Estimated reading time — 26 minutes

Prologue – Past

I’ve always felt like I was playing a part. Since my earliest years, I was just a mediocre actor in a family drama, playing the role of the son or the brother. I never felt close to them or cared about their feelings, but I pretended otherwise, because being known as an emotionless monster isn’t beneficial for anyone’s survival. I remember my grandfather’s first heart attack. While my family was in shellshock and weeping, I was only trying to shed tears to fit in. I liked him, but the prospect of his death didn’t make me sad, just disappointed.

To me, losing a “loved one” was just a disappointing experience, like losing an object of interest. After realizing that finding love or bonding was a fruitless endeavor for someone like me, I decided to focus on my own likes and dislikes. To maximize my own happiness, I should do things that I like and cut out all the things I dislike. I kept my relationships just alive enough to be a safety net for hardships, but distant enough to avoid providing emotional support. It’s a cruel charade, but it allowed me to live my life the way I wanted. I became an engineer, a field where my lack of social skills went unnoticed, allowing me to spend my days alone at a desk.

Friendless and free from the grind of classes like physical chemistry and linear algebra, I suddenly found myself with way too much time on my hands. I finally understood why even the most introverted people search for any kind of social interactions. Humans are social animals. We are made to be with others and although I have my defects, biologically speaking I’m still the same as everyone else.

I was now stuck with a new problem: how do I get my social fix without letting actual people into my life. A roommate or partner was out, but a dog? They’re easy. They aren’t pure or innocent as many would say, they’re predators that happily rip other animals apart. We love them not for their innocence but their affection. You can be an obnoxious total piece of shit, and a dog will still shower you with the kind of affection people won’t.

I got Toby, a chestnut brown poodle from a backyard breeder. To anyone else, he would have been a nightmare. He was never fully potty trained, he refused to eat unless his food came from my frying pan, and his separation anxiety was severe. He would tear the apartment apart and cry for hours if I left him. When I tried leaving him with my mother, his anxiety turned into a panic-induced aggression. The only solution was to leave him one of my old jackets. He would guard it in a corner, vocalizing his sorrow in a pathetic whimper until I returned.

Knowing he spent ten hours a day in that helpless, pathetic state eventually bothered me so deeply that I found a fully remote job just to be with him. It was a strange realization. I wasn’t a complete monster after all.

1 – Present

The last seven years with Toby have been the most fulfilling years of my life. Although he doesn’t understand my words, I speak to him and try to understand his wants and needs. He truly showed me what love is, which made the news I got last week even more frustrating. Toby’s age and unfortunate genetics started to catch up on him. He’s already deaf in his left ear and is going blind in his right eye. The old me would have already started the search for his successor. A new dog that would take his place as soon as he’s gone. One that’s better bred, had a longer lifespan, but my heart doesn’t allow that. Toby hates other dogs and I know for a fact that no other dog could replace him. He’s special to me not because he’s loyal but because he’s my only true friend.

I honestly don’t want to think about a life after Toby. Instead I want to enjoy my life with him right now even more. I decided to plan an extended holiday for him and myself. My parents bought a beach home right at the coast which they never use, because my far east-asian mother got a bad vibe from this place. When I visited them, I let Toby into the garden and let him stalk their rabbits. In the meantime I had a short talk with my mother about this house.

She told me “There are some really bad things happening out that way, honey. When your dad and I stayed there, a whale washed up right in the middle of the day. It was awful, there were huge chunks of blubber just… missing, like something had been taking bites out of its belly and back. We tried calling the police and the fire department, but they all gave us the runaround and said this part of the beach wasn’t their job to deal with it. Honestly, we were so spooked we just packed up and left right then.”

“So there are sharks in the water?” I asked.

“I don’t know. The entire place felt off. Even your dad felt uneasy. He was the one who suggested leaving the place early.”

This was quite the thing to hear from my mother. My dad has always been your run of the mill obnoxious atheist. He never believed in the esoteric and normally just humored my mothers spiritual beliefs.

“I want to stay with Toby there. He’s never been to the beach before. Do you think that’s a bad idea?” I asked while watching him from the window digging at the flowerbed.

She paused for a moment. And told me in an unsure tone “I think it should be fine as long as you stay away from the water. And always keep him on a leash”.

After saying this, she finally saw Toby committing his little crime, ran outside and gave Toby the scolding of his life:

“Toby you moron, don’t wear my garden as your beard! I’ll give you the worst bath of your life!”

