The Narrows

By J. Brian Ballinger

The midshipman’s eyes marveled at the island jutting from the sea. His first Atlantic crossing was nearly complete, and he longed to touch land again. The setting sun hovered on the island’s horizon, the land’s features silhouetted by its shine. They sailed west, and were now arriving at the English settlement called Newfoundland. 

Pointing his nose toward the warm, westerly wind he imagined he could smell the closing earth, a welcome break from the unrelenting saltiness of the sea. Footsteps approached the young sailor from behind, but he could not peel his eyes from their destination until a powerful voice addressed him. 

“You will find the customs of the colonists odd,” his captain said. “The English are strange to begin with, but the trappers and fishermen who have made this rock their home are something else.”

“Strange in what way?” the midshipmen asked, a tinge of worry warbled his tone. “Are they aggressive?”

The captain rested a comforting hand on the boy’s shoulder and joined him in watching the sunset. “Oh, no, not to Spaniards like us. We’re not French.” The captain laughed, and that did much to ease the boy’s concern. “But they may do things you find make no sense. People all around the world have peculiar customs and habits. As long as they don’t affect you, do your best to keep clear and let them do it. Do you understand?”

“I think so.”

“Good lad. Are you off shift?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Then as you were. Congratulations on completing your first Atlantic voyage. If you could do me one favour, however. When we enter the passage to the harbour, keep watch for me. Don’t be afraid to yell if we get too close to the shore. The rocks of the Narrows would rip our hull to shreds should we collide.”

Pride swelled in the boy’s chest and a wide grin revealed his yellow teeth. He had crossed the ocean. What a story to tell the boys back home. “Thank you, Captain, I’ll keep watch.”

The captain tilted his hat and retreated across the vessel toward the helmsman.

By now the island had grown immensely and the boy nearly bounced with excitement. Not even his constant fatigue or aching joints could curb his enthusiasm; those ailments were likely to ease when they made landfall anyway.

Sounds of distant tides crashing against rocks began to reach the ship and the calls of sea birds accompanied them. As the noises grew, so did the fluttering of the boy’s chest.

Less than an hour later, the vessel approached the Narrows: two rocky hills straddling either side of a thin navigable stretch of ocean that led to a natural harbour. The entryway to St. John’s.

Little sunlight remained and sailing through the passage was a dangerous manoeuvre. Fortunately, their vessel had been spotted and several lanterns were lit by the locals to help guide them in.

The captain yelled and the ship’s sails angled as directed. When they entered the perilous straight their speed was not much greater than a crawl. The boy, now gripping the edge of the vessel and his head sticking well past it, watched fervently for the approaching rocks. His heart beat with frenzy and delight, they were so very close and he would die before he let anything happen now.

The lanterns, lit at the narrowest part of the straight, were used to judge the vessel's progress. Thanks to good fortune, the night was calm and the helmsman skilled; they never drifted more than an arm's length from a perfect centre line.

When it became clear their arrival would encounter no trouble, the boy eased himself back onto the ship and watched the shore roll by. The hills here were rocky and ragged, and they imposed their existence on those who sailed by. This place was not at all like the lush and forested hills of his home in Spain.

While he watched, an ethereal light caught his eye. The boy blinked with intent, assuming it was fatigue or an illusion that cast this glow, but no matter how hard or tightly he squinted, the light remained.

He checked over both shoulders to see if anyone else had spotted the eerie orange glow, but all the other fellows on deck were consumed by their duties.

The boy knew better than to distract them from their labours, and so resolved to continue watching on his own. Whatever the source, this was unlike any light the boy had known. It did not flicker and dance like a fire, nor did it have the persistent glow of the sun or moon. It swirled and churned like the sea itself, yet seemed to be set in the rock face, perhaps emanating from a cave.

He blinked and squinted one more time to be sure. The light remained.

Accepting that he could not identify the light or its source, the midshipman instead attempted to discern the location from where the glow began. He studied the rocks and tried to judge their distance to the lanterns. His best estimation put the swirling glow approximately four ship lengths from the entrance to the harbour.

The boy’s mind tingled with imagination, thoughts of secrets and ghosts and treasure. Whatever that light was, it was something new, and new things were the best things.

But the chance to investigate would not come soon. To abandon the ship while it crawled into port or to shirk his duty in assisting with cargo would lead to a very long, and very hungry trip back to Spain locked in the small cage below deck. That would be a fate worse than death as the boy was plenty hungry already; a picky eater at the best of times his thin frame had grown skeletal between the poor seaman’s diet and the ever-encroaching misery of scurvy.

