Arrow Rock Literary Journal

When Mira was seven, she watched a crab die on the shore. The waves pounded against the sand, trapping the crab in a hopeless cycle. Its arms and legs flailed helplessly, trying to escape the sea’s wrath. It twitched until its body was nothing but a lifeless shell. The scene felt almost familiar; the smell of sunscreen grew strong, and a playful laughter floated on the breeze. She didn’t help it. She couldn’t. Or maybe she didn’t want to. She felt something while watching it suffer – a flicker of satisfaction. Her little toes wiggled in the sand as the creature took its last breath before disappearing into its watery graveyard.

Now, Mira stood before the sea, watching the water lap and pull at her feet. The sea knew her. It recognized her, mirroring her emotions, clashing at her anger and heading at her call. She always felt warm in the cold sea, like it was inviting her in, whispering soft lullabies from home. There, as she waded deeper into the water, all the birds scattered, and the waves stilled.

The drownings started when Mira was young. People in the town would go missing, mainly near the water, where they were later found. The whispers began early on, “This town must be cursed,” some locals said, and others claimed the sea was playing God, taking victims based on sin. Mira laughed off the idea of curses and sins, but some nights, she awoke with salt tangled in the curls of her hair.

That morning when Mira returned from the shore, her father was already awake, and a newspaper was blocking his face. He turned the page and threw it down onto the table. She knew what he was reading; she didn’t care, so she pushed the newspaper aside.

Her father ignored her gesture and pointed at the page, “That’s the second one this year. Can you believe that?” He said, with a slight ping of anger. “It’s absolutely horrible. I reckon this town is cursed.”

“You and everyone else in Nammu,” she said flatly. Her fingers tapped on the countertop, mimicking a familiar rhythm of the waves. Mira peered over at the newspaper—a girl from school, another victim of the sea.

The bonfire grew low while shadows danced on the beach. In the distance, golden hair floated on the surface of the water. Soon, the screaming began. She saw the girl kiss Daniel, but she didn’t mean to let it happen. Anger coursed through her bones and struck the sea until all she could see was dark, deep blue.

Mira’s father continued his rant, “They should have surveillance on the beach. After everything that has happened—”

“When are we heading out?” Mira interrupted.

 “Well, actually, I was hoping to introduce you to a marine biologist today. I met him yesterday at the dock. He said he would be happy to take an intern, and your mother, well, she worries about you.” He twiddled his thumbs, “she said you were on the beach all night again. We thought this may help you channel your interests into something-” He paused, “Productive.”

Mira didn’t know what to say; she knew she couldn’t get out of it, but at least she’d be on the water. Against her wishes, she could feel the wind whispering across her skin, urging her to go.

            “Fine. I’ll go.”

The air was heavy that afternoon. The sea darkened like a bruise, getting deeper blue with each smack of the waves. A tall man stood at the end of the dock; his posture was almost too straight. A crooked nose held his glasses, and his eyes sank in, almost looking too old for his face.

“Mira,” he said as he reached for her hand. His grip was firm, oddly warm at first before turning icy cold. “I am Dr. Hurley. It’s nice to finally meet you.” He smiled, “Your father told me you’re drawn to the water, much like me.”

He pointed at the fishing boat beside them. “I figured today would be a good day to start. There is a species of crab I’ve been dying to study. I’m hopeful to catch some, the sea is quite… alive today.”

Mira looked at her father for one last chance to leave, but the sea behind him spoke instead, sending a large wave crashing against the dock.

Mira remembered the party. Balloons littered the yard, but the smell of sweet cake kept her attention. In the distance, a woman yelled. Mira dipped her finger into the cake, tasting the rich flavors. In front of her, a pink party hat was floating alone in the water.

Mira heard more whispers brush along her skin; something wasn’t right. She wanted to reach out to the water, but her father was watching. His eyes were wide and smile even wider, he was proud.

“Sounds exciting,” she said as she followed the man onto the boat.

