It was one of those years when the only thing the tide brought in was seaweed and sailor's bones. Never anyone we knew, never anyone known at all, no DNA matches ever found and nobody calling in asking to see the remains in case it was a lost loved one.
All we knew was that dead men were washing in so tightly trapped in dense clusters of seaweed that it sat like skin against their glistening bones and we knew if we left them long enough they'd only start to move. Found that one out the hard way when one fella sat bolt upright and stared us down with those long-gone eyes til someone bravely cracked its skull with a shovel.
We don't let them sit any more, soon as we find them we split the bone from the seaweed and burn them both in two separate yards. The bones get lain in consecrated grounds and the ashes tossed back into the ocean. Not sure if it helps the overall cursed situation but it helps us all rest at night and surely that counts for something.
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