The Cupjuring: a horror story about shrinking cups

The sound was distant. It grew closer and closer, approaching the realm of consciousness and pulling the girl from her heavy slumber.

The girl stirred in her bed. As a pale, vaporous moonlight slipped into her room through the ship’s circular window, illuminating the girl’s tired form, she threw her bedsheets off her aching legs. She stretched, yawning and releasing the warmth of a deep sleep into the stale cool air.

The girl lazily arose from bed, but as her feet touched the floor suddenly her world shifted. The ground disappeared and adrenaline pumped through her body as she clung onto the bed frame. Then, just as quickly as it had disappeared, the floor reappeared as if nothing had happened.  

She stumbled against her bed, regaining her balance. The girl released the bed frame cautiously and made her way to the adjacent sink.

These once unnerving events now presented themselves with the familiarity of an old companion. In fact she had been warned before boarding the vessel of its many hauntings; warned of the heavy vengeful doors that swung shut on their own, snapping fingers like twigs, of the ghostly faint cries of defeated men coming from the belly of the ship, and of the possessed floor moving on its own accord, at times completely disappearing into a dark pit. She had watched her crew mates drop like flies, becoming victims to the ship and its many merciless habits. But after her week of staying aboard, she had grown accustomed to these hauntings, expecting them at every turn and navigating them with wary ease.

The girl washed her face, taking a deep breath. She glanced at her clock, 00:00 blaring at her like an obnoxious reminder of the daunting task that waited before her.

The girl headed to the door at the opposite end of the room. She twisted the handle and pulled it open into a dimly lit hallway. She made her way to the stairs and maneuvered down the steps of the confined ship. An eerie human like moan came from the walls, echoing down the corridor like an invitation. She had been in the boat long enough to know to ignore these unsettling calls, but at night they held a different pitch, like sirens luring any curious mind to a certain death.

As the girl approached the computer lab, she heard the muffled voices of the crew she had left; good people who hadn’t fallen prey to the unforgiving spirit of the ship. Their excited voices seeped into the damp hall, uncharacteristically welcoming.

They had all been assigned onto the boat for various research, but had come together to investigate an other worldly event. Their task for that fateful night was to uncover something from the deepest and darkest depths of the ocean. It was something that they had actually put there, in the hopes the ruthless ocean and its crippling pressure would transfigure it.

“We’re at 4,000 meters.”
“Roger that”
The sound of hasty scribbling on paper followed.

It had once been ordinary, created in the light of day, but had now been anchored down, dragged to the uninhabited floors of the ocean. This ritual had been done only a few times, but not many had lived to tell the tale.

“Winch lab let’s bring it up to 2,000 meters.”

They had come across documentation of this demonic practice, and a few scattered pictures lost in the folds of history had been unearthed. There was faith in the success of their creation, but also a hint of uncertainty. None of them knew quite what to expect.

“Winch lab let’s bring it up to 500 meters.”

The air was crackling with anticipation and fear. If the plan worked, their creation would resurface, deformed and mutilated by the relentless pressures of the icy waters below. But the question was, would their creation resurface at all? Or had it escaped and they unknowingly unleashed a deadly force into the ocean never to be seen again.

“Deck box off, CTD is good to surface for recovery.”

The door to the computer lab swung open, and four scientists rushed past the girl, down the hall, and to the back deck. She followed quickly behind.

The group gathered on the slippery deck, squinting their eyes in the dark, scouring the CTD cast’s base, searching. One member bravely nestled her way into the contraption. As the crew anxiously waited for her reappearance, a scream came from within the machine. Pipes and wires had latched onto the poor girl, swallowing her into the core. A single flailing arm stuck out, desperately clasping onto a long sheer bag. Within it contained the hideous creation they had all anxiously awaited for…it had remained snuggly wrapped in its thin package like a fleshy sack, warped and distorted, but there…a purposeful victim of the bone-breaking power of the deep sea.