Crest

The drive in from the city was quick and quiet. I only encountered a few cars on the winding two-lane road and even those lonesome stragglers were headed in the opposite direction. I kept my eyes locked on the cracked pavement as it slipped silently beneath the car’s wheels, trying to avoid the depression of the surrounding landscape as much as possible. The granite path cut a snaking swath through a field of dead grass, rendered gray and muddy by the unending harshness of winter. Beyond that stood thick rows of skeletal trees, frail and weak, their spindly branches reaching dark and menacing against the pale overcast light of the early morning.

In the distance I could see the road straightening out and the first indication of my destination, a tiny dark speck that grew and developed into a regal wooden sign, hand-carved and worn, an inviting message painted on its face in script blue against white.

WELCOME TO KING’S POINT
THE END OF THE ROAD

As I drove, distressed buildings began to pop up from the landscape, all in varying states of disarray, their only common thread the complete lack of human presence. They grew in frequency and began appearing in clusters, becoming larger and more tightly packed until I found himself entering the cramped main drag of the small beach town. I eased into a spot on the empty street and turned off the car’s engine. A moment passed and I sat back in the chair, slowly releasing my hands from the rapidly cooling leather of the steering wheel. Without the soothing heat of the air conditioning, the cold outside was free to flow into my car. It quickly penetrated the layers of clothing that shielded my body, chilling my skin and forcing me to make a decision about whether or not to leave the vehicle and step into the ghostly surroundings.

Before today, I had only ever visited in summer, dropping in for a week or two once a year ever since I was a child tagging along with mom and dad on the annual family vacation. I continued the tradition even after I had grown too old for such excursions, meeting up with summer teenage friends to smoke cigarettes and drink ill-gotten beer behind the shadowy dunes. It was here that I met my wife, where she snuggled drunkenly into me as we sat in the warmth of a roaring beach fire, drifting off to the strains of a poorly played acoustic guitar and the off-key singing of its owner.

It had been years since that night and my wife and I were having problems. The free-spirited girl I had fallen in love with had become a harsh workaholic, more interested in advancing her career than having fun. She would shoot down any weekend outing or brief vacation I would suggest with unconcealed annoyance, claiming that she had far too much work to catch up on to consider leaving town for any period of time. Even our annual beach trip, the highlight of our young relationship, had been abandoned last summer. When I would complain that I never had the chance to spend time with her anymore, she would say that I wouldn’t have so much free time if I took my career even half as seriously as she did, as though the problem was that I simply had too much time on my hands.

Our most recent argument regarding the subject occurred just a couple of hours ago and ended with me referring to her as a cold-hearted joyless bitch as I stormed out of our apartment and slammed the door behind me. I got into my car and immediately headed for the highway, unsure of where I was headed but knowing that I needed to get out of the city. It wasn’t until I the outskirts had disappeared from my rear-view mirror that I remembered where I was that last time I had been happy – Kings Point. The sign advertising the exit for the lone route that led out to the town flew up at me, and without thinking, I guided my car off the interstate and onto the twisting rural highway.

I might have been better served to just drive in circles for a couple hours until I calmed down, since I now realized that I had no idea what I was even looking for in this dispiriting little burg. Still, I had driven all the way out here, and I was in no hurry to make the trip back to see my undoubtedly furious wife. With a sigh, I unbuckled my seat belt, swung open the car door, and stepped out onto the street. The wind immediately swept in and shoved me back into the seat, stubbornly resisting my entrance into the town. Gritting my teeth, I stood again and battled against the gusts, putting my head down and blindly marching off of the street. Once I was on the sidewalk, the wind died down somewhat, no longer fighting me but still expressing its displeasure at my presence. Shaking off the cold, I made my way into town, moving through the clouds of frozen breath that billowed out in front of me with each step.

As I walked, I glanced around the street, looking into the dim light of the passing storefronts. By and large, they were empty save for a singular figure, sitting behind a counter or a display case with blank glassy stares on their faces. Each one instantly looked up as I passed by, their eyes wide with what appeared to be desperation. Christ, I thought. I knew this place was dead during the off-season, but this is just depressing. It doesn’t look like anybody here has done any business here since Labor Day.

