Speaker 1: Welcome to the Sirens Call a special Romance Weekly and
Ghost Scary Stories crossover event. This is Episode one depths.
Speaker 2: The ferry lurches over another swell and I grip the
railing tighter, watching black Rock Island emerge from the morning
mist like something from a maritime legend. Jagged cliffs rise
from dark water, crowned with a lighthouse that hasn't operated
in decades. The Tidal Research Station clings to the island's
eastern shore, a cluster of modern buildings that look impossibly
small against the vast Pacific. My name is Marina Torres,
and I'm here to solve a mystery that's been haunting
the coast Guard for six months. Seven ships found drifting
empty in these waters. People vanished without a trace, no
distress calls, no signs of struggle, no bodies recovered, just
empty vessels floating like ghost ships in the currents around
Black Rock Island. The official theory is equipment failure leading
to mass drowning. Implausible, but the only explanation that doesn't
invoke supernatural causes. I'm here as a marine biologist to
investigate environmental factors that might explain the disappearances. Unusual currents,
toxic algae, blooms, anything rational that could account for such
specific maritime disasters. What I don't expect is him. Doctor
Sarah Cohen, the station director, meets me at the dock
with the kind of exhausted smile that suggests she's been
dealing with bureaucrats and investigators for months. Doctor Torres, Welcome
to Blackrock. I hope you're prepared for isolation. Supply boats
only come twice a week, and the weather can cut
us off for days at a time. She leads me
up a winding path to the main facility, chattering about
research protocols and safety procedures. The station is impressive, underwater
observation domes, deep sea submersibles, equipment worth millions of dollars,
all funded by a private foundation studying ocean acoustics and
marine behavioral patterns. We've had to restructure since the incidents began,
Sarah explains, as we tour the laboratories lost three researchers
who couldn't handle the isolation after all the media attention.
But we've gained a new team member who's been invaluable.
She pauses at the observation deck, looking the harbor. Actually
there he is now. I follow her gaze to the
dock below, where a man in a wetsuit is emerging
from the water. Even from a distance, there's something unusual
about the way he moves, too fluid, too graceful, as
if the ocean is reluctant to let him go. He
pulls off his diving mask, revealing dark hair and features
that seem to shift in the changing light. Kai Nerion,
Sarah says, our new acoustic specialist. He arrived just before
the disappearances started, which has made him popular with investigators.
There's something in her tone that suggests she doesn't entirely
trust the man we're watching. Popular, how every agency that's
been here wants to interrogate him, Navy Intelligence, Coast Guard, investigated,
even some FBI consultant who claimed expertise in unusual maritime phenomena.
She shrugs. Kai's been patient with all of them, but
his background is sparse. Excellent credentials, but his previous work
was all in very remote locations, deep ocean research in
places most people have never heard of. I watch Kai
secure his diving equipment with economical movements, each gesture precise
and purposeful. When he looks up toward the observation deck.
His gaze finds mine instantly, as if he sensed my attention.
