Trembling With Fear – Summer 2024 Edition

If I Step Outside, I Will Melt

By: Emily Holman

With hazy intentions, I leave my icy room, fan on the highest setting while everything else burns outside my bedroom window. I hate how hot the summer gets, sweating through my bedsheets. I yawn, though I cannot sleep. 

I peek through my blinds. It is still dark outside, although the glass is warm to the touch. 

Then I see her. I cannot tell who— or what— she is, a ghost in my blackened garden. She is barefoot, and all I can think about is how the pads of her feet are most likely burned and calloused, too hardened for a little girl, until my eyes reach her face. Her eyes are yellow, and as bright as a lantern as she stares straight through me. Her hands hold a mask up to her face, a green mask covered in scales and a wicked, sharp-toothed grin. 

There is no light outside. 

I blink, and more girls appear, all in white dresses, all standing deathly still as they gaze through my window, eyes seen through their various masks.

I quickly shut my blinds again and duck behind my wall. I can’t talk myself out of my rapid heartbeat and wide eyes as the image of these girls stains the insides of my eyelids. I try to think, and as an almost instinctual reaction of both curiosity and validation I grab my small black digital camera. I need people to believe me. 

My hands shake as I stand back up and try to steady myself enough to part the blinds with two of my fingers as noiselessly as I could. I lift the camera with my other hand cautiously, but I don’t see them anymore. Where have they gone? 

Then, there is a knock at my front door. My stomach lurches as I drop the blinds with a shaking sound as a tap, tap, tapping begins— softly at first, then louder, as if many more fingers join in all at once— on my front windows. 

I don’t want to look. I want nothing more than to crawl back into bed and get a terrible night’s sleep, tossing and turning through the heat, until I wake up and realize that everything has been a dream. It’s not, though, and I know that my only option is to creep slowly towards my door and face them, one way or another. 

It sounds like rain, heavy and pouring, on the glass now, and I can just imagine all of their little fingernails scraping and scratching to get inside. I hesitantly find myself at the window above my kitchen sink, but as soon as I pull back the red cloth curtains, the sound is gone, and so are the girls. If they were ever there in the first place. 

I inhale deeply, trying to bury any sharp yells or screams of surprise. I try to treat it like a prank jump-scare video that would be attached to an email chain, telling myself that the girls would pop up somewhere unexpectedly, and that I’d have to be ready for them. I arm myself with a kitchen knife, though I’m not sure what it will do against a group of… whatever those girls are, so I also bring a spray can of cooking oil, and the lighter that I keep on my bedside table. 

I carefully unlatch my front door, taking one last deep breath as I turn the doorknob and crack the door open just enough to see with one eye. On my porch sits a lizard, tongue flicking out at me as it stares with beady eyes, watching me look at it. No girls in sight. 

I am about to close the door, blaming heat stroke and lack of sleep for my hallucinations, but the small green lizard scurries inside right as the click of the latch meets the doorframe. 

A small hiss escapes the lizard’s mouth as its tongue licks the air once more, and I realize that its tail came off in the door. The pink of flesh is exposed to the hot summer air as the tail wriggles around in its accidental hold, and I take a step back. I feel like vomiting, but I force that feeling back. The creature’s eyes burn as it looks into my own soft blue eyes, and then it starts to twitch. 

I back up as far as I can, watching the way its little limbs crack and break and take a different shape altogether. Then it starts getting bigger. Its skin starts to shrivel and slide off of its slick body, scaleless now, its long nose shortening into itself, but its eyes still stay the same, never breaking eye contact as its arms grow hands and fingers and it starts to stand on two legs instead of four. The lizard’s yellow, slit eyes sit, cold, in the face of the little girl. She doesn’t take the green-scaled mask from her face as she reaches back and opens the door. 

Behind her step the rest of the girls, multi-colored masks over their inhuman eyes, and I remember all the times I looked outside into my yard and saw a squirrel scurrying around the trees or a ladybug flying up to my window. A sickening wave of cold sweat takes over as I’m hit with the fact that every creature I’ve ever seen out in the wild has been one of them. How long have they been watching me?

The knife drops from my hand, clattering to the tiled floor of my kitchen. There are too many of them for me to stop them with just a bread knife. Then I remember the lighter in my pocket and the spray canister of oil. Part of me doesn’t want to hurt them— they’re just children, after all— but I know that these things aren’t children at all. 

I have been frozen up until this second, the masked girls inching closer, slowly, as if they know they scare me. My mind racing, I come up with a plan that I execute to the best of my abilities: I reach for the lighter with the hand that once held my knife, and I start to spray the oil with the other, and click the lighter on. 

Only, the lighter won’t start. 

I try once, twice, three times to get the flame to light, but each time it only sparks, and then fizzles out.

In a panic, I continue my attempts to light a flame, all while taking one step after the other away from the girls, who are closing in on me. They watch me with animal eyes, and I cry out in frustration as spark after endless spark escapes the lighter, but nothing more.

I take one more step back, and the back of my foot hits the wall. There is nowhere else for me to go.

The girl with the lizard eyes and mask stands toe to toe with me now, looking up into my own terrified human eyes. “You don’t belong here,” she hisses, cooking oil making her skin shine, and that’s when the lighter finally decides to work.

I didn’t think summer could get any hotter, but as my house and my skin burns down around me, I can’t help but miss the vile scorching of the sun.

The Reaper of the Sea

By: M. Brandon Robbins

Dying on a cruise ship was the biggest mistake Alice had ever made. Being dead was bad enough, especially considering she was a ghost. But being a ghost on a cruise ship was its own special kind of torment. She was constantly surrounded by food and alcohol—two of her most favorite things—but couldn’t enjoy either of them. She could still listen to the live music, but what was special once or twice a year grew boring and tiresome when you experienced it every night over and over again.

