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Matthew woke to the sound of silence. It was an eerie sound, and one that thoroughly unnerved him once he had time to register the reason for his disquiet. On a ship in mid ocean, silence was the one thing you could guarantee never to hear.

His hammock swayed gently. They were hove to, lolling on the ocean like a bottle floating with the tide. That made sense, of a sort, he reasoned. The throb of the steam engines was absent, their constant companion of the voyage, and a sound now so familiar to him that he found it difficult to sleep on shore without the rhythmic throb to rock him to sleep.

A tiny yellow lamp hung from the overhead, and in it's eerie glow he examined his quarters. Shared with eleven other seamen of his watch, the youngster had grown accustomed to their company by now and could tell their individual snores and sounds of sleep by heart. But now, nothing; and as he looked around in alarm, he could see all the berths were empty.

He swung his legs onto the deck and searched for his clothes and shoes. He didn't want to think what the first lieutenant may do to him for missing an all-hands call. His face burned in embarrassment, and a little anger. It was not like his messmates to leave him like this. The old salts had taken him under their wing, even though the boy had been as green as grass when he first came aboard. Now that he had turned eighteen and been rated an able seaman, he thought he was beginning to gain their trust. They even had begun to include him in their ribald banter, something that both enthralled and appalled the lad.

Matthew had been a good boy, and his mother would be proud of him. As long as she didn't know some of the thoughts that went through her son's mind of a night, watching the bodies of his fellow sailors in the low light and hoping they would not notice…

With his uniform now complete, if not exactly ship-shape (for the creases would not stand inspection at the very least), Matthew prepared to head on deck and take whatever was coming to him. He opened the hatch to the companionway, and poked his head out.

The young sailor frowned again as he stared down the sterile corridor. There was no sign of life. On a ship, even a merchant like the Amora, this was odd.

Must be something happening…

He ran in the sort of crouched half run that all seamen knew, adjusting to the motion of the ocean under him, and headed through a hatch towards a companion ladder and his station on the bridge. With any luck, nobody would notice his absence, and he could slip into his signals post without earning a clip over the ear and a caning later from the boatswain.

The bridge was quiet as he scaled the ladder. Too quiet…

The astonished lad stopped in his tracks, dumbfounded. The ship moved to it's own rhythm, with a following sea and a slight breeze to leeward combining to give it a strange almost cradling motion. Port…starboard…forrad…aft…the ship acknowledging all points of the compass yet remaining in the one place as the waves crashed and writhed. He saw them from the open compass platform, white caps upon the grey in the darkness, but shining in a full moon that cast its eerie glow across the ocean.

Matthew focussed on the sea, trying to calm himself as much as possible in a study of it's conditions, finding solace in technicalities when the greater shock echoed round him like the sounding of a great bell.

For the bridge was empty. The compass shone in the moonlight, moving silently as the great ship's prow rocked from side to side, and the engine annunciator sat at dead stop both engines, and the chronometer ticked its precise way across the hours as the ship's time ticked towards midnight. But no one was there to witness it, except the most junior seaman on the ship, and the magnitude of that shock now rooted him to his spot.

“H…hello?"

The night did not answer, and the ocean kept up it's motion oblivious to his growing terror.

The youngster stumbled back down the companion ladder, heading below deck. If there was one place he knew he could find someone, it was the engine room. The chief engineer never left the side of his great boilers, always grumbling and snarling when the inexperienced boy came looking for advice or information. Mister McDonnall…for now, Matthew could think of nothing better than to see his familiar scowl.

Down the main corridor, through the hatch, down the ladder, through a hatch…the engine room was quiet too, he noticed, as soon as he entered. The space was normally a cacophony of sound, from the stokers shovelling coal into the great boilers, laughing and talking, to the hiss of steam and the motion of pistons that powered their great ship across the surly sea. Now all he could hear was the low roar of water in the boiler tubes, and the boiler fires were low in their grates. The pistons sat silent, ready for an order that was not to come.

“Hello?"

He sounded more confident this time, down in the bowels of the ship. Somehow it felt safer than the eerie dark of the empty bridge. But here too there was no answer.

“Hello? Mister McDonnall?"

