By way of introduction, E. W. Farnsworth is widely published online and in print. His horror collections include "The Black Marble Griffon" and Other Disturbing Tales and "Firstborn" and Other Stories and Poems of Horror. For further information about the author and his works, please see http://www.ewfarnsworth.com.
UNDERTOW
by
E. W. Farnsworth
No one believed me, and then it happened again!
At Nags Head in the off season Gretchen walked alone the long, empty beach, goose bumps rising from chilly winds that sweep the drying line. Sand specks swirled and bit and tickled. The young woman was raw and red from repeated salt water dives. Seaweed pulled at her ankles when she waded. The Atlantic was a seething caldron, gunmetal gray with nothing on the afternoon horizon. The late afternoon sun hid behind the low, leaden sky in clouds thick enough to mask celestial light.
In her ears the wind howled in conspiratorial whispers. Gretchen wanted to sing. All hallows eve stole in as gulls huddled low, beaks windward, their feathers down. Wilson snipes ran, flocked and flew. Here the bones of an unrecognizable fish waggled in the sudsy remnant of the waves, still crashing and drifting. Her eyes remarked the rising tide, the arms that reached from channels beckoning. She understood the pull against the sand and pebbles, the wrack of shells and bubbles of bivalves.
She had no boyfriend now. He sloughed her off in favor of his computer games and virtual friends. She had no recourse except to mend her broken fences and return to the oceanic sense of sudden loss. Gretchen did not care tonight that the full moon would be invisible. She felt it doing to her heart what it did to the sea. Her warm memories needed a rinse of saltwater bath. She wanted to be rid of him forever, like her trail of bare foot prints down the dunes to the relentless, pounding surf.
She had no family now. Having chosen a bad choice and become Ariadne, she was abandoned and on her own. One hand felt the knot of her golden braid. This was no time to weep: that time had passed. She felt determined as she edged toward the slope where the current slipped north up the shore athwart the undulation of the waves. She read somewhere that underwater was warmer than wet skin in a cold breeze. In her blue bikini, she felt the sea waist high, then high as her breasts. A stippled wave raised her off her footing.
Gretchen floated and shivered. As the waves of fear passed through her, she felt the sand reach up from below. A cloak of algae hung on her limbs. She felt the rip tide rushing from shore. “Not yet,” she thought as she bobbed in the gelid water. Sharks fed here. What the ravenous teeth left in gobbets fell to the sea floor where sea robins, toad fish and flat fish devoured the waste. She had a frisson of terror as she thought of her flesh shredded in the soupy sea.
A wave swatted her ear and filled it with water. She instinctively knocked her head with her palm on the opposite side. She thought she heard the ocean addressing her, telling her not to be frightened, telling her to let go. She felt a large, jelly-like object enfold her like a hand. Gretchen screamed until she laughed, hysterical because she realized her plan was also the sea’s plan. No longer could she control her direction. No longer could she find footing. She slipped into a channel of fast-flowing water, drawn down inexorably into the deep.
Gretchen knew she should not struggle. “Those who struggle against the undertow are lost.” Those were her father’s words, and he seemed near her right now, reaching his hands for hers. She kicked in his direction and extended her hands toward his. She felt his warm and powerful arms holding her, diving deep in the sea with her to a place where the seaweed bunched and swirled. “Now,” she thought, “he’ll take me to the surface.” She let herself go completely.
Down, down she went with the force of the fierce, confusing rip tide jerking her left and right. She wanted the comfort of her father’s hand, but knew he was gone forever. One last breath she took and sensed the void.
Again, Gretchen walked alone the long, empty beach . . .