Strange Things Below The Surface
by Douglas Balmain
He stared out of the windshield at the oppressive fog with dissatisfaction. The ocean was strange and foreign to him. The day had offered a rare opportunity to see it in person but, as it was, he could barely see the front of his pickup.
Reluctantly, he climbed out of the cab — his beanie covering his ears and his hood pulled over his head — and began walking towards the vague outline of the observation tower: a formidable, timber-framed structure built by the Army Corps of Engineers.
The fog’s dense stillness bent time and suppressed sound. The man stood in uneasy awe listening to the waves break and froth along the far-reaching jetty. He noted, with a degree of satisfaction, that there was a compelling depth and mystery to the experience. He continued listening for a time, but it wasn’t long before his legs and feet complained of their rigid idleness and he began to wish for the warm shelter of the cab.
As he walked back to his pickup, he found his step lacking commitment. His sub-conscious nagged at him to overcome his trite discomforts, to free his feet from their leather confines, and let them feel the cold of the sea. How often, after all, did he have this opportunity? He came to a stop in the middle of the parking lot with an exaggerated abruptness, turned, and walked back towards the water.
As the man worked to untie his laces at the base of the jetty, a breeze passed across his face and the fog began to lift. In no more time than it took to pull off his boots, the perpetually clouded coastline gave way to the sun unveiling the most radiantly blue sky. Sunlight reflected at every angle off of the oversaturated earth and the wind remained no more than a subtle breeze. The day was an anomaly, a gift of happenstance.
He looked in all directions, straining his eyes to see as far down the beach as he could. There was no one else in sight. He inhaled through his nose and allowed the tension in his neck and shoulders to soften. He pulled back his winter hat and hood, allowing his face to feel the sun’s warmth. Through squinted eyes he looked out across water and traced its compass-line horizon. His senses immersed themselves in the strange smells, textures, and sounds. The saltwater soothed his calloused feet.
He’d been walking for only a short time when his eyes caught sight of something curious in the surf. It was thin and dark, running perpendicular to the beach from within the ocean. He thought it looked something like the latticed roots that grow deep below the mountain’s firs.
Reluctantly, he climbed out of the cab — his beanie covering his ears and his hood pulled over his head — and began walking towards the vague outline of the observation tower: a formidable, timber-framed structure built by the Army Corps of Engineers.
The fog’s dense stillness bent time and suppressed sound. The man stood in uneasy awe listening to the waves break and froth along the far-reaching jetty. He noted, with a degree of satisfaction, that there was a compelling depth and mystery to the experience. He continued listening for a time, but it wasn’t long before his legs and feet complained of their rigid idleness and he began to wish for the warm shelter of the cab.
As he walked back to his pickup, he found his step lacking commitment. His sub-conscious nagged at him to overcome his trite discomforts, to free his feet from their leather confines, and let them feel the cold of the sea. How often, after all, did he have this opportunity? He came to a stop in the middle of the parking lot with an exaggerated abruptness, turned, and walked back towards the water.
As the man worked to untie his laces at the base of the jetty, a breeze passed across his face and the fog began to lift. In no more time than it took to pull off his boots, the perpetually clouded coastline gave way to the sun unveiling the most radiantly blue sky. Sunlight reflected at every angle off of the oversaturated earth and the wind remained no more than a subtle breeze. The day was an anomaly, a gift of happenstance.
He looked in all directions, straining his eyes to see as far down the beach as he could. There was no one else in sight. He inhaled through his nose and allowed the tension in his neck and shoulders to soften. He pulled back his winter hat and hood, allowing his face to feel the sun’s warmth. Through squinted eyes he looked out across water and traced its compass-line horizon. His senses immersed themselves in the strange smells, textures, and sounds. The saltwater soothed his calloused feet.
He’d been walking for only a short time when his eyes caught sight of something curious in the surf. It was thin and dark, running perpendicular to the beach from within the ocean. He thought it looked something like the latticed roots that grow deep below the mountain’s firs.
When he came upon the object, he decided with certainty that it was no plant or inanimate debris. This was — indeed — some living, animalesque extremity. It was moving voluntarily — stretching, curling, and wriggling its many smaller, subsidiary limbs — meticulously exploring the entirety of its surroundings.
