Sangre del Diablo

Rae Patterson

Nine of Cups

Jacob swam down under the overhanging deck of the tipped-over ship, looking for a way in. He still had at least half an hour’s worth of air before he had to go back up to the boat owned by the guide he had hired, plenty of time to take a quick look around. Others had tried to find the wreck, others who believed the rumors that the legendary ruby, the Sangre del Diablo, had been on the Doncella when it went down so many years ago, but no one had ever come back with anything, not even information.

The beam of Jacob’s lamp found an open hatch surrounded by lazy curls of seaweed, and he pulled himself through, bubbles flowing behind him like a cape. A few brilliant red crabs darted away across the fuzzy brown algae. Splintered furniture and tattered cloth lay in messy heaps, and even some of the walls were broken. He saw nothing of value, so he went deeper into the shadowed interior, looking for any sign of the passengers or their belongings. The Sangre del Diablo was said to have been secretly carried by a Burmese courier for delivery to a Spanish millionaire—now long dead—but no one had ever officially admitted to the shady, probably illegal, deal.

A 1970s-style wetsuit lay on the floor, or rather the ceiling, with another one just beyond it. The suits had both been ripped apart, and bones were scattered from the skeletons that were still half inside them, but the crabs had picked all the flesh from the bones. What had happened here? Had the divers been attacked by sharks? Surely sharks would not have broken the door frames and walls. Jacob shuddered and looked around, but there was nothing moving except the ever-present crabs scrounging around in the rippling seaweed. A knife lay unsheathed near one of the suits. Had the divers fought over the gem and killed each other? That was why Jacob worked alone. Any partner would try to kill him and take the stone for himself.

Near one skeleton was a small box. Jacob picked it up and cleaned it off to reveal a patterned silver cover. He used his knife to pry it open and saw the ruby, a perfect oval the size of a pecan, lying in ragged and decaying velvet, reflecting the light from his headlamp around the room like red sparks dancing around an underwater flame. The crabs seemed to slow their scuttling and gaze at the light with the same awe that Jacob felt. He touched the stone, feeling its reality, seeing the light shine between his fingers. The name “Devil’s Blood” had been given to the ruby by the Spanish buyer, who believed that it was a mystical object made from crystallized demon blood. Jacob could almost believe it. The Spaniard’s private journal had been full of crazy stories about curses and demons of the deep. By the end of the journal, after the ship carrying the stone had disappeared, the entries were only the ravings of a lunatic who had lost his dream and, in the end, taken his own life. But Jacob had finally fulfilled that dream.

The crabs all froze and then dashed back the way Jacob had come. He looked around but did not see anything that could have spooked them. The seaweed trembled, then trembled again, and he heard a scraping sound. The sound grew louder and the seaweed danced with the vibrations. Whatever was happening here, he had his treasure, and it was time to go.

He closed the jewel box and turned to leave. He felt his tank hose snag on something and tried to free it over his shoulder, but it was well stuck. He turned and came face-to-face with two giant red eyes rising on stalks above a hooked beak. A grasping claw the size of his leg held his hose. Jacob stared at the huge eyes and then tried to wrest the hose from the claw. More claws reached for him from behind the armored head of the monster. They held him firmly by the waist as the eyes looked him over and settled on the box in his hand.

Jacob gripped the box tightly and drew it closer to his body while holding his knife with his other hand. He had spent all his money and over ten years of his life to find this treasure, and he would not give it up. A claw fumbled for the box, then closed on his hand, piercing his skin with its serrated edges and releasing a plume of blood. The claw squeezed harder and the blood bloomed in the water, but Jacob kept hold of the box, desperately pulling it towards himself. He tried to draw breath, but there was no air. The claw that had been holding the hose pulled away, and a great cloud of bubbles filled the room.

Each heartbeat increased the demand for the missing air. Jacob slashed his knife at the eyes of the monster, but even the eyes were armored and his blade glanced off them. His pulse pounded in his ears, faster and louder with each long second that passed. As the darkness began to close in around the edges of his vision, he saw a serrated claw stab into his chest, and his gasp of pain filled his lungs with crimson salt water. The rush of red as the claw pulled out was just the latest blood sacrifice to the demon.

More Dark Tales from the Tarot

Author’s Note & Bio

The suit of Cups is associated with blood and the sea, so I tried to work those elements into the story in addition to the ideas from the prompt.

Rae Patterson is a retired Linux geek who now has the time to write the SF and Horror stories she has always loved.