So the boy remembered that spot, tucked it away in the back of his curious young mind, and attended to his ship. He stayed watching the shore until their lady dropped anchor in the port, at which point he released a satisfied sigh and started toward his hammock. Much of the crew was headed below just the same.

“Rest up boys,” their captain called. “You’ve all earned it, but don’t rest too long. We’ll have furs, silver and supplies to move in the morning.”

The exhausted crew nodded, all eager to enjoy the coming rest.

The captain added a final flourish in a wily tone. “And two extra servings of brandy with lunch and dinner.”

A raucous cheer erupted from the men and the captain laughed, but their celebration was cut short by the annoyed shouts from sailors on other ships and from the windows in the seaside homes.

The boy slept poorly that night, he had grown accustomed to the rolling of the ocean as he drifted off; the calm waters of the harbour felt unnatural to him now.

And what of that mysterious light? A boyhood library of fairy tales coursed through his head as he tried to recall if any myth he had ever heard could explain such a glow, but he had nothing.

***

The joys of the following morning more than made up for the boy’s miserable night. Their beloved cook had risen before dawn and gone ashore to collect a bounty of foods the sailors had not seen in weeks. Even the stubborn mate, who insisted biscuits and salt pork were the finest delicacies on earth, loaded his plate with two helpings of fruit and a pile of diced and roasted carrots.

By the time they finished their meal, the boy thought his distended stomach would surely pop a button. When the captain shouted it was time to begin work, the collective groan from the sailors implied they all felt the same.

Their labour made the day pass quickly; where once there was a mountain of silver there were now crates stacked with furs; when they made it back to Spain the skins would provide a hefty return. The ship was also restocked with provisions for the long voyage home. Sweat dripped off the boy's face as he worked but he did not feel it, nor did he feel the lamentations of his joints and muscles. His whole being was consumed by the thought of that swirling light from the previous night.

When the day came to a close the boy found himself far too exhausted to steal away from the ship and investigate. Instead, he followed the other sailors back on board and they greedily ate their evening meal.

Their cook tried his best, and the fresh ingredients helped, but it was clear the morning’s meal would be a one-time indulgence. The captain would not lavishly spend their employer's coin that they may eat so luxuriously every day while they were in port.

Rather than additional food to renew the men’s spirits, the captain assured the crew they would have time to relax on shore and rest. He planned to stay in the harbour for seven full days, but expected the work to take no more than three. They would get four lazy days on land to do as they wished before back to the water it would be. The boy thought those four days would be plenty of time.

Later, he found himself on the ship’s deck watching the remaining townsfolk stroll about the emptying streets. St. John’s was not a large settlement, but it was busy. 

Thirty minutes after sunset  a light fog settled over the town. This obstruction all but ruined the boy’s people watching fun, but just before he retreated below deck he noticed something peculiar: a mob of shapes moving through the mist.

No details of the figures could be discerned as the haze obscured them well, as did the growing darkness and the people’s heavy clothes. He watched them glide through the town toward a structure he had taken no notice of before, but now tilted his head at. In the middle of the town there was a well.

The presence of the well struck the boy as odd. It was near impossible that a hole dug so close to the sea could produce clean water, and he could fathom no other reason for its existence. Again, not believing his eyes, he looked around the deck for another to confirm to him this was odd, but then he remembered the captain’s warning about foreign cultures and strange customs.

Maybe it’s common in England to build wells so close to the shore? The boy decided not to ask another for information as he feared the answer may be obvious and he would be ridiculed for his lack of knowledge.

Because of his desire not to look the fool, he felt one; especially when he watched the mob throw armfuls of goods into the well rather than take water out. The boy scratched his head and looked about. Other sailors mulled about the deck and a few others were watching the shore. If anyone else noticed, they sure didn’t seem interested. Perhaps this was a mundane ritual for the English after all.

***

The following day, while ferrying goods on and off the ship, the boy made a slight detour to inspect the seaside well. His stomach growled in anger when he realized that it had been food the locals tossed into the pit. Scraps of bread and fruit lay scattered around the stoney portal  and the boy began to drool for want of anything but a return to biscuits and salt pork.

He breathed deep and tried to accept the words of his captain. Strange lands have strange customs, whether they made sense to the boy or not.

