The House Upon the Sea

The new day had brought back with it the thickness of the fog they had first encountered not two days before. What perplexed them more than the reappearance of fog was the absence of the sounds of waves lapping upon the rocks where they rested. They looked down. Through the thickness of fog they saw the indistinct resemblance of land. They were near shore. Excited, they jumped down and embraced the flats on which they landed. Porous land, composed of mud and grit provided a spongy substitute for soil and stone. The three ambled on with a confident gaunt in their step. They were alive and had found their sanctuary from a torturous fate of drifting at sea forever. They now cared not for their bounty and vessel lost to a sea that almost claimed their lives as well. They only wanted to return home. The three continued onwards towards the shore and it wasn’t long before they came upon something hidden in the fog.

A house.

The small, two-story house rested on the tide flats in a most obscure manner. It was not on sticks but rather, its foundations lay upon the flats, placing it at the constant mercy of the sea. From the threat of the tide and the invasion of the sea, it would be impossible to ever inhabit it. The house was most certainly abandoned, as, under its dilapidated condition, it could provide no means of worthy shelter or protection from the harsh elements surrounding it. And they had definitely made their mark. The house’s cedar siding was as black and course as the rocks the three had taken refuge on. Barnacles and seaweeds of all sorts nested at its foundations, acting as bracing support for the structure’s weight. The sea’s evidential influence on the structure ended about seven feet from its foundation to a couple of feet below the second floor’s windows. The windows on the bottom floor were absent of shutters or glass. They were of empty pits. Black surrounded their frames and blended in with the indistinct contents they exposed to the outside. As the three came closer they made out white streaks, whose stains permeated the blackened cedar. Though white was apparent through the presence of barnacles, this shade of white seemed alien.

The three approached the entrance of the house. Where a door should have been, only a black empty mouth of an entry remained. Where hinges should be, there was only torn wood that protruded out towards the sea, mangling the doorway’s frame in the process. They approached the entrance with caution. The floor before them resembled the foundation of house. Barnacles and seaweed nested in varying congregations. The vacant floors were black like the surrounding cedar that rested upon the foundation. They looked weak and ready to give under the weight of the very next tide. As all three had lost their shoes in their efforts to swim to shore, they were forced to test the sea worn floorboards or expose their feet to substantial injury. Though they were young, they were not foolhardy in their youth. Therefore, they opted to enter one at a time.

The first of the three crept inside. Slowly he proceeded, testing each floorboard as he stepped. They creaked and moaned under his weight, but did not give. They were sturdy, but overconfidence in this did not take him. Within a minute he had passed through the first room and into what one could only assume was the kitchen or dining room. The other two followed suit and proceeded in much the same way. As they progressed through the house, each room hosted their own mysteries and secrets that prodded at each fishermen’s imaginations and curiosities.

The first room contained several paintings of the sea. Upon closer inspection, each painting revealed relevance in content to the other. Both boasted a dwelling of subterranean origin with triangular symbols seemingly archaic in nature. The sea poured in at all sides of these paintings, threatening to submerge the city. Though the paintings were in relatively good condition, water damaged much of what could have been revealed in the paintings’ minor details. Strangely, barnacles and weeds were also found on the walls around the paintings, but never on the paintings or frames themselves. For a seemingly prolonged exposure to the sea, the paintings lost very little detail in their entirety. One could still make out the strange and mysterious city painted, but not the activities immortalized within. The cities in both paintings were composed of a triangular shape whose symbolism was foreign to the three observers. They appeared as a series of arrows, pointing in a certain direction they could not understand.

