On a moonless night, in a remote corner of the Atlantic, a fishing boat named Mar de Jako sliced through the water like a knife in the darkness. The crew was simple: five men hardened by salt and storms. That night, the radar began to fail. It wasn't unusual in those waters, but something in the air felt different. A bone-chilling cold enveloped them, the kind that settled deeper in the bones than on the skin.

  Julián, the youngest of the group, gazed at the horizon. A figure emerged from the mist, dark and colossal. It was a ship, but unlike any they had ever encountered at sea. Its black sails billowed, though there was no wind, and tattered cloths fluttered like shadows.

  "What the hell is that?" Julián murmured, his voice trembling.

  Captain Efraín narrowed his eyes and, without looking away, replied, "Nothing good. Stay on course and don't get distracted."

  But the Mar de Jako did not obey. No matter how much they adjusted the engines, the boat began to drift toward the enormous vessel. The waters were calm, yet it was as if an invisible force was pulling them in.

  As they drew closer, the ghostly ship revealed more details: a bow carved with grotesque figures, elongated and distorted faces that seemed to scream in silence. The hull was covered in phosphorescent algae, glowing with a macabre light.

  "We shouldn't get any closer," said Omar, the mechanic, lighting a cigarette with trembling hands.

  But it was too late. They were near enough to hear something strange: a constant creaking, like the sound of breathing wood.

  Efraín ordered the engine to stop, but it shut off on its own. Without power, they were stranded beside the spectral vessel. Despite the fear, Julián suggested they explore. There were no signs of life, but perhaps they could find fuel or equipment to repair the radar.

  "It's madness, but we don't have many options," Efraín admitted.

  With flashlights and a rope, four of them boarded the ghost ship. Omar stayed on the Mar de Jako, promising to try and fix the engine.

  The air aboard the phantom ship was thick, filled with the stench of rotting wood and something metallic, like old blood. The ropes creaked as if strained by unseen hands, though the air was still. They advanced cautiously, illuminating narrow, mold-covered corridors.

  In the first cabin, they found a round table with scattered playing cards. The cards were damp, but the words on them remained legible, written in an unfamiliar language. Salvador, one of the men, picked up a card and read it aloud.

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  "Don't do that. We don't know what it means," warned Julián.

  But Salvador, stubborn, ignored the advice. As he read, the walls seemed to emit a low, guttural moan.

  Suddenly, a dull thud echoed through the ship.

  "What was that?" Julián asked, sweating despite the cold.

  "Something doesn't want us here," Efraín murmured.

  When they tried to return to the Mar de Jako, they found the rope severed. The fishing boat had vanished, swallowed by the mist.

  Trapped on the ghost ship, they explored with increasing desperation. In the main dining hall, long tables were set with corroded silverware. Plates held remnants of decayed food, and seated at each place was a skeletal figure, dressed in clothing from centuries past.

  Miguel, another crew member, noticed something in the skeletal hands: each figure clutched a different object. A rusted knife, a broken compass, a pocket watch stopped at three o'clock. Miguel picked up the watch, and the flashlights flickered.

  "Drop it!" Julián shouted, but it was too late.

  A guttural growl echoed through the corridors, as if something massive slithered within the ship's belly. The wood beneath their feet groaned, and a black liquid oozed through the cracks, rising steadily like a tide.

  They ran, but the hallway seemed endless. Doors slammed shut around them, and the air filled with whispers in a language they couldn't understand. Efraín was the first to fall; something unseen gripped his feet, dragging him into the shadows. His scream faded into the darkness.

  At last, Julián, Salvador, and Miguel reached what appeared to be the captain's quarters. In the center stood a massive ledger, resting on a pedestal. The pages were yellowed, yet the writing seemed freshly inked.

  Salvador opened the book, and a phrase in Spanish stood out among the foreign text:

  "Anyone who reads these words belongs to the ship."

  The door slammed shut behind them. The captain of the ghost ship appeared — a tall figure with a face hidden beneath a tricorn hat. His eyes burned like embers, and his presence swallowed the light.

  "Who are you?" Julián stammered, retreating.

  "I am no one. But now, you are part of my crew," the man replied, his voice echoing like a distant storm.

  Miguel lunged with the knife he had taken, but the captain didn't flinch. Instead, Miguel's body aged before their eyes, his skin withering until he collapsed into a pile of ash.

  "This can't be happening..." Salvador whispered, clutching the ledger.

  The captain leaned toward him and whispered something in his ear. Without a word, Salvador dropped the book and walked into the darkness, never to be seen again.

  Julián alone remained. The captain gazed at him with a mix of amusement and pity.

  "You have a choice, boy. Join us, or leave and tell this story. But if you choose the latter, remember this: words have a price."

  Julián nodded desperately. In an instant, he found himself adrift on a piece of the Mar de Jako's wreckage.

  Days later, he was rescued by another fishing boat. But he was never the same. Every time he tried to speak of what had happened, strange occurrences followed: lights flickered, doors slammed shut, and a low laughter echoed in his mind.

  Years later, in a small coastal town, he met a young man who listened to his tale with fascination. When Julián finished, the young man asked:

  "What happened to the ship?"

  Julián shivered for the first time in years.

  "It's still out there, waiting."

  The young man smiled, but it wasn't a normal smile. His eyes gleamed crimson, like embers, and his voice echoed with an unsettling familiarity:

  "And it always finds who it needs."

  In that moment, Julián understood the captain's words. Words have a price, and he had paid it.

  He could only...Smile.