A strange sense of guilt rose within me as I walked, as though flighty outsiders such as myself weren’t meant to see King’s Point in such a joyless state. That privilege was reserved exclusively for the locals, the people who had built their lives around this place and kept it alive for the oblivious beachgoers. The locals, I shuddered. No matter how crowded the beach or streets got, it was never difficult to pick the natives out from the tourist hordes. Their faces were leathery and browned, shriveled by countless seasons under the unforgiving ferocity of the summer sun. Many times I would see them just standing on street corners, their sunken eyes coldly examining the infestation that had overran their beloved home.

The lonely shopkeeps I had seen were such creatures, their bleak demeanors the only signs of life I came across as I went deeper into the heart of the town. There wasn’t even as much as a moving car to be seen on the street. In the distance, the ocean sang its cyclical song, barely audible over the sound of the soles of my shoes scraping against the uneven pavement. I passed through an intersection and paused in the middle of the street, stopped by a flash of movement in my peripheral vision. The lane to my left cut a direct path to the shore, perfectly straight and narrow, leading to a nearby landscape that seemed miles away from the squat dilapidated buildings that framed it. With a shrug, I turned and headed in that direction, figuring I might as well see the beach before turning around and going home.

The paved road came to an end and I stopped, standing right outside the dominion held by the beach. Just inches past the tips of my shoes the concrete disintegrated and gave way to a rolling field of pale yellow sand, broken up into sections by unruly rows of tall umber grass, twisted and bent at the whim of the wind. The sand flooded out in tiny uneven waves before diving at the water in a smooth, sudden beeline, the slope dark and polished compared to the rough, cream-colored hills behind the crest. In the distance, a single boat, a massive barge that seemed to hover just above the vast rippling plain of green and black. The sea’s tranquility transformed into churning anger as it surged towards shore, tirelessly lashing away at the sand with crescents of froth and salt that splashed harmlessly into the sand.

The smell of salt air suddenly intensified, nearly overpowering my senses. I blinked away the sting of it against my eyes and could feel its cleansing burn in my chest with each breath. Man, I grimaced, I don’t remember the air around here being this strong. For several minutes, I just stood still and took in the sea, killing time until I could force myself to drive home and face the music. My cowardice was soon overcome by the cold seeping into my bones, which forced me to shiver and hide my face under the collar of my coat.

I was just about to turn and leave when I caught sight of something in the wet sloped sand being rinsed constantly by the breakers that spilled over the shore. It appeared to be a lump the size of a basketball, perfectly round, pushing up from beneath the ground like a thumb trying to force itself through fabric. That’s strange, I thought to myself, I don’t remember seeing that a second ago. And why isn’t the water smoothing it out? For a few seconds I watched it with squinted eyes and a furrowed brow, outwardly curious but inwardly thankful that I had another distraction to remain there a little while longer.

The severe cold and whistling wind must have clouded my focus, because, as I watched, the lump appeared to start moving. At first I attributed it to some sort of illusion, a mirage caused by the elements and the constant splashing of water around the object. That notion vanished from my mind when it moved past the saturated sand of the lower slope, climbing over the peak into the wind-formed hills and valleys beyond. It moved silently, fluidly, approaching my position with a steadily increasing pace.

My eyes widened as it came close enough for me to see that it wasn’t even disturbing the sand it was moving through – instead, its movement resembled a child or a small animal crawling under a carpet, warping but not displacing the fabric around it. The space it occupied almost appeared like a part of the universe that was out of focus, slightly off from all of its surroundings.

Before I knew it, the object was about twenty feet away and closing fast. I felt the smell of salt air intensify further as I took a few steps backwards, my curiosity all but disappearing and a quickly growing sense of alarm rising in its place. Still, there was a tiny reasonable part of my brain that kept me from running away, impassively asserting that the object was nothing more than some sort of burrowing animal and scolding me for giving in to such an absurd, childish fear.

