The Dream Eater

He knew he was dreaming.

The landscape felt both familiar and vague with no real details. He had no idea how he had gotten here or what he was
doing. Somehow he was in his old classroomthe English classroom or was it the Math one?and outside it was sunny
with green trees. Somehow this was not strange, despite the fact that he was now forty and working in another country.

Yes, this was definitely a dream he thought to himself while he sat in his old chair.

A-are you real?

The question made him jump. It came from right next to him. How had he not noticed the strange little, goblin-looking
creature sitting next to him in the classroom? Bare skin stretched tightly over a skull-shaped face with large child-like
eyes all combined to inspire a strange combination of fear, revulsion and pity when looking at the little creature.

Are you real? the little creature asked again looking directly at him, grave near-comical concern over its ugly little face.

Ye-um, no, he paused before shaking his head, This is a dream, none of us are real. Im not real and neither are you.

The little creature looked away. It almost looked sad and he felt a silly impulse to hug it. Before he could do anything it
looked back at him. The classroom was getting dark. It was nighttime now.

Are you sure you are not real? the creature asked softly, almost threateningly showing some pointed, sharp teeth in its
mouth, I am certain I am real. How do you not know that what lies out thereis not the dream? Why cant this be real and
the strange place you think you live in be the dream?

Lightning began to streak in the sky outside. Shadows were rising up in the corners of the classroom with menacing eyes
peering out from them. And, just as he was about to answer, the bell rang.

He woke up in his bed covered in sweat with his heart racing. He shook his head. He was sitting in his bedroom a million
miles away from the classroom. He was forty years old and had long since left that school.
What a strange dream.

The next day dawned and he fell into the bustle of the weekday routine. All day, though, he could not stop thinking about
the strange, goblin-like creature in his dream with its large, child-like eyes and pointy teeth.

In fact, as the day went on, he thought more and more about the creature. What a strange thought? What if
he was currently dreaming now? What if this was the dream and at night when he fell asleep, he actually woke up in the
real world? What if he was a teenager dreaming that he was a forty-year-old man? What if the creature was right and he
was really there? What if all of this was not real? What if he was a child dreaming that he was an adult living in another
city?

These thoughts had started as mental itches. But as he scratched them, they had gotten itchier. By the end of the day,
sitting in traffic on the way home, these thoughts were starting to circle around and around in his head. By the time he
opened the door to his small apartment open, the thoughts were allhe could think of.

Faced with the dark emptiness of his apartment and life, he suddenly felt tired. He felt exhausted. He was completely
drained of every ounce of energy. If this was a dream, he did not want to be in it anymore. It was a miserable dream and
he wanted to wake up.

He collapsed on his couch in his living room. He could not even summon the energy to turn the light or the television on.
He just slouched down into a crumpled heap on the couch andin the growing darkness of eveninghe drifted into a deep
sleep.

A-are you real?

He was standing back in the classroom, only it was a little different. Perhaps it was the French classroom? Maybe the
walls were a different colour or the room a different size? There was more detail in the room this time.

But none of that mattered, as the little creature with child-like eyes and pointy teeth stood before where he sat.

Are you real?

Y-yes, he stuttered, trying to desperately remember why he was here or where he had come from, Yes, I am real. I
know I am real, and then he remembered the other dark, dreary dream and added, I do not want the other dream! I do
not!
Then if I kill you here, you will die, the little creature whispered menacingly. He was suddenly aware of how he could
barely move and how sharp the claws on the little fingers of this creature were. The hairs on the back of his neck were
beginning to rise. A cold shiver ran down his spine.

Y-yes, I th-think so, he stuttered, barely able to move his mouth as a fearful paralysis crept up his helpless limbs and his
mind became blank.

Goooood, goooood, the little creature cooed wickedly, rows and rows of sharp, pointy teeth appearing in his mouth as it
began to grin, For I am the Dream Eater, liberating the sleepers from their false dreams of light and life. Come, let me
show you the true dreams of darkness and death

A gurgling sound rose up from his throat as he tried to scream, but could not. He could not move, his limbs did not exist.
His mind was frozen and the darkness was closing in. The classroom suddenly looked terrifying. Flashing lightning and
pounding rain sounded outside, as the Dream Eater floated closer and closer to him with its sharp, pointy teeth becoming
all he could see

The police found him two days later when a family member called them. He had not shown up for work for two days
without notice. Work had then called the family and his brother who lived in the same city. After numerous calls and no
answers, his brother had come over to see if he was alright and had not been able to get into the apartment. It was then that
his brother had called the police, who had kicked the door down in the attempt to see if he was alright.