Broken wooden frames of what they could only determine was once furniture littered the corners of the room. The wallpaper, once a splendor of floral pattern, was now a faded, torn reflection of what it used to be. It had bled together and had become distorted from the cruelty of the sea. Upon the walls and floor were stains of white much like that seen on the window frame. There lingered a smell of salt about the air that emanated from every fiber of wood in the walls, floor and ceiling. The other downstairs rooms had that odor too, but there was little else of interest in them compared to what was in the first. The kitchen held no food or any other evidence of occupancies besides a scattering of rusted pots, pans and utensils; all of which were broken and twisted beyond use. The dining table was broken and lay on its side, legs stretched upwards toward the sky. Just beyond the dining room the three came upon the stairway leading to the second floor.

The stairs appeared fragile, so the three continued cautiously up them. The stairwell’s absence of light forced them to use the wall as guiding support. The walls were wet and felt as if they would break under the most minute pressure. Rotting wood beneath their feet sank under their weight, but did not give. For fear they would, the three maintained appropriate distance and soon reached the top in little time and difficulty. The hallway at the top of the stairs was narrow but well lit. There was one doorway to their immediate left and one at the far right end. The hallway was in much better condition and appeared as though it had never been touched by the sea. Wallpaper covered the walls here too. A new, proud mural of color and design, it provided a reflection of sentiment and beauty once shared by the wallpaper downstairs prior to its exposure to the sea. Hanging upon the wall was but a few oddly paired sconces, rusted and contorted by time. Melted candles and wax hung off their ends like icicles and reappeared as random pools on the floorboards below.

The door to the room to their immediate left was open ajar. It was broken, splintering outwards from the center as if hit by a battering ram. It appeared as if someone was trying to escape from within the room. The door provided no evidence of a lock, but its handle was still intact. One pushed on the door slightly. Its rusty hinges released an earnest groan as the door swung open. The three entered.

Before them stood what resembled the remnants of some ancient library. A blanket of dust suspended the volumes of books and the shelves they settled on as if to preserve them in some ancient state. As the three examined the books, they discovered that the majority of them were in such a state of decay and their covers were unreadable and some even broke apart or crumbled at their spines when touched. One book, however, was in relatively good condition. It sat on the far end of the room on the remains of what was a desk. It was open, exposing pages that were occupied by letters and symbols foreign to them. A familiarity, however, came to the three when they caught site of the tome’s cover. Carved into the thick matting of it was the same triangular symbol that was seen throughout both paintings downstairs. As curious as the three were to the meaning of this, they were unable to understand it, yet figured that the book in front of them held the answer, had they been able to read the strange language in which it was written, to the symbol’s true meaning. Still, in its condition, the book seemed alien to the room. It seemed as though the books and the shelves they lay upon had been exhumed from some ancient crypt and resurrected through their current display. Little good the resurrection served, however. They looked as though the gentle warmth of sunlight would burn them to ashes, just as easily as human touch had broken and crumbled them. The only volume fitting for its surrounding condition was the tome that lay upon the remnants of desk, though it too was mysterious in condition. It felt moist to the touch, smelled of salt and sea, and had white streaks resembling monstrous appendages, like it had been recently picked up or opened.

The three fishermen left the room and walked down the hallway to the last room left to explore. The door was closed. A hole where the knob had once been was apparent. They stooped down and looked through it. Upon peering in, they saw that it was primarily empty save for a portrait too distant to make out and a broken frame that once had been a bed. One pushed on the door to open it and found that it wouldn’t give. It was stuck and required the force of all three to force it open. Once it cleared they explored the room. It was a short examination, as all that remained was broken wood and the portrait of an old man behind dusky, cracked glass and picture frame. The man had a long, thin wiry face with a long thin nose and short disheveled facial hair. His eyes, however, were the most alive part of him. Piercing, they lit up like fire, almost making the rest of him come to life within the confines of the frame. Could this be the owner of this house? Surely he must have left this hovel and sought a dwelling better fitting a man of his condition. Perhaps, a better conclusion would be that he had passed on. The portrait gave the impression that the man had seemed as fragile as those books in his immortalized state.

The room was a final contribution to the overall condition of the upstairs. There was given the impression, in comparison of the upstairs to the down, that the sea had claimed her half and the sky his. Thus, in seeking nourishment and not finding it, the three headed downstairs and walked out into the fog. They headed for the direction in which they’d expect to find the shore and, eventually, civilization.