***

After another long day of work, and another plain dinner, the boy found himself gazing out into town once again. At roughly thirty minutes past sunset, the mob reappeared and began to cut through St. John’s toward the well. This time, the boy’s anger would not allow him to remain still and he began to pace back and forth across the deck.

Have they no idea what we are forced to eat to ferry their goods? How can they be so eccentric, to throw a fair harvest into the rotten hole? What a terrible waste. The boy stopped pacing as an idea tickled the back of his mind. I won’t have it.

The boy glanced toward the town to make sure there was no mistake. There was no fog that night, and there was no misunderstanding. The mob was heaving armfuls of food down the solitary well.

Confirmation of their heinous deed set the boy to work. He delved below the deck and, after a tedious search through piles of trash, emerged with a small fishing net. When he looked over the side of the ship a smile tilted his mouth. The mob had dispersed.

He descended the gangplank and began to walk through the town, net under arm. The lateness of the hour and coolness of the night had left the streets all but empty, perfect for the boy’s plans.

Looking for a truly secluded pocket of the town, he found it in a small alley between a pair of shops which had closed for the night. Checking over his shoulder to ensure he was not being observed, he stole into the alley. The ground here was coated with gravel and he began to rub the net into the loose and dusty pile of stones. It did not take long for the net to turn a matte grey.

The boy then snuck through the harbour town doing his best to remain unseen, but appear inconspicuous if he was. The attempt failed, and the sole old woman strolling about the streets had a long stare at the boy on account of his peculiar gait.

Undeterred, he pressed on until he arrived at his intended destination: the well. Holding the net against the stone, a wave of pride washed over the boy as he revelled in his cleverness. The fibres now reflected the same grey as the stones of the well.

After a thorough check of his surroundings to ensure he was indeed alone, the boy began to lower the net deep within. When the bulk of the rope disappeared from view, he tied the ends of the strands around the base of the stones to hold it in place.

The boy had never been all that good at fishing, but he was sure this trap would catch quite the feast.

On his way back to the ship, out of the corner of his eye, he caught the swirling of the ethereal light that had so mystified him on his arrival to St. John’s, and his curiosity was fanned anew.

Tomorrow, the boy thought, exhausted from his day of labour and his late-night mission. Tomorrow I will rest, feast, and then I will explore.

The boy’s sense of exploration and curiosity almost overpowered his utter exhaustion, but not quite. He retreated to his floating home and crept into his hammock, the snores of a shipful of weary men more than enough to muffle his tracks and ward off any curious mates.

Absences during the night weren't exactly forbidden, but the captain discouraged it to stop the sailors from getting up to mischief. Plus, whatever his catch may be, the boy’s greedy stomach was certain it wouldn’t need help in making the treasure disappear.

***

The following day passed excruciatingly slow. There was little work left to do either on the ship or the dock, and so the boy spent most of the day anxiously waiting for the night. All the other seamen gladly lounged and rested on their day off, but the boy felt as though he were a pot boiling over. To compound his frustration, he was forced to raise a similar facade of leisure, anything to prevent questions of his unease and anticipation.

The boy was not greedy by nature, but his slowly wasting frame persuaded him to save whatever food he could for himself. After all, the other sailors did not share his distaste for biscuits and pork. It was only fair he should keep all he could find as his usual non-consumption left a great deal of his rations left for the rest.

***

As with all eternities, this one too did pass. The sun began to set and the crew gobbled their meals, while the boy ate even less than usual in hopes of an evening indulgence. When the time came, he was not disappointed; the mob returned and threw their bounty into his waiting net, its stone-coloured fibres unnoticed by the congregation in the dimming light. Triumph coursed through his veins like lightning and his underused stomach growled as if to cheer.

Under cover of darkness the boy descended into town and retrieved the hefty net, its contents even more bountiful than he would have hoped. Cured meats, loaves of bread and handfuls of fruit all pressed against the fibres of his trap.

As clever as the boy’s plan was, it dawned on him he had not considered what to do after he retrieved the food. If he brought the sack to the ship he would be forced to share, and if he consumed the meal in town he would surely be discovered and punished for the theft.

And so, with a mouth leaking drool, the boy flung the net over his shoulders and made his way to the outskirts of town, toward the Narrows.

