Mara stood at the edge of the dock, her fingers curling around the rusted railing as the salt-kissed wind tugged at her sleeves. The sea stretched endless ahead, its surface shimmering under the late afternoon sun, but she didn’t look at the water. She stared at the row of weathered cottages along the shore, their paint peeling like old skin. This was Marrow Bay, a place that had swallowed her mother’s name and left nothing but a hollow ache in Mara’s chest.
The rental house creaked behind her, its floorboards groaning as if protesting the weight of her steps. She’d packed only a duffel bag, the rest of her belongings still boxed in the garage. The air inside had the stale scent of cedar and mildew, a smell that clung to her like a second skin. She didn’t know why her father had chosen this town, why he’d uprooted them from the city where the noise of traffic and the glow of streetlights had been the only constants in her life. But here they were, adrift in a place that felt more like a memory than a reality.
A gull screeched overhead, its call sharp and fractured. Mara turned, expecting to see it vanish into the clouds, but it hovered, wings rigid, as if waiting for something. She blinked, and the bird was gone. Her pulse quickened. The wind had died, leaving an eerie stillness in its wake. Then she heard it—the low hum of a boat engine, distant but unmistakable. It didn’t belong to any of the fishermen who worked the bay. This sound was different, older, like a secret the water had kept for decades.
She stepped back from the dock, her boots crunching on gravel. The path to the house was lined with seaweed, its dark tendrils slick with moisture. She hesitated, then pressed forward, her breath shallow. The engine’s growl faded, replaced by the whisper of waves against the rocks. When she reached the door, she paused, hand hovering over the knob. Something in the air felt wrong, like the world had tilted on its axis and no one else had noticed.
Inside, the house groaned again, but this time it was just the wind. She kicked off her shoes and dropped her bag by the stairs. The living room was dim, lit by a single bulb that flickered as she passed. A photo on the mantel caught her eye—her mother, younger and smiling, standing beside a man she didn’t recognize. The frame was cracked, the edges frayed. Mara traced the glass with her thumb, wondering if the man had ever been real or just a figment of her mother’s stories.
A knock at the door made her jump. She froze, heart hammering. The sound came again, deliberate this time. She approached the door slowly, hand hovering near the knob. “Hello?” she called, her voice thin and uncertain. No answer. The knock came a third time, louder now, as if the person on the other side was growing impatient.
Mara opened the door a crack. A boy stood there, his dark hair plastered to his forehead by the rain. His jeans were soaked, his sneakers caked with mud. He looked up, and their eyes met. “You’re new,” he said, his voice flat, as if stating a fact rather than making a statement.
“I guess I am,” she replied, unsure of how to respond. The boy didn’t smile. His gaze flicked to the house behind her, then back to her face. “You should stay inside tonight,” he said. “The tide’s coming in fast.” Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away, his steps crunching on the gravel.
Mara closed the door, her hands shaking. The boy’s words echoed in her mind, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d known something she didn’t. She hadn’t asked him his name, and he hadn’t offered it. But there was something about him—a quiet certainty, a weight in his voice—that lingered like the scent of salt after a storm.
That night, Mara lay awake, listening to the creak of the house and the distant lapping of waves. The air felt heavier than usual, charged with an energy she couldn’t name. She thought about the boy, about the way he’d looked at her as if he’d seen something in her that no one else had. And then she heard it—the same low hum from earlier, but closer now, almost rhythmic. It didn’t sound like a boat. It sounded like something else entirely.
She sat up, her pulse thrumming in her ears. The window was open, letting in the scent of brine and damp wood. The moon hung low over the bay, casting silver light on the water’s surface. For a moment, she thought she saw a figure moving in the distance, a shape that didn’t belong to any boat or bird. Then it was gone, swallowed by the darkness.
Mara pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. She didn’t know what she’d seen, but she knew one thing for certain—Marrow Bay wasn’t the empty, forgotten place she’d expected. It was alive, and it had already started watching her.
