The Shallows

By Callum Matthews

The ocean spoke to Samuel Wade, though not in words. It whispered in the spaces between the winds and in the quiet, mournful song of the tide as it lapped against the rocks. Greyshore was quiet now, just as Samuel had hoped. When he moved here after the death of his wife, he thought the isolation might help—might offer him some kind of peace. But it hadn’t. Instead, Greyshore gnawed at him like a cold, persistent wind, with its crumbling docks and rusting boats tethered to the past. Time moved slowly here, and the days bled into one another with the monotony of the tide.

He walked along the shore, the sand damp beneath his boots, eyes scanning the horizon. The sea stretched endlessly before him, a dark and brooding expanse under the late afternoon sky. He often walked at dusk. It was the only time the town seemed to breathe, if such a dead place could breathe at all.

The locals were wary of outsiders like him. They had been from the start, but Samuel didn’t mind. He preferred the distance. The old men at the docks avoided him, muttering under their breath when he passed. They were a strange breed, the people of Greyshore—eyes sunken, skin worn by wind and salt, as though the sea had carved its mark upon them. They didn’t talk much, but when they did, their words hinted at things best left unsaid.

The stories he’d overheard at the docks intrigued him, though. Disappearances. Fishermen lost at sea, their boats found adrift near the place the locals called The Shallows. The name came with whispered warnings, muttered like curses, as if the mere mention of it could summon something from the deep. Most of them refused to fish near there, insisting that the water wasn’t right, that something lived beneath it—something older than the town, older than memory itself.

Samuel didn’t believe in fairy tales, but the stories clung to him, much like the grief he carried. His wife, Clara, had been everything to him, and when she passed, it was as if the world dimmed, as if something vital had been taken from him. The quiet of Greyshore suited his hollowed-out soul, and yet the more time he spent in this town, the more something stirred within him—something restless.

Tonight, the ocean seemed even darker than usual, a bruised sky reflecting in its inky surface. Samuel’s eyes drifted toward the horizon, where the water met the sky, a line so thin it felt fragile, as though the world could crack open at any moment.

He had heard the warnings, of course. He had heard the names the old men whispered. The drowned. The forgotten. Those lost to the sea, never to return. But Samuel didn’t fear the sea. It was the only place that gave him any semblance of solace. If there was something out there in the deep, he wanted to see it. He needed to see it.

He turned back toward the small dock where his boat, an old but sturdy vessel named The Tempest, was moored. The boat had been his one companion in these months of solitude, carrying him out into the quiet waters where he could fish in peace, far from the judging eyes of the townspeople. But tonight, it wasn’t fish he sought.

The Shallows.

The name lingered in his mind like a dare, a challenge he couldn’t ignore. It was said that the fishermen who ventured there never returned the same—if they returned at all. They said the water was wrong there, that it moved in strange ways, as though something far beneath its surface was breathing, waiting.

Samuel wasn’t sure what he believed, but he was tired of living in the shadow of his own life. Tired of waiting for something to change.

He untied the boat and climbed aboard, feeling the weight of his decision settle over him like a shroud. The engine roared to life with a mechanical growl, and he steered the boat away from the shore, the town receding into the mist behind him.

As he pushed farther out to sea, the wind picked up, sharp and cold against his skin. The horizon loomed ahead, and somewhere out there, hidden beneath the dark waves, lay The Shallows.

The water grew quieter the farther he traveled, as though the sea itself was holding its breath. Samuel cut the engine, letting the boat drift. His heart pounded in his chest, a steady rhythm that matched the pulse of the ocean. For a long time, there was nothing—only the gentle sway of the boat and the endless expanse of black water.

And then, he felt it.

At first, it was subtle. A shift beneath the waves, a tremor so faint he almost missed it. He leaned over the side of the boat, peering into the water. The surface rippled slightly, as though something vast and unseen was moving far below.

A chill ran down his spine.

There were no fish here. No birds, either. The air was too still, too heavy. The silence pressed in around him, oppressive and absolute.

Then, a sound—a low, guttural noise, like the groan of a shipwreck buried deep beneath the ocean floor. It reverberated through the water, through the boat, and into Samuel’s bones. He clenched his jaw, his knuckles white as he gripped the side of the boat. The water beneath him rippled again, and this time, he saw something.

It was brief, a flicker of movement beneath the surface, but enough to make his heart lurch. Something large. Something impossibly large.

He pulled back from the edge, breathing hard. His pulse raced, a cold sweat forming on his brow. The old men had been right. There was something down there. Something that didn’t belong in this world.