Several times every day, Alice cursed herself for wanting to get a better view of the dolphins. She had climbed up on the railings and leaned over, then lost her footing and fell forward right into the ocean. Of course she was alone, and of course she was drunk. Alice remembered sinking below the crystal blue surface of the water; eventually, everything went black. When Alice woke up, she was in the atrium of the very ship she had fallen from. This naturally confused her, but it didn’t take her long to figure out what was going on: once she realized that nobody could see her or hear her, the only logical conclusion she could draw was that she was a ghost.

Existence has been a never-ending pain in the soul ever since.

Alice remembered stories of a ghost needing to fulfill their purpose or right some wrong before they could move on to the afterlife. Unfortunately, she was the only one to blame for her death, and she could think of no greater purpose to serve.

So she walked over the cruise ship every day and night, observing the carefree life she would have given anything to be a permanent part of and despising those who could actually enjoy it. Until the day she stopped someone from committing suicide.

#

Alice had found the young woman stretched out on a lounge chair by one of the cruise ship’s three pools. It was at 3:00 AM, so there was no one around. She was the only living person on the deck.

The woman couldn’t have been over twenty-five. She had blonde hair and wore light-colored clothes appropriate for the tropical surroundings. Tears flowed from her eyes and she took short, sharp breaths. It was obvious she had been crying.

As Alice observed her, the woman stood from her chair and walked to the railing. She started crying again. When she got close to the railing, the woman put her foot on the bottom rail and pulled herself up.

Alice had never tried to make anyone see or hear her, not since her earliest days as a ghost. It was almost completely out of instinct that she dashed forward and reached out with her hand, screaming “Don’t!”

The woman squealed, startled and embarrassed. She looked in Alice’s direction. Alice had no idea what the woman saw, but she obviously saw something and it didn’t terrify her. From this, Alice reasoned that, if she tried hard enough, she could appear as a regular human.

The woman stuttered her reply. “I’m—I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were there.”

Alice decided she would try to make sense of all this later and just went with what felt natural. “It’s a good thing I was here. You were about to jump!”

The woman lowered herself back down to the deck and wiped her tears away. “Was it that obvious?”

“Um, you were climbing over the railing and there’s an ocean beneath us. Yeah, it was pretty obvious.”

The woman started crying again. “It’s just so hard!” she wailed.

“What’s so hard?”

“Life! I work all day and then come home and my husband does nothing to help. I take care of three kids on my own while he watches TV or messes around in his shop. I thought if we took this trip I might get a chance to rest but it’s been more of the same. I take care of the kids all day and all night and he just sits in the room or at the bar drinking. I might as well be traveling alone. And my mom’s in a retirement home but I can’t afford to keep her there much longer and if she moves in with us that’s just one more person I’ll have to take care of. And I feel horrible about that because she’s my mom! But I just don’t know what to do. I just can’t cope anymore. I just don’t know what to do.”

When the woman was done venting, she cried even harder. Alice gave her a moment before speaking up again. “You don’t need to jump in the ocean. You need to be in therapy.”

“When do I have time?”

“Maybe make your sorry husband get off his ass and do something around the house so you can take care of yourself? I mean, I apologize for speaking out of turn, but you need to either whip that man into shape or leave him.”

“I can’t afford to live on my own. My job pays minimum wage.”

“There’s help out there for single mothers, you know?”

“I can’t afford a divorce.”

“Can you afford to keep being his maid and nanny? Can you afford the medical bills for when you have a massive heart attack?”

“No. And I know I need to do something. I just don’t know what.”

“You can start by telling your husband how you really feel. You can tell him how tired you are. You can tell him that those are his kids too, so he needs to step up and be a father. Are you afraid he’s going to hit you?”

“No, not at all.”

“Then talk to him. You have no idea if he’ll respond if you don’t try.”

“And what if he doesn’t?”

“Then go to therapy, or ask one of your friends for help. But don’t kill yourself. Trust me: death is not worth the effort.”

The woman didn’t realize just how loaded Alice’s statement was. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Do I need to walk you back to your room?”

“No. I’m fine.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.” The woman walked off to the door inside the ship. Alice could have followed her—she guessed that eventually she would go back to ghost form—but she didn’t. It seemed like she was breaking a trust if she did.

A few hours later, it occurred to Alice that maybe this was it. Maybe if she did enough of this  sort of good deed, she would finally be allowed to go into the afterlife. 

#

That had been one year ago.

Alice spent every day looking for the lost, the hurting, and the hopeless. People who seemed far too sad to be on vacation and enjoying themselves: teenagers who were dragged along with their families when they really wanted to be at home hanging out with their friends, newly widowed people who were supposed to come on this trip with their spouses, frustrated businessmen who couldn’t really afford a cruise but wanted to do something fun for their family, and—of course—people who were considering ending it all. There were an unbelievable number of people who contemplated suicide on their vacations.

With every lost and desperate soul she saved, Alice hoped that she would drift off into the beyond. She wanted off of this cruise ship. She wanted peace and rest and not to be reminded of the life she could be having if she hadn’t been so stupid as to get drunk and fall into the drink.

Each passing day made Alice more spiteful and bitter. Each person she saved made her more frustrated and cynical. In life, she had been a fairly optimistic person, but in death she knew nothing but anger and impatience.

So she decided to start taking it out on the passengers and crew.

Alice had learned that with enough concentration and willpower, she could appear as a living woman. She had the idea that maybe, with enough effort, she could interact with things. Alice decided that her first trick would be a simple one: she would knock a glass off of a bar. That would be enough to startle a few people and maybe put them on edge. She approached one of the busier bars, focused with all of her intent, and reached out for the closest glass. She could feel it, just as solid as if she were alive. Alice pushed and the glass slid off the bar, hitting the floor with a crash and sending ice and glass in all directions.

A few people nearby gasped. The bartender took a quick step back. One person, no doubt thinking themselves rather clever, clapped and cheered. It was a better reaction than she had actually hoped for.

Her next trick, done the next night, was to not just push a glass off of the bar, but to pick it up and throw it clear across the bar. That got even more of a reaction—some people even screamed!

Her tricks got more and more elaborate with each passing day. Before long, she had objects floating in the air. She had people feeling chills on the back of their necks when  she touched them. She had lights flickering, plates rattling, and curtains flapping. Every incident brought new levels of fright and surprise. It was actually fun.

