It was cold out, but not too cold. Chilly for September, though, with no humidity to shelter them from the cold air. The snap had moved in suddenly yesterday, and where before the sticky air felt warm, like sweat molecules floating around, now it had everybody reaching for gloves and scarves. It was just cold enough to provoke the constant sniffle James often had during the winter. Something to do with allergies, the doctor had said. Some obscure type of ragweed. Damn it all.
James was on the beach, walking. Notably, it was colder there than it was up on the shore, but James felt a weird sort of kinship to the ocean on days like this, enough to make him want to skip school. He glanced back up at his house, one of the last on the bluff. It wasn't, after all, like his father was going to make him go. He'd rather remark on the obscure differences between Royal Crown and Canadian. That is, if he hadn't passed out yet.
The ocean wasn't blue today. Rather it was like a mixture of blue, green and gray, with the yellow foam flying in droplets like some oily kind of sludge. The ocean looked mean, James thought. Truly full of emotion and unbridled power, the way it's supposed to be. Not a blue happy pool, content to let the birds shit in it and the animals die in it and the humans pollute in it. Maybe if the ocean could show its feelings more, the outsiders would realize it wasn't a good idea to cross it. Maybe...
But it was all pointless. The elements could never get up and talk, after all. They were just there, staring and watching day after day, like the sky. And even if sometimes the whole world seemed to spin up in anger, it was never enough. The outsiders never noticed. And they never would. All they had was the kids up at Crowhaven Road to tell them their heads from their asses, and they wouldn't even listen.
James looked longingly out at the ocean. Someday, he thought. If it takes forever, my whole life, someday, those stupid outsiders are gonna know. They'll know that they can't just walk obliviously through anymore, tossing stuff wherever they want. They'll realize how stupid they were, and then they'll want to change. They'll have to.
James knelt down by the edge of the ocean, having seen something glint in the sparse light offered by the swirling clouds above. A different sort of glint than the sea foam flying all over the place. His heart began to beat faster, and he had no idea why. Look, there it was again. A black sort of glint on the waves, almost like oil, rushing in and swirling and congealing on the sand. What the hell was that?
There hadn't been any oil spills lately. Maybe this was some sort of organic material, dead plant matter or something. Or maybe...
Hazy memories came back to James. Of dank and dusty afternoons in the attic, his father snoring in a blissful drunken stupor on the couch. Afraid that even a wrong step on a floorboard would make a creak that would wake up the monster, James unearthed and unlocked old document boxes. Inside them were correspondences, plans, letters. A map, in particular, a map of some islands off the south shore. One of them in particular was described in spiky, precise handwriting at the bottom of the page.
"A bare island and sandy, but with no trees to show the blowing of the wind. Rocks underneath the surface of the sand, where boats before have met their doom. The skull is protected, buried in sand, and that will do for the time being. But should I ever require it of thee, Seth, thou shalt break the curse upon the island and then break the curse upon the sand. Both shall fight thee mightily, as I have told them to do, but with strength in your convictions, you will succeed. It is buried a foot deep, perchance, and the tide rushing in on the island keeps it damp daily. But allow me to assure, you, Seth, that if ever you touch the skull lacking my expressed command and direction, I will see to it that you and your children and your children's progeny will all burn in the blackest heart of hell."
The black oily sludge could only mean one thing. And though James was afraid, he knew it was time to try. The letter had obviously come from a man far more powerful than he could ever imagine, but right now, James knew he would understand. And he wasn't doing it without permission, really. All the permission he needed was washing in on the beach, and, James would bet, was making the air cold, too. It would have been cold at the bottom of the sea for so long.
Yes, James thought, as he headed for the bluff again, finger some of the oily material between his fingers. The human race was about to have a lesson it would never forget.