He was not alright.

He was curled up on the couch. He was pale white like the very life had been sucked from him. His eyes were wide open
and glassy, like a blind man. Most terrifying, though, was his face. It was contorted in a silent scream that no one in this
dream had heard.

For this is how the Dream Eater hunts and that is how the Dream Eater feeds.

Good night, sleep tight and dont let the Dream Eater bite.
 The Mouth in the Wall

Psst! Hey! Sweet, little child, if you give me that loaf of bread youre holding, then Ill give you a chocolate
cake, a small voice suddenly whispered into his ear.

He jumped up from where he had been crouching. Turning around, he saw a small mouth in the wall he had just
been leaning against. The mouth was hidden behind a trashcan in the far side of the alleyway shadows between
the back-end of a bar and a brothel. His stomach growled. He had just stolen this loaf of bread and slipped into
the alleyway to eat it. He had not eaten for days. And then the little mouth spoke again.

Come on, sweet child, I promise, annunciating its words carefully as if it were trying to be cast as a
gentleman, Give little-old-me the loaf and Ill give you a whole chocolate cake.

The little boy did not know why he did it. Perhaps it was pity. Maybe it was the lure of chocolate cake. For
whatever reason, he reached out his hand with the loaf of bread on it. Almost like it sensed his intentions, the
Mouth in the Wall opened wide and a viciously-pink tongue shot out, scooping the loaf into its maw. The bread
disappeared into it, followed by brief chewing and a satisfied belch afterward.Thank you, my boy, the Mouth
in the Wall said, some of its charm slipping, and here is your chocolate cake.The Mouth in the Wall opened
upthe boy was sure that it was just a little bigger than it had been moments ago?and a stunning, dripping
chocolate cake came out carried by its viciously-pink tongue.While he stuffed his mouth with fistfuls of the
decadent chocolate cake, the boys mind raced with the potential here. His eyes gleamed and his desires
expanded. The Mouth in the Wall grinned quietly in the background. The boy fenced off the alleyway after he
had bought the two adjacent buildingsthe bar and the brothelthat formed it. Later he bought the whole
neighbourhood. And, eventually, he built a palace over it all. The alleyway remained there, though. It even
remained fenced off despite being in the palaces great dungeons.By now he was a young man, though. He paid
the builders with gold and jewels like he paid for everything else. Princesses would court him from all the
kingdoms while princes would try to work out the source of his wealth. He had thousands of slaves from the
furthest reaches of the world and would hold great balls with the finest musicians and wine flowing like rivers
in his crystal halls. Great art hung on his walls and statues were carved of him.

