The first time the signal came through, it was clear. Just a couple of beeps and static noises that echoed loudly in the radio room. But I could feel it, there was something on the other end of the radio.
“Coordinates, sir. It’s coming from Ghost Bay.” the operator said.
"Ghost Bay?" I asked rhetorically.
I quickly pulled up the map and looked it up, my throat tightening.
"Ghost Bay". I muttered again.
I've known that area to be an uncharted island off the West African coast, spoken of only in whispers. Nobody knew what they loved there. Only tales from nearby fishermen, who said that ships that sailed too close to the ghost bay never returned.
“It can't be. That's an uncharted island. Recheck it,” I said.
The operator adjusted the dial a second time. This time, the signal came sharper, like a two-edged sword. I could hear the voice now in bubbles, like a voice trapped under water:
SOS. SOS.
My men shifted their gaze to be. I could see the unease in their eyes. I knew they were waiting for my command.
Sergeant Bassey muttered, “That place is cursed, sir. We shouldn’t go.”
"What if, truly, people are trapped there?" I asked.
"What if it's a ghost call?" Sergeant Bassey returned the question.
But I wasn't one to believe ghost stories. Besides, I've known myself not to be a coward.
"At dawn, we set sail," I commanded.
By dawn, we were on course to Ghost Bay. But it wasn't long before I began doubting my decision. The closer we drew to Ghost Bay, the thicker the air became, heavy with salt and loud silence. There were no gulls or life in sight. Only fog that wrapped around us like a blindfold and a signal that grew louder and clearer.
I could hear my men whispering in corners. But I told them those stories were for children. Although I was beginning to feel unease spread through me like damp through cloth.
We anchored closer to shore immediately and we saw Ghost Bay rise out of the mist. A beautiful landscape of jagged rocks circling a strip of pale sand. Behind it stood a wall of tall trees that intertwined as if they were forced to grow that way. Again, there was no sign of life.
“Sir,” Bassey whispered, pointing. “Over there.”
He found the remains of a tent torn open, with boots half-buried in the sand just beside the tent. There were supplies scattered on the sand to the forest behind as if abandoned in a hurry.
My eye caught a journal as I bent and picked it up. The last entry sent shivers down my spine.
The voices are getting closer. They call our names. Tomorrow we will try to signal again.
"This must be our caller," I told the crew. "Let's search for survivors."
We searched for hours and found none. Only traces of lives that must have been cut short. By nightfall, we had built a fire. The men sat in a tight circle, rifles ready. No one spoke. They wanted to leave but I felt we still had chances of saving someone. I felt somewhere, somehow within those bushes was a life waiting to be saved.
We soon drifted to sleep beside the fire.
I woke up to the sounds of a whisper in the wind. Then it felt like someone was walking along the beach.
“Who goes there?” I barked, jolted to my feet. Rifle raised.
But there was no answer. Yet the footsteps kept crunching in the sand.
Then came voices. First, a female voice calling out Bassey's name. Soft and low. It was his mother’s voice.
Bassey got up speedily. His body was trembling. “Mama?” he replied
I held him back, “Stay back, Serg!” I ordered. "It's not your mother."
But he was caught in the loop. He pushed forward, eyes glazing, walking into the darkness. To the voice that beckoned him. No matter how I tried to hold him back, it was as if a strong force pulled him in until the night swallowed him and we never saw him again.
The rest of us barely slept that night. We stood guard scared, waiting for the next person to be called to glory as the voices came one by one. Some we recognized, others we didn’t. And no matter how we tried to close our ears, the voices won.
By dawn, five more men were gone. No screams, no struggle. They simply rose, walked into the mist, and vanished.
I gathered my surviving men and sailed back. But no matter how we added power to the rudder, the sea fought us with waves that rose like walls, throwing us against the rocks.
The signal came again. Louder and clearer than ever
Help us. Help us.
I smashed it with my rifle. Immediately, the voice cut off, the sea calmed, and we sailed until the fog opened into a clear horizon.
No one spoke on our journey home. We mourned the death of our brothers as I carried the weight of carelessness.