That stubborn little piece of my mind grew louder until I actually began to believe that the object was a natural part of the environment and certainly nothing to be afraid of. That lasted until the lump passed the sand and reached the concrete. I waited just long enough to see the pavement swell and distort around it before spinning and sprinting back the direction I had came, whatever rationality that remained immediately overwhelmed by a fear that was deeper and more commanding than any I had ever felt before.

The roar of the ocean was drowned out as I hustled back to my car, overpowered by the slap of my shoes against the street and the sound of my own increasingly labored breathing as I struggled to take in enough air to fuel my panicked dash. My lungs began to burn, a cold fire that was fanned into my airways with each exhale. As I turned the corner, my terror-addled brain scrambled to try and remember where I had parked. I knew my car had been on this street, but no matter how convinced I was of that fact, that didn’t make it appear on the thoroughly empty stretch of pavement.

As my eyes wildly scanned side streets and alleys for any sign of my vehicle, I noticed that shops that had been manned on my walk to the beach had become empty. What little light that had radiated from the storefronts had been completely snuffed out, replaced by a profound darkness that swallowed up the displays within. Had I been in a less distressing situation, I might have paid that disconcerting sight more thought. But at the moment, my main concern was that I still hadn’t seen trace of my car and that my leg muscles were quickly tightening up. Each step become more difficult and more painful, to the point where I forced myself to look over my shoulder to see if there was any chance I could take a break from the agonizing toil fleeing had put on my body.

A quick glance revealed nothing behind me but the emptiness of a deserted town. Keeping my head turned, I slowed to a looping jog and then to a brisk walk before stopping entirely, bending at the waist and giving in to my body’s need for rest and oxygen. Whatever that thing was, I appeared to have lost it. The more sensible portion of my mind piped up again, badgering me to get my mind off of stress-induced hallucinations and figure out what the hell had happened to my car. After a few more moments of hunched panting, I stood upright and fished in my coat pocket for my cell phone, figuring that I could call information and ask for the numbers of the towing companies in town.

I dialed information and began to walk again, looking around the back streets and lanes to make sure that I hadn’t parked off of the main street and simply forgot about it. As the phone began to ring, a familiar scent tickled my nostrils, causing me to sniff the air like an inquisitive dog until I could identify it as the unmistakable scent of the ocean. My eyes widened as I looked down to see a small rise in the pavement, which grew and rounded into the familiar bubble just inches in front of my feet.

Once again in a position of authority, the impulsive part of my brain screamed at me to turn and run, that my car wouldn’t be of any use to me if I were dead. I’m not sure if I was either ignoring the voice’s commands or was too stunned to follow them, since I simply stood still for a moment, my eyes widening as the voice of an annoyed operator squawking in my ear. It persisted in asking me for city and state as the lump made a barely perceptible movement, like a slight vibration. A second later, two thin black slits simultaneously appeared on the side of the object facing me, formed as though they were cut out from within by two quick slices of a knife.

I didn’t stick around to see what its next trick would be. Without any thought as to my destination, I whirled and sprinted back the direction I had came, gripping my cell phone like a baton and racing down the street as though I were completing the last leg of an Olympic relay. I turned into the first alley I came across, moving away from the neat formation of Main Street and into the disarray of the outskirts. Businesses and restaurants gave way to squat shingled houses that lined both sides of the street, planted on small tracts of land with unkempt vegetation and tied to the pavement by haphazard gravel driveways.

No matter how far I ran or how many homes I passed, it didn’t seem as though there was another soul to be found in the entire town. I needed to find some help and it didn’t look like I was going to locate any looking for it on foot. Partially hidden in the backyard of a passing house stood a skinny tool shed, its sheet metal skin scarlet with the rust that had overtaken it. I veered onto the property and tromped through muddy grass on my way to the shed, looking over my shoulder to make sure I wasn’t being watched. Convinced that I had eluded it for the time being, I ducked inside and slipped the bar lock into place behind me.

