Drake Waves Novels & Stories

He was convinced he would die that night. His feet got tangled in his net. The strong waves made it impossible for Carl to free himself, and he drifted, battered by the waves, losing control. In his resignation, Carl saw something glowing swimming toward him. It weaved gracefully under the water, with a blueish glow, looking beautiful. When it got closer, the creature's hand reached for Carl, but it wasn't like a human hand. Between its fingers were delicate webs, and its nails were long, like claws that seemed capable of tearing through anything. It cut the net, rope entangled around his leg.

Drake had insisted on packing a bag, towels, some bottled water, and a thick woolen blanket. "The wind here bites," he said as we trudged through the tall, golden sea grass that lined the dunes. "But the view makes you forget the cold." When we finally hit the shoreline, the Atlantic was a churning mess of slate grey and frothing white. It was beautiful in a violent, unyielding way. "Race you to the pier!" Drake yelled over the roar of the surf, and before I could protest, he was off, his boots kicking up sprays of damp sand.