Him being half-deaf, he probably didn’t realize that this was a scolding and thought that she was interested in playing. He then proceeded to run a few laps around the yard after which I had to catch him and give him a bath.

I was quite happy with the outcome of this visit. I secured us a holiday home for free and it was always fun seeing Toby enjoy himself. Mother’s story obviously concerned me but a beached whale in itself isn’t anything to be afraid of.

2 – The Beach

Toby and I pulled into the gravel driveway in the late afternoon, and I have to admit, I was impressed. The house sat in total isolation, right where the dunes leveled out. Built from weathered cedar planks that had bleached to a pale gray in the salt air. Large, floor-to-ceiling windows faced the water, offering an unobstructed view of the tide rolling in. Inside, the wide-plank oak floors were scarred slightly by years of tracked-in sand, and the furniture was low-profile and functional. A wide wrap-around deck offered plenty of space for a few heavy chairs, positioned perfectly to catch the offshore breeze. It wasn’t an ornate place, but it felt solid and intentional.

I planned to spend at least two weeks here, so I’d packed everything we could possibly need: Toby’s toys, his favorite blanket which were just some of my old clothes my mother sewed together for him, and a bag of expensive dog food he always refuses to eat. For myself, I’d brought my luggage, two cases of red wine and an archtop guitar for when I felt the need to entertain my half deaf dog.

The nearby town didn’t seem particularly lively, but it had the essentials. There were a few grocery stores and, more importantly, a small vet clinic only thirty minutes away. Knowing medical help was close for Toby calmed the worst of my fears.

I parked the car on the gravel drive and left my bags in the back. Unpacking could wait. I wanted a steak, and Toby deserved one too after ten hours in the passenger seat.

The local grocery store reeked of cheap lemon bleach unsuccessfully masking the stench of sulfurous rot, all rising from a sticky floor my shoes clung to. I headed straight for the back, where a woman in a blood-stained apron was restocking the display case. She looked up and grinned, her eyes locking onto me with the kind of intensity that usually precedes a long, unwanted conversation.

“I’ll take the whole rib roast” I said, pointing at the massive, marbled slab of beef that sat like a trophy behind the glass of the butcher’s counter.

“New in town? Or just passing through?” she asked, wiping her hands on a rag.

“I’m new” I said.

“Well, welcome. That’s a lot of ribeye for one man. Planning a party?”

“Just for me and the dog.”

She didn’t take the hint. “A dog man! I like that. What’s his name? Where are you folks settling in? I might know the place.”

“Toby” I replied, checking my watch. “North end of the beach. Just moved in.”

The chatter stopped. She froze with a tray of ground beef halfway to the shelf. The friendly crinkles around her eyes flattened out, and she leaned over to me, her voice dropping.

“North end… The old beach house?” she asked. The playfulness was gone.

“My grandmother won’t even drive past that stretch of road after sundown. She says the water feels… wrong there. She’s spent eighty years on this coast and claims she’s heard things coming from the surf that don’t belong to any animal she knows.”

She wrapped my roast in white paper, taping it shut with a sharp snap. “Just watch yourself. If you start hearing noises or anything that sounds like a person but isn’t, you stay inside. Keep your doors locked.”

“Thank you” I said, reaching for the package. “I’ll take that into account.”

She didn’t smile back as she handed me the meat. I walked out into the humid afternoon air, the weight of the steaks in my hand. “Local superstition, nothing more” I said to myself. People in small towns always need something to be afraid of to keep life interesting…

The drive back was quiet, the car’s tires humming against the asphalt until we hit the gravel of the driveway again. I spent the next thirty minutes hauling our lives inside, the wine, the bags, and Toby’s kibble.

I kept things simple for dinner. I seared the steaks in a cast-iron pan, the smell of rendered fat filling the kitchen. Toby got his in a bowl on the floor, and I sat at the counter with mine, propping my phone up to watch some YouTube videos. By the time I’d finished the meat, I was well into the first bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon. The alcohol settled in quickly, blurring the edges of the day.

I realized the house had gone too quiet. Toby wasn’t under the table hoping for scraps. He was standing at the floor-to-ceiling window, his body as rigid as a statue. His ears were perched forward, twitching slightly as if he were trying to track a frequency I couldn’t hear.

I leaned back, swirling the last of the glass. “Seeing some fish, Toby” I muttered.

He didn’t move. Curious, and a bit slowed by the wine, I stood up and joined him at the glass. The sun was long gone, leaving the ocean a vast, churning black. The waves were rhythmic and heavy, but as I squinted into the dark, something caught the light of the moon.

