Captain Elias’s Logbook – Recovered Document

The following logbook was found among recovered belongings and subsequently cataloged by the competent authority.

Captain: Elias Holm

Nationality: Norwegian

Port of departure: Liverpool, United Kingdom

Declared destination: Reykjavík, Iceland

Year: 1907

October 1, 1907

16:10 — Boarding completed as scheduled.

16:40 — Mooring lines released.

Departure from port without incident. Stable weather conditions. Overcast sky. Light westerly wind. Low temperature. Sea relatively calm for the season. Cargo distributed according to the approved plan. No shifting observed. Full crew. Thirty-two men aboard, including two civilian passengers. Engines operating within normal parameters. Proper response at the helm. Nothing to report beyond the routine.

October 2, 1907

First full day in open waters. Average speed maintained as initially estimated. Regular consumption. Course confirmed. Instruments operating normally. The crew performs its duties without noteworthy incidents. I observed that the sea presents an unusual pattern. The waves appear uniform, repeated, without perceptible variation. I reported the observation to First Officer Larsen. He agreed that the movement is strange, but attributed it to the constancy of the wind. No additional measures required.

October 3, 1907

Dense fog since before dawn. Visibility reduced to approximately one hundred meters. Speed reduced as a precaution. Foghorn maintained in accordance with regulations. During the watch change, the lookout reported movement beneath the surface, near the hull. He could not describe a shape, only the displacement of the water. I recorded it as a subjective observation. Conditions of visibility and fatigue may affect judgment.

October 4, 1907

Fog persisted throughout the entire day. No significant variation. The barometer showed an abrupt drop during the early morning hours, followed by a return to normal level a few hours later. There was no corresponding change in weather conditions. One of the passengers reported constant headaches. The other mentioned restless dreams related to the sea. I recommended rest. The cook reported an unusual odor in the provisions hold. I inspected it personally. No irregularities found. Smell consistent with damp wood and salt.

October 5, 1907

The engine room clock showed a delay of approximately twenty minutes. Adjusted immediately. The main chronometer remained correct. No mechanical failure identified. During the night watch, I heard a single metallic sound coming from beneath the hull. A dry, isolated knock. No subsequent vibration. Possible contact with a submerged object or floating debris. No apparent damage.

October 6, 1907

Excessively calm sea. Almost complete absence of waves. Conditions still acceptable, though unusual. Crew quiet. I attribute this to the monotony of the crossing and the persistence of the fog. Nothing further to record.

October 7, 1907

Serious incident. Fireman Franz Becker did not return from the early-morning shift. He was last seen descending to the engine room shortly after midnight. Searches conducted throughout the vessel. No sign found. No noise was heard during the night. No alarm was triggered. Sea conditions do not favor an accidental fall, but there is no administrative alternative. I officially recorded it as “man overboard.” The crew reacted poorly to the news. I maintained routine to preserve discipline.

October 8, 1907

Continuous fog. No clearing throughout the day. Two sailors reported hearing knocking sounds during the early morning hours. They could not determine the source. The times do not coincide. Hull inspection revealed no damage. The ship continues to respond normally.

October 9, 1907

Second disappearance. Passenger identified as Mr. Whitcombe. Cabin found locked from the inside. No signs of struggle or forced entry. Pocket watch found on the table, stopped at 03:17. The crew shows growing nervousness. I spoke with First Officer Larsen. We decided to maintain strict discipline.

October 10, 1907

During the morning, the compass showed brief oscillation. It spontaneously returned to the correct heading. After evaluation, I decided to alter course and return to the port of origin as a precaution. Decision recorded according to protocol. During the maneuver, I felt a slight jolt against the hull. No prolonged vibration. No visible damage. Possible contact with a submerged object.

October 11, 1907

Reports of strange sounds increased. Descriptions vary. Some speak of knocks. Others of something resembling footsteps, which I consider unlikely. Two sailors abandoned their posts during the early morning hours without authorization. They said they felt the need to go to the deck. They were restrained without resistance. I suspect collective psychological fatigue.

October 12, 1907

The engine room showed water accumulation at a low level. No point of ingress identified. Boilers continue to function normally. The sky maintains a constant, undefined brightness. It is neither full night nor clear day. The sense of the passage of time is impaired. Watches seem longer than they should be.

October 13, 1907

First Officer Larsen disappeared. His cap was found at the helm, wet, although the deck was dry. I assumed direct control of navigation. The ship responds to the helm, but with delay, as if it hesitates before obeying.

October 14, 1907

Regular knocking on the hull during the night, always in sequences of three. No detectable damage. The corridors seem longer. It took me more time than usual to go from the cabin to the deck. I did not mention this to anyone.

October 15, 1907

Few men remain fully functional. Some walked onto the deck and disappeared into the fog. There was no struggle. There were no screams. I did not try to stop them. The sea was completely motionless. I cannot explain what is happening.