The boat was larger than she initially thought. Dr. Hurley led her down to the lower deck, where the wind swirled misty droplets in the air. He was humming something—something she had heard before—a song from the sea. The sky continued to darken, exposing the deep blue hues of the water.

“Where did you learn that song?” Mira asked.

“From the sea, of course. I spend a lot of time near it. Much like you, from what I hear.” His voice was friendly, but his words put Mira at unease.

“The water, I found,” Dr. Hurley said as the boat reached open waters. “It’s different here. It listens. It waits. It watches.”

“I suppose,” Mira responded, indifferently. A wave struck the hull.

His grin didn’t meet his eyes when he scoffed, “But you already knew that, didn’t you, Mira?”

“What do you mean?” Mira asked, her voice was soft. She could feel the rage growing, but the sea wasn’t answering. The mist grew cold. Goosebumps rose on her skin. She had never felt cold by the sea.

Dr. Hurley ignored her question. “I’ve read about them all. Eight people were taken on perfect days: low tides, no strong currents.” He stepped closer, backing her to the railing. “The locals whisper about a girl who is always nearby.”

Mira smiled, “There are lots of girls in Nammu, Dr. Hurley.”

“Yes,” his tone darkened, “but none of them just watch.” Dr. Hurley loomed over her. “The sea doesn’t forgive Mira. It remembers every life it takes. Every gift it gives can be taken back.” His head tilted. “It sent me to remind you of what you are.” 

Mira couldn’t hold in her rage. A wave crashed against the boat. She gripped onto the railing, hearing the whispers of the sea below her: Join us.

“You watched it die, didn’t you?” She could see his grin through the shadow, slowly turning into something inhuman. She remembered the crab and how the sea aided her satisfaction. “It made you feel powerful.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her voice was stern. She knew she couldn’t hide it anymore.

Dr. Hurley shook his head in disappointment. “He just wanted to look at the shell, Mira.”

Mira felt the air rushing from her lungs. She let go of the railing, letting the rocking of the boat calm her. The water stilled. Sunlight broke through the clouds. She could smell it—sunscreen. Then came the laughter.

When Mira was seven, she played on the beach with her little brother. He had just stolen a seashell from her, and as she ran away, she heard it. “Help! Please, Mira, help me!” Her brother was stuck in the pounding waves. She stood frozen on the sand, unable to move. She watched his arms fly into the air, trying to grasp for one more minute of life. She waited for the fear to strike her, but it never came; she only felt satisfaction as the waves smiled back at her. She did not save him. Instead, she just watched and listened as the last piercing scream exited his mouth, leaving his body limp and lifeless. The sand felt strange under her toes as she waited for her parents to come back and notice her lifeless brother. An accident, she would say, she tried to help him, but it was too late.

Dr. Hurley pressed further. “That wasn’t the only one, was it?”

Faces flashed through Mira’s mind. Lifeguards ran out to the water. A boy begged for her forgiveness, but she did not heed. Her anger turned to riptides. Knowing the sea would always listen comforted Mira. She knew her jealousy could entangle people in the weeds below, and her anger could fill their lungs with salt.

Mira was not afraid. She knew the sea protected her; it chose her. But now, worry settled in her chest as she felt her control over the sea loosen. She tried to move the waves and rework the currents, but they didn’t listen.

“What do you want with me?” she asked Dr. Hurley.

“Oh, Mira,” he said lovingly, reaching for her cheek. “It’s not me who wants you.” He grinned before stepping aside. Mira’s eyes widened at the wall of water developing behind him.

She heard the crack of the hull first, and then she felt it—the sting of cold water. Something grabbed her, sharp, pincher-like, pulling her under. Her lungs burned, but the scream never made it past her throat. Opening her eyes, she saw eight figures standing before her—pale, motionless, staring. She had watched all of them drown. No screams. No help. No guilt. Amongst them, her brother stood in a red swimsuit. One of the girls looked over at him. Her words were muffled by water: “Should we help it?”

Mira almost pleaded for forgiveness, but she surrendered.

The boy’s lips formed a bitter smile.

“No,” he said gently, “Just watch.”

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Lexi Wallis is the author of this piece.