Exhausted again, I walked to the opposite side of the tiny building and fell against it, my overtaxed body sliding down the wall until I was sitting in a heap on the ground. The only light within the shed seeped in through crooked tears in the walls that came from years of untreated rust. As I leaned against the cold dirty steel, I grasped at my hair and stared blankly at the raw dirt that made up the shed’s floor, struggling to figure out what it was I saw and what it wanted from me. I shuddered as I thought back to the appearance of the slits, remembering how inconceivably black they were, how they seemed to have the unsettling depth of an ancient well behind them.

After a minute, I got myself together long enough to realize that I needed to call for help. I may not have seen any residents since I arrived, but I held out hope that the police hadn’t vanished with everyone else. My cell phone was still in my hand, but a quick glance at its screen revealed that I wasn’t getting any reception inside the tiny metal shack. I cursed under my breath as I pulled myself to my feet, figuring that I might have better luck outside. As I stood, I absentmindedly smacked my lips, the distinct flavor of salt having suddenly appeared on my tongue. The scent came a second later, so pungent that I could feel it in sinking into my pores.

My mind had just begun to process these sensations when I saw a trace of movement by the door. I immediately straightened up and pressed my back against the shed wall, my eyes locked on the thin wall of hinged metal that represented my only line of defense. I felt my skin grow itchy with sweat as the door began to vibrate, barely noticeable at first and then so violent that I feared the lock would be shook lose or that the door itself would be ripped clean off its hinges. Since I had stupidly dealt away with any possible lanes of escape, I began to search the contents of the shed in a frenzy, desperate to find a tool of some sort to defend myself with.

A quick inspection revealed that my choices were limited to a rake, a wheelbarrow, and a long-handled shovel wrapped in cobwebs. I gritted my teeth and cursed in frustration as I grabbed the shovel and held it away from my body like a staff. My knuckles tightened around the smooth wood and my entire body tensed, prepared for whatever was about to burst through that door. The effect of the adrenaline flowing through my veins faded somewhat when it abruptly stopped shaking, so still that it seemed as though it had never moved at all.

A bead of sweat slipped off my chin and fell to the floor as I remained crouched in my defensive stance, debating with myself whether or not to make a break for it. The smell of the sea still lingered heavy in the air, indicating that it was still nearby. Go, my mind screamed at me. It knows you’re in here. You’re trapped. Move. Move!

It took a full minute of borderline schizophrenic self-badgering before I had convinced myself to take a chance. Scared to even produce the sound of walking, I slid my shoes over the dirt as I crept towards the door, struggling to contain the trembling that was quickly overtaking my body. After a tortuous length of time I had drawn within arm’s reach of the lock, taking a pronounced gulp as I reached out with a furiously trembling hand to disengage it. My mind quickly formed an intricate plan in which I would throw the door open immediately upon unlocking it and bolt outside, dialing 911 with one hand while flailing the shovel wildly in front of me with the other.

As I took hold of the cold bar of metal, I took a deep breath and prepared myself for another sprint, knowing full well that the object might be right outside the door, lying in wait for me. The courage that I had gathered to make my grand escape immediately vanished as the door suddenly swelled out at me, the metal popping as though someone had hit it from outside with a sledgehammer. I shouted a nonsensical curse in surprise and jumped away from the door, tripping and tumbling onto my back as I did so. The shovel fell to the ground with clatter as I skittered into a corner, looking on in unabashed terror as the bubble rose from the vertical surface, warping the metal and giving it appearance of a finished pan of Jiffy Pop.

My chest began to heave and the accelerated beating of my heart grew painful in my chest as the black slits reemerged, appearing where the eyes might go if it were a face and not a bulbous distortion of reality. The chill of cold sweat began to soak my shirt as two more slits were cut on the bottom, each corner of the dome now possessing its own inky black even crack in space. Slowly, they simultaneously creaked open, becoming four perfectly round circles of milky cornflower blue.

I let out a small cry as the quartet of unearthly eyes fixated themselves on me in pupil-less unblinking focus, feeling as though they could rip my soul from my very body if they so desired. A moment passed and I just sat there staring at this unexplainable object as my hand felt blindly around the floor for the shovel, forced into action by what little cognizance I had left while the rest of my body remained paralyzed.

