The captain has locked herself in her quarters and refuses to heed our calls. There is nothing we can do now but pray and commit the events of these last few hours to paper, that someone may happen upon these writings amongst our mangled bodies and inform our loved ones of the manner of our deaths.
The captain snared the beast she called "Lily Beth" only days ago, keeping it in the hold along with the munitions and victuals. She visited the beast daily, circling its cage and musing upon it. We knew not what the captain thought about on these visits, only that she would return to her quarters thereafter where she could be heard muttering about fabrics and darts.
Finally, yesterday afternoon, she decided the time had come to tackle the beast and I was summoned to bring it to her on deck. There she waited with her weapons at hand: sewing machine, fabrics, thread - and interfacing.
As soon as we saw the interfacing we knew the captain had brought us all on a fool's errand.
"Captain, please, that interfacing. It cannot work. You cannot mean to-" And here she whacked me squarely in the nuts.
"Structure! I demand structure - and, by God, this bag shall have it!" she roared. Her last two bags were considered triumphs by all in this crew, and yet she remained sullen, insisting that she must have a bag with substance, a bag to stand on its own. And despite every sign, every warning which any soul possessing reason would recognize and turn away - she proceeded down the dark path that has led us here.
At first she was triumphant, having slain the darts over which she had long obsessed. Then, the sky darkened, and the beast began to stir.
With every stitch into that dreaded interfacing, that stiff, unyielding matter, the signs grew clearer. Seams had to be trimmed in order to be turned, and she trimmed too close, dammit, too close! By the time she had assembled the blasted thing, though it had been oozing green slime, befouling the air and sickening our bellies, she was too far gone to care. We would all die, and she with us, but the beast would be made whole.
She reached into its gaping maw to turn the outside in, to give the beast its final shape and form, and in so doing the seams began to rip apart. The cheap fabric she had used for the lining could not hold to the damned interfacing. The beast screamed and howled with an unholy voice - and then, in one horrible gulp, devoured the first mate whole, spitting out his bones upon the deck and looking to the rest of us to satisfy its hunger further.
By this time, the captain was gone, having abandoned us to our fate. Fully half of us are dead now; the rest of us wait and listen for the sound of fabric sliding across the decks, the evil tidings of our sad fate.