A short story by Christopher Mullen.
The concrete was cold against their backs, sweat acting as a siphon pulling heat straight from their bodies. Neither teen seemed bothered by it as it provided a temporary relief from the afternoon sun. Here at the end of the breakwater there was no hiding from those scorching rays, the shadow of the lighthouse looming above them vanished within itself this time of day, leaving the spray and breeze the only other relief, and there had been no breeze today. Neither the aroma of salt and fish nor the constant lapping of the waves along the rocks helped to break up the staleness of the moment. The only other noise the occasional screech of the gulls calling back and forth. But that was due to change, he knew it was; he expected it would happen soon. The horizon had grown dark over the past hour.
From her place next to him he heard her let out a sigh as she began to stand. Her movements were slow and deliberate, stretching. He knew she hated sitting for so long, but he also recognized the measured manner in which she moved. She was looking for signs.
He watched her watching the sea. If she saw anything relevant her expression didn’t reveal it, as she looked down she smiled. Settling back into her seat against the wall of the lighthouse she noticed a hint of shadow beginning to creep across them, the searing light above slowing becoming obstructed as it disappeared behind the silhouette of the lighthouse’s upper balcony. Reaching for his arm she noted the time, his watch claiming they had been there for two hours already. She pulled a notebook from the bag next to her and began to write silently.
When she finally pulled her gaze from the freshly scrawled pages she noticed an almost oppressive lack of color had swept over everything; she placed the notebook back inside the bag, leaving it loosely open for now. The black clouds were no longer content resting on the horizon and had drifted so close she thought she could reach up and wring them out. The sun, now somewhere behind the pair, began to bury itself amongst the clouds, whose movement across the sky was easily marked despite being the only thing still keeping watch over the area.
At some point the air had changed, still overwhelming scented of fish and salt, but it was no longer heavy. Or stagnant. The darkness had brought movement and change with it. It had brought life to the sea. The wind provided a constant sense of motion and relief from the heat it occasionally whipped across the water’s surface trying to sting the teens with cool air and cooler water; warning them that they weren’t meant to be there. Mother Nature seemed to offer them a chance to flee. As the gusts became stronger and more common, the water made a visible transformation. Once a slow rolling quiet blanket of reflected light, the sea became troubled. Waves rose and fell several feet, capped with frothing white edges. As they crashed against the rocks they created a constant roar, dull at first but continually gaining magnitude. Each collision sending large sprays of crisp saltwater up and across the shoreline, the breakwater, the lighthouse itself. A sudden explosion tore the sky in half. They couldn’t see it, but it screamed that it was close, that it wanted them to know it was coming. The teens exchanged a look, apprehension, misgivings about their being there. Another crack sounded across the water, followed by two more. The last one more of a rumbling announcement than the staunch declarations before it; it was coming from deeper within the storm.
Despite being no later than midafternoon it was dark enough now that the signal light rotating in the room high above them could be made out against the cloud cover. She sat watching the light appear and disappear across the darkness while his gazed temporarily fixed on the outline of a lone bird attempting to make it back to land, darting this way and that as it fought the shifting air currents. The gloom gave way momentarily as a forked string of electricity made its way across the skyline, turning the world around it a dull grey-orange. From the corner of his eye he caught her smiling as she reached once again into her bag. This time she did not withdraw the notebook, but a camera. Uncovering the lens and slipping the strap over her head, she looked down to him, still smiling.
“You were right,” her voice betrayed her anticipation. “She’s gonna be a monster.”
Biography:
Christopher is a self-proclaimed nerd from New Hampshire with a love of science and the outdoors. When not consumed by the latest horror or sci-fi story he came across, he can be found immersed in the worlds of tabletop gaming and pen & paper RPGs.