The rain hammered against the shore, the wind slicing through the deep blues of the ocean waves with icy precision.

The once tranquil beach, a haven of comfort, had been stripped of its serenity. The storm had left it restless, the furious waves clawing at the coastline like a predator. The beach now resembled a graveyard, littered with wreckage and debris carried in by the sea.

The fisherman found it first. Tangled in nets and seaweed, it lay lifeless.

He hauled the nets over the edge of his weathered boat, the sound of the body hitting the deck echoing through the thick, oppressive air. A chill ran down his spine as he began to untangle the knots, his hands trembling with each pull.

The air felt thin and toxic, every breath growing more ragged as he worked. His chest tightened, and a lump formed in his throat as he reached the final knot.

The skin of the thing—whatever it was—was cold and gray, a corpse-like pallor that stole the warmth from the dim lamp’s light. The fisherman paused, staring at the lifeless figure sprawled on the deck. The storm raged on, the waves crashing harder, and thunder roaring like some unseen predator circling its prey.

But the fisherman wasn’t afraid of the storm. His fear lay in the memory of what he had done.

The guilt coursed through him, mixing with the adrenaline that still lingered from the night before. He whispered hollow apologies to the lifeless body of his crewmate. But as his words hung in the frigid air, a sinister smile curled on his lips, betraying the remorse he pretended to feel.

The truth was, the storm had been the perfect cover. No one would question an old fisherman grieving the loss of a partner, not when the ocean itself seemed so hungry, so violent. They wouldn’t suspect him—the quiet, grieving man—of being the one who had killed so many before.

His mind buzzed with the thrill of it, the thought of returning to the sea again and again, crafting new alibis, and committing the same unspeakable act. The ocean, after all, had always kept his secrets.

Or so he thought.

A month later, the storm returned. And when the tide receded, it left something behind—a secret he couldn’t escape.

Washed up on the shore was his crewmate’s body. The seaweed still clung to it, but its eyes, clouded and empty, seemed to stare directly into his soul.

The fisherman realized then that the ocean had not been his accomplice. It had been his judge