When he was certain he was free from the spying eyes of the locals, or those patrolling the decks of the ships, the boy began to gorge. It elated him to discover the food was exceptionally fresh. The breads had been baked that day, and the fruits perfectly ripe. He had harboured a worry that the well was used as a dump for spoiled goods, but he was very glad to be proven wrong.

Had anyone happened to stroll by, the boy would have been easily discovered by the smacking of his lips and frenzy with which he tore through the meal, but no one came and he was left to consume in peace. When he was far too full to even consider another bite, the boy looked at what was left and gasped to discover he had hardly made a dent. At best he'd eaten a twentieth of the total weight, and this left the boy with a new problem: what to do with what was left.

Of course, the answer was to find somewhere to stash the goods and return for it day after day until they made for Spain; but where? The boy remembered the mysterious light and the possible cave within which it dwelled. A two in one solution, he thought. A place to stash the goods and sate his curiosity. He picked up the net and made his way further toward the Narrows.

On that night the moon was bright, and he made his way without trouble. It took no more than five minutes of searching until he stumbled across the cave opening he was looking for. The gaping maw of the tunnel loomed above him eight feet high and the interior black as night.

Cautiously poking his head into the gloom, the boy whispered a gentle, “Hello?” His fragile words echoed off the cavern’s walls travelling far deeper than initially assumed. He squinted but could see no sign of the lights he had witnessed before. Just as he was about to wander in, a ghastly breeze rushed from the cave with the most pungent fishy odor the young sailor had ever experienced; his eyes watered at the power of it.

The wind gave the boy doubt and he teetered left and right as the indecision rocked him. Did they have bears here? He did not know, but, in the end, the rope of his treasure began to dig into his shoulder and he could carry the burden no more. This cave would have to be the place he stashed his loot.

A few steps in and the boy winced; his foot sloshed in a puddle and the briny water quickly became acquainted with the interior of his shoe. A few more soggy steps and he reached the end of the pool just in time to kick a wooden object that clattered farther into the cave.

By now the boy could barely see his outstretched hand and he decided to let down his cargo here. Past the puddle and deep enough inside the cave it would be safe, lest some unwelcome animal were to stumble across the precious supply.

Satisfied with his hiding place he turned toward the exit. The longer he stayed away, the more likely it was that his absence would be noticed. His wet boot squelched as he made his way to the exit and a morsel of pride swelled in his chest. The midshipman was not known for being particularly clever, but today he felt the smartest man on the island. 

How quickly his triumph turned to dread when a hideous gurgle echoed from deeper within the cave. The sound froze the boy stiff. If he could have stopped the thumping of his heart he would have, just to listen closer for the source of the foreign growl.

When minutes passed and the sound did not return, it left the boy with a decision to make. Should he leave the goods and hope for the best, carry them somewhere else, or delve into the cave to try and discover the source of the strange noise? After all, the noise may have been another gust of wind, distorted by its twists through the cave. Imagine the sound had been caused by the malformed echoes of a squirrel’s bark. He would feel a fool if he abandoned the supplies for that.

As his vision adjusted to the darkness, a new wonder caught his eye: an orange glow from deeper within the cave. A light quite clearly coming from a fire. The boy looked back toward the entrance and that’s when he saw what had captured his imagination since their arrival. His magical glow, the swirling mystery, was no more than a reflection of that same orange flame in the pool by the entrance, jostled by the wind.

Now assured this cave contained no ursine or other carnivorous threat, he resolved to investigate deeper. He would not contest a bear, but he would fight a vagrant to ensure the safety of his future feast. Still, he was no boxer and surprise would be the only element upon which he could count for victory. 

Fear dragged at his shoes as though soaked with lead rather than water, but thoughts of the famine he would endure on the way back to Spain drove him on. He knew full well his bounty was the best chance he had at returning home with more flesh than bones.

Another disgusting assault by the fetid, fishy smell paused the boy as he pressed his sleeve to his nose. It had been over a week since his shirt had a wash, and still the marine pungency found its way past his own.

When the wind again settled and he could freely breathe, the boy skulked on. Two sharp turns and the boy found the source of the light: a standing torch. In fact, looking ahead, there were a series of torches. They stretched deeper into the gloom, pushing it back and marking the way for him to proceed. Perhaps this was not the home of a solitary vagrant. He shuddered as he considered how many there could be.

After every step the walls of the cave danced with more of the fire’s light, and the boy was glad to have it. The tunnel was in fact a series of tunnels, all interconnected at random angles and distances and most of them illuminated by fire. He realized too late that he would need a trail of stones to find his way back.

