Hell on High Water

Thorne was a man whose ambition exceeded his wisdom. His obsession with the occult wasn't born of scholarly interest, but of raw hunger for power. Tales of Vodou's mysteries drew him to Haiti like a moth to flame. In Port-au-Prince's shadowy corners, he found Papa Legba, a priest whose reputation spoke of powers beyond mortal understanding.

For three nights, Thorne watched Papa Legba's rituals, his eyes gleaming with avarice. The priest's collection of sacred objects – bone talismans, blessed urns, and a particular mirror said to reflect the soul's true nature – became the focus of his desire. On the fourth night, while the priest performed blessings for the local community, Thorne struck. He didn't just steal the artifacts; he desecrated the temple, destroying centuries of sacred history in his haste.

The curse that followed wasn't a simple hex. Papa Legba's power reached deep into the void between worlds, pulling forth entities that had no business in our realm. They attached themselves to the Thorne like parasites, turning the ship into their feeding ground.

The crew's descent into madness was methodical. It began with whispers – voices calling from empty cabins, promises of power echoing through hollow corridors. Then came the reflections. Men would catch glimpses of themselves in windows and polished brass, only to see their faces twisted into grotesque masks of their darkest desires.

First Officer McKenna couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right so he decided to enter the Captain’s quarters and ask him what is going on. As he approached the Captain’s desk the Captain was just looking down at the stolen items he brought aboard his ship and not paying any attention to his first officer. The first officer shouted with fear in his voice, "Captain Thorne, with all due respect, those artifacts don't belong here!" First Officer McKenna's voice carried across the captain's quarters, steady despite his unease. The stolen items lay spread across Thorne's desk, their surfaces gleaming with an unnatural light.

Thorne didn't look up from the mirror he was examining. "Your concerns are noted, Mr. McKenna. And promptly dismissed."

"The crew's talking, sir. They say Papa Legba—"

"The crew can talk themselves hoarse," Thorne snapped, finally meeting McKenna's gaze. "I'm not interested in the superstitions of simple sailors."