The final embers of the setting sun took cover behind dense clouds, dispelling a grey veil across the horizon, erasing any remnants of colour and warmth. Waves lapped voraciously at a modest, wooden vessel as though the navy depths were famished. And although the hours progressed, her hunger never ceased. Each swell ascended, leaping into the airs embrace, then proceeded to crash back into abyss, in an exquisite choreographed cycle.

As beautiful as this spectacle of nature was, a peculiar, melancholic tinge weighed on the atmosphere, like an anchor itself.

On the deck of the boat stood a withered man, whose youth had escaped him prematurely. Stray stands of grey were speckled across his angular face. Like sparse, silver shards, they emphasised his cutting temperament. His eyes, though warm like honey, possessed a dissonance that evoked pity from all who locked their gaze upon his own. He adorned muted rags, tattered and moth-eaten, baring spots of sallow skin that glowed ivory in the present twilight hour.

He drew in the salty air and observed the wispy exhale that escaped his sullen mouth, dancing before him like a pearl-coloured fairy. As he watched it fade, he was overcome by a sudden craving for a smoke, which gradually became insatiable. After fumbling through his hole-ridden pockets, he placed a cigarette between his lips and began flicking the rusted spark wheel on a lighter. His trembling, skeletal fingers only delaying his desired gratification. Finally, a reddish flame burst to life from the hood of the contraption, rupturing the sudden stillness that had settled upon the sea. It was in that moment, the man had become disturbingly aware of the eerie gloom that possessed the ether. He became involuntarily unsettled, as though a sixth sense had been revived and was forewarning of imminent peril.

He had heard folklore and tales of the creature that walked the seabed, in fact his mother had recited such stories to him as a young boy. However, with age and a crafted arrogance, he dismissed such tellings and coined them “chronicles of the simple”.

The boat began to creak incrementally, as though imitating a metronome. The frail gentleman, edged towards one side, furtively yearning - for the first time in a long time - for company. Although he had always taken respite in solitude, in this very instance, it provided no solace.

His knuckles turned ashen as he gripped the gunwale, before averting his gaze downwards at the inky water. Albeit general visibility had become obscure as the night had settled, it was conspicuously evident that a shadow lurked below.

He jolted upright, pressed his eyes shut, and shook his head.

“It must have been a trick of the light” he uttered. “A trick of the light is all, nothing more.” Before he could catch his breath, a rapid gust threw the man across the deck without warning. A towering silhouette surged from the waves engulfing him, like a mere morsel.

Just as fleeting as the action was, it ended all the same. Leaving behind nothing besides an abandoned watercraft, a waning stub of a cigarette, and a horrifyingly unsolved enigma.