But even that got old after a time . While each cruise offered up a fresh audience, Alice  was limited in what she could do. The same tricks over and over again got old.

So she decided to kill somebody.

#

It was somebody just like her: he was too drunk and doing too many stupid things. He and his friends had been making their way through the whole ship being loud and obnoxious. They shouted and high-fived over wins on the slot machines at the casino. They cheered each other on as they took tequila shots at nearly every bar they passed. They did cannonballs into the pool despite being explicitly told not to, and they spilled beer as they engaged in horseplay on the lido deck. 

Alice finally decided to make her move as they neared the safety railing on the aft deck of the ship. They were cutting up as usual—pushing and shoving each other, calling each other juvenile insults, and swigging down alcohol—when her chosen victim decided to reenact a memorable scene from a famous movie.

He climbed up on the railing, lifted his hands (one of them holding a beer) above his head, and shouted into the fading sunlight, “I’m the king of the world!”

Alice gave him a push. It wasn’t hard, but it was enough to knock him off balance. He pitched forward and flipped over the railing. His last words were, “Oh shit!”

His friends were dumbstruck. They stood around staring at each other. In their drunken stupor, they were at a complete loss as to what they should do. One of them finally spoke up. “What just happened?” he asked.

“Frank just fell off the fucking boat!” another answered.

“We should go get help,” another said.

“Yeah. We should,” the first one to speak said.

They all ran off back inside the ship, screaming “Man overboard!” By the time help arrived, the ship had left Frank far behind. He had sunk  below the waves and his body would remain there forever.

#

The ship had earned a bad reputation, and that reputation soon became worse. On most of its voyages, somebody fell overboard. It soon became known as “the Reaper of the Sea.” Every passenger spoke in nervous whispers about the casualties onboard throughout every trip. The more cautious passengers spent most of their time in their rooms. This meant they spent less money in the casino, at the bars, and at the shops.

The bizarre occurrences—glasses and dishes flying through the air, curtains being ripped down from their rods, and chairs sliding all over the floors seemingly on their own—didn’t help. It wasn’t long before the crew started saying that the ship was haunted. Many of them quit or requested transfers to other ships. Even the captain resigned.

The cruise line had no choice but to retire the ship. It simply wasn’t making them money anymore. It was sold for scrap metal to the highest bidder. 

As for Alice: with the ship finally being dismantled, she had nowhere to haunt, so she was finally allowed to cross over to the afterlife. However, having spent her temporary eternity as a trickster and murderer had consequences. What remained of her soul suffered torment for all eternity.

If only she hadn’t wanted a better view of the dolphins.

Pristine

By: DJ Tyrer

They stood on the unblemished white sands and watched as the rust-pocked fishing boat sailed away, leaving them alone in paradise.

“We’re here,” said Steve grinning at the others.

Janey hugged him. “It’s perfect.”

It was. A beautiful beach untouched by humanity, fresh and pure. It hadn’t been easy. Pristine beaches just weren’t easy to find. Anywhere even halfway perfect for a summer’s getaway had already been discovered, blogged about, and become overrun by tourists. It seemed as if there weren’t any left to discover. But, then, Steve had found the beach on Bawalan. The beach was mentioned in a tiny and almost unread post on an obscure blog he’d discovered while searching the net. Just a couple of photos of an unspoilt beach of white sand, and the name and coordinates of the island it was located on. Steve had verified the island was real and booked them tickets to the nearest airport. Janey, Rob, and Lisa were all keen to go.

Getting to the island itself, remote and uninhabited, hadn’t been so easy. The captain of the first boat they’d approached dismissed them immediately, claiming the island didn’t even exist. The next couple had just shaken their heads and looked perplexed at being addressed in English. But, then, a man in scruffy, oil-stained overalls had approached them and introduced himself as Dan, an American rather than a local, and had said he could get them to Bawalan.

“The islanders,” he told them, “don’t like the island. They have all sorts of silly superstitions about it and stay away.”

“Lucky for us,” Steve had said. He repeated the words now as Dan’s old boat vanished over the horizon. He’d return in three days to pick them up again, leaving them to enjoy the best summer getaway ever.

“Should we put the tents up now?” asked Rob, always practical.

“I don’t know if we even need to,” said Steve, looking up at the perfect blue of the cloudless skies. “We could probably sleep out under the stars.”

“You think?”

“Look,” interrupted Janey, “while you two discuss our accommodation, Lisa and me are going to change and get in that water – it looks divine.”

Steve laughed. “Go for it. It’s all ours.” He turned back to Rob. “Relax, dude.”

Rob chewed on his lip for a moment, then said, “I think I’ll put ours up, just in case.”

“Whatever. Just toss me a beer from the case before you go.”

“Sure, here.”

“Have fun.” Steve found himself some shade and settled down beneath a palm tree to watch Janey and Lisa splashing about in the perfect white surf.

There was a rustling sound and he turned to see fronds on the edge of the dense vegetation that fringed the white sands of the beach swaying as if in a breeze. The air was still. Sudden thoughts of the wildlife inhabiting Indonesian islands suddenly entered his mind. Did the islanders have good reason, after all, to avoid Bawalan. There were tigers, weren’t there? And, those huge lizards… Were they anywhere near Komodo?

The leaves parted and he let out a gasp of relief as a small and rather scrawny tan dog stepped out onto the beach. Steve laughed to see it – some wildlife! He held his hand out for it to sniff. “Where did you come from?”

It nuzzled his fingers and allowed him to begin stroking it.

“Well, you’re lovely, aren’t you? Yes, you are. But, who do you belong to?”

Steve called Rob over and he joined him in stroking the dog.

“Probably,” said Rob, “there was a village here once and the dogs were left behind when it was abandoned. Or, maybe it was left here by a passing boat. Who knows?”

“Well, it seems to like us,” said Steve with a chuckle. “Oh, here come the girls. Hey, see what we found.”

Janey wasn’t a fan of dogs and kept her distance, but Lisa joined in petting it.

