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The Briny

The Briny

I tried to send it back, but it was too late. 

My entire life has been below the depths. I sail these wayward waves, but my only focus is what lies beneath the roaring Ocean, and now, I fear that my life will end there too. 

My father was a fisherman, and his father before him. It’s how it’s always been. Back all the way to as far as anyone can remember, the McCellan’s have fished. We’ve never been rich, but we’ve got on alright. 

It’s so much harder now, with commercial operations and the like. A man can’t make much money on the boats, and so when Mr Harrison offered me a suitcase full of cash for a few hours’ work, I could hardly turn it down. 

Mr Harrison is the richest man in town, although he’s had a rough lot of luck over the last few years. He owns almost all of the fishing boats, and the ones that take the tourists out. My fleet of three is nothing in comparison to what he has, but he’s also lost a lot, so I suppose I pity him. It was a stain on this town, what happened to his daughter. All hush hush, of course. Nobody really knows what happened, but from what I’ve heard, the poor kid took one of his boats out with some friends to Deadman’s Island, and never came back. 

His wife didn’t last long after that, took her own life… very messy business. Very messy crime scene too. Nobody had ever seen anything like it. He was convinced that something fishy had gone on, and that some local girl was involved, but nothing was ever proven.

He was rich, but in the grand scheme of things, he had nothing, so if he wanted me to go and pick something up for him, I couldn’t really say no.  

I thought he wasn’t in his right mind, when he explained what he wanted me to do, but the money was guaranteed. I just had to wait for the treasure to come to me, and then transport it back to him. That’s what he said. Nice and easy. 

Apparently, that was enough, and now, I know why. There was almost no effort needed from me at all, because it was always going to find me. I wouldn’t even need to break a sweat. It had been waiting for his call. 

What was the treasure? I didn’t know, because he decided not to elaborate on that. He just said that I’d know. Like I said, while he had money and power, the entire town was convinced that he no longer had his mind, so I just nodded and decided to take a lot of money for spending one night of sitting in my boat, at the behest of a madman. 

He told me that I had to go alone, and while I had some reservations, I also had a mortgage I was behind on and a wife to look after, so I shook them off, and made the arrangements. 

He gave me the coordinates and I set off as soon as I could, keeping the money on my mind. It was just one night. How hard could it be? I was to sail out into the night, and wait to be approached. I didn’t have to do anything, he said, just wait, and the treasure would come to me. 

He didn’t tell me what it was, or why it was so important to him, but I didn’t care. As long as it fit on the boat, it wouldn’t be any bother. 

The night went slowly. I sat on the deck, watching the waves, and waiting for the delivery. I had no real idea of what I should be looking out for, because Mr Harrison had just given me a wry smile and vague handwaving when I asked how I’d recognise the person that would bring his treasure, but now I know why.

The hours were slow, and the waves were calm. I’d slept for the whole day in preparation, but I could feel my eyes beginning to close, heavy as the boat gently rocked in the water. I steadied myself, swigging coffee from my flask, but it did no good. The harder I fought, the harder it became, and soon, I was asleep. 

I tried to resist, but it was impossible. Soon, I was below the waves, wading through dark dreams where nothing made sense. 

I think it was a dream, or at least I try to, because if I accept any other answer, then it’s just too terrible. 

I was above the surface, so far away from the boat that it was barely a blur in the distance, and the water was gurgling and spitting all around me. I struggled, trying to keep my head above water as something below pulled against my legs. So insistent. So determined to have me. The sea wanted to take me, I was sure of it. Kicking and spluttering as I reached out to the empty air, screaming in between hurried breaths. 

“We all come back to the sea eventually Michael.” A woman’s voice, so soft and calm that it felt out of place in the chaos. I searched for her, struggling against what I could feel under the water, and as I could feel myself slipping beneath the bounds of the ocean, I saw her. 

She rose from the water, her body seeming to glow under the soft shine of the moon. Her body shimmered in shades of iridescent blues and greens, reminiscent of the ocean’s depths, and at first glance, she was almost beautiful. Her bright eyes, the clearest blue, were fixed upon me, and the more I looked, the more she terrified me. Gills lined her neck, just visible underneath the masses of matted white hair that lined her face, and though I tried not to see it, there was a darkness in her curious stare that I couldn’t quite escape. 

She opened her mouth wide, perhaps trying to offer a friendly smile, but all I could focus on were the four rows of sharp, shining teeth, and long, flickering black tongue. 

“We all come back to the sea when she calls.” She grabbed me, pulling me closer as she spoke.

I struggled inside of her grasp, the tendrils of seaweed that littered her light hair wrapping around my wrists, binding me to her as she pressed her lips forcefully to my own. Choking, I tried to pry myself away as her tongue parted my lips, and my mouth began to fill with saltwater. 

I had never felt a dream so real. 

I could taste the kiss, the ocean entering my mouth and dominating my senses, and her firm, insistent grip around my body. 

I fell against the deck as I awoke, struggling on my knees, coughing and clutching my throat as the cold air around me filled my lungs. Water cascaded from my mouth, and with one last cough, my throat was clear, and on the deck, shining in the moonlight, was a ring. 

While it shone, it had clearly seen better days. Once perhaps, shimmering silver, the metal had dulled, tarnished and tangled in seaweed. 

I wanted to wear it. I don’t know why, but that was my immediate thought. It had just been in my mouth, and God knows where it came from, but I knew, the second I set eyes on it that it belonged on my finger. 

