet. I had to use pincers to peel the lid back. Wasn't just the swelling that kept it shut. It was those little teeth again. They'd grown into the back of the lid and bit in.

He started making jokes about the eyepatch right away.

Speaking of eyes, my vision has gotten worse. The dark spot's moved to the center of it and won't go away. Even when I close my eyes, the colors don't dance in that one tiny spot. Is it possible that smell burned my corneas? One of the men who'd helped bring Riggs in—Ronnie Gaines, I think—said he'd been having headaches ever since that night. Wouldn't be surprised if whatever the hell Riggs has is toxic.

August 9th 1922

I had three more men in today. No teeth this time, though.

One of them had this rash going up his back that he said itched like crazy. It looked like acne at first, and he did have some acne back there, but there were all these bumps, all in neat little rows, all tender to the touch. I gave him some ointment.

One of them had a growth on his big toe. Big chunk of something sticking out of the space on the left side where the nail ended. Looked almost like coral, except it was translucent and slightly rubbery. I cut it off.

One of them had an earache. I looked inside and saw something look back at me. I told him it was his imagination.

The dark spot on my vision keeps getting bigger. It's not even a spot anymore. Its shape keeps changing. Wish we had an optometrist.

August 11th 1922

I told the higher-ups. They thought I was crazy. I wouldn't shut up about it, though, so they locked me away.

Rigg's leg tore a man's throat out today. So they let me go.

August 18th 1922

I have a little plate in front of me with bits of meat on it. Every few minutes I hold a piece up to my left ring finger. The nail slides up and it bears its teeth. I push the meat in and get back to taking care of the men. This is how things are now.

The higher-ups told me to reassure them that we're going home. They don't want any more men jumping into the ocean. Risks spreading the disease, they said.

I followed orders. But I also mentioned that if they felt like jumping, come see me first.

August 22nd 1922

Ronnie Gaines died this morning. There's a hole full of teeth where his face should be. He'd been complaining of migraines for days. I figured he had something going on inside. I just didn't think it would bite.

The curious part is that the teeth are still gnashing. Guess it makes sense. Riggs didn't die when his foot died. Why should the foot die if Riggs died?

August 23rd 1922

Riggs died

August 29th 1922

There's nothing more to write. I don't understand it. I can't heal it. I've already described it. No point in writing now. I have mouths to feed

September 5th 1922

I can see it clearly now. I can't quite make out its features, even though it's all I can see. It looks like a person.

It wasn't getting bigger.

It's swimming towards me