Out past the first break, something was breaking the surface. It was long, spindly, and a deep, crimson red, like branches of coral or a jagged piece of a shipwreck. It bobbed with the waves but it felt off… Sometimes it seemed to cut through them, drifting steadily along the shoreline. I stared at it, trying to make sense of the shape. It looked too organic for wood, too stiff for seaweed. After a few minutes, the red shape dipped and didn’t come back up. It either sank or moved into the deeper shadows of the coast.

“Weird” I breathed, the wine making me feel more fascinated than afraid. I looked down at Toby. “Alright, enough. Bedtime.”

He didn’t budge. He stayed locked on the spot where the thing had vanished, a low tremor starting in his chest.

“Toby, come” I said, louder this time. Nothing. I had to call him three more times, finally raising my voice enough to break the spell. He finally snapped his head toward me, looking startled, his eyes wide and glassy in the dim light of the kitchen. “His deafness is really getting worse” I thought to myself.

He followed me to the bedroom, but he didn’t curl up on his blanket. He lay by the door, facing the hallway, tilting his head and listening to the tides.

3 – Paranoia

I woke up to the sharp, unmistakable smell of ammonia.

Toby had pissed right in the middle of the oak floor. I stared at the puddle, more confused than angry. Toby hasn’t had an accident in a while, and even then, he only ever leaked when he was severely overstimulated, usually the frantic, tail wagging “happy pee” when I’d come home and gave him pets. But there was nothing that could have hyped him up. He was just sitting in the corner, staring at the hallway that led to the deck, wagging his tail.

I spent the first hour of our vacation on my hands and knees, scrubbing at the wood flooring and praying the salt-air hadn’t already pulled the moisture into the grain. Once the floor was dry, I had to wrestle Toby into the tub for a bath. By the time I was finished, my shirt was soaked, my back ached, and my mood was thoroughly shot.

I dried him off with a rough towel, watching him shake himself out. He was acting sluggish, his usual morning energy replaced by a wary, quiet tension. I chalked it up to the move and his age. Seven years is a long time for a dog, and maybe the stress of a new environment was finally catching up to his bladder.

“One more time, Toby” I muttered, pointing a finger at him. “If you do this again, we’re taking that thirty-minute drive to the vet.”

He didn’t lean into my hand for a scratch like he usually does. He just walked back to the big windows and sat down, his eyes fixed on the empty, sun-bleached beach. I drank my coffee black and watched Toby snub his kibble again. The kibble sat untouched in his bowl, but I wasn’t going to let it ruin the morning. We needed air.

I clipped a leash onto his collar. Usually, I’d let him roam, but after the morning’s accident, I wasn’t taking chances. As we stepped onto the sand, I felt a weight in my chest. This trip was for him. If he wasn’t happy, if the house was stressing him out, I’d pack it in and head home early.

But as soon as his paws hit the wet sand, Toby transformed. His tail went up, his nose started working the breeze, and he looked five years younger. Walking along the shoreline, my mind drifted to my conversation with my mother. She and my father had stayed at this exact house just a few weeks prior. She’d mentioned a beached whale. A massive thing that had washed up nearby. I scanned the coast as we walked, looking for a massive ribcage or a rotting mound of blubber, but the beach was pristine. No carcass, no bones, not even a lingering scent of decay. It was like the ocean had just… taken it back.

Suddenly, Toby lunged with a wagging tail. He hit the end of the leash with surprising strength, trying to charge into the white foam.

“Hey! Easy” I grunted, bracing my heels into the sand. “It’s just birds, Toby. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

He was fixated on the water, panting with a frantic kind of joy. I followed his gaze. Far out, nearly at the horizon, I saw a flash of that same red color from the night before. It was long, thin, bobbing momentarily before the swell swallowed it whole. I pulled Toby back, but I couldn’t stop smiling. Seeing him this energetic was a relief. Whatever had spooked him last night seemed forgotten in the daylight. When we got back to the house, the change was permanent. Toby didn’t just eat his kibble, he polished off the entire bowl in seconds and sat by the bag, whining for seconds. I filled it halfway back up, feeling like our holiday together was finally back on track.

I headed back into town for supplies, but the atmosphere had shifted. The moment I stepped into the grocery store, the casual indifference of the previous day was gone. Heads turned. Conversations died mid-sentence. The clerk at the meat counter didn’t even look up as I passed, though I could feel her eyes on my back.

