Lily Hawker-Yates, aged 16 years

They Were Still There

They were still there when I came back from taking Fred for a walk in the dunes.   Two huddled figures on the beach, wearing a school uniform that I did not recognise.  They were watching the breakers pound the shore – they weren’t running around or talking or eating, they were just staring at the green-brown sea.  And it was weird, I thought, because all the schools around here had broken up a couple of weeks ago. Fred trotted over to say hello and to sniff around. The girl ignored him and turned around to glare at me with dark, accusing eyes, while the boy, who was much bigger, continued to observe the murky waves. Suddenly Fred got spooked and started to growl.  I trudged across the sand and grabbed him by the collar but even as I pulled him away he just kept on growling. It was then, in a flash of recognition, that I saw the boy’s face.  I should have obeyed my first instinct and run, run like there was no tomorrow, but I didn’t.

“What you staring at?” snapped the girl. …

“Staring….” I stuttered, the words barely stumbling off my tongue. Why did my voice tremble? This girl was my own age, I shouldn’t fear her. But there was something in her eyes, and those of the boy. Years later I’d only be able to describe it as wildness, something feral. But now I couldn’t think, I couldn’t run, only stare deep into her eyes. Captivated in her spell.

Her eyes were the most extraordinary colour, like the ink of the sea on a cold midwinter morning; grey, blue and green, swimming together. But I wasn’t swimming; I was sinking, drowning in her gaze.

There was music all around. It was the sweetest melody I’d ever heard, and the ugliest. It called to me, with the freedom of the ocean, and the brutality of a thousand storms. I was lost. If the world had exploded around me, I wouldn’t have noticed.

Then we were moving, forward, down the beach. Into the foam of the first waves, and deeper still, so they beat about my waist.

Fred barked and barked, but I didn’t heed him. Didn’t care. Why would I; I just wanted to follow them, to gaze forever into the eyes of the children.

Who weren’t children anymore.

Not children anymore? I snapped awake, opening my mouth to scream, to shout for help. But instead of air, I swallowed water. Freezing cold, salty seawater flooding down my throat, and blurring my eyes.

I tried to swim, pushing my way desperately to the surface. But even as I kicked, I felt hands closing around my ankles, dragging me down. The hands were icy and felt like slime, but they held on with a death like grip.

Seaweed. It could so easily have been seaweed, and the weight of my clothes stopping me from floating to the surface.

But I’d seen the children, and I knew.

xoxoxoxoxoxox

They said that Fred must have saved me. They thought I’d decided to go swimming in my clothes, or something stupid like that. Even my mum didn’t really believe me, though she pretended too. But all her “Yes dear”s and “of course, dear”s got on my nerves, and eventually I stopped even trying to explain.

But who’d blame her for not believing? There are some things that stretch the imagination too far. When your daughter claims Mermaids tried to drown her, I suppose it’s easier to accept she’s unbalanced, than allow yourself to believe such fantasies exist.

You should pay good notice to these words. Next time you stand upon the shores of the sea, if you hear a song, half-whispered on the breeze, or turn to look into a pair of depthless eyes, when half a moment ago there was no-one standing beside you, then run. Run as fast as the wind, and, don’t turn back, don’t stop. Because if you do, those perfect eyes may well be the last thing you see, before the water closes over your head, and you are lost to the world forever.

Lily Hawker-Yates