Rumours whispered of great vaults full of treasure deep in his dungeons. Some thieves even broke into these
dungeons once, but all they found was the remains of the old city with two intact buildingsa bar and a brothel
and a fenced-off, shadowy alleyway.The thieves slipped out emptyhanded, but their tale did little to quench the
rumours that swirled around. The fact remained that he did bring forth chests full of gold, silver and jewels. The
fact remained that lavish balls were thrown in his sparkling palace and guests of grace from all the kingdoms
attended. The fact remained that all this kept happening and kept getting bigger and grander.Other than his life
of leisure and great indulgence, once every fortnight at midnight, he would take a number of slaves with
him down into the dungeon. No one but the slaves noticed this, but no one else was watching at this time. At
first, it was only one slave, but then it became two and then three. Each fortnight was one more trip with one
more slave.None of the slaves ever came back up. Only he ever returned, looking more tired than before. His
eyes that had once gleamed were starting to go dull and cold. His face was getting gaunt and strained like he
was feeding a hunger that could never be satisfied.But he kept going down into the fenced-off alleyway in his
dungeon, and the great balls kept being thrown in his palace overhead. The treasures kept flowing from his
vaults to pay for all of this indulgence and nothing else seemed to matter, for the time.Gimme the fucking kid,
leered the slobbering Mouth in the Wall at the boy. The Mouth had gotten a lot bigger and cruder now. The boy
too had changed and was now a man that was much older, married and had a daughter, Gimme the goddam
yummy and Ill give you a fucking golden river of goddam jewels!The Mouth in the Wall had long since given
up being nice, or, even any semblance of manners. It demanded its meals now. And, even though its gifts were
much bigger, so was its appetite. It shrieked at him, slobber splattering everywhere and its viciously-pink
tongue flicking out like a snakes.Oh, how that mouths screams haunted his nightmares. But, he had spent too
much and, even with all his wealth, he had gotten into debt and needed this gold. He needed the Mouth in the
Wall and he really, really needed some more gold to survive.Come on! You gotta gimme her to munch! the
leering Mouth in the Wall screamed at him, licking its lips gruesomely, You can have all the shiny you want,
but I will only eat her! Only her!He begged the vile Mouth in the Wall. He pleaded with it. He fell down onto
his knees and sobbed before it, howling to the fates about this unfairness and injustice. But the Mouth in the
Wall did not care. It only hungered for more. It only wanted to eat one single thing. And feeding it was the only
way he would get what he neededEventually, he got up, dried his tears and straightened his shirt. He walked
out of the alleyway, closing the fences gate behind him with a large padlock. The key hung around his neck.
The Mouth in the Wall was screaming behind him for her. He knew he would hear those screams in his sleep
that night, if he fell asleep. He felt numb, but he kept reminding himself that he had no choice. The world was
not fair. The Mouth in the Wall demanded it. Without feeding it what it wanted, he would lose everything.He
hoped his wifethe Queenwould not miss their daughter too much.One day, long after the Queen had
disappeared, the King went down to the dungeons and did not return. At first, the palace carried on running
itself as slaves and servant went about their tasks. But, eventually, the absence of the master was noted. And
about that time, the coffers ran out, the debts came knocking at the door and the bankers moved in while the
staff moved out.

When the estate was liquidated, a progressive man bought the palace. He intended to knock it down with a view
to building something more modern in its place. He had grand ambitions and great plans. He was going to
conquere this world, and maybe the next one too.

Beforehand, though, he took a quiet stroll through its airy chambers. Like everyone else, he too had heard the
stories of this place. Great frescos adorned its walls as chandeliers lit its countless chambers. Metals and crystal
sparkled everywhere in luminous beauty. But, curious to a fault, the progressive man made his way down into
the dungeon.

And there he found the fenced-off, shadowy alleyway, its padlocked gate slightly ajar.
He did not know why, but he felt like he had found something he should not have. Being a progressive man,
though, he disregarded this thought and stepped into the alleyway. Nothing should fear him in this place. He
owned everything he could see here.

But, there was nothing there. It was an empty little alleyway between two rundown buildings.

He blinked and looked around. No, there was something here. A small, yellowed note lay on the ground.
Picking it up, he read it out loud, its words echoing strangely in that alleyway in the empty palaces dungeon:

This is my final trade. I can give no more than myself to quenchfor once and all!its cursed hunger. It has
haunted me for decades, but, eventually, I have realized that if you feed it, it only gets bigger. Remember that.
Dont feed it.

Psst! Hey! Sir, gentleman, a small voice piped up behind the progressive man, causing to jump in fright,
dropping the note and turning aroundthere was a small little mouth in the alleyways one wall, Dear Sir, I
wonder if I could trouble you for a loaf of bread? Ill give you something in return? What do you want?
 Long Road

The old car did not have a radio in it. Its growling engine was so loud that he was not sure he would have been
able to hear any music anyway. Instead, he leaned back in his cracking leather chair and watched the world
slide by, tree after tree.

Outside the wilderness stretched for miles. Rugged mountains poked through endless pine trees broken only by
the weathered, old road he was following. Mist swirled through the air pierced only occasionally by the Sun and
endless sky far above.

He felt like a voyeur, peering at one of Mother Naturess untouched places. Despite the growling car engine and
the crunch of its tyres on the old, weathered road, he felt like he had to be quiet. If he spoke, he might break the
spell.

Soft mist slept in the valleys serrated by rolling, rugged pines. He would disappear into these gullies as the road
dipped down. It was like he briefly disappeared into another world where sight ended, closed by the sudden
thick mist around him. Even the sound of the vehicle was dampened down there. But then the road rose from
the valley and he would break out of the mist into the cold, crisp morning.

This would go on again and again as he drove along miles and miles of that old road.

Eventually, he came to a fork in the road. No other cars and not a living soul had crossed his path for hundreds
perhaps thousandsof miles out here. So he brought the car to a growling stop in the middle of the road. He let it
idle while he decided what direction to drive.