I wasn’t in the mood for an interrogation. I pulled my headphones out of my pocket, jammed them in, and turned the volume up until the world was just a muffled hum. I kept my head down, grabbed a few days’ worth of groceries, and headed for the checkout. Even through the music, the silence in the store felt heavy.

As I was loading the bags into the back of the car, a shadow fell over the tailgate. I turned, ready to snap at whoever was trying to corner me, but it was just an old woman. She looked like she’d spent her whole life in the sun. Skin like cracked leather and eyes that seemed a bit too tired. I pulled one earbud out, expecting a lecture about the beach house.

She didn’t waste time with a “hello.” She didn’t even look me in the eye. She just reached out and pressed something small and plastic into the palm of my hand.

“Watch out” she said. Her voice was thin and brittle. “And take these. You’ll need them dear.”

I looked down. Two pairs of industrial-grade silicone earplugs sat in my hand. By the time I looked back up to ask what the hell she was talking about, she was already climbing into an old sedan three spots down. She didn’t look back as she drove away.

By the time I hit the gravel of the driveway, the unease had hardened into a decision. I don’t believe in the supernatural. I don’t believe in monsters or seaside curses or whatever local flavor of madness these people were peddling. But the atmosphere was toxic, and it was starting to get under my skin. I gripped the steering wheel and stared at the house. Two more days, I told myself. That was the compromise. It was enough time for Toby to get his fill of the salt air and the sand, but short enough that I wouldn’t lose my mind to the town’s collective paranoia.

I looked down at the earplugs sitting in the cupholder. For a split second, a ridiculous thought crossed my mind: “Should I shove these into Toby’s ears?” I shook my head and while looking at the rejuvenated happy Toby sitting next to me, a dry, humorless laugh escaped my throat.

“Two more days for you, pal” I muttered, ruffling his ears. “Then we’re out of here.”

To calm my nerves, I tore into a bag of chips and uncorked a bottle of Pinot Noir. I worked through both in no time, the wine hitting my system with a heavy, sedative heat. I figured a nap would do me some good, so I stretched out on the sofa. When I woke up, the room was swallowed in shadows. It was already dark.

Toby was at the window again, his tail thumping against the floor in a steady, excited rhythm. He looked thrilled, his eyes locked on the blackness outside. I stood up and joined him, squinting through the glass, but I couldn’t see a thing. “Nothing to worry about, He’s just having the time of his life.” I thought to myself.

I made a quick dinner, and Toby demolished his kibble with the same frantic appetite he’d had earlier. As soon as he finished, he ran to the door, barking and scratching to get out. My hand went to the handle automatically, but all the warnings from before flashed in my mind.

“Better safe than sorry,” I told him, grabbing the leash. “I’m not losing you in the dark.”

The second we stepped onto the deck, Toby bolted. He tried to charge straight for the waves, the leash snapping taut and nearly jerking my arm out of its socket. He was desperate to get to the water. I had to physically pick him up, his legs still paddling in the air, and drag him back inside. I started to scold him, but I stopped. He just looked so happy, so energized. I didn’t want to ruin it.

He went right back to his post at the window. Despite his protests and a few frustrated head-shakes, I managed to wedge the earplugs into his ears. I don’t know why I did it, maybe I just wanted to feel like I was doing something. I took his spot at the glass, staring out into the void where the waves were crashing. For the briefest of moments, the light from the kitchen caught something out there. Two points of reflection, staring back at me from the edge of the tide. As soon as I saw it, it was already gone. I grabbed the drawstring and slammed the curtains shut, my heart hammering against my ribs.

“Bedtime,” I said, my voice shaking. “Now”

4 – Lullaby

I woke up feeling lighter than I had in years. I had the most incredible dream, a long, melodic sequence that felt like a tale of love and embrace sewn into a beautiful symphony. I couldn’t recall the specific lyrics or images, but the music lingered in the back of my mind. It was a beautiful love song, written in a strange, shimmering harmony that tasted like a major-augmented chord progression.

All the dread from the night before had evaporated. Standing in the morning light, I felt embarrassed by my own paranoia. Red coral? Reflective eyes in the dark? It all seemed like the fever dream of a man who’d had a bit too much Pinot Noir on an empty stomach. There was absolutely no reason to be afraid. Toby was waiting for me, looking calm and content. Surprisingly, the earplugs were still wedged in his ears. I took them out, laughing at how ridiculous he looked. “Sorry about that, pal. I think I lost my mind for a minute there.”

