What comes from the sea

There is a saying on the forgotten island on the edge of the maps: When the fog comes in from the sea, when the darkness of the night crosses the island off the map, never open the doors.

The islanders are hard and weathered, not afraid of raging storms from the north. But on foggy nights, even the bravest locked all doors, double checked the seals and pray for daybreak. Shadows in the fog had a habit to come from the sea. And with the waves, monsters was washed ashore.

Eliza came home that afternoon, her emotions drained after a day toiling away, handling the salty fish. Her childhood had ebbed to shore like the tide from each spade of dirt they had put on her parents coffins. Most children on the island lived under this roof, her little brothers and sisters. She was the eldest daughter, almost like a parent, now the only one. Without time to mourn or cry she made dinner, dishes, folded the laundry and read the little ones to sleep. After checked the seals and locked the doors each night.

One evening, she bolted awake, siblings and book in hand, exhausted. Already dark outside she had fallen asleep by mistake. A barking sound had egged her awake and she went into the living room. Her brother tried to watch TV, but there was only static as often the case on foggy nights. No signal, no life.

“Why is the dog outside?” Eliza asked her brother, the second in command. The rule was the dog stayed inside, especially on foggy nights.

“He barked,” he answered, bored and sensing the cabin fever sneaking up on him. He was different, he didn't remember last time something came inside very well, Eliza had protected him from it, tried to keep him a child longer that she had been allowed to be. The baby sister came out of her room. She didn't remember either.

“Mom and dad are at the window. They want to come inside”

The silence was suspicious as the waves came crashing in. Eliza and her brother exchanged horrified looks. He couldn't remember the last time they came in, but he did remember the last time their parents went out.

“Did you lock the door?”

His pale face was the answer to Eliza. In that moment, his childhood disappeared from his face as it had once did to her. Eliza started to shake him, repeating her question and then they heard the dog bark, making them freeze. A horrible shriek and then the barking stopped. She turned and grabbed her sister and told her brother to wake the rest.

“Those are not our parents,” she said and tried to usher them away from the windows. There was a knock on the door and a motherly voice that was taken by the waves at their door. A moment they stood still as they heard the downstairs door creak and the wet sound of steps from the sea entered.