He thought of what existed a world away from this mystical wilderness. He thought of the beings that he loved
and that had loved him. He remembered the wooden, slightly run-down cabin he had grown up in and how his
mother smelt. He remembered the pine trees and the cold winter months. He remembered the girl that lived in
the big city he had studied at. He remembered the final time he had seen his parents. He thought of all his
demons and the evil that lurked in all mens hearts. He thought of the loneliness of one soul and the warmth of
friendship. He thought of loyalty and loss. He thought of the beauty of peace and the nastiness that drove the
world forward.

He had no answers, only thoughts. But, just perhaps, that was alright all the way out here. Perhaps that was the
answer.

Far above, the Sun slipped over its zenith and slid towards the jagged horizon, criss-crossed with mountains and
pine trees. He barely noticed time passing. The air still felt cool and wet. A pine and dirt smell permeated this
air, and the fragrance only intensified as a soft, scotch mist began to fall as the afternoon stretched out.
But still, he sat at the crossroad deciding which path to take.

Did it matter which path he chose? Would the world change at all? Would his loss ever ease? Where were the
wolves? Where was the wild? Where was his friend?

Eventually, his grip on the steering wheel tightened, he put the car in gear and pulled off. He was going down
the path that he was always going to be going down. He was always going to choose this path. It was the old
familiar path, but he had never driven it for this reason before.

It was late at night by the time he reached the old, run-down log cabin. Far above, unpolluted by city lights and
human noise, the jewel-encrusted cosmos displayed itself. Swirling, endless galaxies and stars twinkling
dramatically in their silence as they gazed down on this small, insignificant world.

They were the silent witnesses as Mother Nature was the stage.

He turned the cars engine off and it stuttered and ground to silence. The door creaked open and he stepped out,
crunching the gravel ground below his boot.

I am going to miss you.

It was the first words he had said all day. Or forever? Definitely for hundreds of miles. Time moved differently
out here, or through the fog of his thoughts. The words seemed to echo in his ears, but it may not have been the
sound that echoed, but the memories.

I am going to miss you, he said again, embracing his voice as he walked around the back of the car and
popped the boot, But I cannot go where you are going now.

In the cars boot was a shovel and an old, blue blanket covering something. The something looked like a curled
up, unmoving form. It was dead still. It was small enough to be a child, or a best friend. He reached down and
gently pulled the blanket back, revealing the body of an old sheepdog.I am going to miss you, my old friend,
he said, tears coming to his eyes as he bent into the boot to gently scoop the body of his old pet out, But, at
least, out here you will have lots of space to run around in. You remember this place? There is so much space,
so much more than our little house in the noisy city. There are wolves and there is wilderness for you, my
friend. Wolves and wilderness

And, far above, the cosmos and its countless stars and galaxies silently peered down. Tears streamed down his
face, as he buried his childhood dog behind his childhood home at the end of the long road.
 Not All That Is Wicked Is Evil

It was late when she realized that he was not coming. She had been waiting for ages, and now she was truly
alone. Her Prince Charming was not running away with her. She could not go back. That was not how this
worked. With or without him, she was not going back to that City with all those selfish, hurtful people. Each
one of them thinking that they were the main character and abusing her shamelessly. No, she would make it on
her own and he would be no part of her fairytale.

She felt silly wearing her pretty little dresshe had always liked itand changed it for her black one. There was
no one to care about this all the way out here in the Forest. She thought she would wear black from now. It was
more practical.

She turned and, lugging her bag, walked deeper into the wild Forest. She would make her home somewhere in
there. Maybe she would make it out of gingerbread and candyfloss? Her mother had passed on the Gift to her,
after all, and should she not use it for her own benefit? Rather that than waste it on those self-absorbed monsters
in the City. Who knows and who cares, because she was on her own now and she would write her own fairytale.

***

While she was all alone in her house and had no neighbours for miles, there were other beings that lived around
her. Over time, she got to know a few of them.

She would help the Wolf get thorns out of his paws and brush the tangle and grass out of his fur. They got on
well and he would bring her rabbits and, sometimes, fowl for her pot. On the other side of the Forest, the Three
Bears lived and she would from time to time visit them. They loved their tea parties. Likewise, there was a
Beast that lived in his castle deeper into the Forest than her. He would sometimes come to her house or she to
his dusty castle. He was actually well-read and fantastic conversationalist. She would put the pot of tea on and
they would discuss the classic fairytales and how flimsy the plot hooks and one-dimensional the main characters
were.