The man stopped only a few short feet from one of these inexplicable extremities, watching in a state of wonder as the creature worked. The sun was at his back, casting a shadow across one of the smallest, outstretched limbs — the tip of which must have been no wider than the tail of a field mouse. Perhaps sensing the change of temperature, the limb began to shift and work itself towards the onlooker.
The feeler came within a centimeter of discovering the man's toe and paused, as though it had sensed his life-force, his heat, or perhaps some sort of subtle vibrations. It raised the tip of its tendril and slowly stretched itself out until making its first cautious contact. The extremity was so delicate that he could not feel its initial touch. He was captivated and dumbfounded . He remained perfectly still, making no effort to move himself out of this alien creature’s reach.
The creature had soon coiled its slender feeler around his big toe and was working its way up his foot. The very tip of this extremity remained ever-busy, feeling and exploring each new section of skin as a blind man might feel and explore a work of art to better understand its qualities.
As the creature continued to explore, the man looked up and followed the outstretched limb with his eyes back into the ocean’s depths. Suddenly, a burst of fear surfaced in his mind and he made a quick retracting motion with his foot. But, to his further dismay, the small tendril did not lose its grip. It was remarkably strong and his effort to free himself was wholly ineffectual. Then, in one fluid movement, the alien limb coiled itself all the way up his calf to his knee.
Now frantic, the man began thrashing his leg and desperately pulling at the tentacle, trying to pry its grip off with his hands. He fell as he struggled and became aware that he was being dragged across the beach towards the water. He fought and clawed madly at the sand to no avail. Waves began to wash over his body as the creature drew him into the surf.
He gasped for one last, broken breath as his body became fully submerged. He saw that he was being pulled past an inexplicably massive tentacle from which the other smaller, and smaller-still, tentacles had branched out from. He choked as the sea water forced itself through his nasal passages and into his lungs. Pressure was building in his ears like he’d never experienced before. He thrashed madly, wildly, and desperately — panic took hold of him, he lost control of his breath and inhaled. His mind came to him one last time to tell him that he was going to die. The world around him was froth, turmoil, and chaos as he faded into his black tranquility.
The man stopped only a few short feet from one of these inexplicable extremities, watching in a state of wonder as the creature worked. The sun was at his back, casting a shadow across one of the smallest, outstretched limbs — the tip of which must have been no wider than the tail of a field mouse. Perhaps sensing the change of temperature, the limb began to shift and work itself towards the onlooker.
The feeler came within a centimeter of discovering the man's toe and paused, as though it had sensed his life-force, his heat, or perhaps some sort of subtle vibrations. It raised the tip of its tendril and slowly stretched itself out until making its first cautious contact. The extremity was so delicate that he could not feel its initial touch. He was captivated and dumbfounded . He remained perfectly still, making no effort to move himself out of this alien creature’s reach.
The creature had soon coiled its slender feeler around his big toe and was working its way up his foot. The very tip of this extremity remained ever-busy, feeling and exploring each new section of skin as a blind man might feel and explore a work of art to better understand its qualities.
As the creature continued to explore, the man looked up and followed the outstretched limb with his eyes back into the ocean’s depths. Suddenly, a burst of fear surfaced in his mind and he made a quick retracting motion with his foot. But, to his further dismay, the small tendril did not lose its grip. It was remarkably strong and his effort to free himself was wholly ineffectual. Then, in one fluid movement, the alien limb coiled itself all the way up his calf to his knee.
Now frantic, the man began thrashing his leg and desperately pulling at the tentacle, trying to pry its grip off with his hands. He fell as he struggled and became aware that he was being dragged across the beach towards the water. He fought and clawed madly at the sand to no avail. Waves began to wash over his body as the creature drew him into the surf.
He gasped for one last, broken breath as his body became fully submerged. He saw that he was being pulled past an inexplicably massive tentacle from which the other smaller, and smaller-still, tentacles had branched out from. He choked as the sea water forced itself through his nasal passages and into his lungs. Pressure was building in his ears like he’d never experienced before. He thrashed madly, wildly, and desperately — panic took hold of him, he lost control of his breath and inhaled. His mind came to him one last time to tell him that he was going to die. The world around him was froth, turmoil, and chaos as he faded into his black tranquility.
