A Dream Come True

Thud! Then, panic. Ice cold panic.

I didn’t know you could feel cold sweat underwater while wearing a wetsuit. But here I was, dangling in suspended motion, inside a sinking cage I was sure was too unsafe for this type of usage, and something had just jarred the cage hard. I couldn’t remember why I had agreed to this. The world was drifting quickly into darkness through the ombre shades of blue made possible by the penetration of piercing shafts of light. It would have been stunningly beautiful if not for the red cloud of blood in the distance, not far enough away in my estimation, swirling in whorls of pink flesh and viscera, punctuated by brief glimpses of grey on white, shadows I knew to be sharks.

Thump.

Then, horror!

* * *

Three days into my vacation and I hadn’t seen the sun. I spent my days writing copy for destination hot spots and decided it was time to visit one. Or at least something close to the tourist traps I was paid to promote. The torrential weather had finally taken a break and I was at last able to escape the cramped quarters of the B&B—to say nothing of the company of Todd and Kaylee. I had taken this vacation, my first in six years, to get away from people and had wound up stuck with two of the most annoying. They weren’t bad people, I’m sure, maybe I was being a little short with them because I wanted to enjoy my vacation solitarily, and they frayed my nerves after five minutes together in the same room. I couldn’t wait to get away from them and explore the little coastal village where I had scheduled an oceanic viewing cruise. I knew what I was expecting to see because I had written the brochure.

Because of the weather the cruise was now on day four of being postponed and this morning I had woken up to an offer of a refund since most people were only here for a long weekend. I wasn’t. I was here for two long weeks, and I had plans to do lots of stuff on my bucket list—snorkeling, cliff diving, eating raw oysters. I didn’t answer the email. I thought I’d give the weather another day and see where things stood. It was a lot of money, but the experience was supposed to be worth every penny. At least according to my best friends Derrick and Liza who’d spent two weeks out here last summer. So many of my plans had been cancelled, postponed, or rescheduled, I wasn’t quite ready to give up on the cruise. I’d never been to sea, not even on a lake or a river. I’d sat once in my neighbors’ boat when I was a kid, but they never invited me along when they took it out even though I was supposedly one of their son’s best friends.

* * *

Rising between my flippered feet was a small, red plume, unfolding in the water the way cigarette smoke floats on air. Just beyond where my eyes were fixated on the blood coiling around my feet as I kicked, like cotton candy webbing between an excited child’s fingers, was a black figure. The limp body was pressed hard against the bottom of the sinking cage unspooling a blood trail as we jetted downward. The wetsuit’s hood had a gash where the corner of the cage must have collided with the person’s head. They’d never seen me coming; a large underwater camera dangled loosely from their wrist. Banging against the cage, I could hear the clanging noise it made reverberate in my own ears as the body jostled in tension with the sinking cage. All I could think was that we had both been targeted by the bloody mark that was engulfing us mere meters away from what was becoming a frenzy.

* * *

Walking around the little community I noticed that every building was a carefully maintained façade hiding a ramshackle reality. New paint, old boards. Ornate flower boxes sitting on deteriorating window frames. Most places were drafty and sold either exorbitantly priced food or reasonably priced but utterly worthless souvenirs. I thought more than once that it was nice to see people with their priorities straight—people need to eat, but they can often do without mementos. I was just grateful the food was good at the B&B. Walking around with my hands in my pockets, and feeling a damp wind starting to rise, I was about to turn on my heel and head back to the cozy safety of my little, intoxicatingly yellow room when I noticed the sign: BOOKSELLER.

The sign was blowing back and forth on creaky hinges at the end of the lane a few doors down from Dorsey’s Olde Candy Shoppe. Upon closer inspection the sign actually read “Minnus and Son’s Bookseller Used, Fine, and Rare” but it was hard to read because it was the only sign in the whole area that hadn’t received a fresh coat of paint in recent memory. I could barely make out the letters, which had once been painted red, against the weathered board that had once been, from the looks of it, an unnatural shade of dark green.

The building was as decrepit as any building in the little village, but Minnus and his sons chose not to hide the fact. That upped the respect factor in my mind and made me want to purchase a book or two. Never mind that I could use the distraction at the B&B if the weather kept up, but I told myself, I might even find a collectible title or two for my own little personal library at home. The building’s derelict presentation was reinforced by the lack of adornment on the windows which provided a glimpse of packed shelves, odds and ends antiques scattered about, and old, broken toys about which I was certain the proprietor would assure me of their collectability.