The boy’s Adam’s apple turned to stone and, try as he might, he could not swallow the dread. All he could do was push on and hope there was another escape at the far end of the tunnel. How else could there be a breeze? he reasoned. 

As the fishy smell got stronger, he knew he was getting closer. Closer to whatever lay at the end of the labyrinth.

At what point was the danger to his person no longer worth the food? the boy wondered. No matter the answer, it was no longer relevant; he wandered as blindly as if there were no torches at all.

Another ugly sound came bouncing through the stone halls and the boy instinctually absconded into one of the torchless passages. This time the gurgling was close, and he could tell it was moving. The boy’s heart dropped like a stone when he realized the noise was moving toward him.

Moments later footfalls strode along with the echoing growls. The steps sounded unnervingly similar to his own soggy march; a repeating slapping noise upon the stoney floor. A brightness also travelled with the sounds. Whatever walked toward him also carried a torch.

The footsteps came and the footsteps left, all the while the boy refused to dare a peek. Whoever made those strides sounded large and would almost certainly be more than a match for the skinny midshipman.

Even after the noises were again lost to the tunnels, the boy continued to hold his breath. He held until the pressure built from within him as though he had swallowed a keg of gunpowder and all at once the air burst forth.

Shaking and drenched in a cold sweat, he did not know what to do. Every heartbeat fired like a cannon and his mind swirled more aggressively than the tides during a coastal storm. His captain warned him against meddling in other’s affairs and here he was having ignored the advice. But now that he was here, what else was there to do? He must press on, for he could hardly turn back. Someone now wandered behind him.

The boy cautiously poked his head into what he figured to be the main tunnel. It was wider than most and better illuminated too. He saw no vagrants and heard no steps so, with a palpable fear of being discovered, he resumed his transgression.

The nights at sea spent cramped below decks more than accustomed the boy to dark and confined spaces. He'd learned to prefer them. Truth be told, the passages here were luxuriously spacious compared to the ship. The tunnels stood tall and wide, with more than enough room above his head and on either side of his shoulders. Despite it all, he could not help but feel the weight of the rock above pressing down upon him.

It was this claustrophobic setting that left him completely unprepared for what he discovered next. After a few narrow twists, the boy found himself within an expansive subterranean grotto, an enormous cave buried beneath the land above. In the centre of the space was an underground lake which he presumed had tunnels to the sea.

He squinted as he wandered into the opening. Ornately carved stone braziers lit the cave, and each burned brighter than the dimmer torches in the tunnels. He didn’t at first understand the significance of the braziers, but as his eyes adjusted to the light, they began to bulge. This cave was no ordinary camp of brigands or vagrants, instead it appeared to be the home of a long dead race, now only being used by the island’s undesirables. Ancient buildings stood where they had once been abandoned, their construction mysterious and unusual to the boy’s European eyes.

He quickly spun to ensure his isolation and, when he could see no threats around him, his mind turned to greed. At once his previous treasure was completely forgotten in hopes of finding something new. Something much more valuable.

With the urgency of a home burglar who knew the residents could return at any time, the boy began to scour through the lost town. Dozens of buildings haphazardly built drew his immediate attention. Their construction was utterly foreign to the young man as, he reasoned, the roofs needed to neither keep off the rain nor hold back coastal storms. Instead, they consisted of ornate structures assembled with dried and colourful corals.

One by one he peeked his head into the abodes, their contents more familiar than their shape. Each contained what looked to be a bed, although the mattresses lay on the floor and appeared to be made of ocean sponges, as well as a few simple tools he reasoned were for fishing or grooming. What he didn’t find, was gold.

All throughout his childhood the boy heard tales of the new world, lost cities constructed with mountains of gold and rivers of silver, yet here he was having discovered such a city, and all he found were fish hooks and soggy beds.

The injustice lit a fire within the boy, his footsteps growing louder and his search more frantic. He would not leave this place without some sort of relic he could sell to an aristocratic collector back home. 

Having hunted through all the immediate structures the boy stopped to collect himself. His foot bounced while he pondered what to do. Everything he found was unremarkable in nature, the buildings would be nothing more than loose coral if deconstructed, and the braziers, although interesting, were far too large and heavy to be carried away.

