The Final Voyage of Avery Mothmere

What would you do if you were shipwrecked, swept ashore, and menaced by a horde of ravenous crabs, only to be saved by an eldritch being and welcomed into a tower of secrets by an even more enigmatic host? As a scientist and traveler, how would you assess a situation that could only be a nightmare such as no human has ever experienced?

Join Avery Mothmere and faithful cat companion on the adventure of a lifetime! This charming story is by turns Gothic horror, strange and queer romance, unfathomable mystery, and weird fever dream.

Features 30 original illustrations by the author.

Publication date: February 10, 2025

191 pages, 38,000 words

Excerpt:

The Doomed Ship

“Far below the ocean’s surface, a horned beast waits and watches. It grinds its teeth and snorts sparks of lava-fueled fire into the chilly waters. Listens to a sailor’s shanty warbled above the waves. A catchy tune. It taps one clawed foot to keep time and makes plans to join that unfortunate crew.” –excerpt from A Naturalist's Observations of an Oft-Neglected World

The wood beneath my feet creaked and moaned like a dying animal. I had lost my last pair of shoes overboard in the tumult of the latest cyclone we’d endured and must suffer the cold, splintered decking with no protection but the thin black stockings that were currently more holes than whole. I did not complain. With most of the crew dead or dying and I capable of but little assistance, the best I could do was make myself even smaller and quieter than was my want and keep out of the way.

“A voyage of the damned,” the Captain had muttered only this morning over our hasty breakfast of smoked cod and stale, saltwater-soaked biscuits. He was bitter and worn thin from misfortune followed by calamity on top of disaster. Many were the hard glances sent my way. A modern-day Jonah, he was thinking perhaps, though he did not dare speak it aloud, for such words invite their own bad luck.

I would be hard-pressed to argue the point, for by the crew’s own accounts, The Serendipity had encountered calm seas and felicitous winds before my companion and I came aboard at its last port of call. Poor Mitra. She was terrified of sailing, having dreamt many times of her bones clapping and knocking about together on the lonely ocean floor like rolling dice. Had she the Sight after all, as she so often claimed? For such was indeed her fate.

When I closed my eyes, I saw her still. The almost comically surprised expression on her face as the wrathful wave caught her about the waist and dragged her through the cruel railings, splitting them both in twain. Her top half went one way, the bottom another. I tried not to picture their slow descent, the churning water pulling at her skirt of plain stuff and ripping the pins from her dark curls. The obscenity of her innermost secret parts sprawled open, convenient for sharp-toothed marine creatures to begin their relentless feast.

How long does one’s mind continue to conjure sensible thought in such a predicament? Not long, I hoped. The only thing worse than witnessing the breaking of her body would be to think she was aware of what was happening and counting out her losses as she drowned. My scientific mind told me that the shock of her injuries would have shut down any sensations of pain or despair in an instant, but my imagination couldn’t help but run wild, fancying her reaching out one hand to catch at a passing foot so they might not be parted in death.

My father always rebuked me for my morbid fancies, so I learned early not to speak of them. But one soon discovers that to constantly guard one’s tongue is a tiresome affair. Far easier not to speak, though I would be hard-pressed to decide if the world was more suspicious of one who talks too much of what is deemed nonsense or one who talks far too little. You might almost think conserving one’s words was itself a crime. I had hoped to escape such societal expectations when I traveled, but it turned out even the roughest and most graceless of sailors demanded the social niceties from one of my station.

As I huddled close in a small alcove that I’d discovered behind the water barrels lashed to the deck, I heard the Captain shouting orders barely audible above the indescribable commotion of the oncoming storm. I must admit a part of me found the experience restful. At that moment, I required nothing of anyone, and no one required anything of me. To cling, to survive, to speculate how long the ship could withstand yet another tempest with its greatly reduced crew and damaged hull—that was all. To find my life and its striving reduced down to this simple calculus was a relief. For once, I felt my over-busy brain settle and focus.

A dozen men lay below in their hammocks, too ill of the fever to assist or care whether we survived our current trial. Some might even welcome the ship foundering, dragging them down with it and putting them out of their endless misery since they were bound to succumb to their symptoms as had so many others. Another five sailors had been washed overboard as dear Mitra was. That left a scant rollcall of hands aboveboard.

The cook had been installed before the wheel, being the only one remaining who was big and strong enough to fight the inexorable pull of the waves. He looked frightened to death, poor man, and I couldn’t help but think he was steering the ship more or less at random. He lacked the talent of seamanship and would have been far more comfortable stirring a pot on the woodstove in the galley below. The Captain should by rights have been navigating, but he was distracted helping the skeleton crew bring in the sails before they were ripped to pieces and the masts shattered.

I was soaked through and as chilled as I’d ever been in my life. My teeth chattered out an eccentric rhythm that vibrated through my skull, giving me the headache. I became aware of a warm spot at my back. It was Soot, the ship’s cat, a brave golden-eyed mouser with long black fur, four white paws, and a charming little silver moustache. I turned and curled round him, sheltering him from the driving rain. I couldn’t say which of us was shivering more, but what comfort it was to know even one living creature was near to me and faithful enough to share in my fate.

Never before in my travels had I experienced seasickness, but the wildly gyrating ship, the sudden ups and downs as we dropped from highest wave to deepest trough, were challenging even my iron stomach. Any thought of heaving over the side was out of the question, so I concentrated on calming my breath and conjuring pleasanter thoughts in my mind.

The Royal Gardens of Lilliash, lush green lawns punctuated by blooms rioting in every color imaginable. The orchards, tree branches weighed down with a bountiful crop. Mitra’s perfect white teeth biting into a purple plum as the juice ran down her chin. Me, laughingly tucking a twig of white apple blossom behind her ear. The guard who half-heartedly chased us off with a grin and a rude observation, indulgent to our spring fancies and petty thefts.

No, it was too painful to think on Mitra. Better to recall a time from before our first meeting. The summers I spent on Grandfather’s estate, wandering the forbidden wilds and helping bring the herds down from the high places where they fled to escape the spring floods in the meadows. The little wounded owl I nursed back to health and released to the sanctuary of the deep forest with the truest regret. I could feel the grip of its tiny claws round my rough forefinger still. Treasured its hard-won trust.

I’d always had a way with creatures of every kind. Maybe that was why Soot had sought me out. We’d had many a lively conversation below deck in happier times, and he rejoiced in showing off his latest kills to me before devouring them.

“Fret not, small friend,” I whispered in one soft ear. “It’s only another storm and we have weathered many a one these past weeks. All will be well.” Alas that I’ve never learned not to tempt fate with foolish predictions!