I work on a deep sea fishing boat off the west coast of the U.S.

For years, I've seen nothing odd or terrifying beyond an occasional storm or injuries given to crewmates by rigging or our catch.

I've always loved the sea, you know, and always felt safe and at peace on it.

However, a few weeks ago, as we were pulling up our catch, something got tangled in our starboard net, and we managed to pull it aboard.

It turned out to be a distress buoy, one which had clearly spent a very long time in the water.

We examined it, and we found a slightly faded stamp in the metal, and polyurethane declaring for it to be turned in to the Navy if found.

Now, while the captain went to the wheelhouse to radio it in, I examined it further, finding

the radio-admitter broken, and then that explained why it had never been picked up.

I also discovered a sealed compartment on the side, inside which lay a waterproof baggy.

It contained many pieces of paper on which somebody with a very shaky hand had written.

What unnerved me was the fact that they seemed to have dried bloodstains on them.

And against my better judgment, I opened the bag and read them as we sailed back to port.

When I finished, I immediately brought them to the captain, who turned pale as he read them.

He jammed them back into the baggie and instructed me to place it back.

The tone of his voice indicated that it was a demand, not a request.

He also said that the Navy would be meeting us at the dock to collect the buoy.

I did as he asked.

However, before I did, I use the ship's scanners to make copies.

When we got back to port, we indeed were met by a large group of men who immediately swarmed our small vessel.

They took the buoy and made us all sign a bunch of papers saying that we would not say anything

about what we found.

All they would say was that it was classified.

...