Still, the large burners caught his interest and he moved to marvel at their intricacies. Carved scenes of aquatic life covered the stone and vibrant pigments brought the scapes to life. The artistry was unique, at least to the boy’s eye, although not a soul would confuse him for an expert on ancient art.

Moving from brazier to brazier he studied the paintings of unusual sea creatures and monsters. Curiosity pulled at him as though he were tied to a rope and he darted deeper and deeper into the cave while following the burning lights. They led him to a bend in the tunnels he had not noticed and, when he rounded it, he stopped. It was clear now why the buildings he searched contained nothing; they constituted the ancient city’s slums.

Before him stood an underground empire that would rival even Madrid in scale were it not battered by time and neglect. All the buildings of this sprawling city mirrored the architecture of the previous hovels, yet on a scale almost unimaginably grander.

The larger structures, sometimes reaching as many as eight stories and extending to the roof of the cave, appeared to be made from some sort of aquatic concrete, the exposed walls covered in stucco and inlaid with shells. The walls were vibrant with colour and, at repeating intervals, dried sea life like starfish had also been set. Many of the abandoned creatures were now nothing but dust, their previous forms only identifiable by the indent they had left in the walls.

It took considerable effort for the boy to close his gaping mouth and force a blink; the discovery so battered his brain he would have sworn his mind had lost a sail.

Numb from the revelation he began to walk, although it felt more like floating, toward a grand central square of the city. The plaza must have been a marketplace or other such gathering place in centuries past. It was in this large and empty bazaar that the boy caught his first glimmer of natural light since being lost in the caves. 

A hole had been cut through the surface of the cave, perhaps 100 feet above, and through the portal shone a moonbeam. It cut through the gloom like a schooner through the sea and rested upon a statue in the centre of the square.

The sculpture, carved from a coastal sandstone, depicted a great being that sat upon an extravagant throne. Its visage horrified the boy.

Rows of small, saw-like teeth protruded from an extended jaw, and above the twisted mouth came the creature’s nose which jutted outward like a spearhead. Its sunken eyes glistened like polished obsidian and landed square on the boy no matter where he moved. Chills rippled across his skin leaving gooseflesh in their wake. 

Although the creature was no god he had seen before, the boy had heard tell of Egyptian deities that fused man and beast. If not directly related, this must be something similar, a combination of shark and man. The monster also gripped a stylized fishing spear, its function made clear by the ornate yet still practical barbs. 

Unable to gaze upon the creature any longer, the boy diverted his attention back to his avaricious search. He only had time to search a single abode, unfruitfully, before his attention was recaptured by the tunnel to the sky. A rope had been cast down the hole and landed on the cave floor with a gentle thud.

Previously so distracted by awe and greed that his focus solely fell on the alienness of the grotto, but now, in his moment of panic, he saw the ugliness too. Not far from the fallen rope sat a pile of scattered litter and food scraps. Food scraps that looked familiar. They were of the same sort of stock that he had stolen.

A wave of panic slapped the boy as he realized what he'd done. Whatever underclass lived here relied on the food that was given to them through the hole in the cave. A hole he now realized to be the well.

The rope began to bounce with a disjointed rhythm that only a deckhand would understand. Someone was readying the rope for climbing. In that moment his desire for riches vanished and the boy tore through the city back toward the sprawling tunnels.

All caution and attempts at subtlety were thrown to the wind. He needed to escape, and he needed to escape now. His legs moved underneath him with an urgency they never had before, and never would again. Moments later he rounded the bend back to the city’s outer slums. What he saw would haunt him until his death.

There, crawling from the underground lake, was a creature matching the form of the grotesque statue. It rose to its full height as he passed, at least one and a half times the boy’s own five feet, and his heart skipped two beats. The creature reached to the ground and pulled up one of the fishing spears that had been scattered about. It thrust it above its head and roared.

A horrendous guttural gurgling bounced around the walls of the grotto and the boy pressed his hands into his ears as he ran. Moments later a reply came from the direction of the city. Shortly after that, a third roar erupted from the tunnels ahead.

The boy looked back. The creature from the lake walked toward him, its elongated feet slapping the stone floor with each step. A second creature rounded the bend from the city. There was still no sign of the creature from the tunnels.

He raced into the connected halls, avoiding the light whenever possible and remaining deathly still when the soggy footsteps sounded close. 

***

For what must have been hours he wandered those labyrinthian halls, his heart pounding and forehead dripping, all the while with arms outstretched to help him find his way through the hollow darkness.

