Genre: Obligatory After-Midnight Scary Story

Night watch isn't so much fun these days. Used to be that somebody was always up doing something. The watchstander used to camp out in the dining room between rounds and enjoy the late-night calm. Now, without the steady generator-and-ventilation hum (and the hundred or so sleeping crew), the quiet is more like...silence. There's a difference. On a ship, quiet is nice, but silence is not at all.

The dining room is hot and dark. B-deck, though, is hot, dark, and dead silent. Very different, after midnight, than during the day. On your rounds you walk past all the abandoned cabins, each door gaping open, all the bunks draped in plastic dimly outlined within. One of the crew told the rest of us she often hears noises on board in the dark hours - human noises, like doors closing, and voices.

I haven't heard anything like that yet, but you can't help but listen. Your whole body listens, like it or not. The mind takes remarkable liberties sometimes in revenge for sleep deprivation. But all you hear is the soft carpet-crush of your own footsteps, with just an occasional perfectly unexpected creak or pop to puncture the silence and remind you that while you're almost certainly alone, there's always the chance you might not be.

You never know.