by Sirius

Content Warnings: Blood and Drowning

Frothy brine as black as ink encroached on the sides of the pier. One more large swell would be enough to break against the edge and spread a thin gray pool over the battered boards. Clouds gathered overhead, blotting out the moon and any stars that might shed pins of silver light onto the rolling waves. The only patch of revealed sky hosted a cluster of stars that were just enough to dapple the water, nothing that served well to irradiate. The only real light came from underneath the waves—bright, pulsing circles of red, blue, and yellow that had changed their position three times since Gregory had left the shore.

The pier was not the problem. If he walked carefully, he could make it back. It was the fact that the little strip of land the pier was connected to had been swallowed entirely, and the lights were edging closer. He counted a dozen, at least, and every time he shifted, they changed. He did not know if the colors meant anything, or if they were just meant to keep his interest.

He had followed one of them out this far—an intriguing reprieve from photographing albatrosses and stranded jellyfish. He thought it was bioluminescent algae at first, but algae did not change colors. As soon as he stepped onto the pier, the circle he had been following changed from blue to bright red. It sped up and shot back towards the ocean and of course, he went after it. He almost fell off the pier—stopped only by the head of a screw that jammed his toe and brought him to a halt.

He was still bleeding, and his toe throbbed, but that was the least of his worries. His camera hung around his neck, trapped in its waterproof case, but he still gripped its sides to keep from dropping it into the water any time he leaned over the railing. The water kept rising, and the salt stung his open wound. The soles of his feet were starting to prune in a briny puddle and the lights were getting closer.

Gregory saw some of his blood swirling in the puddle underneath his feet. The waves lapped at the side of the pier again and washed some of the blood out to the water. The lights began to pulse, flashing green, yellow, blue, and red in rapid succession. The water began to churn as if something was writhing underneath it, creating more waves and kicking up foamy peaks.

A lump formed in his throat and Gregory took a step back, moving as far away from the edge as he could. He clutched his camera so tightly that a jolt of pain rocketed up his fingers and shot across the tendons stretched over his knuckles. He thought he heard something splash, but it was difficult to discern over the roar of the ocean.

The ashen clouds above his head began to close up, wiping out the last of the stars. Now, the only light came from the startling, primary colors that lurked underneath the roiling surface of the water. He could still see the pier, but just barely.

It hurt him to walk. The water rose over the top of his foot and made it so that he had to slog through with every step. He paced back towards the end of the pier—away from the shore, but he had a better view of what he was dealing with. He heard another splash and turned his head, raising his camera and popping up his flashbulb. He aimed towards the sound and clicked the shutter. White light flashed like lightning across the pier and bounced off the hide of something silver. The sudden light nearly blinded him, and when his vision swam back into focus, whatever he had seen was already gone.

Gregory glanced down at his camera screen, but there was too much floating across his eyes for him to get a proper look. There was another splash and he rotated on his heel, hitting the shutter again without really thinking about trying to get a good picture. This time, he caught sight of what looked like a tail—thick and long, like an oarfish, with deep red fins as big as sails. It barely broke the surface—water rolled along its back and then it vanished once again. Gregory’s throat dried up, and his knees began to tremble.

Gregory’s steps rumbled the pier as he backed up, moving as quickly as he could. Going back towards the shore was still not a safe bet. Once he left the pier, he would be entirely in the water, and after that he might as well be food. The lights began to follow him, and every time he saw one get close, he snapped another picture. The white flash illuminated more of the strange creatures’ tails as they moved smoothly through the water, like ribbons rippling on a breeze. At the end of the pier, something broke the surface of the water, and Gregory’s head came up.

Wreathed in red light, a silver tail flashed across his vision. It arced over the end of the pier, its red fins fluttering in the air like flags. He strained to see what it could be—a serpent, maybe, which was all that his brain could conjure. But at the end, he could have sworn he saw the shape of a person. When the creature dove back underneath the water, every light turned red, and one by one he saw what looked like heads popping up. Dozens now, far more than before. They stared at him with milky-white eyes as bright as lanterns and as cloudy as eels. They were human in shape, some with ragged tendrils of wet hair clinging to their skin. They had teeth like knives jutting out from their gaping mouths in all directions, and they threw their hands against the wooden boards. He saw webbed fingers and long black claws that left deep runs in the pressure-treated pine.