“I’ll start the barbecue,” said Rob, after a while.

“I’ll join you,” said Janey, glancing at the dog.

“Toss one of the sausages this way,” called Steve. “This one looks like it’s been starving out here.”

“Fine, here.”

Steve offered the raw sausage to the dog, but it showed no interest.

“Probably prefers its food fresh,” he said with a chuckle.

“Throw this on the barbie,” he told Rob, throwing it back to him, “it’s not hungry.”

“Horrible creature,” muttered Janey.

“Hey, it’s a lovely little thing,” said Steve, scratching the dog behind the ear.

They ate, the dog curled up at Steve’s feet, then Janey and Lisa returned to the water, while Rob and Steve tossed a disc about, the dog running back and forth after it. Night fell with surprising speed and they retreated up the beach to where Rob had put up a tent and Steve had laid a ground mat. Janey looked down at the dog, which had settled itself beside Steve on the mat.

“I am not sleeping next to that… thing,” she said, flatly.

“Gee, what is your issue? It’s just a dog.”

“Exactly. I can’t stand dogs. They bite and smell and have fleas.”

“This one doesn’t bite, do you? And, it doesn’t have a smell and I’m not scratching, so I think we’re safe.”

“It’s a hard nope from me,” Janey said, firmly. “And, I’m not too keen on sleeping on the ground. There could be snakes and spiders and who knows what else slithering around here.”

“Fine.” Steve stood with a sigh and set about hanging her a hammock.

“There,” he said when he was done, “you should be done.”

He began to walk off along the beach, the dog at his heels.

“Where are you going, babe?”

“You don’t want the dog near you,” he said, “remember? I’m going to make sure it doesn’t bother you.”

“Babe!”

“Night,” he called back.

He found a depression beneath a palm tree that seemed like it would be comfortable and settled himself down in it, the dog laying at his feet, and soon was asleep. A damp touch on his cheek woke him. It was still dark. For a moment, he though it was the dog licking him, but the sensation wasn’t that of a rough tongue, but one of soft lips.

“Janey?” he asked the darkness, wondering if she’d decided to make things up.

There was a negative sound. Was it Lisa? Man, Rob was going to kill him…

Then a body pressed against him, small and lithe, and he knew it was neither Janey nor Lisa. It was female and completely naked and though he was startled and confused, he wasn’t exactly upset. Had Dan been wrong about the island being unvisited? 

The lips pressed against his and he lost his train of thought. Hands ran over him, undoing buttons, undressing him.

“Whoa!” Okay, things were going too fast.

The woman didn’t stop and, though he tried to pull away, he found he was pinned in place by a strength far greater than her apparent size implied.

“Right, that’s enough, that’s –” He screamed as pain shot through his stomach. It was as if a knife had been driven into his flesh, only he felt fingers squirming inside of him, seizing hold of his guts, pulling them free.

He screamed again and thought he heard shouts in reply. On the edge of his vision, he saw a bobbing light growing nearer, and as it did so, he caught a glimpse of the woman’s face – long and dog-like, then gone as she turned and bounded away, seeming to shrink as she did so. 

A moment later, Rob was there, shining a torch at him, Janey and Lisa just behind him. Rob swore and Janey screamed, as Lisa turned away and vomited on the pure white sand of the beach. Steve tried to speak, but only blood exited his mouth.

“We need help,” he heard Janey shrieking, looking between him and Rob. “Get help!”

“I’m trying,” said Rob, “but I can’t get a signal.”

“He won’t last till Dan gets back here,” Janey shouted.

“He won’t last an hour,” Rob said, softly.

“What did this to him?” demanded Lisa’s voice from somewhere in the darkness nearby. “What did it?”

“It was that dog,” cried Janey. “I saw it loping away, blood on its jaws.”

The dog? thought Steve. Yet, he was certain of what he’d felt. Then, he remembered the glimpse of face he’d seen, human and yet not. He tried to speak, but still no words would escape his lips and the darkness was closing in on him. They needed to know, to understand the danger. It was no dog. It was something else.

As the darkness swallowed him up, he knew his friends were unlikely to survive until Dan returned to collect them and all that the man would find would be an empty pristine beach, and maybe a little of their detritus at the jungle’s edge.

Fishplace

By: Phill Bradley

It was our 23rd anniversary. Anne and I went down to Cozumel for a relaxing vacation – we had nothing planned but to play at the hotel, sit by the pool, tan on the beach, and have a few romantic meals. 

On our third day, Anne decided she wanted to try the Fish Spa down on the beach, right by the water’s edge. The day before, we had seen a honeymooning couple in the open-air hut, having a pedicure by dipping their feet into a well of live fish. The small fish, called Garra Rufas, or Doctor fish, suck the dead skin off your feet while you relax and gaze out at the beautiful ocean. 

It’s supposed to be a painless treatment – the brightly colored and toothless fish are very small at only about two inches in length. There were several hundred of them in the well, and the couple we talked to said that they tickled a little bit, but otherwise it was just relaxing.

“Looks like fun, Stephen,” Anne jibed me, as she made a little fish face and tickled my side.

“Not for me, babe. But go ahead knock yourself out. Just hope the little fellas don’t choke on your bunions.”

“I don’t have bunions, honey. I have cute little girl feet.”  She wasn’t wrong – they were perfect.

“Well fine. You can have your feet sucked on by the fish and I will suck on them later after you take a shower.”

“Naughty boy…” she scolded, but didn’t mean it, as she playfully poked me in the rib.

After checking Anne in for the 45-minute session at the spa, I stuck around for the first couple of minutes to see if she’d really like it. The spa lady gave her a nice set of headphones and she got to pick the music, which was, of course, early 2000’s bangers – Katy Perry, Britney Spears, Beyonce, et cetera. 

Anne was bobbing her head from side to side as the fish started nibbling away. She was lost in her world, and I struggled to get her attention, giving her a questioning thumbs-up sign. She replied, “It’s awesome!” about 20 decibels too loud. The spa lady and I laughed, and I went back to the room to read a book in the air-conditioned comfort of our room.