Suddenly, the boat lurched, nearly tossing him overboard. Samuel grabbed the edge, his eyes wide as the water around him began to churn, the surface roiling as though stirred by an unseen force.

The groaning sound grew louder, more insistent, vibrating through the hull of the boat. He tried to start the engine, but the key refused to turn. Panic flared in his chest as the boat was pulled toward the center of the disturbance, drawn by an invisible current.

Samuel looked out across the water, and for the first time, he understood why the fishermen never returned from The Shallows.

There was no coming back from what waited beneath

The boat lurched again, harder this time, throwing Samuel to his knees. His hands scraped against the wooden planks, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The churning water roared louder now, a terrible, gurgling sound that seemed to rise from the depths. Something beneath him was waking up. He could feel it.

His mind raced as he struggled to pull himself upright. The engine still wouldn’t start, no matter how many times he twisted the key. The boat was caught in a current that shouldn’t have existed. The sea was calm when he’d arrived, but now the water seemed to pulse with a life of its own, swirling and twisting in unnatural patterns.

He cast a frantic glance around him. No land. No sign of the town, no trace of Greyshore’s distant lights. It was as if the world had vanished, swallowed by the night and the dark ocean beneath. His breath misted in the frigid air as his eyes searched the water for any sign of the movement he had seen earlier, but the waves offered no answers—only the unnerving sensation that something was watching.

The sound came again, low and rumbling, like the groan of something ancient and immense shifting in its sleep. The water, once black as ink, began to ripple with a sickly green light from deep below, casting eerie shadows across the deck of the boat. Samuel’s heart thudded in his chest as he leaned over the side, staring into the abyss.

Beneath the boat, far below the surface, something stirred. A shadow, vast and serpentine, coiled slowly in the depths, its form too great to comprehend. The pale light caught the edges of something, a gleam of bone or stone, rising slowly toward the surface.

Suddenly, the boat dropped, plummeting as if sucked down by an unseen force. Samuel cried out, clinging to the railing as the water roared around him. The air thickened, pressing in on him like an invisible hand squeezing his chest. His vision blurred, and for a brief, terrifying moment, he felt as though he was no longer alone.

A voice—or something like a voice—whispered to him, low and guttural, its words twisted and alien, scraping across the surface of his mind. His thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind, disjointed and fragmented. He couldn’t understand what it was saying, but the meaning seeped into him all the same, filling him with a deep, primal terror.

This thing, this presence, was not of his world.

It was older than the sea, older than the stars. It had been waiting, dormant and dreaming, beneath the ocean for eons, and now it was awake. And it had noticed him.

The boat rocked violently, as though the sea itself was trying to throw him overboard. Samuel clung to the edge, his hands slipping on the wet wood, his body shaking. He had to get out of here. He had to get away.

But there was no escape.

The green light grew brighter, pulsing from the depths like the heartbeat of some colossal beast. The water surged upward, bubbling and frothing around the boat as something enormous began to rise. Samuel could feel it now, feel the immense pressure building beneath him, feel the weight of the thing that lay beneath the waves, pushing against the fragile barrier between their worlds.

He couldn’t breathe. The air was thick, suffocating, filled with a metallic taste that clung to his tongue. He tried again to start the engine, his fingers trembling as they fumbled with the key, but the engine was dead, as lifeless as the world around him.

The boat tipped violently, and Samuel’s grip slipped. He stumbled backward, crashing onto the deck as the boat listed to one side. A massive shadow loomed beneath the surface, distorting the water in impossible ways. His mind struggled to process what he was seeing—this thing, this entity, was too vast, too alien to comprehend. Its body rippled beneath the waves, long and sinuous, like the twisting of an enormous, coiling serpent. But there were other forms, too—strange, angular shapes that defied logic, that seemed to shift and twist in dimensions beyond human understanding.

Samuel’s stomach churned as his thoughts unraveled. The presence he had felt earlier, the one that had whispered to him, was clearer now, its voice merging with the very air around him, pulling at the edges of his consciousness. It wanted him. It wanted to pull him down, into the depths, to make him a part of its endless, unknowable existence.

The water surged, and Samuel was thrown hard against the side of the boat, his vision flashing white with pain. His head swam as he gasped for air, his body trembling with fear. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold on. The sea was alive with energy now, the water churning and boiling as if the ocean itself was being torn apart.

And then, with a deafening roar, the surface of the water exploded upward.

Samuel’s mind went blank as a massive form broke through the surface, an enormous, grotesque thing that defied all sense of proportion or reason. Its body was an amalgamation of writhing tentacles and jagged, angular limbs, each one twisting and writhing in impossible directions. Its skin glistened in the sickly green light, wet and gleaming with a texture that made Samuel’s stomach lurch.