Even at this distance, his eyes seem to hold depths
that go beyond color or expression. He dives alone, Sarah continues, says,
he works better without partners. The depths he goes to
would require advanced mixed gas equipment for anyone else. Some
How he manages on standard gear. Our safety officer hates it,
but his results are undeniable. What kind of results Acoustic
mapping of the ocean floor around the island. He's discovered
formations down there that aren't on any chart, underwater canyons,
cave systems, structures that almost look she hesitates, look like
what artificial? But that's impossible, of course. The geology around
Black Rock Island is ancient. Nothing human has ever been
built at those depths. As we descend to the main
laboratory level, I find myself thinking about Kai's upward glance,
the way he seemed to see me rather than simply
look in my direction. There was recognition in that moment,
not of me specifically, but of something about me that
resonated with him. The main lab is a marvel of
modern marine science. Computer displays show real time ocean conditions,
sonar readings, and acoustic patterns recorded from hydrophones positioned throughout
the surrounding waters. Kai stands at the central console, now
dressed in dark jeans and a white buttoned down shirt
that somehow manages to look both casual and formal on
his tall frame. Kai Sarah calls, I'd like you to
meet doctor Marina Torres. She's here to investigate the environmental
factors around the disappearances. He turns, and I get my
first close look at the man who's been occupying my
thoughts since I spotted him at the dock. He's handsome
in a way that seems almost other worldly, sharp cheek bones,
sea green eyes that shift between blue and gray depending
on the light, and an indefinable quality that makes it
hard to look away. His skin has the kind of
tan that comes from sun and salt water, but underneath
there's a pallor that suggests he spends as much time
deep underwater as on the surface. Doctor Torres, he says,
extending his hand. His voice carries a slight accent. I
can't place something vaguely European, but with undertones that seem
much older. I've read your work on deep ocean ecosystems,
impressive research. When our hands touch, I feel a shock
of something, not electricity exactly, but a sensation like cold
water rushing over me, followed immediately by warmth. His grip
is firm, his skin slightly cool, despite the ambient temperature
of the lab. Thank you, I manage, trying to ignore
the way my pulse has accelerated. Sarah Man, you've been
mapping the ocean floor around the island. I'd love to
see what you've discovered. Something flickers in his expression, surprise perhaps,
or wariness. Of course, though I should warn you some
of the formations I've found are unusual. They don't match
standard geological models for this region. He gestures to a
large display screen, and as his hands move over the controls,
I notice they're slightly webbed between the fingers, just enough
to be noticeable, but subtle enough that someone might dismiss
it as a trick of lighting. The sonar image that
appears on screen takes my breath away. The ocean floor
around Black Rock Island isn't the relatively featureless continental shelf
I expected, but a complex landscape of canyons, ridges, and
what can only be described as architectural structures, geometric patterns
too regular to be natural, formations, too ancient to be
human construction. How deep, I ask, studying the impossible geography
displayed before us. The deepest formations are at nearly three
thousand feet, Kai replies, well beyond the reach of conventional diving,
but accessible to our deep sea submersibles. I turn to
look at him more closely. You've been down there, personally,
A pause that lasts just a moment too long in
the submersible. Yes, the acoustic equipment requires precise positioning that's
difficult to achieve remotely. But I notice he doesn't quite
answer my question. Sarah mentioned he dives alone to depths
that should require specialized equipment. I file this observation away
for later consideration. I'd like to see these formations myself,
I say, tomorrow, if possible. Kai's eyes meet mine, and
for a moment I feel that same rushing sensation as
when we shook hands, as if I'm standing at the
edge of very deep water feeling its pull. I'd be
happy to take you down, though I should warn you
the conditions around those formations can be unpredictable. Unpredictable how
equipment malfunctions compass irregularities, the acoustic readings become distorted. He
turns back to the display, his profile sharp against the
blue glow of the sonar image. Some of my colleagues
have reported feeling disoriented at those depths, hearing sounds that
aren't picked up by our recording equipment. What kind of
sounds music, he says, quietly, or something like it pattens
in the water. That register has sound, but seem to
come from everywhere and nowhere at once. A chill runs
down my spine, though I can't say, why have you
heard these sounds? Kai's hands still on the console controls
for a long moment. He doesn't answer. When he finally speaks,
his voice is careful, controlled. I have better tolerance for
deep water conditions than most. But yes, there are acoustics
down there that don't have conventional explanations. Sarah clears her throat,
breaking the tension that has built between Kai and me.
Why don't I show you to your quarters, Marina, you'll
want to settle in before dinner. Kai, will you join
us in the dining hall tonight? Perhaps he says, though
his attention remains focused on the display screen. Have some
night observations planned. The acoustic patterns change significantly after dark.
As Sarah leads me away from the lab, I glance
back to see Kai still studying the sonar images, his
expression intense and somehow troubled. There's more to his interest
in these underwater formations than scientific curiosity, I'm certain of it.
My quarters are comfortable, but spartan, a small bedroom adjoining
a compact office space with a window overlooking the harbor.