When I got to our room I threw my wallet, the hotel key, and my phone onto the bed. I looked around and couldn’t find my book until I finally remembered that I had left it on the balcony the day before. I grabbed a beer from the minibar and went out on the balcony to retrieve my book, which had blown off the table. 

The night before was so calm, but now I could see the palm trees up and down the beach swaying and the flags flapping noisily in the courtyard below.

Even from our 14th-floor balcony, I could see the fishplace and Anne’s head bobbing to the music. I turned around, thinking, “She’s so crazy,” and went to reopen the balcony door, but it wouldn’t open. This stupid stick that they used as a locking mechanism had fallen down into the track and was, well, doing its job.

So much for the air-conditioned book-read. But there were plenty of worse places to be than drinking a beer and reading a book on a balcony overlooking a beautiful beach, with palm trees hypnotically swaying to the surf. Or so I thought.

I had only read about three pages when I heard shouting and screaming coming from the beach. 

My first thought was Anne – something wrong had happened with the fish – but the reality was much worse. 

People on the grounds nearest the hotel were being attacked by, I don’t know – marauders?  That’s the word that comes to mind when I saw about a dozen guys brandishing machetes, attacking the hotel guests, accosting them for their phones and jewelry. 

Several patrons were already down on the ground, bleeding, maybe dead, and others were screaming and running in all directions. Anne, oblivious to the commotion, was merrily vibing to her playlist at the spa. 

The spa and restaurant workers were hunkered down in the cabana about 60 feet from her and were trying to get her attention without alarming the terrorists, but to no avail – which wasn’t surprising – I couldn’t get her attention from five feet away, earlier.

The marauders fanned out to catch the stragglers, and the runaways who were overtaken were immediately struck down and slashed. Some of the patrons were fleeing into the ocean, albeit, to the left, out of the line of sight for Anne, who maybe even had her eyes shut anyway. A few of them were nabbed in the shallow surf, but the rogues didn’t seem to be venturing out to attack the runners who were already over waist-deep.

My phone was on the other side of the glass door so I couldn’t call 911, if 911 was even appropriate in Mexico. I shouted down the line of balconies and there were other guests already on their phones, but surely by the time the federales arrived, there would be no one left, except those out in the ocean.

I had to do something to save Anne. I grabbed the balcony chair, which was metal, and tried smashing through the glass window, which was very resistant – too resistant – however, I saw a tiny crack form and I put my heel into it, shattering the whole door. 

I peered over the balcony and could see one of the marauders splitting off from the others and heading toward the cabana and Anne’s spa deck. The cabana employees were funneling around the side and out toward the neighboring resort, leaving Anne completely unprotected, except for one young man who remained hidden with his eyes on Anne and her would-be attacker. 

I grabbed the biggest shard of glass I could find and headed for the stairs, blind with rage, wanting to protect Anne, but not sure what my plan would be. My only hope was that the police would arrive soon, otherwise I had to try to lure the lone bandit away from Anne and toward me. 

But when I got to the bottom of the stairs and ran out toward the lobby, I saw that hotel security was manning the doors, barring the patrons from the beach. 

“My wife’s out there!” I screamed at the men blocking the exit.

“Señor, the policia be here any meenet. You must stay in heer.”

“She’s at the fishplace!” I pointed toward the spa and the vandal headed in that direction. “He’s going to kill her! Let me out!”

The manager sighed, reluctantly unlocking the door for me, and doing the sign of the cross as I blasted past him. I ran across the patio and onto the sand shouting at the guy in black, but the strong winds just took my voice off to the right. 

He had now spotted Anne and her bright red headphones at the spa and was headed there. I don’t know what he wanted with a defenseless woman, but he was definitely curious, fixated on her, and now only about 30 feet from the spa. 

I was easily five times that distance from him – shouting the whole time – but he couldn’t hear me, just as Anne couldn’t hear him. The rest of his crew was escaping much farther down the beach to the left. I had blurred them out, and the people in the ocean, and all I felt was the three of us on that whole beach. 

He stopped only a few feet behind Anne as she obliviously stretched and started to dance from the waist up. And that’s when he stopped, machete in hand, and did a little dance of his own behind her, shaking his hips as if he was dancing along with her. 

I don’t know if he felt invincible, was mocking her, or was in his own private world with my beautiful wife, but he still hadn’t sensed me coming up behind him. I had now closed the gap to 50 feet, still shouting at him, and finally, he turned to face me, alarmed as I broke his trance. 

However, seeing me charge him with a shard of glass the size of a pineapple slice must have been amusing, because he smiled and started running toward me, taking the bait. He was a lot faster on the sand than I expected, and I started running right, toward the next property down the beach where the workers had fled from the cabana. 

I thought I was in good shape, but he was slowly closing the gap. From my current position, I couldn’t get to the ocean, and I wasn’t so sure that he wouldn’t follow me there even if I could. My only hope was to get to some solid ground and pick up speed or, God forbid, find more people to slow him down. 

But there was no path, no people, just slow, slow sand. He was now close enough behind me to hear, yelling something in super-fast Spanish and I knew he would get me in the next 15 seconds. I looked over my shoulder and that’s when he fell. I did a mental sign of the cross and kept running, looking back after about 30 seconds, and saw that he still had not gotten up. 

I stopped, my heart rate through the roof from fear and the extreme cardio workout.

The young man from the cabana was walking toward the bandit with a revolver still pointed at the bandit, and a couple of hundred feet back stood Anne, alone, crying as she took note of the carnage on the beach and the patio. 

The cabana guy arrived at the marauder, but there was no movement – his first shot had been true. The federales and medical personnel were now storming the beach, trying to save what lives were left. I ran back toward Anne, passing the young man with the revolver, thanking him for saving my life and Anne’s, knowing he hung back to protect her.

Anne and I ran into each other’s arms, saying nothing, but taking comfort in our continued existence. An EMT woman placed a blanket around us and sat us down on the side of the fish tank, while she bandaged my hand, which unbeknownst to me, was bleeding profusely from clutching the glass shard. 

