Halloween Story Competition

    William turned his coat collar up against the harsh winds blowing in off the Atlantic. This year the seasons had seemingly turned from summer to winter with no intermediary to speak of. Walking briskly due more to the cold than any constraint of time, he made his way from the warm embrace of his cottage to the wharf where his small fishing boat was tied up.
    The boards of the small pier creaked in protest under his weight, and salt spray was stinging at his face, but he made his way down to The King of Maine and hopped over its low-rising side.
    It was a simple boat, about twenty feet in length. It had been built with a respectable cabin at the bow, large enough to stand in and captain the boat free from the tyranny of the elements. At its stern was open deck, with enough space for three coolers to hold the day's catch, and two off-board gas motors.
    William sauntered into the cabin and put his thermos of coffee into a holder conveniently located near the steering wheel. His liquid courage safely stowed, he readied his instrument panels for the voyage. After a beat, he turned the ignition key.

    Silence.

    He turned the key.

    The motors briefly purred to life before petering out.

    He turned the key.

    A mighty roar issued from the stern as the motors revved and remained powered on.

    He turned on his heel to exit the cabin, when he noticed it. Just a minor shadow in the corner of his eye. Sharply inhaling, he turned to examine the cabin to his right.
    Nothing.
    Shaking his head slightly, he exited the cabin and went to the dock to untie the boat. After a few moments deftly undoing his handiwork, he pushed away from the wharf. Slowly, the boat drifted parallel to the coast.
Returning to the cabin, he grabbed the wheel and turned it hard to the right. After a few moments maneuvering the craft out of the shallows, he upped the speed and headed out to sea. The waves were high, almost three feet. As the boat accelerated it rocked back and forth for a time, until it reached its target velocity and began cutting through the waves.
Satisfied with his progress, William reached for his coffee.
    It was not there.
    Searching for a moment, he looked to the floor and found his thermos in the corner of the cabin.
He bent down to grab it, and as he stood up quickly he saw another shadow in the corner of his vision. Another sharp inhale followed by another fruitless scan of the cabin.
    After about eighteen minutes at cruising speed, William gunned down the throttle and stopped the boat.
Sipping from his thermos, he turned and exited the cabin. Once on the deck he went to the motor casings and retrieved the anchor stored beside them. He breathed in heavily and then heaved the anchor over the side of the boat. With a loud splash it began its quick plunge into the depths. One hundred feet. Two hundred. It neared three hundred feet of line before it hit bottom.
    Now that the boat was stationary, the rocking from the waves had returned. William was used to it though. Very calmly he stood back and walked to his three lines and rigged the tackle.
Once his lines were set, he let out a long sigh and sat down atop the back-most cooler.

    He heard a creak. A small one, sounding like it came from the cabin. He ignored it, with the wind and the waves these noises were to be expected.
    One line began to pull. Gentle at first, a fish had taken a taste of the bait. After a beat, it began to slowly unwind from its spool. The fish had taken it. Quickly standing, William grabbed the pole from its socket. He tugged to ensure a solid connection before reeling in the line.
    His arms were soon strained from effort, this was a big fish. After several seconds he found it nearly impossible to reel the line. Grunting and groaning from the strain he leaned back against the tension.
With a sharp snapping sound the line broke, and he fell backwards onto the deck. His head fell against the cooler behind him, and his vision went dark for a few moments.
    His vision still fuzzy, and the sounds of the waves sounding like a cannon barrage, he staggered and stumbled to his feet. Looking out into the water he could swear he saw an enormous shadow off the starboard side. The side with the broken line.
    Shaking his head to clear his vision, he began to feel nauseated. Running his hand over his head, he felt something warm and wet. Water? That was cold. Coffee? Where was his thermos?
    He brought his hand down in front of his face to see that it was red. Was he bleeding? Had he hit his head?

    Blinking away his confusion, William turned to go retrieve some new tackle for the broken line. He saw a shadow flicker across the corner of his eye, it looked to be close to the cabin. Pausing to regard the cabin, he saw nothing. Had he seen the shadow before? It felt like Deja Vu.
    He stumbled forward, going into the cabin, maybe his coffee was in there. He could use a draught of it before repairing his tackle. Opening the door, he took a moment to take in the scent of the room. A unique commingling of the sea salt and the spruce wood the cabin was made of.
    Was that it? Was that the wood? Was it a smell or a taste? Was that a shadow? Was it from a wave?
He scanned the console for his coffee but couldn't find it. Why was he in the cabin? He was getting tired. What time was it?
    From behind him came the sound of a line being pulled, a sharp din. Plastic being dragged against metal. Hadn't he just started out? Why were the lines set?
    He turned and his vision briefly turned red. Or did he see something red? Could he see?
    He walked out of the cabin and saw that the back line was being pulled. Walking forward he grabbed the port side line and began reeling it. It came quite easily, but whatever fish had been on the end was no longer to be found. But the line was still making noise, and for some reason the noise it was making was coming from the other line.
    Shaking his head he swayed with the waves. Another sound came from the cabin. This time it was a thud.
Turning quickly, William lost his balance and fell to the deck. He hit his nose quite hard. Something tasted salty and felt hot. His face felt wet. Had someone hit his nose?
    Getting up he looked to the cabin. Maybe if he could find his coffee he would be able to get his bearings. He stood up and walked to the door, but as he was about to turn the handle and open it, a deep, dull thud came from below.

    Had something hit the boat? Had the boat hit something?

    He turned away from the door to look over the port side. Blood dripped from his nose into the water. But that wasn't right, surely. His nose hurt, but nothing had happened. Was that blood in the water?
    A shadow passed under the boat. William inhaled sharply and retreated from the side. The withering trill of anxiety flared up in his gut, and he could hear his pulse pounding in his ears.

        He kept backing up.
        Another thud.
    He backed up.
    Thud.
He backed into the starboard wall.
Thud.
He grabbed his temples.
Thud.
He gnashed his teeth.
Thud.
He clenched his fists.
Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Was it his heart?
Could he see someone?
Was something there?

Thud.

    He let out a cry. A sharp, piercing yell. All of his frustrations, confusions, and pain let loose unto the world.

    He backed up, and fell over the wall.

    It was wet again, but now he was being attacked. Thousands of knives assaulting him. Shadows enveloping him. He opened his eyes, and immediately they stung. This was bad water. Painful water. He searched around him madly for the source of the attack.
    The water was deep and dark, but there was nothing to be seen. No fish. No knives. No nothing.
    He needed a breath. He inhaled sharply.
    He began to panic. It was getting darker. Now shadows were coming up from the deeps. Up and up and up and up and up.

Thud.
A big shadow was above him. Coming closer and closer and closer and closer.
Thud.
His vision became fuzzier, more shadows were coming.
Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.