text: Jerry was dragging his suitcase down the alley. The broken wheel driving him crazy. Not his fault, by the way. Fat-ass Linda had literally squashed the suitcase when trying to land her juicy bumps on something so that she could pull on her tights. They’d just had sex that morning. And then Linda decided it was the proper moment to break up with him. After the breakup, Jerry had a very clear idea of how he wanted to spend the last summer before graduation. Far away from his bachelor’s den in Liverpool. But he couldn’t even imagine how far it would be. America! Aaron, his sexually desperate friend, had found a job for both of them. ‘You put on mirrored sunglasses and look at chicks as much as you wish,' he said, demonstrating to Jerry his new Ray-Ban glasses. They were going to be beach lifeguards in California. ‘Early in the morning you see them in their crop tops running along the beach,' Aaron was daydreaming with a silly expression on his face. ‘And you know what, they love a British accent!’ ‘Yes, if you’re Tom Hiddleston,' Jerry felt like being tart. Though some knot in his stomach tightened when it came to ‘crop tops’. But instead of gratifying his eyes with the sight of alluring , athletic girls, Jerry was doomed to spend his summer on a distant island with just five hundred inhabitants. Aaron, lucky bastard, got his place in San-Francisco. When Jerry hopped off the ferry, old silver-headed biddy Mrs. Partridge arrived in her van to show him his bungalow. That was a lady Jerry would never want to see in a crop top. So, he was dragging his suitcase towards the bungalow on the top of the cliff while Mrs. Partridge was chirruping about the fresh air and clean sand. At the beginning of the alley, Jerry stopped before a notice board with six photos of missing people. ‘Wow, that’s a lot of mispers for such a small island!’ Jerry struggled with his unruly suitcase. ‘What was it, hun?’ Mrs. Partridge turned to him her hugely magnified eyes blinking behind the thick lenses. ‘I say you have many missing people here.' ‘Oh, yes’, either she or Parkinson’s shook her head. ‘They say the currents are very strong here. In a matter of seconds people are gone. And we never even find the bodies.' And she proceeded to the bungalow, clinking a bunch of keys. ‘So, you’re from Liverpool, hun? Do you like the Beatles?’ Gosh! Not again! Jerry sighed. The bungalow inside was neat but smelled of rotting seaweed. A couple of ugly fishing trophies decorated the walls. The draughts made the wooden hut groan restlessly. However, the windows offered fantastic views of the bay. As soon as Mrs. Partridge scurried away, Jerry got down to unpacking his stuff. A pair of Ray-Ban mirrored sunglasses was there among other things. \* \* \* The ocean’s lullaby cast Jerry into oblivious sleep or maybe the second can of beer did it. It was after midnight when he suddenly woke up. That was a kind of an awakening, whose reason Jerry was still trying to unriddle while brewing some tea. Waiting for the kettle to boil and drumming an AC / DC tune with his fingers, Jerry understood why he had woken up. There was another sound entwined with the noise of the ocean. He turned off the gas and listened. It was a howling, even the lamenting of a madman. Or a madwoman. A chill went down his spine. Jerry switched on the searchlight and its huge beam groped around the beach, lumbering over the sand. Nothing. On second thought, it could be just the wind blowing through the caves. Chuckling at his own paranoia, Jerry brought the kettle back to life and had his midnight cuppa. \* \* \* The cave was right under Jerry’s bungalow. Inside, dark waters were splashing on the jagged stones and the wind swooshing past Jerry. With no reason he was standing there, staring at the waters. That frightening abyss seemed inhabited, vibrating. At some point Jerry even thought he saw something moving down there. He leaned over the water. Yeah! There was definitely something pulsating. Jerry strained his eyes. Some kind of light rising from the abyss far below the surface. Getting closer. Closer. Closer. A bunch of bubbles agitated the surface. Jerry jerked back when right after the bubbles a rubber head emerged. Goggles. Protruding lips enveloping tightly the mouthpiece for breathing. A diver? Here? The man took off his goggles and reached for Jerry’s hand to help him get out of the water. ‘What are you doing here?’ the man asked right after taking the mouthpiece out. ‘Me?’ Jerry watched as the diver was taking off his protective suit. ‘I’m a lifeguard. Are you aware that it’s not allowed to swim here?’ The man chuckled. ‘I told them the waters were dangerous. But they never listened to me. And now six people are dead’. Jerry eyed the harpoon gun attached to the man’s belt. ‘You hunt big fish?’ The man was standing now before Jerry only in his underpants. He followed Jerry’s gaze. ‘Yeah, very big one’. ‘Here? In the cave?’ No answer followed. Having packed all his belongings into the waterproof bag, the diver put on only baggy linen pants and was ready to go. ‘Oh, sorry’, Jerry suddenly recollected. ‘I’m Jerry’. ‘Patrick Nyman’, his suntanned hand clasped Jerry’s. ‘If I were you, I wouldn’t stand that close to the edge’. His flip-flops sloshed towards the exit from the cave. Jerry followed. ‘Do you know what happened to those missing people?’ he asked. Patrick, all muscles and tattoos, didn’t even slow down. ‘That’s not the currents, right?’ ‘No’. ‘What then? Man-eating shark? Venomous fish?’ When Patrick suddenly stopped, Jerry literally bumped into him. ‘I have lived here all my life. I know these waters better than anyone else’. He was mincing words. ‘Believe me you wouldn’t like to swim here. So, just don’t’. ‘But why?’ Jerry was insisting. Patrick resumed his stroll along the shore. ‘And if you smell the rotten seaweed, you’d better be somewhere far away from the place’. \* \* \* Scorching heat and salt chapped Jerry’s lips brutally. He was standing there down the alley leading to his home, applying a thick layer of chapstick. The wind was rustling the corners of the papers pinned to the notice board. Six people. Faded photos and heart-rending words written by their loved ones. But one of them caught Jerry’s eye. ‘Melissa Nyman’ he read the name under the photo of a smiling young woman. ‘Nyman. That was his wife’. Jerry took the plates, which read ‘Danger! Absolutely no swimming at any time!’, and headed for the beach. He couldn’t help thinking about those poor folks from the notice board. What happened to them? What happened to Melissa Nyman? ‘They don’t come here to swim’, Jerry started at the woman’s voice, which came from behind. If only he had those stupid Ray-Bans right now! The girl’s nipples were ready to pierce her shirt. ‘Audrey’, she offered her hand, taking it out from the back pocket of her mini, actually, the miniest denim shorts Jerry had ever seen. ‘Jerry’, he squeezed her hand slightly. ‘I say they don’t come here to swim’. ‘To do what, then?’ ‘To have sex, of course’. ‘Oh, right!’ as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. ‘Gee, it’s a tiny island. Everyone knows each other. If you wanna fuck, you don’t go to the inn’. Jerry swallowed. ‘Why?’ ‘Cause the owner of the inn will know everything, silly. And if he knows, everybody knows. Get it?’ ‘Oh, yeah. So, sex then’. What if Patrick Nyman’s wife came here for the same reason? And her husband saw her with another man? For a couple of minutes Jerry had been gripping the shaft of the sign so hard so that now he could feel a dozen splinters eating into his hand. ‘So, you’re British, right?’ Audrey’s tucked her hair behind ears. ‘Yep, from Liverpool. Did you know that the Beatles come from this city?’ suddenly this fact was something to boast of. ‘Oh, sure! Yellow submarine’, she livened up. Then an awkward beat allowed Jerry to feel a couple of new splinters in his right arm. ‘Well... see you around’, Audrey was ready to go. ‘I have some beer, so you may drop by sometime later’. ‘Great! Tomorrow evening maybe’. \* \* \* That night the lamenting was even louder, coming from the depth of the caves at the foot of the cliff. Jerry was in search of a nice icebreaker before Audrey’s arrival when he heard it. He directed the searchlight at some dark spot on the sand far below. Two bodies entwined, one moving over the other. ‘Whoa!’ he drew the beam of light aside immediately. ‘Freaks. Some pleasure to have a handful of sand between your cheeks’. Suddenly, one of the lovers crept into the light and dashed with an awkward crouching gait into the water, dragging its lower limbs behind. There was a splash. Jerry’s numb hands dropped the searchlight. When he took the lamp under control again, only one of the beach lovers was lying on the sand. The other one had disappeared into the ocean. ‘Hey there!’ Jerry’s voice cracked. The person on the sand wasn’t moving. And then Jerry recognized those miniest denim shorts. Jerry took a gun with signaling lights, the only weapon he could find, and ran to the beach down the stairs two steps at a time. Dark waters were licking the beach closer and closer to Jerry’s feet. When he reached Audrey she was lying motionless. ‘Audrey. Are you all right?’ Something was wrong with her face. Covered with slime. Jerry’s trembling hand found the button on the torch. ‘Fuck!’ He started back. Forced himself to have one more look. ‘What the fuck!’ There was no face. Like it was smashed or... eaten. Covered in a sticky substance. Jerry shone the torch at the waters. Something was moving there. Diving and emerging again. Diving. Emerging. Moving in Jerry’s direction. He darted headlong to the stairs. Heavy thumps followed him together with that lament he already knew. His feet felt like lead. The sand was treacherous. ‘Jesus!’ Bony fingers wrenched Jerry’s arm. In a moment the slimy body wrapped itself around him from all the sides. The moonlight let him see a deranged greyish face and bleak strands of hair. Sharp pain pierced Jerry’s shoulder at the place where the thing bit him. It ripped a piece of his flesh. ‘Aaaa!’ Jerry was crying. ‘Somebody help!’ He tried to reach for his pocket. The creature made another bite. And then Jerry took out the gun from the pocket. The shot threw the thing away. It let out one more terrifying groan and died. Pressing one hand against his wound, Jerry eyed the creature. It was not a human. Head, body, hands, but no legs. Fish tail instead. And that awful smell of rotting seaweed. \* \* \* ‘So much for this crap’. Bleeding, Jerry was looking for his passport and wallet when the lights went out. ‘Shit’, he went gropingly to the kitchen to find a torch. The entrance door made a creaking sound and tapped against the side-posts several times as if disturbed by the draught. The house was constantly making noises but something else made Jerry freeze. Rotting seaweed. The smell was closer now. A dark figure crawled into the bungalow, moving its body only with the help of upper limbs. Sweat started pouring down Jerry’s forehead. The thing was looking at him and he was staring back. Slowly, Jerry took the knife. The creature charged him. Jerry made a stab but its tail knocked him down. He hit his head badly against the table and fell to the floor. When Jerry came to his senses, the thing climbed onto his chest and broke it. The ribs cracked. Jerry yelped. When dragged through the house, he tried to grab the legs of the table. Jerry was thrown out of the window like a rag-doll. Falling, he begged for it to be just a nightmare. But the moment the cold waters embraced him, dozens of hands pulled him into the depths.