Pushing open the door there was no bell to signal my entrance and I was nearly knocked back outside by the overwhelming musty smell of the place. Clearly the door had never been propped open. Once inside the place was a chaotic maze of books and homemade shelving. The books were stacked everywhere, at every angle, and everything was covered in a thick layer of dust. It became immediately apparent that if any moisture ever got into this place the books would have been covered in a layer of mud.

Keeping out the moisture had resulted in a stifling atmosphere. It was dimly lit, and I could only imagine the difficulty of reading the titles once I was away from the cluttered windows. I shouted a courteous hello so as not to surprise anyone who might be wandering or working in the rows of shelves and then I began my sojourn of discovery. Tracing my fingers along the spines of books, picking out the occasional title to peruse, and carefully stepping through the muddle I made my way to the back of the store. Stepping out from a row of shelves, over a pile of books, I was greeted by the dead end of the back of the building. Hanging on the wall above the only two tidy bookshelves in the entire shop was a gigantic jawbone displaying an impressive array of razor-sharp teeth.

“A monster that one was,” a voice from behind declared. I nearly jumped out of my shoes attempting to turn around and confront the speaker.

* * *

The red cloud of blood must have been caught in the current because it was barreling at me like a dust cloud driven by a forceful wind. Distraught, I pulled the emergency cable that was supposed to warn the crew that I wanted to return to the ship. Fumbling with the handle I gave it, first, a pitiful little tug, and then, driven by panic and fear, a more forceful yank. I waited to feel the cage start moving upward but it just kept plummeting downward. I could barely move in the cage, there was no way for me to reach the person at my feet, and despite being told not to hyperventilate into the breathing tube I’d been provided, I began to hyperventilate. Kicking my feet furiously I yanked the alarm cable again, again, thrice!

Then I saw him. It was what I was doing here to begin with. I had jumped at the opportunity to be in the water surrounded by buckets of chum for the chance to see a monster shark. Here he was, swimming too close to the cage, I could see him circling as if sizing up the opportunity I and the mysterious person beneath me represented. Other smaller sharks were darting in and out of the red cloud as it began to disperse, and I could see them snatching fish and snapping at each other as they fought for the remaining choice morsels of chum the crew had befouled the ocean with. Then I was eye to eye with the beast and I could see the gleam on his teeth like the sun glinting on a freshly honed blade.

* * *

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Oh,” I managed between panting breaths, “no worries.”

“Saw you come in; thought I’d see if you needed any help finding something. It can be a little difficult if you don’t know the place.”

“I’m just looking for something entertaining and collectible, if it’s in good shape.”

“Well, lucky you, right behind you is the pride of the shop. Every book on those two shelves is collectible. Most were limited runs, some are older than the shop itself, all of them recount encounters with one of nature’s greatest predators—sharks.”

“Really?” I said half-turning back to the shelves.

In the conversation that followed I learned the proprietor was the grandson of the youngest of the five sons mentioned on the sign. He ran the shop while his father ran the family’s shark sightseeing business. We chatted amicably for twenty minutes, I bought four books, and booked a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to swim with sharks the following afternoon.

* * *

While I was watching the monster shark, I failed to notice the growing number of sharks surrounding the cage until another large shark seized the diver’s body from underneath me jarring the cage. I watched in horror as the unconscious diver’s body mockingly flailed in the jaws of the shark as he bit through the wetsuit and blood sprayed into the water, an invitation to the other smaller sharks to join in the feast. I was waiting for the monster to ram the cage, break its bars wide open, and meet the same fate. I felt the bile begin to rise in my throat. I wanted to scream, to flee, but I was trapped and becoming engulfed in the gore of the diver being torn to shreds.

The monster swam directly at me, fast and hard, charging, I believed, to have a go at me, when at the last moment he diverted his attention to a shark of middling size and grasped it in a ferocious gulp. Warm urine began filling up the wetsuit as I shut my eyes, trying to focus on my breathing and giving one final, frantic, furious jerk on the emergency line. Surprisingly, in a instant I found myself sitting on the bottom of the cage as it began to throttle upwards. Hot tears welled up in my mask. I spit out the breathing tube and screamed into the watery void. What a nightmare, I thought, breaking the surface.

* * *

I woke with a jolt. My bedside light still on, Encounters with Apex Predators, open, face down on my chest, cold sweat beaded on my forehead. Sun shining through the window.