Day 4: Haunted
He doesn't like the ocean. The waves lap at his toes as his feet sink into the sand. He thinks maybe if he stands in one place long enough he will sink even further and be buried.
One part of his mind tells him the water cleanses. All things can be made clean by washing the dirt away. He knows this isn't true. He remembers bathing in this very same body of water as a child. The salt left a film on his skin that has taken years to scrub away.
A smaller, more sinister voice tells him there is an island – just beyond his sight – that still sits untouched. The rubble remains. Waves reach for him one after another bringing tiny shards of crystal to scrape at his skin.
"Why do you come here?" she asks from behind him and to the left. Her hand closes around his arm and she pulls.
"There's a haunted pile of nothing out there," he says. The waves eat his words but he knows she doesn't need to hear them. He's said them before. "I made it myself."
"Why do you tell yourself such lies?" she whispers in his ear. Her breath is hot and contrasts the cold air that rolls in from the water. "Let's go home."
She tugs him again and the sand encasing his feet squelches in protest when he turns to follow.