Collectively, they shrieked. The sound sent a steel spike of fear through his heart. It echoed over the water, a cacophony of shrill, devilish howls that—somewhere underneath—sounded like a woman screaming. How they melded together to form such an evil harmony, he could not guess. He did not want to. Gregory felt like he could not breathe. They scrabbled at the pier, digging in their claws as if they could pull themselves up and crawl across the boards to get to him. Gregory pushed his camera against his chest so hard that it hurt and he turned, running for his life towards the beach. There was so much water in his path that it was like trying to cover any ground in a nightmare. He could not gain any momentum, and he could not even tell if he was getting closer. Still, even if it meant getting in the water, once he was off the pier it was a short distance to swim before he reached the shore. The creatures’ hands drummed against the wood as they followed him, holding onto it like the sides of a swimming pool. Some of them slipped back into the water and surged back towards the shore, following his path, their lights flashing red and blue as a warning or a lure, he was not sure which.

And then a voice cut through the air—shrill and panicked—it called out his name.

“Gregory!”

His head snapped around. He skidded to a halt, jamming his foot against something—the same screw as before, or a barnacle, or something else. He could not see through the water. It raked down the underside of his foot, slicing open his sole, and he could feel the warmth of his own blood spilling from the gash. The cut burned, and on either side of him, the water churned again. The creatures who still had their heads above water lapped long, gray tongues against the boards closest to their heads—ingurgitating his blood.

“Gregory!” The voice drew out his name in a long, mournful wail. Gregory twisted his head from side to side, unsure of what he expected to see, trying to pick out a human face in the midst of the ghoulish, demonic visages that were staring up at him with dead, white eyes.

Standing in the water between the bottom of the pier and the beach was a man. His long black hair obscured most of his face, and his eyes were silver. They glowed like a lighthouse beacon, and when he smiled, his lips stretched a little too wide.

He extended his hand. In the darkness, his skin looked as gray as a stone slab. Gregory could not pull his attention away from that handsome face or those long, winding fingers that looked like they were rotting at the tips.

“Gregory,” the man tilted his head, and Gregory was captivated by those silver eyes. “Come here. Come to me. I can help you.”

He wanted to believe it. Gregory’s next step sent pain up to his hip, and his knees shook, but he had to make it across. Once he hit the water, he would be safe. He could swim. And this man was here to help him. He released his hold on his camera and let it thump against his chest. Its encased edges jabbed his sternum furiously.

“I can help you,” the man said again. Every word that slithered out of his mouth made sense. A salty breeze brushed his hair away from his face, revealing even more of it—and his winding lips twisted and turned as if holding back laughter. It seemed amusing, to him, like they might joke about this afterward in a diner over some piping hot coffee. That was all he wanted, Gregory realized, some dry clothes—and some coffee. He could taste it even now. Once they got to the shore, maybe this man would join him. They could share apple pie taken from one of the rotating glass cases on a sterile white countertop.

He could hardly feel his injury, now. It would be easy enough to bandage. He stumbled a bit over his last few steps, and his legs felt heavy, as though he had been running for miles. As he got closer, a pungent smell assaulted his nose—a putrid stench like rotting fish that had been left to fester in the sun.

Gregory stopped inches away from the man. He looked up, and he smiled, reaching out to take the hand that was being offered to him.

“Thank you,” Gregory breathed. “Thank—”

Before he could finish, a silver tail came flashing out of the water. It wrapped around his midsection and dragged him down. Water swallowed his head as he was submerged, and for a moment, all Gregory could see were bubbles streaming from his mouth. Then, he could see nothing at all. The tail coiled tighter around his torso, and his ribs splintered under the pressure. Gregory screamed and water filled his mouth. It burned his nose and the back of his throat and he thrashed, but all he could feel was sand and shells scraping against his skin as he was dragged away from the beach. The water got colder and his lungs felt like they were going to burst. There was only darkness, and the memory of the man’s face.

Gregory tried to close his eyes, but they would not obey him. His limbs became heavier and then stopped heeding his commands altogether. He could no longer thrash, and he was starting to lose feeling—something he only knew because when he began to see blood, he could not tell where it was coming from.

Red lights. Blue lights. Yellow lights. They surrounded him, along with dozens of pairs of cloudy white eyes. He was floating in the water, suspended, and sinking quickly.

His head was the last thing he was able to move, and it froze in its upward position—staring at the eyes that filled the ocean’s darkness like hundreds of stars.

Sirius (they/them) is the author of The Dread South series, the Draonir Saga, and The Gentleman Demon series. When they are not writing, they are doting on their beloved dogs and spreading false prophecies.