When the man awoke underwater, he had no memory of what had happened, nor could he make any sense of where he was. His eyes darted in all directions, attempting to gather information that would help to make sense of his situation. He caught blurred glimpses of light that came from somewhere far above the water’s surface.
All at once, the terrifying memory of his capture and drowning rushed back to him. As his conscious-awareness wrangled with the overwhelming perplexities of his situation, he realized that his capturer — this creature — had securely sealed his airways with one of its appendages. The limb was malleable, yet hard and somewhat abrasive. It felt as though it had made a suction-seal around his nostrils and ear canals. Most astonishingly, it was pumping oxygen into his mouth and allowing him intervals to exhale! The air it supplied was dank, salt-laden, and putrid.
Perhaps overcome by the extraordinary, the man found himself experiencing and assessing his situation almost entirely impassively. He had been stripped naked and his body was being manipulated in front of a massive, black form. There were a collection of reflective orbs that he could make out on the creature’s body, he thought they may be eyes. Although, the creature seemed to be relying so heavily on gathering sensory information from its fine, hyper-sensitive tentacles, that he wasn’t sure that it used, or had any need of, eye-sight. His body was being rolled around in every direction as the many fine, and ever-finer, feelers crawled over him with vigilance. He felt as though he was being studied in the same way that scientists study and manipulate objects in a lab — pausing every so often to make note of anything they feel to be of particular interest before continuing their research.
As the man's senses recovered, he flexed and stretched his limbs—attempting to restore his connection to himself. As his body wriggled and shifted, an intense series of vibrations made the water oscillate and millions of bubbles rose up around him. The vibrations were of varying frequencies and lengths, but all very purposeful. It struck him that the creature must be trying to communicate. While he had no way of understanding its message, he chose to allow his body to relax completely in an attempt to respond to the creature with an act of peace and submission.
All at once, the terrifying memory of his capture and drowning rushed back to him. As his conscious-awareness wrangled with the overwhelming perplexities of his situation, he realized that his capturer — this creature — had securely sealed his airways with one of its appendages. The limb was malleable, yet hard and somewhat abrasive. It felt as though it had made a suction-seal around his nostrils and ear canals. Most astonishingly, it was pumping oxygen into his mouth and allowing him intervals to exhale! The air it supplied was dank, salt-laden, and putrid.
Perhaps overcome by the extraordinary, the man found himself experiencing and assessing his situation almost entirely impassively. He had been stripped naked and his body was being manipulated in front of a massive, black form. There were a collection of reflective orbs that he could make out on the creature’s body, he thought they may be eyes. Although, the creature seemed to be relying so heavily on gathering sensory information from its fine, hyper-sensitive tentacles, that he wasn’t sure that it used, or had any need of, eye-sight. His body was being rolled around in every direction as the many fine, and ever-finer, feelers crawled over him with vigilance. He felt as though he was being studied in the same way that scientists study and manipulate objects in a lab — pausing every so often to make note of anything they feel to be of particular interest before continuing their research.
As the man's senses recovered, he flexed and stretched his limbs—attempting to restore his connection to himself. As his body wriggled and shifted, an intense series of vibrations made the water oscillate and millions of bubbles rose up around him. The vibrations were of varying frequencies and lengths, but all very purposeful. It struck him that the creature must be trying to communicate. While he had no way of understanding its message, he chose to allow his body to relax completely in an attempt to respond to the creature with an act of peace and submission.
The creature seemed to understand his gesture. The many tentacles that had been exploring the man's form began to unwind and retract until there remained only one controlling his torso along with the life-preserving tentacle that was sealing his airways. The creature spanned its innumerable appendages out so that they floated around him. He felt as though he were immersed in a jungle of sentient vines and roots. He could not fathom the shear size of this creature, nor could he form a mental picture of what, in its entirety, it might look like.
The water was becoming lighter and he noticed he was slowly moving away from the bulk of the creature’s form. He was ascending. The creature carried him towards the surface at a slow pace, pushing him laterally through the water much more quickly than it allowed his body to rise. He thought of how it had understood his requirement for oxygen, how it had sealed his ears and nose voluntarily; was it possible — he wondered — that it also knew of his body’s need to ascend from depth gradually?