Later, I had to give a statement, as did Anne, who said she saw nothing but the shot that killed the final raider. The man from the cabana, licensed through hotel security to carry a gun, was named Tiburón, which means “shark” in Spanish. 

My Anne, strong as ever, later decided that she was never in danger, protected by the fish on the beach. When we got back to Austin, she got a tattoo of the Garra Rufas swimming around her left ankle and a tiburón arched around her right.

Elephant of the Sea

By: Sam Tankersley

Jake wiped the sweat which had slithered into his eyes and stung him like watery bees. His hands were as sweat drenched as his brow and the effort proved more problematic than helpful. However, that didn’t matter. Jake looked around at the onslaught of blues from above and below. Above him, was the infinity of the summer sky. Not a cloud in sight, just that gorgeous sky-blue stretching in every direction with the blistering white sun baking everything beneath it. In front of them was the beach. Florida waters only looked this good when all the tourists weren’t mudding up the waters with their nasty feet from all over the country. The water looked like glass, even from so far away he could practically see the sand slowly shifting beneath the gently push of the waves. Despite him knowing it was salt water, his throat beckoned to sip from the costal nectar reaching out to him more powerfully with every wave crashed against the bleached white sand. This was a special spot, one Jake nor his friends had ever been to. 

Jake, Alan, and Harry had usually been relegated to the regular beaches where all the overweight dads in way too tight swim trunks or wine drunk moms flocked by the hundreds. This was a spot they had always been warned against, for a dozen different reasons. You could cut yourself and get an infection, there’s dangerous marine life, was too far away from town, you just want to go drink, or his personal favorite, you just want to go smoke pot with your friends. He was about to start his senior year of high school, as were Alan and Harry, and they had always promised themselves they would come out here eventually. Now, as they labored through the sandy grass brushing past large bundles of trees and vegetation, they were all getting closer to achieving that promise of youth. The green inferno around them was baked in almost as much precipitation as their bodies, the leaves and grass rubbed across their skin but clung as the water of their bodies mixed with the water of the green’s ligaments. Their arms and legs itched, stung, and drew back out of repulsiveness. Jake didn’t care, Alan complained, and Harry kept quiet out of frustration but they both would be on his side once they got to where they were going. Jake could see through the trees more and more of the beach he so desperately felt called to, and soon they came out of their living green hell and onto the beach. The soft warm sand welcoming them between their toes. Jake took a deep breath and tasted the salt in his mouth. This was the kind of salt you could only taste in a place people hadn’t ruined. But that hadn’t always been the case, that’s why they came here. 

Stories had been told about the abandoned shipyard. Or just the abandoned dock, depending on who you asked. The place had been filled with charter fishing vessels that would take families who had only known places like Dallas, Chicago, and Las Angeles into the terrifying dark of the gulf. There they would bring back amberjack, bonito, and every type of grouper or snapper their boats could hold. Jake looked out at the old but still massive corpse of what had been a wharf. Now mostly consumed by the hungry forest. The green had taken most of what was left of its wooden and stone skeleton but was slowly infecting the guts of the building as well. In front of them, lining the beach and jettisoning out into the glassy water, were the large wooden docks. They fell into the water after a way and looked like even a breeze would send them to their permanent death. Four rows stretched out defiantly still, clinging to a past duty they would never again know. Jake’s eyes came alive, and without looking he knew Alan and Harry’s did as well. Two boats remained, partially sunken in the water, but charter boats were all the same. Their bows were still above water and there was undoubtedly still a way to get inside. The pure white of their side was now a gross brown from water and muck, with plenty of barnacles decorating the majority of their hulls. Who had left them? That didn’t matter now. This was their kingdom and the boats their castles. Jake had always hated the idea of college. He just wanted to go out into the gulf and fish from before the same came out till after it went down. Looking at these two boats felt to him like he was looking at his destiny, a future so close and so ensured.  

“Which boat should we go in first?” Jake asked giddy with delight. 

As he turned around, the crunching of sand underneath foot ruined the song the waves were singing against the shore. Jake was disappointed, and a little frustrated, to see Harry rushing towards the water. The continued assault on their skin by the sun only compounded the growing anger in the base of his throat. 

“Harry, we could have gone swimming anywhere we’re here for the dock and boats!” 

“I’m cooling off Jake, I’m frying on that sand man. I’ll be over there in a few minutes.” Harry’s words were followed by the sound of his body thrusting itself into the water through the attempted deterrent of a wave. 

Jake frowned. He shook his head. He looked back at Alan who adjusted his glasses and cleaned the lenses with his sweaty shirt. When Alan finally returned a look, he also shook his head. The pair continued on to their destiny as Harry made sounds of elation at the ocean’s lovely cold kiss. Alan looked at the abandoned wharf with a fierce intensity. Jake could immediately tell that is where he wanted to go first, but that would not be. 

“Don’t tell me you’re looking at that rotting mound of plywood.” Jake inquired. 

“I just wonder if there are any bones in there, from the fish I mean. It would be so cool if we could find like shark teeth, or shark jaws, or maybe like a barracuda skull.” 

“I know you want to be a marine biologist, but most people don’t enjoy looking at the remains of dead animals Alan.” 

“I know, but I already started applying to colleges with good programs for stuff like that and I’m already thinking about grad school, so that right there is like eight years of school and if I’m committing to that may as well get used to this stuff being the focus on my every waking moment.” 

“Love you man, love your passion, but that sounds horrible. God help you and your fish bones.” 

“You say that now, but when I’m paying you to take me out and do experiments or collect samples, you’ll be glad I have no social life and all the college grants to spend on you.” 

