Myriam had little patience left for Calvin’s nonsense, and yet his litany of complaints seemed to grow with every step.

Tonight, as is tradition, a ghost story.

Despite the distance he’d travelled, despite the years he’d waited, Mukki found himself fighting the urge to sprint from the shore.

He’d been reduced to riffling through his memory for nonsense trivia and unlikely anxieties to keep himself awake.

The land had been soured for him, yet he couldn’t seem to leave.

It was tempting to trade off the spear for a bit - tempting to hand it to Calvin and let him hunch in wait, but the thought was tempered by her memory of the monster; of its face split and its slabs of fangs exposed.

Mukki stood on Pebble Beach and took the weight of the flat rock in his hand.

There wasn’t much of a world for quite a while. Panic had gotten him - panic had gnawed at his calf muscle, panic had laid him out.

It was a long bus ride, and the lumbering gray beast stopped regularly

The thin silver line of fear that ran along her spine, mimicking the chill of the cold wall, would help keep her awake.