Those were good times for her. She really felt like she was amongst friends then, or, at least, amongst more
genuine beings that back in the City.

But, nothing lasts forever.

Suddenly, the Wolf was murdered by a Huntsman. The Huntsman threw around many vicious accusations for
why he did it. She did not believe any of them. The Major did, though, and he got off with little more than a
warning. This hurt her deeply and she and the Beast had cried about it together. The Wolf had been a
wonderful, wild being.

Then the Three Bears got burgled and decided to move elsewhere to where the crime was less. She did not
know where there could be less crime than out here where there were no people. But, they said that after they
were burgled and liberties were taken with their most intimate stuff, they no longer felt safe in their own home.
Thus, they left too.

Finally, her Beast in his ancient, rundown castle broke his curse and moved back into the City. He did come for
a goodbye before then, but it was awkward and it ended. He was moving back into his townhouse in the City
and was going to get a job as a teacher. The lady that was now his wife insisted on this, as she was from the
City.

She was alone in her Forest again.

Yes, occasionally, someone from the City wandered in. Once it was a girl in a red hood and another time it was
a spoilt brother and sister exploring the woods. Once, a rather fanciful long-haired blonde girl even lived with
her for a while before her own Prince Charming found her and took her back. That was fine, as she had been
quite irritating and rather infatuated with her own looks. What a shallow girl, she had thought as she saw her
leaving, bundles of hair wrapped around her.

None of these one-dimensional characters stuck, and she remained alone in her Forest.

***

One morning, she woke up and knew it was time for a change. She packed her bag lightly and put her black
dress on. She could not find her walking stick, so she grabbed a broom to help her walk, and she left her home
in the Forest. She did not even look back as she left. It was time for a big change.

Her Gift was tingling and she knew she needed to be elsewhere. Besides, the Forest was quite empty these days.
The City kept encroaching on it and most of the wonderful animals had all been hunted or moved out by then.

She was going to the desert. She was heading West. That was where the City would never follow her.

While she was walking along, she ran into a rather out-of-place looking girl. The girl had a crazed expression
on her face with dilated pupilsperhaps she had been nibbling the mushrooms down by the river a bit too
much?and asked where Kansas was.

Of course, she did not know what Kansas was and told the girl this. At which the spoilt little brat had giggled,
thrown water in her face and run away laughing. How rude!

She was too old to chase after her and give her a spanking. So, she merely flicked an irritated little curse after
her. The girl would see the world only in shades of green for quite a while now. She wondered how that would
interact with the girls mushroom-fuelled trip? She had a good chuckle to herself and then set off back down the
road.

***

It had been many, many years now since she had built her little house in the Desert. She now lay in bed, too
frail to stand up. Around her stood her Desert friends and, even, some of the surviving friends from the Forest
that made the journey. The Beast came alonehis wife has left him for a Prince Charmingand the Three Bears
were there too, softly crying. Morgiana, the poor little slave girl that she had helped set free from Ali Baba, and
the Genie, she had also freed from his prison-lamp were there.

She was surrounded by those that loved her and she, in turn, loved back.

But, nothing lasts forever.

Her health was failing. Although those with the Gift lived longer than those without it, no one lives forever. She
had already been old when she had moved to the Forest. Now she was ancient and time was running out.
Goodbyes were being said through tears and soft sobbing, but she smiled back at all of them. Her life had been
lost all those years ago in the City and this rag-tag bunch of outcasts and vilified beings had helped her find her
way back to happiness. She owed them far more than they owed her.

She knew she did not have much time. The Gift told her that much. And, so, after the teary goodbyes, she
looked around her and cast one last subtle spell.

She did not know when or how it would happen, but one day someone would tell their story. The world would
know what wonderful, beautiful and complex beings they all were. They were not villains or plot devices, but
complex, living souls with real, feelings and huge, loving hearts. Many of them had suffered tragedies or loss,
but they kept going forward as best they could. They were as strong as they were incredible. One day, the world
would see all of this. One day, the world would know all of this. One day, the world would love them all the
same way that she did. One day, their story would be written.

And then, the Desert was all alone again.

He could not wait to be under the waves. He could not wait to be away from all this offputting small-townness.