But its eyes—its eyes were the worst.

They were vast and unblinking, too many to count, all fixed on him, each one filled with a deep, unfathomable hunger. He could feel them staring into him, past his skin and bones, down into the very core of his being, peeling back the layers of his mind as if he were nothing more than a fragile shell.

A scream tore from his throat, but it was swallowed by the roar of the water as the thing began to rise higher, its massive form towering over the boat. Samuel’s mind buckled under the weight of its presence, the sheer impossibility of it. He couldn’t think, couldn’t move. All he could do was stare as the creature from the depths reached out toward him.

This was it. This was how it ended.

And then, just as the creature’s tentacles began to wrap around the boat, pulling it down into the abyss, everything went silent.

The churning water stopped. The wind died. The green light flickered and vanished. For one brief, horrifying moment, Samuel was suspended in the quiet, the boat swaying gently in the calm sea.

And then the world snapped back into focus.

The boat jerked forward, and the engine sputtered to life with a roar. Samuel blinked, disoriented, as the boat surged ahead, cutting through the water with unnatural speed. The thing in the water was gone, its presence evaporating as though it had never been there at all.

But Samuel knew the truth.

It was still there, somewhere beneath the waves, watching. Waiting.

He didn’t look back. He couldn’t. His hands trembled as he steered the boat toward the shore, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The town of Greyshore appeared in the distance, the outline of its docks barely visible through the mist.

But Samuel didn’t feel the relief he expected. Instead, as he neared the shore, he felt only dread.

Because he knew, deep down, that something had crossed over. The veil between their worlds had thinned, and whatever was waiting in the depths was no longer content to stay there.

He could still hear the whispers.

Samuel’s hands shook uncontrollably as he guided the boat into the dock, the engine finally sputtering and choking to a stop. The sound of the dying engine echoed in the still air, but it was nothing compared to the cacophony that still rang in his ears—the terrible, otherworldly roar of the creature, and the whispers that had slithered into his mind.

He could still feel them, faint now, like a distant song carried on the wind. But they were there, always there, clawing at the edges of his thoughts. His legs trembled as he climbed out of the boat, his boots landing with a dull thud on the damp wood of the dock. Greyshore was dark, the streetlamps casting weak halos of light through the thick fog that rolled in from the sea.

Samuel stood for a moment, staring out at the water. The surface was calm again, smooth as glass, as if nothing had happened. As if the nightmare he had just lived through was nothing more than a trick of the mind.

But he knew better.

The sea was a liar. It held its secrets deep, hiding them beneath the waves, waiting for the right moment to reveal them. And tonight, it had shown him something. Something he would never be able to unsee.

He turned away from the water, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. His head pounded, a dull ache spreading from the base of his skull, and the air felt thick, suffocating. He needed to get away, to put distance between himself and the sea. The thing that had risen from the depths was still out there, somewhere, lurking just beyond the edge of his perception. And it was waiting. Waiting for him to come back.

The thought made his stomach twist, and he stumbled forward, his vision swimming. The docks were empty, the town eerily quiet as he made his way up the narrow path toward the small cottage he had rented on the edge of Greyshore. The wind picked up, cold and biting, but Samuel barely felt it. His mind was elsewhere, replaying the events over and over in a loop he couldn’t escape.

The eyes. He couldn’t stop thinking about those eyes. So many, all watching him, studying him, as if he were nothing more than a fleeting speck in a universe far older and more dangerous than he had ever imagined.

His breath hitched in his throat, and he stopped in the middle of the path, his eyes darting to the darkened windows of the nearby houses. There was no movement, no sound, but Samuel could feel something watching him, hidden in the shadows. His skin prickled with unease, and he quickened his pace, his boots thudding against the damp ground as he neared the cottage.

The door creaked as he pushed it open, the old wood groaning under the weight of his exhaustion. Inside, the air was stale, the faint scent of salt lingering in the walls. Samuel shut the door behind him, sliding the bolt into place with trembling hands. The cottage was small, sparsely furnished, with only the essentials: a bed, a table, and a few chairs. It was enough for him, enough to keep him out of the town and away from prying eyes.

He collapsed into one of the chairs, his body heavy with fatigue. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and half-formed fears, but there was no escaping the truth. Whatever he had encountered out there, whatever had risen from the depths, wasn’t done with him.

The whispers were growing louder again, filling the quiet room with their strange, distorted cadence. He pressed his hands to his ears, trying to block them out, but it was no use. They weren’t coming from outside—they were inside him now, winding through his thoughts like the tentacles of the creature that had surfaced beneath his boat.