Hopelessly alone, hungry and cold, the boy pressed his back against the cavern walls and sunk to the floor. He would die down here; he was sure of it. He had not heard the creatures for at least thirty minutes and seen no light for even longer. Whether the torches burnt out or he was deeper in the earth than he wandered before he could not know.

When all hope had fled, the boy’s first whiskers tickled his face as they swayed in a gentle breeze.

“The breeze!” the boy shouted before slapping his hands over his mouth. Not waiting to see if his yelp attracted the beasts, he followed the gust which had pressed against him when he first arrived. With the help of the wind he found the light of the torches, and then the cave entrance shortly thereafter. Eyes wide as the moon he sprinted toward the light.

Elation turned to confusion as he tripped over the scrumptious treasure he had hidden earlier that night, and cracked his head on the stony floor. Adrenaline still coursing in his veins and a lingering sense of urgency, even if he could not remember why, urged him to crawl on.

His muddled mind began to clarify while he wormed and by the time he reached the mouth of the cave he returned to coherence. Sticking his head from the rocky tomb he inhaled deep. The brine from the oceans mist hung in the air and the salt did much to clear the remainder of his confusion.

He waited there, half inside the cave and half out, relishing his freedom. The starlight sky had never looked so beautiful and the open air never tasted so fresh. He listened to the crash of the waves as they found the island but, while he was listening, he heard something else. Something coming from the direction of the town. He heard screams.

The boy leapt to his feet, but had to pause while a wave of dizziness crashed over him. When his vision settled, he resumed toward the harbour, doubling his pace when the shouts doubled in volume.

A flash sparked within the town and the crack of a gunshot thundered after. His stomach dropped as though he had swallowed an anchor. Guilt welled within the boy over his theft of the fish folk’s food. He knew whatever chaos he found would be on his hands.

The scene was worse than he could have imagined. Entrails of townsfolk lay strewn across the coastal streets, the gore increasing in proximity to the well. The beasts had not received their tribute and for that there had been a price to pay. Noxious gases from a dozen ruptured bowels swirled around the square and the boy’s stomach purged.

Sailors descended from their ships, weapons in hand. Women wailed as they found the remnants of their spouses and children. Everyone searched in a frenzy, twisting their heads and looking for something to blame, to exact revenge upon, but the threat was gone.

Many of the English sailors began shouting to the locals, but what they said was lost on the boy’s Spanish ears. In the midst of the chaos, amongst the crowd, the boy watched with weary eyes as several of the locals surrounded the well and began to heave armfuls of food deep into the pit.

“Where have you been?” came a shout in a familiar tongue. The captain marched toward the midshipman with a frenzied step. “You’ve been missing for hours, and now this?” He swept his hand toward the carnage. The captain’s voice held anger, but his eyes revealed relief. “I feared I’d lost a good man.” 

“I… I was down by the Narrows watching the stars,” the boy lied. “I awoke to the shot of a gun and hurried back.” He debated whether he should ask, not knowing he’d like the answer, but did anyway. “What happened here?”

The captain sighed and placed his hands on his hips. “I’ve spoken to some other crews and they’ve spoken with the locals. The current theory is wolves, but that hardly makes sense as no one saw any.” The captain bowed his head. “Our cook was making his way back from the tavern when the attack came. He…” the captain trailed off.

The boy glanced back at the carnage and saw the cook. More accurately, he saw half of the cook. The rest was missing.

***

Cleanup took the better part of the following day as the sailors and locals alike pitched in to wash the red stained streets.

Blame for the massacre was never officially laid, but many of the sailors had theories. Some blamed animals, others pirates, and some others even considered a wayward polar bear that had wandered too far south. A few knew the truth, however, and one of them was the boy. The voyage back to Spain was miserable, made extra so by the lack of a decent cook and the impossibility of a good sleep.

Every time the boy closed his eyes to rest, he saw the well; that pit which led to those gurgling creatures beneath. And every night, right before sleep took him, he heard that guttural roar, a howl that echoed relentlessly in his head until morning.

That was the last voyage the boy ever took. He retired when they made landfall back in Spain and took work as a hand on a hillside vineyard. Anything to keep him away from his memories of the sea, of the coast, and those that lived beneath the Narrows.

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed. If you would like to license this free work for an anthology, audiobook, or any other creative endeavor please reach out at the email address below. As long as credit is given, I will likely say yes.