His eyes burned and strained to see through the froth as he was moved through ever-shallower waters. He could faintly see that there were outstretched tentacles moving in front of him, feeling for obstacles. It struck him that the creature was taking care to see that he was uninjured as it moved him through the water.
The water was becoming lighter and he noticed he was slowly moving away from the bulk of the creature’s form. He was ascending. The creature carried him towards the surface at a slow pace, pushing him laterally through the water much more quickly than it allowed his body to rise. He thought of how it had understood his requirement for oxygen, how it had sealed his ears and nose voluntarily; was it possible — he wondered — that it also knew of his body’s need to ascend from depth gradually?
His eyes burned and strained to see through the froth as he was moved through ever-shallower waters. He could faintly see that there were outstretched tentacles moving in front of him, feeling for obstacles. It struck him that the creature was taking care to see that he was uninjured as it moved him through the water.
When finally his head broke the surface, he saw that he was not near the beach, but far out to sea along the jetty. The creature released the tentacle that had been breathing for him as his body broke out of the water. He gasped and coughed as his lungs began to breathe for themselves again. His body was set down on the flat surface of a boulder above the breaking waves; there the creature released him and retracted its extremities back into the sea.
He lay still for a time, trying to ground his mind as his naked body shivered. After regaining his breath, he rose up carefully on shaking knees. His body felt weak, small, and fragile. He looked out into the ocean, scanning the rocks around him — he could see no trace of the creature, just water and gulls. He looked towards land and saw the observation tower, a mere dot in the distance. Slowly, and cautiously, he began climbing through the jagged boulders. The cold had robbed his feet of sensation and they slipped dangerously on the slick rock. He struggled to maintain dexterity in his hands as the waves broke around him.
By the time he reached the end of the jetty, his feet and hands were raw and bloodied. He lowered himself off of the last boulder and stood still for time, staring down at the firm sand below his feet. There were still no other cars in the parking lot, no one else in sight. With his arms crossed and teeth chattering, he shuffled over to where he’d left his boots before making his way back to his truck.
He lay still for a time, trying to ground his mind as his naked body shivered. After regaining his breath, he rose up carefully on shaking knees. His body felt weak, small, and fragile. He looked out into the ocean, scanning the rocks around him — he could see no trace of the creature, just water and gulls. He looked towards land and saw the observation tower, a mere dot in the distance. Slowly, and cautiously, he began climbing through the jagged boulders. The cold had robbed his feet of sensation and they slipped dangerously on the slick rock. He struggled to maintain dexterity in his hands as the waves broke around him.
By the time he reached the end of the jetty, his feet and hands were raw and bloodied. He lowered himself off of the last boulder and stood still for time, staring down at the firm sand below his feet. There were still no other cars in the parking lot, no one else in sight. With his arms crossed and teeth chattering, he shuffled over to where he’d left his boots before making his way back to his truck.
As he stepped a foot up into the cab, a lone car drove into the parking lot carrying an elderly couple. They were outfitted with khaki, safari-style shirts and sun visors. The elder man had binoculars hanging from his neck and the woman held a camera.
The man paused involuntarily, his bare and battered body still hanging out of the truck as he leaned back against the hand that gripped the steering wheel. He tracked them with dead eyes. His stare was returned with gaping mouths.
The car stopped in front of him and the window cracked cautiously:
“You okay, son?” The elder man asked with trepidation.
His words came as a shock, as though he’d never heard another man speak before. He managed a single nod in the affirmative before pulling himself into the cab and driving east towards the mountains.
The man paused involuntarily, his bare and battered body still hanging out of the truck as he leaned back against the hand that gripped the steering wheel. He tracked them with dead eyes. His stare was returned with gaping mouths.
The car stopped in front of him and the window cracked cautiously:
“You okay, son?” The elder man asked with trepidation.
His words came as a shock, as though he’d never heard another man speak before. He managed a single nod in the affirmative before pulling himself into the cab and driving east towards the mountains.
© Douglas Balmain. 2020.