That night, in his cramped little room, he read and re-read the passages from the old, tattered diary his mother
had left him. He had never known his father, but he felt a bit closer to him coming here. He could not wait to
get under the waves. He fell asleep like that and dreamt about large, looming dark shapes that whispered to him
from the oceans depths.

***

The world changes the moment you go under the waves. The sound, light and speed of the above world
disappear. They are replaced by silence, darkness and a smooth, elegance in your movement that he liked to
imagine astronauts experienced in outer space. He had always felt very comfortable under water.

All he could hear was his own breath as he descended below the water beside the rock. The locals did not seem
to have much to say about it, but the old diary spoke about the lone rock halfway out of Blackpools bay.

This was it. This was that rock.

The top of the rock was weathered and covered in barnacles and seaweed. Even a few feet down, this muck all
obfuscated what he was looking for.

And then there it was.

A few feet below the water level, the rocks form began to smooth. Its surface began to appear square. The
flowing, bunched seaweed growing from it ended. And, the rock started to look more like it was a carved pillar.

He sank slowly deeper and deeper, besides the old pillar. He was now sure of this. Like the diary said, as he
went deeper, the manmade nature of the pillar became more obvious. At certain points, he thought he even saw
indentations like designsswirling and fluidthat might have been designs carved into this ancient structure.
They had likely been weathered away by thousands of years of the ocean pushing passed it.
Eventually, he came back up to the boat. The light and sound hit him first. He instantly missed the underwater,
but it was time to go back to shore. He had not gotten to the bottom of the pillar. He had not even seen the
bottom yet. He could not believe that it went that deep. It was only a mile or two from shore on the edge of the
bay. He made a mental note to bring extra oxygen, lighting and some flares tomorrow.

***

That night, while he hungrily ate some strange, seafood stew, the piscine innkeeper enquired as to what he had
seen out there.

He smiled and recounted the strange pillar that lay nearly outside of the bay. He asked, rhetorically, who could
have built it and why?

The innkeeper smiledwith his face, the smile looked like an octopus squeezing through a small holeand
replied that perhaps whoever had built it underwater had meant it to stay there away from outside eyes. It almost
sounded like a warning or a threat.

He had smiled and laughed at this absurd statement. Obviously, this pillar had been built ages ago on dry land
and the ocean had crept inland and covered it up. This much was logical. He snorted at the absurd small-
townness.

But, tossing and turning that night in his little room, he could not stop thinking about how bizarre the
innkeepers logic was. When he eventually fell asleep, his dreams were again filled with large, dark things
whispering strange things to him from below the waves. One of them, in particular, rose from these dark waters
and slithered up onto land towards him.

He awoke in the morning covered in sweat, but he could remember no more details of what had bothered his
dreams so.

***

Far below the waves, besides the smooth pillar, he cracked an underwater flare. Its red light flared out, casting a
hellish, red colour in the darkness around him and the stone beside him.

He let go of the flare and watched it sink slowly further and further down. It was a long time and the red light
was a small speck before he thought he saw it come to rest.

He almost felt relieved, but he mentally snorted at himself. Of course there was a bottom to this strange bays
ocean floor. There was always a bottom.

He had an extra oxygen tank with him, and he began to descend further. His eyes kept glancing at the red light
on the ocean floor, but he was more focused on the pillar that slid by him. The deeper he got, the more detailed
the designs on it became. He was starting to make out figures amidst the swirls and curves carved into the stone.
The figures seemed almost-human but had fish-like faces, gills in their necks and webbed hands and feet. Some
stood in strange poses while other carried forked weapons or bunches of other, smaller fish.

What an incredible civilization had produced such vivid art, he pondered as he floated deeper and deeper
down. What other wonders could such a lost civilization be hiding? What could have motivated such a
civilization to build such a pillar and for what purpose?

He was nearly at the flare now. He could see it resting amidst scattered stones on the ocean floor. Its hellish red
light cracking against the darkness down there. It cast eerie shadows that flickered off into the ocean floors
shadows. He swore he saw one of these shadows actually slither away. It looked like a silvery humanoid shape
for a split second before slipping out of the light and back into the darkness down there. But, he quickly
dismissed the thought. If anything it was probably a fish or octopus or something else that had caught his eye.

The fishmenas he now mentally called themcarved into the pillar were now clearly visible. Some of the
carvings were in nearly pristine cut down here, which surprised him. They should all be equally as worn
away unless someone or something was preserving them down here.