October 16, 1907

The ship emits constant sounds, similar to the release of pressure. I have the persistent impression that we are not merely sailing, but being held in position. I write to preserve my sanity.

October 17, 1907

Something is wrong. Every decision seems to have been made before me. Ending today’s entry.

October 18, 1907

I reread previous entries and notice breaks in continuity. Some events seem too close together in time. Others, distant. I do not know whether this is due to exhaustion or errors in my record. The crew count does not add up. I am certain of this now. I do not know when I lost exact control of the number of men aboard. I hear footsteps during the night. They do not echo as they should. They begin close and end far too far away for the time elapsed.

October 19, 1907

The engine room again showed water. The level is higher than before. Even so, operation remains normal. This makes no sense. The water does not move with the ship’s roll. It remains smooth. I observed it for a prolonged time. A sailor asked if we were sinking. I replied that we were not, with enough conviction to end the conversation. I could not identify the horizon line.

October 20, 1907

The sky does not change. I cannot remember when I last saw the sun. I also cannot say that I did not see it. Watches have lost meaning. I consulted the logbook to answer what day it was. This disturbed me more than it should have.

October 21, 1907

I found marks on the inner hull, near the bow. They were not there before. They are not scratches. They are smooth depressions, as if the metal had been slowly pressed from the outside inward. The metal was very cold.

October 22, 1907

The knocking stopped. The silence is now too absolute. There is no sound of water against the hull. Only the internal sound of the ship, or something imitating that sound. One sailor woke up screaming. He said he dreamed the ship was stationary, but something beneath it kept descending. He could not explain it better. He cried afterward.

October 23, 1907

I lost two more men. They did not disappear. They simply did not wake up. I examined the bodies. No sign of injury. I do not know what to record as cause. Perhaps there is no longer any official record.

October 24, 1907

I perceive physical contradictions. Corridors do not always lead to the same places. Sometimes I arrive too quickly. Other times, it takes excessive time. I do not believe the ship is changing. I believe it is me.

October 25, 1907

I tried to calculate our position. The instruments provide data that are coherent with one another, but do not correspond to any place I recognize. If we were where they indicate, we should have seen land days ago. We have seen nothing but fog and motionless water. Perhaps we never changed position.

October 26, 1907

The sea behaves strangely when observed for a long time. It does not move in layers. It moves as a whole, slow and deep. I have the impression that we are not on it, but within it. The idea arose too clearly to be ignored.

October 27, 1907

I hear something moving beneath the ship. It does not scrape. It does not strike. It slides. The sensation is not one of immediate threat. It is of constant proximity, like someone standing very close.

October 28, 1907

Few men remain. They avoid looking at the water. They avoid looking at one another. One of them asked whether the ship was alive. I replied that ships are not living things. I am not sure he believed me. I am not sure I believe it.

October 29, 1907

The Nordstjerne no longer creaks as before. The sounds are now rhythmic, regular, almost comforting. This seems wrong to me, but also inevitable. Writing requires effort. Words escape before they are completed.

October 30, 1907

I had the clear impression that someone was behind me while I was writing. I did not hear footsteps. I did not hear breathing. Even so, I knew. I turned quickly. There was no one. If there was, it left.

October 31, 1907

Water appears in places where it should not. It does not enter. It is simply there: in the corridor, under the navigation table, inside an empty drawer.

November 1, 1907

I can no longer pretend normality. The ship follows no course. I have the feeling that we are moving in circles. The sea seems too dense for rapid movement. The men speak little. Sometimes they murmur things I do not understand. Sometimes they mention my name.

November 2, 1907

I tried to gather everyone. I could not. Some said they could not leave where they were. They said the place was “more correct.” I did not insist.

November 3, 1907

Writing anchors me. When I stop, I feel that I forget something essential. I have the impression that the logbook is the only thing that still distinguishes me from the rest of the ship. This worries me.

November 4, 1907

I hear the knocking again. Not on the hull. Inside the ship. It is a pattern of three knocks and a pause that keeps repeating. I cannot locate the source.

November 5, 1907

I do not know how many of us there are now. I do not know if we are still a crew. The sea remains motionless. The sky as well. The sensation of descent persists, constant and gentle, as if we were being carried with care.

November 6, 1907

I write less. Not for lack of events, but because recording them seems to make them more intense. Something reacts to attention. I realized this too late.

November 7, 1907

There is something here. I cannot see it, but I feel its presence. It does not seem to be approaching, at least not for now.

November 8, 1907

(The page shows extensive moisture stains. The ink has spread irregularly, rendering the text impossible to decipher. A few isolated words remain visible, without forming complete sentences. The paper is torn at the edges, as if it had been ripped in haste.)

[CATALOGING NOTE – LATER RECORD]

The notebook shows extensive damage caused by moisture and salt. Several pages are stuck together and warped, making separation impossible without further destruction of the material. Between the last legible entry and this point, several sheets are missing. There is no clear indication of when they were removed or how many pages were lost. The paper is torn at the edges. There are no other associated documents.