I became distracted from my search somewhat when I saw one more slit appear, a long, thick vertical slice between the eyes, drawn from the forehead to the chin of the imaginary face. After a few seconds it began to widen, a stretched lens that grew larger as though someone were ripping through thick fabric with both hands. Even though I had somehow grown even more terrified by the sight, something about it snapped me into action, allowing me to move my eyes away just long enough to find the shovel. I grabbed the rough handle, scrambled to my feet, and immediately took a swing, guiding the side of the pointed spade directly at the center of the dome.

The satisfying thunk I expected to come from burying the shovel head in the creature’s supposed forehead never came; instead, I found myself nearly losing my balance as the shovel passed harmlessly through the bubble. Thinking that I might have just missed, I wound up and took another swing, this time watching closely as the spade slipped effortlessly through it, the attack’s only effect a slight ripple that emanated from its path. As though I had done nothing at all, the rift continued to grow, becoming wide enough to nearly touch the eyes that surrounded it.

My brain began to give in to panic, overwhelmed with the task of processing the thousands of thoughts buzzing around within my skull at once, most of which dealt with my impending death and just how horrible it would be. Somehow, I managed to sort through the overwhelming notions of despair and recall the dilapidated condition of the shack, how rust had claimed great patches of the outside walls and even eaten holes into it. My eyes frantically searched the walls within until I found the largest tear, a perforation the size of a dinner plate halfway up one of the side walls.

With newly found resolve, I gripped the shovel like a javelin and thrust the point of the spade at a spot just outside the hole. Pieces of rotted metal flaked away and fluttered outside, making the passage just slightly larger. With unfaltering intensity, I repeatedly jabbed away at the wall, paying no mind to whatever the creature may have been doing behind me. Once the opening seemed big enough for me to shimmy through, I tossed the shovel to the ground, stuck my head through the wall and pulled myself outside. As my feet passed the hole, I felt a slipping grip around the tip of my shoe, losing its hold as I tumbled to the ground. Whatever curiosity I might have felt was instantly overpowered by a strange mix of terror and jubilation as I leapt to my feet and immediately took off in a random direction.

As I ran, I whipped out my phone and swore out loud to see that I still wasn’t getting any reception. Shoulda figured, I thought as I jammed the phone back into my pocket. I never do get a decent signal out here in the sticks. A yard gave way to a side street that led to a sizable brick building, looming large over a football field surrounded by a running track. I took a hard turn and headed in that direction, recognizing the structure as a high school and hoping that there would be some sort of public landline within.

I drew closer to the building and saw that its small parking lot was jammed full, every space occupied with the overflowing vehicles haphazardly scattered on the grass that surrounded the pavement. Thank God, I thought. The townsfolk must have seen that creature first and evacuated here. Maybe they even know how to deal with it. I found the entrance and burst through the double doors, slowing to a jog through the locker-lined hallways as I kept an eye out for the slightest sign of life. After a minute I came across a sign pointing to the gym and followed it, figuring that would be the most likely place for them to gather. The buzz of a great mass of people grew steadily louder as I approached the pair of double doors, a rough, muffled sound that brought the first smile of the day to my lips.

I pushed the door open and nearly fell into the gym, the stresses of my most recent escape having finally caught up with me. My hands grabbed my thighs as I doubled over and took deep, cleansing breaths, feeling not only my exhaustion but also my anxiety disappearing with each one. It wasn’t until I got my gasping under control that I realized it was the only sound to be heard within the confines of the gymnasium. I craned my neck upward and saw convertible stands filled with people, each and every one of them staring quietly in my direction.

These people look shocked to see me, I thought as I straightened up and took a couple steps out onto the floor. They must not have expected any tourists to be in town. Each set of eyes intently followed my movements, every local from the towheaded youths to the twisted, gray elderly refusing to let me out of their sight. Man, I thought, rolling my eyes, they really don’t like tourists, do they?

“Er, hi.” I called out, smiling awkwardly. “Hopefully you guys can help me. I’m trying to get out of town and I can’t find my car. I think it might have been towed.”

