A cruise ship cuts through the calm waters of the Archipelago Sea off the coast of Stockholm, late one summer night in 1987. The air has finally cooled off. The night sky is on display in full, starry glory, and most of the 1400 passengers on the nine-story crews are asleep in bed.

The night is pretty quiet except for the hum of the engines below and the lap of the waves

against the hall. Up on the ninth floor deck, three Danish Boy Scouts appear.

They've foregone their bedtime to explore the massive ship, and it was a perfect night to climb up to the deck and

watch the stars. They're laughing and shining their flashlights around telling each

other to shush so they don't get caught. Lights out was two hours ago

and if their Scoutmaster finds out they were out of bed at 3.30 in the morning

they'd be shipped back to their parents.

Around them, the deck is mostly empty, but all of a sudden, one of them sees something

out of the corner of his eye. He catches two sleeping bags near a railing and they're moving.

He pokes the other boys as if to tell them, hey, get a look at this.

Just then, like a moth from a cocoon, a boy stumbles out of his sleeping bag and stands up.

He tries to step forward, but stumbles into a railing.

There's a girl in her sleeping bag next to him,

but she's unable to get up.

The three boys look at each other, trying to hold in laughter.

Someone must have had a good night, they joked. The couple looked about as drunk as you could be. They struggled to even get out of their sleeping bags.

But then, one of the boy's faces falls.

He's not laughing anymore.

Through the darkness of the night,

lit only by the moon, he sees behind the stumbling boy on a white metal wall, crimson

streaks of fresh blood, spread all up and down in violent strokes.

...