The Seething Coast

Off the coast of Maine a storm rages, flashing rain and lightning down into the murky depths. On the coast, perched on a rock, a young boy gazes out at the distant maelstrom. His name is Tony. He is fourteen.

He and his parents started coming out here when Tony was nine. A nice vacation home, they had told him. A place to relax and go on adventures! Okay, Tony had replied.

Now he is fourteen, and he has a girlfriend back home. Her name is Ellie. He asked her out 3 weeks ago, and she said yes. They went to the movies once. They text every day.

Except not anymore, because now Tony is stuck up north in his nice vacation home with no cell service. He’s too young to get a job at the town’s small grocery store, but he’s also too old to get much enjoyment out of running around outside and building sand castles. He wishes he could be home with Ellie, having his first kiss and maybe, with some luck, doing some other first things. So instead Tony walks every day down to the stony shore, usually with a book or some music, and waits for the day to end.

Every night at dinner his parents ask him how his day was, and he asks if he can go back home, and they say no. His dad tells him that he is better off for having a week or so where he can’t get cell service. The phone is rotting Tony’s brain, his dad tells him. Tony wants to yell at him, make him understand that if he can’t text Ellie, she might forget about him. But he knows that would be silly. His dad would not care.

A drop of water hits Tony’s face as he sits by the sea. The storm is getting closer- the sky is beginning to darken and the wind is picking up. A small voice in the back of Tony’s head tells him that he should probably head home, but Tony doesn’t want to move.

A small voice coming from a crevice in the rocks right next to where Tony is sitting says, ‘Hey Tony.’

Tony looks down, startled away from the coming storm. There is a dead crab in the crevice. There are dead crabs everywhere on this stretch of shoreline. They live down among the sand and rocks, and seagulls like to kill them and eat them and leave their shells. Or sometimes the seagulls kill them and then get scared off before they can eat, or sometimes they just kill them for fun. This crab is one of those, killed but not eaten.

Hello? says Tony, feeling instantly silly for saying it.

‘Yeah, Tony. Down here,’ says the crab. It is on its back, and it doesn't make any attempt to right itself. It just sits there, mandibles moving furiously when it speaks. Its flesh is leaking out of a gaping crack in its shell. Tony cannot tell if the flesh is muscle or organ.

Another drop of water hits Tony. He stares at the crab, unsure of whether to ignore it and remain about his business or to actually keep talking to it, like a little kid with an imaginary friend.

‘Tony, in ten minutes that storm is gonna make landfall, and if you’re still sitting here when it does you’ll get knocked up by a wave that you don’t see coming. You’ll fall down into that crevice there, and you’ll break your leg in the fall and lose consciousness in the process. You’ll wake up seconds later, but then you’ll be confused and in pain, and the water will flood the crevice and you won’t be able to put together another comprehensive thought before you drown- just animal instincts and synapses firing out of sequence.’

Tony’s brow furrows. The crab continues. ‘You’ll die, but your broken leg will get trapped under a rock and so you won’t get swept out to sea, only smashed against the shore over and over again by the waves until your skull cracks open and your face becomes unrecognizable. Your parents will worry the whole night, and in the morning the police will find you. Your father will deny that the bloated lump of meat is you. Your mother will know. They will cry and wail and eventually they will get divorced. Your dad will remarry. Your mom will overdose on pills five years later, living in a strange city under her maiden name. He will not go to her funeral. He will not visit your grave. He will make a new family and live to be fat and old. He will never think of either of you again. You will die here and the world will forget you.’

You’re lying. Tony comes to the realization that he is not talking, not really. The words form in his brain and the sound enters the world but he has somehow cut out the part in the middle where his lips and tongue move. Noise travels effortlessly from within his skull to without.

‘What use does a dead thing have for lies?’

What, Tony starts to ask, already feeling silly. What about Ellie?

Tony waits, but the crab seems to be done talking. What if I go home? He asks. The crab is silent. Just a lump of rotting meat stuck inside a broken shell.

Tony looks out over the ocean once more. The storm is close now, he can see the line in the ocean where a wall of rain is rushing toward him like a freight train. The water is choppy, and getting worse, and Tony can imagine the wave rushing up over and between the rocks and knocking him into its grasp. Below him the nest of rocks seems to dance.

The rain makes landfall and Tony takes off running, over the rocks and down the sandy path to the street. He doesn’t slow down until he can see his house.