Arthur walked the familiar path to the beach, his boots crunching lightly over the sand-dusted boardwalk. He expected gulls, waves, maybe a few early swimmers. What he found instead made him stop cold.
The waterline was crowded—not with people, but with shapes. Dozens of them. Jet black, oval, and slick like oil-drenched stones. They bobbed in the shallow surf, motionless at first. Then one of them shuddered. A ripple spread. Another pulsed faintly, like something breathing beneath a membrane. The air felt suddenly too quiet.
Arthur didn’t scream. He couldn’t. Not when dozens of those things bobbed just beyond the surf—black, glistening, and pulsing. The beach had been full of laughter minutes ago. Now it was shrieks, scrambling feet, dropped toys, and terrified parents dragging their children away from the water.