No answer.

“Sir?"

His fear was becoming a little desperate now, but one new thought gave him pause, and though it increased his anger, also helped him remain calm.

“Right lads…you have got me well and true, and that's no error. So ye can come out now and show your faces."

He remembered the day. All Hallows Eve, and they had shared a special feast that night in it's honour, complete with stories from the old hands and apple cider for the crew. Their Irish boatswain had been especially lyrical, and their mostly Irish and Scottish Catholic crew had been more than willing to tell him of their traditions. At the end of the night, the boatswain had donned a white hood in the shape of a horse's head to sing songs in Gaelic while all hands laughed and cheered, and he had listened while the rum coursed through his veins and nodded off in the warmth of the mess and the companionship of his shipmates.

Láir Bhán – the white mare of ancient times.

No one came out this time though, and he waited for long moments before leaving the engine room in frustration and headed for the mess.

When he came through the hatch, the room was in darkness. He headed for the bulkhead wall, and the oil lamp he could see there, it's small glow just barely visible. Then his hand stopped just as it touched the metal.

“Maaathhhewwwww…"

The voice was melodious, even gentle. A female voice, it should have calmed him, but instead, it froze him to the spot.

“Maaaathewwwww…"

There were no women on the ship. The captain considered them bad luck at the best of times. And yet…

“Maaaathhewww…"

“Who…who goes there?" he stuttered, lungs suddenly tight.

“We have come for you Matthew…"

“We?!"

He heard movement, a shuffling sound behind and all around. The young seaman whirled, seeking out the source of the noise.

“Who…who are you? Is it you Callum? Declan?" His best friends and messmates, he would forgive them in time for this prank, but only in time. For now, his fists would have their fill if he found them.

The laughter froze his heart. Then the voice returned, full of amusement.

“I wonder which one was Callum, and which was Declan?"

Before he could wonder at the meaning of the words, the mess was suddenly illuminated. The occupants had found the lamps, it seemed, and turned them on to reveal their presence. It did not make him feel any better though, far from it.

Standing in front of him was a woman, with long flowing hair. She was naked, and he gasped at the sight of her breasts, full and yet delicate, the prominent nipples swollen and dark. She had companions though, and as the young sailor circled warily, he saw the room was full of figures, men, also naked, their bodies lean and beautiful and so pale he could see the veins prominent under skin. Their hair was dark, their eyes green, and they watched him with a hunger that made his blood burn.

He was surrounded.

“Where did you come from?"

The woman smiled at him, her teeth gleaming, and her eyes blazed.

“You called us. Your friends did, in any case. And we were so hungry…"

The laughter returned, and the boy found his teeth chattering uncontrollably. He tried to back away from the woman, but he felt a presence behind, and firm hands gripped his shoulders. He could feel warm breath on the nape of his neck, where the hairs stood to attention and shivered.

“What do you mean?" he asked, near desperate for the answer, but knowing somehow he would regret the knowledge.

The woman smiled again, and then she was no longer there. She did not disappear though. She changed.

Her body seemed to convulse, sprouting longer limbs, her neck lengthened and her head suddenly sprouted a long elegant muzzle. Where once had been long dark locks, a torrent of green like seaweed flowed, and her feet contorted until they were replaced by…

Láir Bhán!

The unfamiliar Gaelic came from his lips like a benediction.

“Well met, human."

Before him stood a mare, but not. She stood upright, like a man, and she had delicate fingers and hands on the end of her arms. Her eyes blazed in green, and her mane was a seaweed crown, and yet she was beautiful still, her breasts still full and pert, coat gleaming white, and she looked at him keenly and with appreciation even as he felt his body seized harshly from behind and he let out a cry. The hands forced him to his knees, and he cowered on the wet and sticky deck and watched as she trotted towards him.

“How…"

“Humans should beware when they dabble in the otherworld, especially on this night my pretty one…and you are so very pretty…"

The mare stopped in front of him, her body so close he could smell the mix of horse and seaweed in her coat. And something else too, his nostrils flaring as he drank in the scent…the scent of mare in heat.