He didn’t touch his kibble when I set it down, but I didn’t let it bother me. He was probably just holding out for the good stuff. In my newfound good mood, I shared my breakfast eggs and bacon with him, and he took them gently, his tail wagging a slow, rhythmic beat. After I finished my coffee, I decided we needed to take advantage of the morning sun. I felt a bit silly reaching for the leash, given how peaceful everything felt, but I clipped it on anyway, just to be certain. If yesterday taught me anything, it was that Toby could be unpredictable when he caught the scent of a seagull. We stepped out into the crisp air, the song from my dream still humming in my chest, and headed down toward the water.

As we walked along the shoreline, a wave of profound, unknown nostalgia washed over me. It was a heavy, sweet pull in my chest, and for a second, I thought I heard it again that shimmering melody from my dream, drifting over the sound of the crashing surf. It felt like a memory I hadn’t lived yet, calling me forward. I didn’t even realize I’d moved until the sudden, biting cold of the ocean shocked my skin. I was standing ankle-deep in the foam, the hem of my jeans soaking through. The chill snapped me out of the daydream instantly. I looked down, bewildered, as the water receded, pulling the sand out from under my boots. Toby was standing right at the edge of the water, dead quiet, watching the depths with an intensity that made the hair on my neck prickle.

“Come on, Toby,” I said, tugging the leash. “Too cold for a swim today.”

I turned us back toward the house. I wasn’t going to let a bit of cold water or a lingering dream rattle me. The stress of the drive, the weirdness at the grocery store, and all those local superstitions were in the rearview mirror now. I had a solid house, a happy dog, and a beautiful view.

The thought of leaving tomorrow settled into my mind like a quiet agreement. It wasn’t an escape anymore, just a natural conclusion to a quick trip. Knowing the end was in sight allowed me to fully relax. In fact, as the sun climbed higher, I had this overwhelming, unshakable feeling that today was going to be one of the best days of my life. I sat on the deck, the wood warm beneath my feet, watching the light dance off the ocean. The water didn’t look dark or menacing anymore, it looked like liquid silver. The air felt charged with a strange, electric kind of joy that made every breath feel effortless. Even the sound of the waves seemed to be syncing up with that faint, beautiful melody that was still stuck in my head.

Toby lay at my feet, chin resting on his paws, seemingly at peace. I reached down to scratch his head, feeling the salt in his fur, and smiled. Whatever had been bothering us, the nerves, the accidents, the strange red shapes, it all felt like a lifetime ago. The world felt perfectly aligned, as if the coast and the house and the water were all waiting for something wonderful to happen.

5 – The Call

I continued the morning with a book I’d pulled from my bag, The Setting Sun by Osamu Dazai. Usually, his work is a heavy burden to carry. It’s a bleak, crumbling world of aristocratic decline and lost souls. But as I sat in the sun-drenched living room, the typical weight of his prose didn’t land. I skimmed past the despair and the talk of ruin, my eyes only catching the small, flickering moments of hopeful undertones, of a lost woman finding her way in a new world.

Normally, a book like that would leave me in a reflective, somber mood for hours, overanalyzing my own life choices. Today, I just focused on the hope. It felt like a sign. If Dazai’s characters could find a reason to keep going in their ruined world, then my own gloomy outlook back in the city was just a temporary shadow. I set the book down on the coffee table and looked out at the water. The setting sun was still hours away, and I felt like I was finally waking up to a life that actually mattered. That was when I reached for the guitar case. The bleakness was for someone else. Today, I only had room for the music.

The afternoon was a blur of pure, unadulterated joy. I took my guitar out of its case, the wood feeling warm and familiar in my hands. I started to jam, my fingers searching the fretboard until they stumbled upon the chord progression from my dream. It was a strange, haunting sequence, rich with notes that seemed to vibrate right through the floorboards.

I started humming the melody, and the effect on Toby was instantaneous. He didn’t just wag his tail, he got frantically excited, pacing the living room before letting out a long, soulful howl that stayed perfectly in key with the guitar. I leaned into it, playing harder, the music filling every corner of the cedar house. Toby was spinning, his howls rising and falling with the chords, his eyes bright with a wild, infectious energy. It was easily one of the most fun and beautiful things I’d ever experienced. For a man whose life usually felt a bit too gloomy and far too bleak, this moment was an anchor. It felt like an endless dream, a private concert for two in a world that had finally stopped making demands.