Jake and Alan laughed as the pair made it to the start of the docks. The sand parted oddly at the end of the dock; the wet wood felt awful beneath Jacke’s feet. The sloshy wet grass and warm soft embrace of the sand had spoiled his skin. This damp man made creation felt anything but right as he put weight down with each step. It mushed like it wanted to die. Jake could tell this structure was anything but stable, but stable enough for a bunch of skinny high school boys. They came to the third row of docks shooting out into the ocean, and lucky for them the part of it which had not succumb to time and been claimed by the sea went right in front of the nearest boat. Jake and Alan carefully made their way out to it with plenty of creaks coming from underneath. His heart was pounding near out of his frail chest, but it only made the smile on his face grow all the more. When Jake finally reached it, he couldn’t even feel Alan anymore, just the energy of the boat in front of him. Its power transferring from itself to him. That’s when Jake saw it, the eyes staring at him. 

In the water next to the boat, something had stirred up the sand. The sand was not accustomed to this commotion and muck now proliferated the previously gorgeous water in every direction. Jake could make out nothing, except a large pair of eyes looking up at him, eyes connected to a brutish malformed face with large hair whiskers crinkled directly underneath. The eyes had a horribly green shine to them, with a darkness so black in its middle that a chill went down both of Jake’s arms and then his back. The eyes watched him, and then vanished moving forward underneath the dock. Jake looked at Alan, needing confirmation this wasn’t some heat induced hallucination but secretly wanting desperately for that to be the case. Painted across Alan’s face was dread and confusion, confirming Jake’s hallucination as not that, but instead a morbid fact they had both just experienced. Their shared fear was broken by echoing shrieks. Jake and Alan turned to the waters behind them. Harry was thrashing. Jake and Alan quickly, and awkwardly due to the disrepair of the dock, ran back to the beach. As Jake’s feet left the crudeness of the dock and felt the return of the doughy sand he stopped dead in his tracks. No amount of love for Harry built on a lifetime of friendship could move him. The abomination in front of him defiled all feelings of love or courage with primordial senses of fear. 

Harry had his back to them; he was sitting down with his hands up in protest screaming the shrillest incomprehensible words at whatever was rising from the water. As the foam and liquid ran in fear, the form became clear. Its skin an ugly brown and grey. Pushed against itself forming wrinkles and creases in the most unpleasant fashion. Its body, enormous and gargantuan. A God meant for worship in the eyes of the frail bodies of Jake, Alan, and Harry. Its lumbering shoulder swayed powerfully as it raised its head, a massive thick neck connected with no end or distinction from the rest of its submarine-like form. Atop its face, underneath its green cruel eyes, was a stout trunk fat with flesh. Its whole body was so immense, so stocky, and moved like fat but Jake knew better. This thing was muscle top to bottom. Over a thousand pounds of flesh molded to be dominant over the water and the land the water claimed. Harry screamed and the beast opened its jaws to bellow a trumpet like call. Its roar shook the grains of sand on the beach and made Jake desire to hurl. It was an elephant seal, one bigger than he had ever seen at the zoo or on TV. These things weren’t supposed to be in Florida. How did this thing get here? Why was it so big? Underneath its trunk were cruel jagged teeth going in every direction. Yellow with age but thick from a lifetime of war proven violence. The elephant seal looked down at Harry, who still waved his arms like it would do anything to stop this devil. The seal tumbled forward, letting its weight crush most of Harry before wrapping its mammoth jaws around his head and popping it like a grape. 

Jake and Alan ran back towards the boat, their only refuge. In their ears they heard the awful trumpet of its roar warbling behind them but drawing closer. Jake looked behind and saw it thunderously flopping between land and sea. The unholy proportions of flesh moving swiftly. Jake was on the dock and almost to the boat when he heard Alan scream. He turned around and saw Alan reaching for him as the God of the sea brought its weight down on the dock with a flop, sending most of the dock cascading into the water. Jake jumped onto the slippery edge of the boat holding on to dear life. Alan fell into the muddle water amongst the splintering damp wood. Jake waited with heavy breathes for a few seconds. The water sloshed. Its beautiful blue replaced with vile grey. The only noise was his own erratic breathing and the sloshing of the ocean. The seal and Alan were gone. Suddenly, Alan broke the waters with a scream grabbing onto a piece of wood and swinging it wildly around. Jake wanted to say something, but of the million words on his mind none could be formed on his tongue. Like the leviathan coming for Job, the elephant seal broke the waves and contorted like some hideous monster worm towards Alan. Alan couldn’t even get a scream out before his shoulder was beneath the sea creature’s trunk and they both were beneath the waves. Gone like they had never been. 

Jake clung to the fiberglass of the boat. His feet slipping against the side, trying to find traction against the barnacles but finding none. The summer sun hung high above his head breeding endless sweat across his arms. His grip got weaker with every second. Jake knew he couldn’t lift himself over the side of the boat, he couldn’t get a good enough grip anywhere to do that. He kicked his feet fruitlessly. His fingers dug into the side of the boat till his nails started to break and bleed. He sobbed. Hot tears mixed with hotter sweat and his throat dried up. As Jake felt the last of his strength leaving his biceps and fingers, he looked down at the water which would soon claim him. It was still murky with disturbed sand, but he saw them again. The awful eyes, mounds of flesh above and below them, and those disturbing whiskers. He could make out its trunk just below the water with the eyes almost resting above them. In them was a horrible intent. Murderous intent. The intent of a God hell bent on receiving one more sacrifice to its summer festival of slaughter. Jake’s mouth opened and tears flowed freely as his grip failed him. The eyes of the beast became like fire as the trunk rose from the water and those trumpets from hell erupted once more. In those last quick terrible moments, Jake saw the colossal jaws open beneath the fat trunk and in them were the fleshy red gates to the underworld. That is where he was going, and that is where he went.

The Sands

By: Emma Steel

A concrete road laid decades ago led back through the dunes. Back during the war, this was a training ground where the army trained for an invasion on another shore. Now, it was just an easy access to the vast, flat beaches of the Sands. The beach was protected by dunes, miles deep, littered with course grass that stabbed like steel shafts in a parody of the steel rebar that jutted up from the broken concrete road in twisted shapes. 

The car ran out of road and proceeded to rise and fall in the large dips that were fifty years of potholes in the packed sand. In some, there were pools of water that splashed as the tires ran through them, and the water trickled back slowly once the car had passed.

