Flash Fiction - July 2025

Hello Dear Reader!

I recently tried my hand at some flash fiction. The prompt was that it had to be 1000 words or less, and that it had to end with the line “Everyone thought they knew the truth, but no one was the things we saw.” This was a very fun and challenging exercise. Here’s what I came up with. Enjoy! ~Tiff

Photo of a Deep Sea Diver from roughly the 1940s

Somewhere in the Atlantic, October 1941

U-47 disappeared without a trace. That’s what everyone said, anyway.

Top brass was pretty hush-hush about the details. A bubblehead like me usually operates on a need-to-know basis, but there was something in the air that told me this wasn’t a run-of-the-mill salvage operation.

Commander O’Neil had been in the Navy near 20 years. He had seen and done it all, so he didn’t bat an eye as he introduced us to the “contractor” who was said to be sponsoring this operation.

“Petty Officers, this is Mr. Bailey. He’s an archeologist from England. He’s been working with the gentlemen in DC and they have some interest in recovering an artifact they believe might be in this wreckage.”

Higgins and I looked at each other.

This contractor had no business being on a Navy vessel. He was a scrawny fellow, wiry frame, thin hair, nervous demeanor, elbows on his tweed jacket worn thin.

Mr. Bailey cleared his throat as he flipped through his portfolio. There were bits of notes and old papers sticking out of it in every direction. He didn’t have much trouble finding what he was looking for, though, because he pulled it out and held it up for us to see. It was a bad carbon copy. “We need to recover this artifact.”

“What do the folks in DC want with some ugly little totem?” I asked.

“It is of great importance. For the war effort.” His ink-stained fingers trembled as he held the paper out.

“Looks like a deformed squid.” Higgins said. He wasn’t wrong.

Mr. Baily lifted his chin, his accent haughty. “Yes, well, it should be easy for you to remember when you’re out there looking through the wreckage in the dark then, won’t it?”

“Suit up, boys.” Commander O’Neil dismissed us.

Higgins and I were quiet as we climbed into our deep sea diving suits. I helped him with the straps first. This salvage operation shouldn’t be any different from any other. There was something off-putting about Mr. Bailey’s request, but neither of us could place it. Higgins helped me step into the weighted shoes. Shoes that were designed to pull me straight to the bottom of the ocean. And keep me there.

I might have asked Higgins his thoughts, but the copper helmet was going on over my head, and the world suddenly narrowed. The sounds of the ship were muffled. My field of view was reduced to the tiny circular window. My body was heavy from all the shoes, and straps, and the giant, round, copper helmet over my head. Bolts creaked as they tightened, sealing helmet to dive suit.

Into the water we went. Pulled down into the dark, cold depths by the weight of our gear. Looking up through the small window in my helmet, the light blue of the surface faded as we sank, down, down, down. Hundreds of feet and still we sank. The chill of the ocean pressed against my suit. It was hazy twilight when we finally reached the bottom. I couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of me.

I found Higgins to my left. Signaled. He signaled back. All good so far. The coordinates had been exact. Through the gloom a great, black hulking shape was visible: the wreck. It was perched on the edge of a shelf, in danger of giving way and sliding into the depths at any moment. We made towards it, each step kicking up silt, further reducing our visibility.

Through the murk, faint green lights began to glow. At first, I didn’t think much. Bioluminescence was pretty common at these depths. The light began to pulse. The green shimmer undulated in a way that made me nauseous, growing brighter and brighter. I could clearly make out the shape of the U-boat. The submarine was split in half; all its guts strew out on the ocean floor.

I might be hallucinating. I looked for Higgins but he was frozen in place, staring. He saw it too. Beyond the pulsating green light, dark shapes began to wave in the water. Giant tentacles emerged from the darkness beyond the wreck. They were so large they dwarfed the sub, made it look like a child’s toy.

The green lights continued to pulse. I was both mesmerized and repulsed. I began to sweat. I needed to puke. Couldn’t breathe. I had the worst desire to pull my helmet off. It couldn’t be real. This was something supernatural. Something evil had come up from the depths. The tentacles began to wrap themselves around the sub. In the midst of all those tentacles was an eye. A great, yellow, watery eye with twin pupils.

I pissed myself when it looked at me. A thousand voices roared to life in my ears. Screaming at me in languages I didn’t understand. Something warm and sticky began to trickle down the side of my face.

I looked at Higgins. He was trying to unfasten his helmet, clawing at the screws. I tried to hold his hands down; tried to keep him from killing himself. I thought I could hear him screaming inside his helmet. Or maybe I was. Perhaps we both were.

I unclipped his weight belt. Managed to get mine off as well. We’d probably ascend too fast, might get the bends, might die even. But it was better than sticking around here with that demon come up from the depths to claim the sub. Higgins just kept screaming and screaming and trying to pull his helmet off. I blacked out.

Commander O’Neil debriefed us in the infirmary. Medics tried to explain it away as a bad case of nitrogen narcosis. ‘Cept you didn’t burst blood vessels in your eyes and bleed from your ears from the bends.

Official report was that U-47 was unrecoverable. The sub slid off the shelf into the depths. Everyone thought they knew the truth, but no one was the things we saw. 

(Photo credit Dr. Innes McCartney)