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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Relative-Tourist7974 on 2024-08-15 16:22:23+00:00.

When I received the news about my mother’s worsening health, I had to make a quick decision to return home. My savings allowed me to buy a ticket for a cruise ship, which, although not a large luxury vessel, was sufficient for a swift journey towards my hometown. The ship was fairly compact – it didn’t stand out among other cruise liners, but it had everything necessary for passengers.

In winter, when I received the urgent news, the weather was harsh. The city where I lived was covered in a thick layer of snow, and the temperature had dropped below zero. Gray, heavy clouds obscured the sky, and the wind was blowing strongly, creating a sense of winter chaos. The streets were slippery, and every step outside required caution.

I lived in a small apartment on the outskirts of the city, which I had been renting for several years. I had actually moved out from my mother’s place a few years ago, when I turned 18. I needed more independence. The apartment was modest but comfortable – a single room with a kitchenette and a small bathroom. It was my own place, but I had always remained close to my mother in my heart, and her illness now suddenly drew me back to the family home.

After packing the essentials, I got into a taxi that struggled through the slippery streets in the harsh winter conditions. When I arrived at the port, the large cruise ship, although not extraordinary or particularly elegant, looked solid enough to ensure a safe journey. Its outdated appearance and somewhat neglected details contrasted with the elegance one might expect from larger vessels.

The ship, while unimpressive, provided basic comfort. The duration of the cruise was crucial in this case, considering my mother’s health. The cruise was set to last 3 hours. The weather at sea was as cold as on land – the wind picked up, and the waves, though not dangerous, were unsettling enough to fuel my fears.

When the ship finally stopped, passengers began to gather at the entrance, preparing to board. I felt both excited and worried, but what was to follow exceeded my worst fears. Two crew members stood on the deck by the entrance. They had wide smiles stretching from ear to ear, which were simultaneously unnatural and unsettling. The smiles were too wide, too motionless to be genuine – they seemed almost grotesque in their excessive expressiveness. Their faces were illuminated by the artificial lighting of the ship. I saw their eyes were cold and inscrutable, looking at us with some mysterious, disturbing interest. Every movement of their hands, every gesture was too fluid, as if they were mechanisms in a perfectly tuned machine.

Upon boarding the ship, my unease did not diminish, although the atmosphere around me was still filled with winter’s dark elegance. The ship, though not a massive cruiser like those used for longer voyages, had its own charm. The interior of the ship was filled with warm, yet artificial light, which contrasted with the cold, black-gray sky outside the windows.

Approaching the main entrance, I noticed that the interior of the ship was spacious, with elegantly furnished areas designed to provide comfort for passengers. Shiny marble floors and gilded details along the walls added a luxurious touch to the place, though somewhat outdated. The corridors were wide, with bright, pastel wallpapers and large windows allowing views of the sea, which was now filled with heavy, gray clouds.

The crew members, who had earlier welcomed us on board with those unnaturally wide smiles, were now strolling down the corridors, their faces still radiating unsettling joy. With each step, I passed another crew member, and their wide smiles seemed even more pronounced as their gaze passed over me. Every step, every interaction with them was like walking a tightrope, where every minor change could lead to unpredictable consequences.

As I walked through the deck, I noticed that the interior of the ship was designed with great attention to detail. In the main hall, there were elegant sofas and armchairs surrounding round tables. On the walls hung paintings depicting maritime landscapes, which in the winter light looked less welcoming than usual.

Passing by the bar and restaurant, I noticed elegant but slightly rusty furniture. The overall tone was subdued but warm in shades of brown and gold, giving the interior a classic, though somewhat old-fashioned look. Even here, the crew members’ faces bore those unnatural smiles that seemed to be part of some choreographed performance. Something was very wrong.

Finally, I reached my cabin, located on one of the lower decks. The cabin door opened with a soft click, and I stepped inside, feeling a bit of my tension ease. The cabin was small but cozy, decorated in a simple yet elegant style. The walls were in warm beige tones, and the furniture – including a bed with an elegant spread, a desk, and a wardrobe – was neatly crafted, though visibly used.

Through the cabin window, I could see the sea, which now looked even more gray and turbulent, with waves crashing against the ship’s hull. As I began to unpack, I felt my anxiety and tension coalescing into a sharp, penetrating unease.

I started by taking out the essentials – a few pairs of warm clothes necessary for the winter weather, and documents. I placed them in the wardrobe, trying to keep things organized.

On the desk, which was near the window, I set up a few personal items – family photos, a small notebook, and a few books to pass the time during the three-hour cruise.

After spending a few minutes on the bed, trying to gather my thoughts and acclimate to the strange atmosphere of the ship, I suddenly heard a knock on the cabin door. I pressed the button to open the door and saw one of the crew members standing at the threshold. Unlike the others, there was no unnatural smile on his face.

The man was dressed in an elegant uniform that perfectly matched the classic look of the ship – a navy blue jacket with golden buttons and a white shirt. Unlike the others, he did not have that unnatural smile on his face. He was holding a neatly folded sheet of paper, tied with a ribbon.

“Good day, sir,” he said, his voice warm but devoid of emotion.

“I was informed that you did not receive the list of rules. It is important that you familiarize yourself with these rules to ensure your safety during the journey.”

I took the sheet from his hands. I unfolded the paper, revealing that it was carefully written in elegant script, suggesting attention to detail. At the top was the date and time, and below, in several points, were rules that seemed as precisely formulated as they were disturbing.

Here is what was on the list:

Rule 1: NEVER make eye contact with the captain. If you break this rule, follow Rule 5.

Rule 2: If you hear a soft scratching in your cabin, do not move, do not make any sound, and eventually, the scratching will stop. However, if the scratching intensifies instead, leave the cabin as quickly as possible and do not return to it for the rest of the voyage. It lives in the walls.

Rule 3: Do not draw attention to yourself from the crew.

Rule 4: When you leave your cabin, know that you are safe until you go down to the engine room. No one goes there because they are afraid of it; no one descends. In 1989, there was a macabre incident there, a woman named Mia was burned alive, leaving behind only a charred skeleton. So remember, you might notice a woman with long black hair at first she will look normal, but after a moment… you don’t want to know what happens next, which is why no one goes down there, they are afraid of her. If you see her, find a hiding place as quickly as possible – it might not be too late.

Rule 5: If you make eye contact with the captain, your only option is to jump into the icy sea. That’s the only way I managed to survive.

Although the list was written in a formal style, each of these recommendations seemed unnaturally detailed and somewhat exaggerated. The point about avoiding eye contact with the captain, in particular, made me uneasy. Combined with the strange smiles of the crew, everything began to fit into a disturbing puzzle.

As soon as I finished reviewing the list, I noticed that the man had vanished, as if he had disappeared into thin air. I heard no footsteps in the corridor; he had simply vanished. I didn’t know what to think about it, so I decided to check the cabin again and make sure everything was in order. After a moment of contemplation about what I had witnessed and read, I felt I needed to stay alert and not be deceived by appearances. My thoughts returned to my mother’s condition and how important it was, despite all these oddities, to focus on the purpose of my journey.

I decided to leave the cabin to ask one of the crew members about the duration of the cruise. I still had the disturbing rules on my mind, but now the most important thing was to find out how much longer I would have to spend on this ship. Hoping it would be a short period, I headed towards the main corridor. When I reached the corridor, I noticed that the crew was still moving along it, with those unsettling, unnatural smiles on their faces. I stopped one of the employees, a young woman in an elegant uniform. Her smile, though wide, was somewhat more subtle than some of the other crew members.

“Excuse me,” I said, trying to sound calm, “I wanted to ask how much longer this crui…

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