The sun began to dip, casting long, golden bars across the oak floor, but I didn’t stop playing. The more I hummed that love song, the more the house seemed to hum back. It felt like the walls, the sand, and even the distant waves were all part of the same perfect arrangement. I didn’t realize how much time had slipped away until the golden light on the floor turned to a deep, dark purple. The trance finally broke, and I looked down at my fingers, which were sore and red from hours of pressing against the strings. The house was dark now, save for the single lamp over the stove, but the melody still felt like it was vibrating in the air around us.

I realized with a start that I hadn’t eaten a thing all day. Neither had Toby, yet he didn’t seem to mind. He was sitting by the window, his tail giving a slow, rhythmic thump-thump-thump against the oak.

“Hungry, pal?” I asked. My voice sounded raspy, like I’d been talking for hours. “Let’s make this one count.”

I bypassed the bag of kibble entirely. If we were leaving tomorrow, I wasn’t going to let the good stuff go to waste. I pulled the last of the prime steaks from the fridge, along with some butter and garlic. I cooked a dinner that would have surpassed most people’s last meals, thick, seared cuts of beef that filled the kitchen with a rich, heavy aroma. I set a plate down for Toby and one for myself. We ate in a comfortable, light silence. There was no TV, no YouTube videos, and no wine tonight. I didn’t need the alcohol to feel good anymore. The food was perfect, the house was warm, and the dread that had gripped me in town felt like a story I’d heard about someone else. Toby licked his plate clean, then looked up at me with a soft, satisfied expression. He looked peaceful. He looked like he was exactly where he was meant to be.

The day had finally wound down, and a heavy, quiet understanding settled between us. Even the best day of your life has to end eventually. Without a word, I turned off the kitchen lamp and we walked into the bedroom together. Toby didn’t wait for an invitation. He grabbed his blanket from the floor, dragged it over to the side of the bed, and managed to hoist himself up. Usually, I’d have made him stay in his own spot, but tonight, I didn’t mind. I wanted the company. I felt a deep, soul-level exhaustion, the kind that comes after a day of pure, unfiltered joy.

I climbed under the covers, the rhythmic sound of the tide outside acting as a lullaby. Toby curled into a tight ball against my legs, his breathing slow and steady. My mind was already drifting back toward that major melody, the love song that felt like it was woven into the very fabric of the coast.

It wasn’t until I was on the jagged edge of sleep that a cold realization pierced through my mind. My heart didn’t race, at least not yet, but a faint alarm bell rang in the back of my skull.

I had left the earplugs on the kitchen counter.

I looked at Toby’s sleeping form in the moonlight. His ears were exposed, twitching slightly in his sleep as if they were already catching a signal from the dark. I thought about getting up, but the bed was so warm, and the dream was already pulling me back under. It was my biggest mistake, the kind you don’t realize you’ve made until the consequences are already standing at the door.

The melody followed me into sleep, but the harmony had soured. The major lift was gone, replaced by a dissonant, crushing sorrow. It wasn’t a love song anymore. It was a dirge of ancient pain and absolute misery. The warmth I’d felt all day was a farce, a hollow ruse designed to lower my guard.

I didn’t wake up in the bedroom. I woke up to a sharp, biting cold that felt like needles in my skin. I was knee-deep in the black ocean, the water swirling violently around my legs. For a moment, I just stared at the foam, my mind refusing to process how I’d walked out of the house, across the sand, and into the water without ever opening my eyes.

Then reality hit. “Toby?” I whispered, then I screamed, “Toby!”

There was no response, only the rhythmic, mocking roar of the tide. I spun around, searching the dark until I saw a chestnut-brown shape bobbing in the distance. Toby was swimming straight out into the abyss. I could hear the song again, not in my head, but drifting off the water, a sorrowful, echoing version of my own voice singing that miserable melody.

“Toby, come back!” I screamed, my voice cracking against the wind. I waded deeper, the water rising to my waist.

“Toby, stop!” He seemed to hesitate. He was still dragging his favorite blanket in his teeth, the heavy fabric sodden with salt water and pulling him under.

“Let go of the blanket!” I sobbed, tears blurring my vision as I fought the current. “Come back, Toby! Please! Don’t leave me!”

At the sound of my final, desperate shriek, Toby seemed to snap out of the trance. He turned, his eyes locking onto mine, and began to paddle frantically toward the shore. For a second, a spark of hope flared in my chest. He was coming back.

Then, the water behind him erupted.

Massive, blood red shapes, stiff and jagged like antlers of blood-colored coral shot out of the depths.

With one lightning-fast, silent swoop, they hooked into the water.