He could see the men around her too, and they had undergone a similar transformation. Stallions, with pure white coats like the mare, and green eyes and manes of seaweed. They seemed to have picked up her scent too, for many of them had dropped, their massive organs swaying in the air, pink mottled and obscenely massive. And several of them eyed up the young sailor with renewed hunger.

“You are the last youngster, but the prettiest. So pretty it seems a shame to waste you sweet youngling…"

The stallions smiled, and he swallowed. He could smell a different scent now too, one he remembered from his days on the farm in Devon before he joined the merchant marine. The scent of stallion seed…

He had heard the sound of a voice calling him beautiful before from some of his shipmates. Especially Declan; the older lad from Donegal, with the hair red like fire and the smile that made him blush. He had not believed him, until Declan had told him one night on shore how many ways he was more beautiful than a girl, and had gripped his aching member and showed him how much pleasure could come in that act when you had another to help you. They had rested in the aftermath and he had felt elated and ashamed, as the older lad had stroked his curly blonde hair and kissed his cheek. They had fallen asleep together with the word beautiful the last on Declan's lips.

The scent of the stallions reminded him of Declan's, when he gripped the boy's length and stroked until he cried out and the air filled with his scent. But this was not Declan…and the sound of their voices calling him beautiful was not comforting.

“What have you done with them…Declan? Declan!"

The mare stroked his chin, her expression solemn for a moment.

“Ahh I think I know which one was him…the roan with the sweet gentle eyes and the wiry arms. Not as beautiful as you my pretty one. But so very tasty…"

He looked into her eyes as the scream froze in his mouth from a tongue cloven to the roof.

The deck was slick, but it was not water. Sticky, thick, rich…

“And now we have fed, it is time for other things."

He felt his body lifted, and though he fought, there was no denying the power of those hands and arms. Amongst a chorus of whinnies and nickers, they carried him to the mess table and laid him down, still struggling, as nimble hands removed his uniform. Naked he lay trembling on his back, feeling the cold oak of the mess table against his skin, while the stallions held him and stroked his flesh, teasing and tormenting with their touch. The mare looked on, amused, then reached for his unruly penis. He gasped, suddenly still, as her hand closed on his length.

He was erect in moments, much to the amusement of his captors.

“A young stallion under his first strength too. Not even your Declan had plucked that from you, my pretty. I know, I can smell it, as can my stallions. You are fortunate…"

“Fortunate?!"

“Aye…if it weren't, you would be with them right now. Instead…"

Her hand moved, agonizingly slowly, over the heated flesh of his organ. The head swelled, as it did of a night when he thought of Declan and his hand found his length to draw a shattering climax from his body before a fitful sleep. Now instead the kelpie mare was doing it to him, and he felt the pleasure warring with the horror as she drew him close to the brink.

Then she laughed, a mocking terrible laugh like a whinny from hell, and let go of his penis, her fingers slick with his need.

“Not yet my pretty, my stallions need their fun."

She watched, patient, and enjoyed their play instead. And the sight of the young male's impending defilement had it's effect; her fingers found her sex, red and wet, and she stroked herself with abandon watching the show.

Two great stallions had hold of each of his legs, and two more held his shoulders down and pinned his arms. The ones holding his legs lifted them high and wide, spreading the poor sailor wide, his rear exposed and vulnerable. She caught sight of his winking anus, so tight, so tender. His cock did not feel the fear though, and he blushed as he saw he watching him throb, realising he was harder than ever, the end leaking as it throbbed against his belly.

One huge stallion, with wide green eyes and thicker limbs than the others now stepped forward, taking his place between the boy's thighs. The stallion's penis swayed against his belly, the end flared wide and throbbing too, and the massive testicles in their dark sac rolled in anticipation. The stallion seemed willing to savour his triumph though, and with a grin the stallion kneeled and bent his muzzle to the waiting rear.

“Ahhhhh!"

Matthew felt breath, hot and urgent, then a warm tongue reached out to lick at his crevice. The rough organ lapped at his crack, from the underside of his scrotum to the tight confines of his virgin pucker. He shuddered, feeling disquieting pleasures building and building, as the stallion lapped at his secret places where even Matthew had not dared to touch. Then he felt pressure on his hole and cried out.

