Siana Grade 10
The night was eerily quiet as I made my way across the deserted harbour. People in their homes, wrapped in the comforting embrace of their loved ones, their faces warmed by the embers of a glowing fire. Oblivious of the cold night air, and of the brewing storm that others had to face. They lay dormant, peacefully dreaming of happier times.
But not I. Not tonight.
The night air chilled me to my bones, as I stood on the edge of the docks, my breath puffing into the air in silvery clouds. Above my head, hundreds of glittering stars were strewn across the dark sky, like grains of salt. Before me, the wooden ground gave way to the empty expanse of sea reflecting the starlight above. The slight ripples of the ocean causing the reflections to skitter over the surface. A gentle breeze wafts across the docks, swaying the boats and filling their sails, making them rock slowly back and forth, tapping one another in an eerie rhythm. Tap…tap….tap tap tap…
I turned to leave when, abruptly, the breeze rippling across the motionless sea became colder, surrounding the port in a hazy fog. Through the stillness, I thought I heard someone call out, but when I looked around, I saw no one. Shaking my head I thought how ridiculous I was, it must have just been some animal.
Gripping my scarf tightly, I made my way back towards the comforting glow of the streetlights. But the hair on the back of my neck stood on end when that eerie voice whispered in my ear. My pulse quickened and I lengthened my stride, hurrying across the cobbled street and away from the docks. Pulling my cap lower over my face, and shielding myself from the luminous glow of the streetlights, I stumbled towards the nearest bus stop, shakily sitting down on a wooden bench.
Breathing deeply I scolded myself for being so ludicrous. There was nothing to be concerned about. Glancing up, I noticed an old man making his way towards me. He wore a long blue coat that reached down past his knees, sweeping the tops of his black leather boots, as he hobbled forwards, gripping a wooden cane. The sailor (at least that is what I presumed from his appearance), was tall but frail, stopped by age and hardship but with a composure as if he had once been as strong as an ox. A hard and chiseled face like it was carved from granite was framed by a wispy white beard that stuck out untidily from below his chin. He wore a black eye patch over his left eye.
Slumping down next to me, the old man gazed past my shoulder, his bushy eyebrows knit together, his face a forest of mountainous wrinkles. His fingers, bent like the branches of an ancient willow tree, gripped the long wooden cane. “Sonny, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” The one eye that I could see glinted a shocking blue in the light of the street lamp.
Blinking in surprise, I muttered loftily, “Ghosts do not exist, sir”. The old sailor grinned for the first time, showing all his missing teeth. Bringing out a long pipe, he began to blow columns of smoke. “Don’t they?” he rasped. I leaned back on the bench and scoffed, “Oh please sir, don’t tell me you actually believe in ghosts or phantoms.”
Lifting up his eye patch, his iris was milky white, as sea foam. “I didn’t lad, not till I saw one with my own eyes.” he answered. “Ai,” he continued, while chewing the end bit of his pipe between his front teeth. “I remember it like it was just yesterday”. Spitting onto the pavement, he watched me, his astonishing blue eye boring into me. “Ya know lad, this evening reminds me of the howling winds and the tormentous sea, on that night so long ago….”
—
The rain beat down in torrents, plastering my hair to my forehead. The ship rocked and pitched, lurching through the waves at perilous angles, tossed about like a flimsy piece of wood. Gripping onto the harnesses and sides of the boat, the shouts and cries of my fellow sailors were lost over the roar of the storm.
Turning towards the horizon, I noticed something rise to the surface of the water, then sink below the billowing waves. I remember wondering whatever it could be, but I was too preoccupied with aiding others and preventing myself from being swept over board to consider it much.
The waves began to churn. Foaming and frothing as a dark shape rose to the surface. A tentacle shot out, grabbing a sailor and dragging him to a watery death. My fellow sailors screamed in distress as more tentacles shot out, ripping apart the hull and tearing the sails. I stumbled up the deck but lost my balance as it tipped to the side, my feet sliding down the slick wooden floor boards. Landing beside the harpoon, I managed to launch it just as the creature rose to the surface, glowering at me in rage. With an ear-rupturing screech, the creature released the boat from its grasp, diving below the heaving waves.
Before I had time to feel relieved, it thrashed out, and with one last flick of those cursed tentacles, the mast toppled on top of me and I lost all consciousness. That was the night I lost my eye. An eye for an eye they say. But even though I was sure I had killed it, I could never shake the feeling that it was still there, watching and waiting, for the right time to get revenge.
Years later, I was the captain of a fine ship, a beauty she was, and we were sailing over the same waters. I was wary and I told the others to be careful, but they laughed at my fears, saying I was crazy to think the giant octopus could still be alive. But I knew…
A storm was brewing on the horizon, and as we sailed into the dense fog, I heard it again, that same blood-curdling screech. The screech that a hungry predator makes when it has finally found its meal, after aeons of searching. The screech of the giant octopus.
Out of nowhere it appeared, huge and terrifying. As pale as the moon, it was, its one remaining eye watching me with such intense hatred, I could have melted there and then under her stare. I’ve heard that octopi are intelligent, but I never knew just how intelligent they really are. I suppose it was seeking revenge, that octopus. It had stalked me down until that moment, its moment of vengeance.
Every man died that night. Not one survived.
—
We sat a while longer, gazing at the angry clouds. The storm was drawing closer, and the wind picked up, churning the waves. Although I knew this old sailor’s tale must have just been a lie, I was shaken by the detail and precision in which he had told it. Everything about him was mysterious and vague. Like the fog which encased the harbour.
Finally the old sailor sighed, hoisting himself from the creaking bench. “Remember what I told you,” he said shaking a bony finger in front of my face, that white eye piercing into my soul, and sending a chill down my spine. “GHOSTS ARE REAL, and the Giant Octopus is coming.” He rested his gaze on the horizon, then gripping his cane, turned his back to the coming storm.
I glanced at the dark clouds, then turned to the old man. But he was nowhere to be seen, vanished into the cold night air! Shaking my head incredulously, I sat, watching the stars twinkling in the inky black sky. I sat, thinking about what had just happened, and about the man I had met. I sat, while others slept peacefully in their warm beds, dreaming. Dreaming about things that weren’t real, about things that couldn’t possibly exist.
But not I.
Not tonight.
Elements Magazine 