Toby didn’t even have time to yelp. He was simply dragged down, disappearing beneath the surface in a swirl of white foam and his floating, discarded blanket.

“TOBY!” I lunged forward, diving into the freezing dark, reaching for anything, but there was nothing but the cold, empty weight of the sea.

The rest is a blur. I remember the sun eventually rising, a cruel, bright eye over a calm horizon. I remember standing on the shore, shivering uncontrollably, my clothes plastered to my skin with salt and sand. That final look of despair in Toby’s eyes as he was taken, that silent plea, was etched into my mind, engraved into my heart.

I looked at the house, then back at the flat, indifferent water. The song was gone. The hope was gone. There was nothing left for me.

6 – A Depraved Jigsaw

I never cared about my family or my friends. I never had. Toby was the only living thing that had ever made sense to me, the only creature I had actually loved. Everyone else was just noise. Now that the sea had taken him, it had taken the only part of me that was human. My heart was somewhere out there in the black depths, and I was just a hollowed-out shell standing in a weathered cedar box.

I didn’t pack. I didn’t leave. I went to the front door, turned the heavy deadbolt, and pulled the curtains tight. I didn’t want to see the sun, and I certainly didn’t want to see that sorrowful, lying ocean. I retreated to the kitchen and opened the first bottle of red wine. Then the second. I didn’t bother with a glass. The Sharp, acidic bite of the Pinot Noir was the only thing that could cut through the salt still coating my throat. I sat on the oak floor, right where the sand still gritted against the wood, the sand Toby had tracked in.

I was looking for answers, but mostly I was looking for a memento. A tuft of chestnut fur, his favorite blanket, anything that proved he had been real and that yesterday hadn’t been a fever dream.

That’s when it started.

A joyful, unmistakable bark shattered the silence of the house. It was the sound Toby made when he saw a squirrel, or when I picked up the leash. I scrambled to the window, tearing the curtains aside, but the beach was a vast, empty stretch of gray. Driven by a drunken, desperate hope, I stumbled out onto the deck. My eyes scanned the sand until they snagged on something small and dark half burrowed. I walked into the beach to take a closer look. The hope died a violent death. It was a leg. Just a leg.

The chestnut fur had been bleached a sickly, ashen gray, as if the salt had sucked the life out of the color. I pulled it to my chest, howling into the wind, the cold fur matted and damp against my skin. The grief was gone, replaced instantly by a scorching, transformative hate. The cycle began. Each morning, a new piece of Toby appeared on the sand. First the other legs, one by one, always that same ghostly gray. I stopped sleeping. I grabbed a kitchen knife, its edge honed to a razor, and sat on the deck all night, staring at the spot where the parts appeared. I didn’t blink. I didn’t move. But the sea was patient. In the five seconds it took me to wipe the stinging salt from my eyes or turn my head toward a sudden noise, the next part would appear.

The torso came next, a heavy weight that I dragged inside like a sacred relic. I spent the day in a wine-soaked haze, weeping next to my beloved friend. I looked at the grisly shape on the floor, the torso now joined by four legs. There was only one thing missing. “Tomorrow,” I whispered, my voice a jagged edge of madness.

“Tomorrow, his head comes. And when it does, I’m going into that water. I’ll find whatever is doing this, and I’ll kill it with my bare hands.”

7 – I Lost My Heart to The Sea

I didn’t have to wait for the sun. As the last of the light bled out of the sky, the music returned, not as a faint whisper, but as a physical force that vibrated the very glass in the windows. Rage, hot and blinding, surged through me. I snatched the kitchen knife from the counter and sprinted out onto the deck, ready to butcher the tide itself. I reached the sand, screaming a challenge into the wind, but the words died in my throat. I stood frozen, the knife slipping from my numb fingers and thudding silently into the dunes.

At first, I thought a rogue wave of black oil was rolling toward the shore. But the wave had fingers. Thousands of dark, pale, human hands broke the surface of the water, swaying in perfect time with the melody. They began to clap on the backbeat, a wet, rhythmic sound echoing off the cedar walls that transformed the horror into a perversely uplifting, ’60s-style experience.

Then, in the center of that macabre audience, the star of the show rose from the depths.