The edge of the road was lined with brambles and a low grass that disappeared into the bands of sand that rose up and blocked the view of the water. Eventually, I was forced to pull over. The trail terminated in a wide open, flat, grassy area that was a common parking spot. From here, it would be on foot to the beach and water.

The ground was peppered with holes. Rabbit burrows that wound under the sand. The brambles acted as a cover for the burrow entrances, and the rabbits navigated nature’s barbed wire with ease and at speed when there was a threat.

I had a deck chair in one hand and a soft cooler bag over the other shoulder to counterbalance. The going was easy over the grass, but once that disappeared, the sand made the trek harder. It was soft underfoot, slipping away under each step and it seemed to draw the very energy from me. My legs were tired, even though the burden was light. Walking on sand was tough.

This whole area was controlled by a local trust. You needed a permit to build a fire, but access was free and a common thing at the weekends. It was thousands of acres, but there were usually only a few people around. Today, there was no one. In regular times, a ranger might pass by perched atop an ATV once in a while. The rangers merely watched and moved on. Everyone knew the rules. There was an understanding.

I scaled a dune, and the sand slid down behind my feet as I lifted them as though it was escaping me. My feet gave it the opportunity to run. From the top, I could see that I had maybe a mile to cover before I got to the shore. Each dune on the way was an island surrounded by short green grass and brambles. There were paths though, beaten by the feet over the years.

The sands shifted as I made my way down, part running, part sliding. The shifting sand looked to overtake me, and I raced it to the bottom as it formed a moving triangle behind me. I stumbled forward on the solid ground at the bottom of the dune. It was hard to catch my footing as I transitioned from sliding to standing, and I tipped. My feet ran ahead of me, and a foot found a hole it wasn’t looking for. Clipping the edge of the hole, it sank into the darkness. I went over, tumbling head over heel, as the pain shot through my ankle. The dull ache that sprang up from the twist was initially lost in a sudden sharp pain. 

I gripped the ankle as the pain shot through it like lightning. It was sudden, searing, and burned at my flesh, making the hair on my arms stand on end as the surge coursed through me.

The chair was a few feet away, laid as flat as it could be, with the aluminum tube frame twisted. The cooler bag was on its side, close to a bramble patch. Neither was within reach.

I lay for a few moments, trying to regain my breath. The wind had been knocked out of me as I’d gone over in the surprise. I was disorientated a little. My ankle was now throbbing, my hands wet. I wasn’t sure if the wetness was sweat from the adrenaline or from blood. Looking down, I confirmed it was from the latter.

The air was still down here in the hollow between the dunes, but it carried sound well enough. There was the high whine of a small-bore engine. It rose and fell as strain was put on the engine. I could hear it getting closer. I had an overwhelming sense of relief. The ranger would be able to help. To take me back to the road and get medical assistance. Salvation.

There was a scratching as the brambles moved. I couldn’t see anything from my place on the ground. Any birds that had been around had disappeared. They had vacated their perches on the spiked canes of red and green and flown.

“Hello?” My ankle ached as I moved, trying to prop myself up so that I could see what had caused the brambles to move.

There was no response. Just the sound of the engine in the distance getting closer.

“What are you doing down there?” asked the ranger. The sun was behind him, so he looked like he had escaped from an isography.

“Bloody rabbit hole!” I said. 

He looked me up and down, lingering on my ankle. There was blood on the running shoe, and the sock was stained, spoiling its white purity. In the wound was a splash of a thick, dark green fluid. I didn’t feel anything from the wound. There was numbness in my lower leg, no doubt shock, and the body was reacting to help.

“That looks nasty,” he said and dismounted his gas powered beast. He was dressed in khaki and green, the typical ranger. A baseball cap on his head to shade his eyes. Around his shins were thick canvas gaiters to protect him from snake bites. There were only adders here that weren’t poisonous. I winched as he turned and lifted the ankle to look at it. “You won’t be running on this anytime soon,” he said, “shame!”

As the brambles crackled and creaked, he looked over to where the noise was coming from. Putting the ankle down, he edged back, moving slowly.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Wildlife,” he said, “protected in these parts. The sands are home to some listed species.”

I reached out a hand, wanting him to help me up, to steady me. “A hand? I need to get back to the car,” I told him, but he circled around to the deck chair, pulling it toward himself as it scrapped on the ground, leaving claw marks in the thin grass. I felt drained and needed help standing before I could make a hobble to the ATV.

“I can’t,” he said, “I’d like to, but I’m not allowed!”

“What do you mean you’re not allowed?” I asked. Wasn’t that part of a ranger’s job; to protect and render assistance? Wasn’t that what he was here for? The Trust was always keeping the area clean, making sure there were no unpermitted fires, and ensuring the habitat was maintained. Didn’t that include providing support to visitors?

“We’re not allowed to interfere with protected species,” he told me, “it’s against the law.” He was gathering up the cooler. Careful not to get too close to the brambles as he reached for the strapping. The bag bounced over the bumps, and he swung it and the deck chair into the back of the ATV. “I’ll wait by the car for you,” he said, “if I don’t see you here in an hour, I’ll be back to clean up.”

“Clean up?” I was confused.

“We have to keep habitats pristine so the endangered wildlife can flourish,” he said as he jumped on the seat of the ATV. The engine burst into life. Quickly, the whine dropped in pitch as the vehicle sped away, leaving me on the ground.

“Motherfucker!” I shouted after him. My pulse was racing, my heart pumping hard with my fury, and I tingled all over. I had no idea if he heard me or not, but it made me feel a little better.

The bramble canes rattled as they tapped each other. Something was pushing through them. Rabbits are timid, but now the ranger was gone. He had put as much distance between me and him as he could. The quiet had returned, and they must be curious. I looked into the thicket. Tiny irises of amber and pupils of black peered back at me – first two, then many pairs.

One creature was close. The dark bristled hairy matt of fur. Green slime ringed its mouth. Knife-like teeth made for biting and slashing. Rabbits are not a protected or endangered species.