The stallion forced his thick tongue in, slowly, insistently, patiently, skewering the boy's anus and soothing his hurts in one. The tight virgin pucker yielded reluctantly but totally, and he felt heat deep inside, a heat that built and spread as his tunnel stretched under the invasion of a stallion's tongue.

Hands went to work on him, playing with his nipples, stroking his cock, rough fingerhooves pinching the tip whenever he got close to orgasm and drawing fresh cries and moans from the helpless sailor. The tongue in his hole drove in deeper, and he felt fingers on his scrotum, playing with his aching testicles as they filled with seed.

Then the tongue left him and he felt cheated, but only for a moment. Then the fear returned, as the stallion stood between his legs, grinning down at him with those green eyes flashing and the fat mass of a stallion's flare pressed to his wet pucker.

Matthew panicked, body writhing as he tried to escape but the hands that held him were beyond mortal strength to fight off. The heat at his rear grew as the stallion pressed a little harder, the flare now lodged against his hole and slick with excitement that dripped down his crevice.

A whinny and a scream filled the messdeck. A whinny answered by others as the assembled stallions watched and enjoyed, waiting their turn on the beautiful human male. They knew their place in the herd, and their lead stallion would go first, as was his right, before each in turn mated. They had been waiting so long, a little longer would not matter.

As the stallion drove his length into the helpless male, Matthew felt his cock shudder and twitch. Each new thrust drew a cry, and a fresh spurt of excited moisture from his tip, as the flare scraped over a place inside him that made his head swim with shameful pleasures. Then the stallion began in earnest, his long kelp green tail flicking as he mounted the human and took his ultimate pleasure.

The stallion's eyes went wide then, filled with the passion of his mating. He bent his muzzle forward, kissing the startled sailor, who kissed back as he felt the thick organ inside him drive in ever deeper, pummeling his bowels without mercy. Then the stallion's eyes closed in concentration, and almost agony, and his head lifted back and he bared his sharp teeth, teeth dripping in red, and he let out a scream.

Matthew felt the scream go through him like a knife, then the burning heat of a stallion's ejaculation filled his guts, spreading scalding heat through his being. He lost himself in his own release, spurting lines of white seed across his chest and neck, the orgasm draining him beyond all reason. He lay in it's aftermath, panting, aching, his anus suddenly in agony from the wild rutting of the stallion, as the rough pink tongue lapped at his seed and rasped his skin. Nibbling, biting a nipple, harder, painfully until he moaned, then licking across his chest, his neck…

Biting…

Another scream, and a wild command from the mare of “No!" were lost on Matthew, as the excruciating pain overwhelmed him. His last sight was the stallion's teeth, dripping red as they flashed in a smile before bending to his neck again and he saw no more.

*****

“All hands…all hands! Look lively now!"

“No! No! Noooooo!"

Matthew woke slowly, his body aching with muscles tensed as if from a long labour. He shook his head, a little dazed, and felt his body.

Nothing untoward could be found. His fingers scrabbled at his neck, searching for the gaping wound he knew to be there, but all he could find was the distant echo of pain, a tingle of memory.

One memory was more than real though, he realised with embarrassment. His chest was coated in his own seed, and his penis still throbbed even as it dribbled with the last drops of his release.

He brought his hand, coated in his seed, to his lips.

Beautiful…

Matthew relaxed slowly, letting his body slump against the hammock, as the memories of the disturbing dream passed leaving a nice ache behind. One he would satisfy, as soon as they got back to their berths.

“Aye…someone had a good night it seems lads. The rum made ye sleepy my hinny, now look lively!"

Matthew saw his friend Declan before him. The grinning redhead reached out to run fingers through Matthew's curly blonde hair, the familiar gesture completed with a conspiratorial wink and a look at the youngster's chest liberally coated in semen.

“I hope she were not as good as me my lad."

The thought made Matthew shudder, and he shook his head to clear it as he searched for his uniform.

“All hands…all hands…"

The sailor hailed his companion just as Declan was about to head through the hatch.

“What is it Declan?"

He shrugged. “A ship in distress or some such. The lookouts saw distress rockets, then nothing. The captain is might aggrieved I can tell ye."