Always keeping in the confines of caution, they decided that if they had to go back to the house for any reason, it would be best to leave markers so they could find their way back. It was by this they decided they would dig a small hole with their hands every ten feet or so. As this happened each took turns making their marks as to conserve their strength. Time wore on, and the three felt as though they had been walking forever. Had it not been for their markers, they would fear that they were walking in circles. The more they traveled, the more worry rose within them. They expected to have reached the shore by now. A significant amount of time had passed since they had left the house and, though they were slowed down by the construction of markers, they still kept a steady pace as though they hadn’t undertaken such a task. But it was upon arguing the angle of the holes that the three decided to walk back a ways to verify their accuracy.

They were indeed straight. The three had been walking straight the whole time, yet the shore was nowhere in sight. The day was getting on and, though they had no sure way of telling time, it felt as if they had approached late afternoon. But they could not continue on for long. They feared the tide would soon come in and conceal their markers, making it nearly impossible to find their way back to dry refuge. Who knew how deep the sea would rise or if they were indeed further away from the shore than closer to it. They had lost their buoyant aids as they slept upon those rocks. They were steady swimmers, but they couldn’t swim without assistance from rest for very long. It was then that they decided to retrace their markers and head back to the house.

Not long after they turned back did a wind rise and the smell of the impending sea invade their nostrils. The tide was indeed on the approach. It was coming in and their time was now severely constrained. Soon after their nostrils picked up the scent of the sea, their ears were invaded by a mighty, distant bellow like that of what they had heard before. For a second it confused them. They had concluded before that it was that of a horn blown upon the cliffs of some nearby shore. But they had been to where they thought shore would be. Also, it did not come from the direction they had headed. Rather, it seemed as though it came with the wind. As the three headed back something came out of the fog that surrounded them. It crept along the flats as a shadow that oozed and swallowed all that was unfortunate enough to lay in its wake. Its mouth was long and frothed and bubbled. As it came closer, the three saw that it ate their markers, concealing them and relinquishing hope. It was the tide and it was approaching them with unnerving speed. It reached out towards their feet, grabbing them like bony, icy fingers from some shallow grave. The fishermen ran into it, straight forward to trace the trail of markers they could no longer see. They ran fast. But their speed would soon be compromised by the rising sea, as every step soon became a struggle. Great bellows were heard once more and the sea rose higher in response. It was now to their knees and they were but half an hour into it. The sea was still and silent. The presence of the mist sent their imaginations reeling and their hearts pounding. What would they experience once the sea had come in? What strange and grotesque monstrosities waited to hunt those unsuspecting prey that were caught in this rising tide? And at what level must the sea be to permit such savage acts? They did not know, and they much desired not to.

The tide was now chest deep and they were forced to swim in between swollen abdominal thrusts and worn, exhausted appendages gripping flats. The three were about overcome by the rising tide when they saw the silhouette of the house. They had made it. In one last surge of energy the three broke and tore through the sea, propelling their weary, aching bodies through the door and into the house. They swam to the stairs, crawled up to the hallway and flopped upon the floor. Within a matter of minutes, the sea had reached a point where it crept up to two steps from the ground floor hallway. Then three. Four. Five… Seven. Eight. The three looked at each other, worried that the tide might break its boundaries it marked upon the outside of the house and the wallpaper within. Nine. Ten. Eleven. It stopped half way to step twelve. Ripples taunted and teased them, scoffing at how close it had come to reaching the three. It felt as though the sea were conscious and had the full ability to rise, if it indeed desired to. But it didn’t. The three watched and waited for about fifteen minutes and the sea stayed where it was. Relieved, yet, exhausted and sore, the fishermen made their way to the bedroom. Deciding they would try to seek shore again tomorrow, the three settled down in their exhaustion and stretched out to sleep.