She was terrifyingly beautiful. Her eyes were twin pits of infinite black, set into a face framed by long black hair. Her scales shimmered in shades of turquoise and deep indigo, coating a slender, powerful frame that ended in a massive, dark blue tail. She had elegant hands with sharp, claw-like nails that caught the light as she moved. From her skull protruded multiple red coral antlers I had seen in the waves, a jagged, blood-colored crown. When she smiled, rows of white, shark-like teeth caught the moonlight. There was no happiness in her face, only hunger. I should have felt hate. I should have felt the fire of a thousand suns for the creature that had murdered my only friend. But as she opened her mouth to sing, the anger evaporated. It was replaced by a crushing, overwhelming sense of affection.

With her beautiful, divine voice, she sang of the exact moment my heart broke;

“I lost my heart to the sea, drifting further away into, The mariana trench, a dark abyss my hearts new home”

The black hands clapped harder, the water churning around them, and I found myself moving;

“Like a rotting whale on the beach, I’m stuck on the shoreline, Falling apart under the summer heat, wishing for my beloved home in the deep”

I didn’t care about the cold. I didn’t care about the knife in the sand. I walked toward the black mass, toward the shimmering crown of coral, my arms outstretched;

“Bring him home, to where he belongs, beloved dear old friend”

I wanted to be part of the song. I wanted to go where Toby went. The music suddenly slowed down when I set my first foot into the water;

“Let the fishes feast, when I walk into the sea to find, What I’ve lost, what I held dear to my heart”

The bark was sharp, cutting through the siren’s song like a serrated blade. I turned away from the shimmering mermaid and the clapping hands, stumbling toward the sound. Ten feet out, something gray bobbed in the surf. I lunged for it, thinking of a rescue, but as I pulled it from the water, my stomach turned.

It was Toby’s head barking at me. Just the head. The fur was ashen, and his eyes were milky, clouded-over marbles that stared at nothing.

The trance snapped. The “love” I felt for the monster with the coral crown curdled into a cold, paralyzing terror. Behind the head, the black mass of hands began to surge forward, a carpet of black flesh crawling over the waves toward me. I didn’t think. I didn’t stay to fight. I dropped the head of the only thing I ever loved into the salt and bolted for the house. I was a coward. I had abandoned him for the second time.

As I reached the deck and flung the door open, something heavy and gray blurred past my legs. It was the rest of him, the torso and the legs I had meticulously laid out on the floor. It leaped off the deck and sprinted back toward the tide. I slammed the door and locked it with trembling hands. I didn’t look back at the empty living room. I fumbled for the industrial earplugs on the counter and jammed them so deep into my ears they hurt. The world went silent, save for the thumping of my own frantic heart.

I ran for the bedroom, but as I passed the window, I couldn’t help it. I looked.

There, where the dark water met the sand, was Toby. He was whole again, a gray, reanimated shadow of himself, barking silently at my window. Behind him, the mermaid rose higher, her coral crown shimmering in the moonlight, and next to her, the massive, rotten bulk of a beached whale breached the surface, its mangled body swaying to a rhythm I could no longer hear. I retreated into the deepest corner of the bedroom closet, pulling the coats over me. I sat in the pitch black, eyes squeezed shut, until the terror exhausted itself and I drifted away into a dreamless, empty sleep.

8 – Hollowed Out

Hell had frozen over with the cold still burning beneath my skin. The sun rose on a world that felt fundamentally broken. The void I wear now is different to the hollowness I felt when I was just a child. It’s a physical weight, a cavernous space where a person used to be. I never truly felt like a human being on my own. Toby was my phantom heart, the only thing that translated the world’s coldness into something I could feel. Once having a heart and losing it is far, far worse than never having had one to begin with.

I sat on the edge of the bed, the house silent and smelling of stale wine and brine. A strange, twisted form of joy flickered in my gut, the thought that Toby might be part of that impossible musical now. Maybe in that dark, wet theater beneath the waves, there is a version of infinite joy that we can’t understand. I’m not sure if the same fate is meant for us. Humans are the worst animals, after all. We doubt, we destroy, and then we hide.

But I’m done hiding.

I know she’ll come again tonight. I can already feel the pressure in the air, the silent vibration of a chord waiting to be struck. When the first notes of that melody begin to drift through the cedar walls, I won’t reach for the earplugs. I won’t reach for a knife. I’m going to step out onto the deck and accept whatever debt is owed to the sea. I’m not looking for salvation or love. I only want one thing. To see Toby one last time, whole and gray and wild, barking at the moon as he runs through the waves. If I have to become a part of that black, clapping mass to be near him, then so be it. I walked to the kitchen and poured the last of the wine into a glass.

I sat by the window and waited for the sun to go down. I’m ready to join the concert.

Credit: Trist CH