When he took his station on the bridge, Matthew could see his friend was right. The captain was not impressed at all by this diversion, and he could see why. The weather this night was foul, fog rolling across the ocean and making visibility treacherous. If there were a ship out here, it would be all they could do to avoid running it down in the darkness.

He looked up and saw the moon, poking through the fog, full and eerie…

Perfect for All Hallows Night indeed.

The bridge was crowded, all hands peering into the darkness. Matthew stood at his signals station, beside a lamp ready to send a signal if anyone was there to see. So far though, nothing.

“Course?" the captain was curt. The quartermaster seemed to recognise his anger, and stood rigidly at attention trying not to draw undue attention.

“Sou sou west a quarter west sir. Last known position of the…"

“Deck there! Ship off the starboard quarter!"

The bridge lookout's voice echoed strangely in the fog, but his report was true enough. There was a shape off the bow, long and low, rolling in the waves. A steamer, about a thousand tonnes give or take, but no sign of life.

“Any signs lad?"

It took him a moment to realise the captain was speaking to him. He stammered, and lifted the telescope to his eye, squinting through the darkness. No sign of life onboard, he could just make out the name on the forepeak.

The White Mare…

Then he saw a figure come from the bridge. A woman, with dark hair and pale skin. She looked directly at him, as if she could see down the telescope, and she smiled.

His blood ran cold, watching the dead ship come ever closer. His mouth felt dry, and he swallowed to try to alleviate the building terror. Then he heard a sound.

“Did ye hear that? Have they horses aboard or something?"

“Noooo!"

Matthew moved instinctively. The annunciator handles moved in his grip, from quarter ahead to full astern, before the quartermaster or the captain could react. The bells rang and the engines complained, propellers thrashing in the inky black water as all hands braced against the sudden change in motion.

“Belay that!"

The captain reached his side and cuffed him on the chin. He went down stunned, still looking out over the waters.

“There is no one there captain. It's abandoned, don't get any closer! A drifting ship, out of control, me might run into them!"

The captain seemed about to agree, when the bridge lookout piped up in his shrill voice.

“Deck there captain! I see someone! A…a woman. She's waving!"

The captain nodded. “Well, that's it then. A passenger mebbe? Something happened to the crew? Either way, they need our help…"

The boy was frantic. “It's them! Don't you see? It's them!"

The bridge crew looked at him like he was mad. He had to make them see! He had to…

He dashed forward, reaching for the quartermaster's cutlass, resting nonchalantly in his belt. The blade flashed in the moonlight, and all eyes were on him.

“Stop! You have to listen to me!"

The captain eyed him with astonishment, astonishment mixed with anger.

“Are you mad boy? This is mutiny."

“It's them! They are coming for us, all of us, I am trying to save…"

The blow came without warning. He felt the impact on his head, crashing to the deck as the cutlass clattered uselessly against the bulwark. The quartermaster reached for the wheel, bringing the ship back under control as hands seized the groggy boy and pulled him towards the ladder.

“Put him in the chain locker until I work out what to do with him! And then come back here, I need all hands for this work!"

It was his friend, Declan, who had the unenviable task of restraining the wildy thrashing boy once he regained some semblance of consciousness. They brought him to a small chain storage room, deep in the bowels of the ship, and shut him in. First though, they tied his wrists to stop him hurting himself.

His friend stroked his curly blond hair to try to soothe him.

“Shhh my hinny, do not fret…I'm sorry I had to hit your pretty head, but ye had lost yer mind"

“Declan, please, listen to me!"

The redhead shook his head as he prepared to leave. “You would think ye had seen a ghost Matt."

He sobbed quietly, waiting. The ship went quiet, the engines stopped. Then he heard soft noises, whinnies, and worse. Then nothing.

“Maaaathewwww…"

The voice was soothing, melodious, a female voice. A familiar voice.

“Maaaaattthewwwwwww…"

The sound of hooves on metal grew closer.

And yet he realised his penis ached it was so hard. And the burn in his anus threatened to overwhelm his senses. Then he heard harsh breathing at the door. Snorting breaths…equine ones.

“So pretty, my lovely."

And then a scream shattered the night, and a chorus of whinnies answered.