The Stones Waiting

Those stones have stood there forever,

as long as anyone can recall—

like teeth in a bottom jaw,

the rest of the head, gone to time.

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Not a human head, either.

Something other. Something older.

But don’t read too much into it.

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After the storms die out,

when the waves have scoured the rocks clean,

come morning, there’s a glow to be seen.

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A strange one. A shimmer that clings,

soft as fingers on the basalt face,

like something left its breath behind.

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Nothing but plankton, of course.

Just the sea phosphor.

Don’t read too much into it.

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Ask Old Whaley—

gut like a barrel, breath like low tide—

he’ll tell you about Lucy.

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Drowned herself two years back,

like the others before her.

All Merrick girls, all five,

starting with Lara, ten years past.

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Eerie coincidence, even this time around.

But don’t read too much into it.

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"You stand by the cave at twilight,

you might hear them crying."

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Old Whaley mutters between sips,

been drinking since Lara went in.

Cousins, and more, if you'd permit.

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Ten years of booze will fuck your mind up.

Makes you see things.

Makes you hear things.

But don’t read too much into it.

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Archaeology, is it?

That what you do?

There money in that?

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Because folks here—they’re poor, you know.

Living in grand old houses, sure,

but step inside and the rot will claim you.

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Same with the people.

Something off in them.

A little too much glint to the eyes.

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Too much phosphor from the sea, maybe.

Gets in the blood.

Gets in the bones.

Gets in your dreams.

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But don’t read too much into it.

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You want to see the stones?

Spend the night?

Ah—Whaley got to you, didn’t he?

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Sure, sprat, I’ll take you.

You think I look normal?

That’s kind of you.

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That’s about right.

But you’re reading too much into this.

Nothing wrong, I assure you.

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Best keep your pack light.

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Storm’s rolling in.

Sea looks pissy tonight.

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And no, I can’t stay.

The inn needs tending.

And coffins don’t build themselves.

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One must always be sure.

Never know who will come to stay.

Or stay forever.

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Only fooling, sprat.

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Don’t read too much into it.

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Come on now.

Best not keep the stones waiting.

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