He leaned forward, his head in his hands, trying to steady his breathing. His heart was racing, his pulse pounding in his ears, and for a moment, he thought he might be sick. He could feel it, that thing, as though its presence still lingered on the edge of his awareness, just beyond the veil of reality. It had touched him, marked him, and now there was no turning back.

Samuel’s eyes drifted to the window, where the fog pressed against the glass, thick and impenetrable. Beyond it, he could hear the faint sound of the waves crashing against the rocks, a steady, rhythmic pulse that matched the whispers in his mind.

And then, as he sat in the silence, something moved outside.

A shadow passed across the window, swift and silent, barely noticeable in the dim light. Samuel’s breath caught in his throat, his body going rigid. He waited, his heart hammering in his chest, but the shadow didn’t return. The fog swirled outside, thick and dense, and for a moment, he thought he had imagined it.

But deep down, he knew better.

Slowly, he rose from the chair, his legs trembling beneath him. He approached the window cautiously, peering out into the fog. The air was still, and the street was empty, but the feeling of being watched hadn’t left him. If anything, it had grown stronger.

His hand hovered over the curtain, ready to pull it closed, when a sound broke the silence—a soft, wet scraping, like something heavy being dragged across the ground. His heart lurched, and he took a step back, his eyes darting to the door. The sound came again, closer this time, and Samuel felt the blood drain from his face.

Something was out there.

The scraping grew louder, more insistent, and the door rattled on its hinges, as though something was trying to push its way inside. Samuel backed away, his pulse racing, his mind spiraling into panic. He had locked the door, he was sure of it, but the bolt rattled now, shaking with the force of whatever was outside.

He didn’t know what to do. His breath came in shallow, rapid bursts, his body frozen with fear. The door groaned under the pressure, and for a moment, Samuel thought it would break. He could hear the wet, labored breathing now, just beyond the door—something massive and hungry, something that had followed him from the sea.

The whispers surged in his mind, louder now, more insistent. They weren’t just whispers anymore—they were commands.

Open the door.

His hand twitched, instinctively reaching toward the bolt, but he stopped himself, his heart pounding in his chest. No. He couldn’t. He couldn’t let it in. Whatever was out there, it wasn’t meant for this world.

The door shuddered again, the wood creaking under the strain, and the whispers grew louder, pressing against the walls of his mind. The scraping continued, a rhythmic, wet sound that made his skin crawl. He squeezed his eyes shut, his hands trembling as he pressed them to his ears, trying to block out the whispers.

But it was no use. They were inside him now. They had always been inside him.

And slowly, despite his terror, despite the pounding of his heart and the sweat dripping down his back, Samuel’s hand moved toward the door.

The bolt slid free with a soft click.

Samuel’s body moved as though it no longer belonged to him. His trembling hand gripped the handle of the door, and for a brief moment, clarity broke through the fog of whispers in his mind. He didn’t want to open the door. He knew what waited for him on the other side—what had followed him from the depths of The Shallows. But the whispers twisted through his thoughts, pulling him toward the door, their voices soft and insidious, as if soothing him into submission.

His hand turned the knob.

The door swung open with a low groan, and the thick fog immediately seeped into the room, curling around his legs like cold, wet fingers. The air was frigid, far colder than it had been just moments ago. For a moment, there was nothing—just the fog swirling in the doorway, and the distant, rhythmic sound of the ocean.

Then it appeared.

At first, it was a shadow—indistinct, shifting within the mist. But as it moved closer, its form became clear, and Samuel’s breath caught in his throat. The thing standing in the doorway was massive, its body hunched and grotesque, a twisted amalgamation of flesh and bone. Its skin was slick and wet, gleaming in the dim light, and the faint glow of the streetlamp outside caught the edges of its form, revealing glimpses of something too monstrous to fully comprehend.

The creature’s head, if it could be called that, was a writhing mass of tendrils, each one twisting and curling in the air, as though tasting the atmosphere. Its body was a nightmare of angles and curves that defied logic, its limbs moving in unnatural directions, as though it existed in multiple dimensions at once. The mere sight of it made Samuel’s mind rebel, his thoughts fracturing under the weight of its impossible form.

But the worst part—the part that froze Samuel in place, his heart pounding in his chest—were its eyes. Dozens of them, scattered across its body, each one unblinking, glowing faintly in the fog. They fixed on him with a hunger that made his skin crawl, as though they could see straight through him, into the very core of his being.