As I unpack my equipment, I find myself thinking about
Kai's evasive answers, his unusual physical characteristics, and the way
he seemed to affect me on some level I can't
quite identify. I'm here to investigate environmental factors in the disappearances,
but I suspect the real mystery of Black Rock Island
isn't environmental at all. It's personal. It's connected to the
man with sea green eyes, who moves through water like
he was born to it, who hears music in the
depths where others hear only silence. That evening, I join
Sarah and the small research team for dinner in the
station's communal dining hall. The conversation is lively, despite our isolation,
talk of research projects, supply deliveries, and the eternal struggle
of maintaining sophisticated equipment in a corrosive marine environment. Kai
doesn't appear, though I catch myself glancing toward the door
more often than I should. He often skips dinner, explains
doctor James Wright, a marine geologist who's been at the
station for two years, claims he works better during certain
tidal phases. Honestly, the man's schedule makes no sense to me.
Sometimes he's up all night. Sometimes he disappears for days
at a time. Disappears, I ask, not literally, Sarah clarifies quickly.
He takes the smaller submersible for extended deep water observations,
always files proper diving plans, always returns when scheduled. But
he prefers to work alone, which makes some of us nervous,
given what's happened in these waters. After dinner, restless and
thinking about tomorrow's dive, I walk down to the harbor
to check on the submersible we'll be using. The evening
is calm, the water so still it reflects the stars
like a dark mirror. The dock extends about fifty feet
into the harbor, with research vessels moored along its length.
As I reach the end of the dock, I hear
it a sound unlike anything I've ever experienced. Not quite music,
not quite singing, but something that seems to resonate in
my bones, in my blood. It's coming from the water,
from somewhere out in the darkness beyond the harbor. The melody,
if it can be called that, is hauntingly beautiful. It
speaks to something deep within me, awakening a longing I
can't name. Without conscious decision, I find myself stepping closer
to the edge of the dock, drawn by the ethereal sound.
The music grows stronger, more compelling. Part of my mind
recognizes that I should be alarmed, should question what I'm hearing,
but those rational thoughts seem distant, unimportant compared to the
erasistible pull of the song. I'm at the very edge
of the dock, now, my toes hanging over the water.
The song continues, promising things I can't quite understand but
desperately want. All I need to do is step forward,
let the dark water embrace me. Follow the music to
its source. Marina. The voice cuts through the song like
a blade, shattering its hold over me. I stumble backward, gasping,
suddenly aware of how close I came to walking into
the harbor. Kai stands behind me, his face pale in
the starlight, his expression a mixture of relief and something
that looks like guilt.
Speaker 1: What.
Speaker 2: I struggle to find words, my heart racing as the
reality of what almost happens sinks in.
Speaker 1: What was that?
Speaker 2: You heard it? He says, not quite a question the song?
You know what it was. Kai moves closer, his eyes
scanning the dark water beyond the harbor. The music has stopped,
leaving only the gentle lapping of waves against the dock.
Something that shouldn't be here, something that's been getting stronger. Kai,
what aren't you telling me? He meets my gaze, and
in his eyes I see depths that go far beyond
the physical, ancient knowledge, terrible sadness, and something that might
be hope, more than you're ready to hear, I think,
but Marina. He reaches out his fingers, barely touching my arm,
but even that light contact sends a wave of warmth
through me. Be careful around the water at night. What
you heard tonight. It's connected to the disappearances. How do
you know that? Because he said quietly, I know what
made that sound, and it's not something any human should hear.
Before I can ask more questions, he's walking away, his
figure disappearing into the shadows between the research buildings. I'm
left alone on the dock, my mind reeling with questions
and the lingering echo of that impossible song. I return
to my quarters, but sleep doesn't come easily. When I
finally drift off, my dreams are filled with dark water
and haunting melodies, with sea green eyes and voices that
call from depths beyond human comprehension. And somewhere in those dreams,
I hear Kai's voice, warning me again, be careful around
the water at night. But even as I dream the warning,
I know it's already too late. Whatever mystery surrounds Black
Rock Island, whatever truth Kai is hiding, I'm already too
deep to turn back. The water has already begun to
call my name.
Speaker 1: A Siren's Call has been a production of Cala Rogus
Shark Media Executive producers Mark Francis and John McDermott AI
assistants may have been used in the series