Beach Update “Into the Deep End”

“The Thing On the Beach...

I think about it more often than I would like, but even as I think about it now I see it clearly in my mind. One time there was an old harbor, decaying and broken apart. Splintered bits sitting on the edge of the pier that had partially dipped into the water. Something was eating something under the wood, and as I walk it, as the breaks in planks got wider, I saw that what was being eaten was a body.

How long it had been eating them I was never able to figure out. Something so small eating something so big. And the way the sea can work upon a body.

It throws everything out of focus.

It seems no matter what I do I am always coming back to it. Be it a beach or an old harbor, an image in the bathtub, with slimy water gripping my cold flesh...

I think about it a lot, and it makes it hard to stay in the here and now.

We both know what is actually going on, but neither of us really wants to admit to it.

I knew it, even back then. When we first met. It was that day at the beach, when you saw people getting pulled down into the water. I thought it was so terribly strange that we had the same first name. It is a small world after all. But in the weeks that followed, and as those weeks turned into months and then over a year, I began to see things differently.

Even if we have not yet admitted to what is going on, the reality is that the world does pull us together in such strange ways.

I hear the sound of the ships bell tolling. The hollow clang of the metal that under no circumstances exists in any real way now. You go to a dock, and there is virtually no chance of you encountering that sound. But I hear it all the same, and it is because of that sound that I know that it won't be very long now.

We are all tied together. We are all being drawn towards a new form whether we recognize it as such or not. And I have tried to find a way out, a way to stop it. I even considered trying to kill The Thing On the Beach, but I doubt I could, even if I wanted to. I know it is calling out to me, and I know that what it wants is to consume me.

To incorporate me into its form, as our mind become one.

And really, who am I to refuse, with all that is going on. What exactly am I holding on for?

I have been on sick leave for months now. When I leave the apartment, I just do it so that I can feel like I am at least getting out of the house. I drive around and get coffee, and sometimes I run into some of my coworkers, and we will chat and catch up.

But they know I am different, and the conversation always dies.

I hear the bell again. What a jarring sound it is. I hear it, and my stomach sinks and coils into knots, but I have no way of blocking it out.

I wonder if it hurt Max. When it happened I mean. Did she go to The Red? Did she finally feel better? I'd like to think so. All this hurting can only go on for so long, and I think we have all known for a long time that our lives haven't had much joy in them. We fake it, because we have to, but keeping up appearances just for others isn't a good reason to do much of anything.

I hope I feel better...

I suppose I won't really have a choice. It is strange, to have such a thing be such an intimate part of my life, but it really isn't all that weird when put into context. What separates humans and monsters are really more a matter of perspective. True, a monster will often hunt and kill, but there are a thousand little tragedies that go on every single day, just so we can keep on going, believing everything is normal.

I know that this was supposed to go on for longer. You had finally gotten away, finally moved on to a better place. Don't worry about it now. The rent isn't due until March. I can at least give you that to work with. And I know that we were supposed to work on the final parts together, to put the pieces into place and get a better understanding of the bigger picture.

But I do hope you last longer than the rest of us.

In the end, I think we are meant to find release from the form. In these times.

A time that feels like the end of the world.

When it is phrased like that, then really who are we to pretend anymore? Life is so full of distractions. At least I will get to spend my final days with my best friend in the world.

I like the feel of cold water upon my skin, and the way the waves wash up my ankles.

I left behind my gun. I won't be needing it.

It says you need to get some sleep.

Maybe it is finally time for all of us to listen.”

While she was out at work, I was at the museum, looking through the archives for anything that would make me feel okay. I found my birth certifricate, soemthign I hadn't given to them when I was hired on. I found mine, and I found the rest of ours. I found an autopsy report, dated for the date of my birth, as well as the one for my mom.

All these things do not belong here.

All those things out of place.

Ariana, Max, as well as my mothers are all here as well.

I collected it all together, as well as any other things I could get my hands on. Once I saw all it, laid out in front of me...I called Eric. I told him I needed to talk to him for a minute.

The moment he entered, I could see he wasn't having a good day. The surgery scars are still healing, and he recently has been able to begin walking around with a cane. But it is still hard for him. I told him to sit down, which he did with some difficulty. Then he looked at my desk, and I could see realization come over him.

I asked him why these were here. He tried to lie, but I pointed out that the other people on staff weren't included in the files. None of their medical records or any additional documents save for those you would need for filing taxes. I asked him why it was that the WSHS had records for me and all my friends.

He asked me what it was we do here.

I told him we keep track of monsters.

And that is when it fell into plkace. The fact they hired me on so quickly. The way they commented...

I...the likelihood that all of us would share the same first name...for a place like this...no...I could tell there was more. I didn't yet know about Ariana. If I did, I don't think I would have stayed as calm as I did.

He looked at me calmly, and told me that they had hoped I would have figured it out earlier.

He said there was a ritual.

And that I needed to find out what that is. He said there were signs, notes in the past, reports of strange things hinting at something larger. Things hidden within texts, names never meant to be known and stories that weren't meant ot be shared.

I thought I found her in the tub. It was a singular moment, when I opened the door and saw the flesh hanging over the edges. But it was only a moment, and it soon was clear that she had left behind her skin, and that I was alone within this apartment.

Not her skin. Her shell.

We all have shells.

There are three sons. One of yellow, one of red, and one of black.

These sons have seven daughters.

There were seven, now there are three,

Now there are two.