He reached the ocean floor and realized that the scattered stones were not random. They looked like the remains
of an old road. This was not in his old diary. Perhaps this was one of those old Roman roads, but curiosity
clutched him and set off swimming down this old, lost road.

The road led straight out from the pillar at the edge of the bay into the open ocean. He had only a little bit left in
his oxygen tank, so he decided that he would go until it finished before switching over to his remaining tank and
heading back to the surface.

The old road led to the edge of an underwater cliff. Swimming up to it, he saw the coastal plate fall away
dramatically to reveal the true open ocean.

But, vastly more surprising, he saw the road continue far down there. It must be a bit less than hundred or so
feet further down. It must have been miles away, but, for some reason, there was some latent light down there.
It had an eerie blue-silver colour to it. And, amidst this light far down there, he saw another pillar. In fact, the
old road went straight out away from the coast and the quiet little bay, and it was dotted on both sides for as far
as he could see with these vast, huge pillars.

And then he saw movement.

Far down there, just above the old road and between the great pillars, there was something. It was small and
silvery, but it floated upright like a man would. He was sure he saw something forked in its hand, or fin. And it
was looking directly at him, where he floated atop the underwater cliff.

For what felt like an eternity, he floated there looking at this thing looking at him.

Suddenly, his oxygen tank flashed a warning at him. He looked down, checking its level on his arm. It was
almost finished, and so he flipped it over to his spare tank.
When he looked up, there was just the old road dotted with these huge, ancient pillars leading straight out into
the ocean. Whatever thing had just been there looking him was now gone. He was alone atop that underwater
cliff, but it still felt like something old, dark and slimy was watching him.

***

The next morning, he was still thinking about what he might have seen below the water. He wondered if his
father had ever seen something like it. There was no mention of this in his diary. The strange creature that had
floated down there felt further and further away from real-life. He was starting to think that he could not have
seen it correctly. It was probably his memory embellishing it.

He was sitting outside a small cafe on the docks. It was not fancy, but it was in walking distance from his fishy
little B&B and it served nice strong coffee. He was still not sleeping well. His dreams kept on being haunted by
something that slithered out of the sea to confront him.

He sighed and slouched back in his chair. He would have to leave for and go back to the real world soon. Soon
all this would be a distant memory too. He tried to forget the strange dreams and the weird sights below the
waves. Rather, he looked around, trying to burn the images into his brain of the quaint Blackpool Bay docks and
all its shapes and forms of life. It was strange to think that he, however distant and unknown, had a tie back to
this place. He wanted to try and remember every detail.

The old, barnacled fishing boat lined the harbour. Crates filled with fish and other things from the deep were
being offloaded most of the boats. Small vans zoomed around the docks, being loaded up with these crates.

And then there were the people:

Weather, old barnacled men stomped around the docks. Many of them looked decidedly uncomfortable walking
on land. He chuckled to himself as he imagined them as the relatives of the strange fishmen he had seen carved
onto the pillars in the deep. But then the more he thought about it, the more he looked, and the more fish-like
the people around him looked. Wrinkled, dried out fish that kept returning to their home waters each morning
on their boats. He started looking around for gills in their necks, and many indeed had tattoos there. Maybe that
is how they hide them, he pondered, his heart starting to beat faster in his chest. One, two, no a handfulno
every single one of these people had these strangely, round heads with large eyes just a little too far apart, much
like a fishs eyes. Perhaps, he began to think to his horror, perhaps the innkeeper is right and that pillars were
built below the waves in the first place. Perhaps they were built a civilization of fishmen who later crawled out
from beneath the waves and now hide in plain sight

Hey, you want another coffee or anything, sir? a voice interrupted his strange musings. He almost jumped out
of his chair, but regained his composure quickly.

He looked to his side and saw the waitress. She was a small, squid-like girl with long, curly hair much like
tentacles wrapped around her bulbous head. He found himself checking her neck for gills, but she was wearing
an old, red scarf there.
Uh, no thanks, he replied, Just the bill thanks. I have to go home, and then, to his surprise, he volunteered
something unnecessary, Its inland. Im going inland.

The waitress nodded and smiled at him before turning and slithering back to get the bill for him. He distinctly
felt like he a small, defenseless fish floating around dark rocks where tentacles could whip out any moment. A
cold shiver ran down his spine and he made a mental note to never come back here, diary or no diary.