I dried it off on my shirt, shaking off the seaweed and put it on my right hand. Something about it just felt right, and as I sailed back to the shore, I thought of nothing else but how beautiful it looked on my hand. 

As the cool silver sank into my skin, I could hear the sea, all around me. So gentle, and almost adoring. 

I forgot about Mr Harrison for hours, until he arrived at my house in the late afternoon, excitedly pounding his fists against the door with a grin. 

He wanted the ring. It hadn’t even occurred to me to go and see him when I got back to land. I’d spent the day in bed, beguiled by the sight of the ring, and the soft song of the sea that seemed to echo in my ears as I wore it. 

Mr Harrison’s eyes lit up when he saw it, and he followed me into the house, grabbing my hand. I shoved him away, closing the door as he continued his pursuit, fiddling to try and get the ring off of my finger. I fought back, and soon, we began to struggle. 

He said that it could bring people back, babbling about his wife and daughter, but that didn’t matter to me. I needed it. It had to stay with me. The sea began to sing again, louder and louder. It was a blur. We kicked and spat, both of us, battling and bellowing as we fell to the floor. He didn’t understand, of course… crazy old man, desperately begging for what he’d paid for, but I knew that it had to be mine. I just kept saying it. 

“It has to be mine.” Again and again, as he pleaded through gritted teeth. I could hear the ocean again, it’s flurried, fearful cry as we fought. “It has to be mine.” He was so weak, despite his desperation. Never worked a day in his life, really, just inherited Daddy’s company and lived a life of leisure. Probably used to getting what he wanted. Spoiled little brat. “It has to be mine.” He finally fell silent as his head crashed against the coffee table, and blood began to drip down onto the white rug my wife had always worked so hard to keep clean. 

The sea was calm again, whistling whimsically in my ear as I rolled Mr Harrison up into the rug, and rushed to get him into the back of the car. 

I can barely remember doing it. It’s like someone else was there. Like I was someone else. I don’t know. 

I went back to the sea, almost called, dropping Mr Harrison overboard, like a bad penny, and making a mental note to buy my wife a brand new rug with some of the money he’d given me. 

It sounds so strange now, looking back at how casual I was. I’d just killed a man, and I didn’t even seem to care. I just sailed off and dumped his body like it was nothing.

It was only the next morning when I really realised what I had done. It was in all the papers that Mr Harrison had gone missing. There was a big search, journalists, police, everybody. The whole town was flooded with people looking for him, and speculating on what had happened. I could barely breathe, breaking under the weight of what I’d done, and the constant whirring and whistling in my ears. 

I knew the truth, but I had to play dumb. I told them that he’d left my house upset, and headed off towards his big manor in his fancy car. I spent the day searching with everyone else, hoping that the heat was just in my mind, and trying to ignore the constant thoughts of the ocean, and the secret it was keeping for me. 

It found me in my dreams. I was sinking, suffocating under Adam’s ale, Mr Harrison’s bloated, blood stained body floating beside me as something in the water grabbed and grasped at my legs. 

“Soon she will call, Michael.” 

I awoke with a start, stumbling out of bed and trying to forget the dream. I had no such luck, as Mr Harrison’s body had washed up overnight, and there was chaos outside. It didn’t die down for hours. Photographers, police officers… the whole thing was a circus. 

I tried to think of something else, but the waves were out of bounds while the police poked around. 

They decided that it was at his own hand, remarkably quickly, and without any real evidence. I had expected a knock at the door, and the cool grasp of handcuffs for days, but bizarrely, they wrote it off as a man with nothing to lose finally walking into the ocean. No word about the head injury, or the rug. Nothing at all. I had gotten away with it, somehow. 

Mr Harrison’s solicitor came round a week or so after it happened, and informed me that I’d been left all of his boats in his will, and the business. Again, bizarre. Completely insane, actually. Nobody seemed to find it suspicious. Nobody seemed to find it strange. It just seemed to make sense to them, as if they weren’t really hearing the words that they spoke, or seeing the world around them. 

It’s the sea. It gets into your head, and then nothing seems to matter anymore. You do the things that you must do, until it is time for you to go. 

Sometimes you are needed for a long time, or sometimes, just a moment. 

The solicitor hasn’t been seen since she visited me last week, and I have a sinking suspicion that I know where she is. She’s served her purpose, I suppose. 

It’s the ring. I know that it sounds stupid, but since it surfaced, nothing has been right. The officer who closed the investigation into Harrison’s death washed up overnight, and I’d wager that the solicitor won’t be far behind. 

I’ll never have money problems again, but how useful am I, really? Mr Harrison said that the ring could bring his family back, but perhaps it just tells you what you want to hear, gives you whatever you need to serve. Maybe my call is coming again soon?

I tried to take it off. I wanted to send it back to where it came from, but it won’t budge. I can’t get it off of my finger, and every time I try, the ocean echoes in my ear, almost like a warning. 

Sometimes, I have times like this, where I know what I’ve done, and what I have become, and I know what I must do, but they don’t last long. 

I killed Mr Harrison. I think I might have killed more… it’s all so hazy, such a blur, and every time I try to think about it, the sea begins to sing, and I am lost. More people are starting to disappear, and every time, they wash up on the beach, and no more is said about it. There are no more investigations, no more fuss about it. People just vanish, and then wash up a day or so later. 

They all go back to the sea, eventually, and some day soon, so will I. 



This post first appeared on Jennifer Juan – Las Aventuras De La Princesa Rom, please read the originial post: here