We thought it was just a tumble of seaweed at first but no seaweed in the world is as full of eyes as what we found that day. It looked a little like bladderwrack until it started to blink and move in a distinctly octopus-like manner.
Of course we pegged it as far as our little legs could take us, right until we'd hit the old navy base. Spent a good half hour just leaning against those worn concrete pillars, just catching our breath and glancing behind us to see if it was following us.
Sure as rain, there it was writhing its way towards us from the far edge of the beach. We did what any sensible eight year old would do when faced with the unknown. Firstly we tried not to cry, mostly succeeding, and then we ran for our homes, again mostly succeeding as Allan tripped over another one of those not-seaweed creatures.
Now we call them blinkerwrack (not creative, I know, but it suits our ways just the same) and now we know that burning them is the best way to stop them in their tracks. Back then though, all we knew was that Allan wasn't making any attempt to pull himself free and he wasn't making any noise and he wasn't breathing and...
We just kept running, only we stopped looking back and started to cry. By the time we reached the edge of the village we were all but bawling and barreling ourselves into the arms of the closest grownup which happened to be the greengrocer, Mr. Patel.
He rounded up a few others, including Allan's parents and they all headed off down the beach. All that came back were the bits that the blinkerwrack couldn't eat. Hair, bones and clothes were found in the morning neatly piled up around the village outskirts and all across the shoreline.
Each fresh wave brought more of them in until the whole beach was nothing but a writhing mass of those mucus-dripping eyes and the leftovers of whatever poor creature they just so happened to catch. It got to the point where you'd wake up in utter darkness with the ocean's scent in the air and blinkerwrack's all crowding 'round your windows.
Now, after fire after fire after fire, there aren't too many left. Still enough to be a concern, mind you, but nowhere near the levels we faced back when I was younger. Someday I hope we'll get to a generation that thinks the worst part of the beach is sand between your toes.
Until then, grab the kerosine and meet me at the tidal line.
Of course we pegged it as far as our little legs could take us, right until we'd hit the old navy base. Spent a good half hour just leaning against those worn concrete pillars, just catching our breath and glancing behind us to see if it was following us.
Sure as rain, there it was writhing its way towards us from the far edge of the beach. We did what any sensible eight year old would do when faced with the unknown. Firstly we tried not to cry, mostly succeeding, and then we ran for our homes, again mostly succeeding as Allan tripped over another one of those not-seaweed creatures.
Now we call them blinkerwrack (not creative, I know, but it suits our ways just the same) and now we know that burning them is the best way to stop them in their tracks. Back then though, all we knew was that Allan wasn't making any attempt to pull himself free and he wasn't making any noise and he wasn't breathing and...
We just kept running, only we stopped looking back and started to cry. By the time we reached the edge of the village we were all but bawling and barreling ourselves into the arms of the closest grownup which happened to be the greengrocer, Mr. Patel.
He rounded up a few others, including Allan's parents and they all headed off down the beach. All that came back were the bits that the blinkerwrack couldn't eat. Hair, bones and clothes were found in the morning neatly piled up around the village outskirts and all across the shoreline.
Each fresh wave brought more of them in until the whole beach was nothing but a writhing mass of those mucus-dripping eyes and the leftovers of whatever poor creature they just so happened to catch. It got to the point where you'd wake up in utter darkness with the ocean's scent in the air and blinkerwrack's all crowding 'round your windows.
Now, after fire after fire after fire, there aren't too many left. Still enough to be a concern, mind you, but nowhere near the levels we faced back when I was younger. Someday I hope we'll get to a generation that thinks the worst part of the beach is sand between your toes.
Until then, grab the kerosine and meet me at the tidal line.
No comments:
Post a Comment