The whispers surged again, louder now, filling his mind with a cacophony of alien voices. He staggered backward, his body trembling as the creature stepped over the threshold, its massive form barely fitting through the doorway. The wet sound of its limbs scraping against the floorboards sent a shiver down his spine.

It was inside. He had let it in.

Samuel’s breath came in short, sharp gasps as the creature loomed over him, its tendrils writhing and reaching out toward him. He tried to move, to run, but his legs refused to obey. The whispers were in control now, guiding him, forcing him to stay where he was. The creature’s eyes locked onto his, and he felt a wave of cold, suffocating terror wash over him.

The thing in front of him wasn’t just from another place—it was from another reality entirely, something ancient and incomprehensible, a thing that should never have been allowed into this world. It had followed him, latched onto him when he crossed into its domain at The Shallows, and now it was here to claim him.

Samuel’s legs buckled, and he fell to his knees, his mind unraveling under the weight of the creature’s presence. The whispers in his head grew louder, more insistent, filling every corner of his thoughts until there was no room for anything else. They were not words, not exactly, but impressions, feelings, thoughts that were not his own. They whispered of endless oceans, of stars that had long since burned out, of things that moved in the spaces between worlds.

They whispered of surrender.

The creature bent low, its massive, grotesque form looming over him, tendrils brushing against his skin with a cold, slimy touch. Samuel’s body went rigid, his muscles locking in place as the creature’s presence filled the room, pressing down on him like a weight he couldn’t escape. Its eyes gleamed with an unnatural light, and Samuel could feel it probing his mind, peeling back the layers of his consciousness like the skin of a fruit.

He tried to scream, but no sound came out. His throat was dry, his chest heaving as he struggled to breathe. The whispers were deafening now, a constant hum in the back of his skull, pressing him to give in, to let go. He could feel the pull of the thing before him, an ancient, irresistible force that had reached out from the abyss to claim him.

And then, in the midst of the chaos, something shifted.

For a brief moment, the whispers quieted, the pressure in his mind easing just enough for a single, coherent thought to break through: This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.

Samuel blinked, his vision swimming as the room around him wavered, the edges of the creature’s form flickering like a bad signal on an old television set. The fog, the creature, the whispers—it all felt wrong, like a dream that had gone too far, a nightmare that had slipped into the waking world.

He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to wake up, to pull himself out of the horror that had consumed him. But the whispers returned, louder than ever, and the creature’s tendrils tightened around him, its eyes boring into his soul.

“No…” Samuel gasped, his voice barely more than a whisper. “No…this can’t…”

The creature’s presence pressed down on him, the weight of it unbearable. He could feel his thoughts slipping away, swallowed by the endless ocean of madness that the thing carried with it. He was drowning, sinking into a darkness that stretched on forever, and there was no way out.

But just as the last vestiges of his mind began to slip away, something inside him snapped.

With a final, desperate burst of will, Samuel pushed back against the thing that had invaded his mind. He shoved against the whispers, against the weight of the creature’s presence, clawing his way out of the abyss with every ounce of strength he had left.

And then, suddenly, it was gone.

The whispers stopped. The pressure lifted. The creature’s form flickered once, twice, and then vanished, dissolving into the fog as if it had never been there at all.

Samuel collapsed to the floor, gasping for breath, his body shaking with exhaustion. The room was silent, the fog still hanging thick in the air, but the creature was gone. The door hung open, swinging gently in the breeze.

For a long time, Samuel lay there, too weak to move, his mind reeling from what had just happened. Had it been real? Or had it all been in his head—a nightmare born from the trauma of what he had seen in The Shallows?

Slowly, he pulled himself to his feet, his legs unsteady beneath him. The room was cold, the fog still pressing against the windows, but the oppressive presence of the creature was gone.

He stumbled toward the door, his hand gripping the knob as he pulled it closed with a heavy thud. The night outside was quiet again, the distant sound of the ocean the only thing that broke the silence.

Samuel stood there for a moment, staring at the door, his mind still reeling. He had let something in. Something from another world, another reality. And though it was gone now, he knew, deep down, that it hadn’t left for good.

The veil between their worlds had thinned, and whatever lurked beyond it was still watching, waiting.

Samuel turned away from the door, his breath coming in slow, shallow gasps. He didn’t know how much longer he could stay in Greyshore. The town, the sea—it had changed him. He had seen too much, crossed a line he could never uncross. And the whispers, though faint, were still there, lingering at the edge of his mind.

He wasn’t safe. Not here. Not anywhere.

But as he stood in the dim light of the cottage, Samuel knew one thing for certain.

The sea had called to him once. And it would call again.