No response. I could feel the smile leave my face and the anxiety seep back into my body as they continued to stare at me, silent and expressionless. A rustle arose from behind me and I turned to see two men move in front of the doors I had entered through, their arms crossed and their faces serious. I felt the prickly heat of sweat once more as I looked around to see the action repeated at every one of the gym’s doors as though the men were blocking the exits.

I inwardly repeated to myself that they were just trying to make sure no one left the gym, that they were standing there to prevent kids from wandering outside. I had almost convinced myself of that when I saw a middle-aged woman step down from the stands and move towards me. With sad eyes, she smiled tightly and clasped her hands in front of her body, her appearance resembling that of a surgeon with unfortunate news.

“You shouldn’t have come.” she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“What are you talking about?” I cried. “What is that thing?”

“Our town’s guardian spirit.” she casually replied, as though she were giving me the time.

“Your what?”

“Our guardian spirit.” she calmly repeated herself. “It sleeps during the summer, sapped by the overwhelming presence of outsiders. But once they leave, when we’re the only ones that remain, it awakens and moves freely about the town, protecting us from…undesirable elements.”

I gawked at her in wide-eyed, open-mouthed disbelief, small choking sounds escaping my throat as I struggled to voice a counter to her ridiculous statement. My eyes scanned the stands for snickering or rolled eyes, for any hint that the town was playing a cruel and intricate joke on me. But their faces remained just as stoic and emotionless as before, indicating that either every resident of the town had a rock-solid poker face or that this woman was serious. I backed away from the woman, holding my hands out in front of me and laughing nervously.

“You people are insane.” I blurted out. “I’m never coming back to this town again.”

The instant I said that, I felt two hands come up from behind me, grabbing me beneath the arms and by the neck and lifting me into the air. I shouted out in surprise and immediately began to flail my legs and arms, yelling furious unintelligible curses as I struggled to free myself from the full nelson. I whirled my head around and managed to catch brief glimpses of the face of one of the men who had blocked the doors behind me. The stink of raw seafood immediately identified him as a fisherman, the muscles he had developed hauling in lines now being used to effortlessly hold me in place.

“We don’t like to see it surface.” the woman piped up, frowning. “It scares the children. We gather here until it has finished its work.”

As though on cue, parents scattered within the stands began covering their children’s eyes, a normally innocent gesture that had been transformed by the woman’s words into something foreboding and grim. Not a second later, the all too familiar scent suddenly filled the air, stronger than it had ever been before. I immediately looked down in horror to see the bubble rise from the interlocked planks of wood, swelling and forming not even a yard in front of my feet.

I screamed and thrashed against my captor to no avail. His hold remained steady even as I put all my strength into a blind, animalistic rage. My vision regressed into a blur as I snapped my head around, degenerating into nothing but indistinguishable streaks of color. Wired on adrenaline and pure fear, I kept up my feverish if useless struggle, up until the point that I felt something cold and wet tickle my Adam’s apple.

My flailing stopped and my eyes focused in on the thin indigo tentacle grazing my neck, growing gradually thicker as it trailed back to the gaping sideways mouth, framed as before by the square of dead, glassy eyes. The appendage twisted and writhed like a captured snake, droplets of water slipping off of it and dripping to the floor with each movement.

Before I could even scream, it wrapped and tightened around my throat, slowly crushing my trachea with a tremendous strength that belied its slender appearance. The man released his hold on me and backed away, allowing me to try and pry the freezing, rough-skinned limb away from my neck. But its grip was even stronger than the man’s, and no amount of pulling or tugging would weaken it in the slightest.

The corners of my vision were overcome with blackness as I glanced up at the crowd, taking in the looks of pity on the face of the woman and on many of those in the audience. My eyes numbly rolled back towards the creature to see a brood of tentacles slip through the tear, all identical to the first, each squirming and curling independent of one another as they descended on me. Their tips grazed my clothes as my sight gave way to darkness. From a distance, I could hear the roar of the ocean and the high-pitched cries of scavenging seagulls.