Sliggers Read online

  SLIGGERS

  MICHAEL YOWELL

  www.severedpress.com

  Copyright 2018 by MICHAEL YOWELL

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  I have always loved the ocean. The idea of a separate, different world containing a myriad of unique life forms is fascinating. Since man’s early exploration across the seas, tales of sea monsters have surfaced. These were undoubtedly inspired by the strange creatures men witnessed for the first time during their travels on the water. Whether they were narwhals, oarfish, hammerhead sharks, or giant squid, they were extraordinary and frightening.

  And there are still creatures living in the murky depths that we haven’t even seen yet. Who’s to say there aren’t actual monsters down there in the deep?

  …Or closer to shore?

  This book is dedicated to everyone who still has a spark of fearful imagination regarding the ocean.

  PROLOGUE

  The cove was calm tonight, as usual. Warm easterly winds pulled waves inland from the Atlantic, but the heaving swells broke upon contact with the reef and dissipated quietly into the water of the deep cove beyond. There would be good fishing in the still water.

  Looking up at the full moon, Earl Goates grunted his approval. The moonlight in the clear sky would make fishing easier for him. He would be able to see his gear without having to use his flashlight. That meant less attention drawn to him from the keen eyes of the fish below.

  With a six-pack of cold beer in hand, Earl locked the back door of his two-bedroom house and crossed the weathered porch to gather his fishing gear. After depositing the beer safely inside a Styrofoam cooler, he lugged his pole, tackle box, and cooler from the back porch to the eight-foot dinghy he kept tied at the edge of the cove.

  The boat was a rickety old thing, worked over by many years of sunlight, salt water, and sand. But it, like his small house on the beach, was left to Earl when his father died, so it was a cherished belonging. And he loved night fishing in that boat as much as his father did.

  The sixty-year-old fisherman set his gear inside the dinghy, untied the rope, and sat down inside. Then he shoved off with one oar until the water accepted his boat and carried him out. Gripping the second oar, he paddled into the sizable cove.

  He stopped when he reached the center of the cove. Surrounded by an amphitheater of rock wall, the waters of Pirate’s Bend were quiet. Plenty of good fish had been pulled out of this cove over the years. It was an ideal feeding ground for young gray snapper and other shallow water fish. Earl opened a beer from the cooler, took a few chugs while admiring the moon’s soft reflection on the water, then began to bait his hook.

  A heavy splash was heard from the far end of the cove, echoing across the dark water. Earl’s ears perked. That was definitely something swimming in the cove, breaking just off the shore. Might be a large redfish, might be a sandbar shark, but either way it would be a worthy catch. If he could hook and land whatever it was, he’d be able to find a buyer for it tomorrow morning. With a smooth but motivated stroke, Earl rowed his dinghy toward the area of the splash.

  Following the reflection of moonlight on the water, he pulled his way across Pirate’s Bend until he was about twenty feet from the rocky shore. There he stopped and listened.

  Another hearty splash interrupted the quiet, this time coming from a tight notch of the cove on Earl’s left side. Grinning, he slowly rowed the boat in the direction of the splash.

  When he arrived at the spot, an eerie silence greeted him. The rock walls surrounding the ten-foot-wide notch blocked out the sounds of the nearby ocean, making it surprisingly quiet where Earl now was. He carefully set down his oars and prepared to drop his line just over the side.

  A lazy lapping of water was audible as something barely breached the surface behind him. He whipped his head around to see the ripples it left behind, and he immediately noticed the invasive stench of rotten eggs. He frowned.

  Suddenly he heard – and felt – scratching, coming from the underside of the wooden boat. Something was vigorously investigating the bottom of the hull, the scratching growing louder and more intense. An aggressive shark? he feared. Eyes wide, Earl dropped his pole and gripped both sides of the dinghy.

  The water erupted behind him. As he was turning his head, Earl felt something cold wrap itself around him and pierce his body, penetrating deep through his clothing into his muscle tissue. The sulfuric stench returned, then disappeared when he was pulled over the side and chilly sea water rushed into his nostrils and mouth. He felt something digging and tearing into him, sensed the warmth of his own blood in the water around him, and then he was gone.

  Minutes later, the water had settled to once again hold the still reflection of the moon.

  CHAPTER 1

  The funeral was every bit as heartrending as expected. The community had lost a dear old friend in Mabel Parker, and the service drove that bitter fact home even deeper. After the reverend concluded the service, the townspeople in attendance followed her son out back to the church’s limestone patio to offer their condolences.

  Mason Parker had just returned home after graduating college. At the spry age of twenty-two, he had planned to figure out the rest of his life while staying with his mother for the summer. He had only been home for a few days when she died in her sleep Monday night.

  Mason had found Mabel in her bed the next morning, looking peaceful as could be. When he tried to wake her, her skin was cold and lifeless. After ten minutes of staring at her in shock, he gathered himself and called the police station. His memory of that day was all but a blur of cold skin, shaky hands, dealing with the sheriff and coroner, and ultimately locking himself inside a quiet house that enveloped his sobs and sighs.

  The service was held at Mabel’s church, naturally, where all her friends and clergy gathered to remember her. Reverend Jenkins delivered the memorial with just the right blend of sorrow, faith, and humor. But in the end, everybody was still devastated by the loss of their beloved friend Mabel. And now they were on the back patio, comforting her son and each other.

  Mason only owned one suit, which he wore today to honor his mother. Mabel’s friends commented on how handsome he looked in that navy blue suit, but to him it felt like a straitjacket. It was uncomfortable, constricting, and burning him up. The muggy summer heat under a South Carolina sun made sure of it.

  He removed his jacket and draped it over his arm. Sweat stains were visible on his shirt, but he no longer cared. It was just too damn hot to keep the jacket on. Plus, the gathering around him was beginning to make him feel a bit confined as well.

  With a polite, belabored smile, Mason continued to respond kindly to all those who expressed their genuine grief and sympathy. They were sweet people, a good group of folk that were part of what gave this small seaside town of Sweetboro its unique charm. Sure, there were people in town that were less than desirable, as in any town, but everybody that came for the funeral today was someone Mason knew and liked.

  Sweetboro was tucked away in a small bay along the Atlantic coastline. With no major highways anywhere nearby, the town had managed to retain its quaint, tight-knit identity. There was some tourism – mostly people that were looking for a quiet, uncrowded beach – but for the most part the town’s economic survival was self-sustaining. Sweetboro consisted of two grocery stores, two banks, three churches, schools, a single gas and auto repair shop, a small hospital, a police station, a post office, several shops, restaurants, and a dock mooring half a dozen fishing boats.

  Main Street ran from the dock inland, through the center of town, and to the state highway far beyond. In the outlying hills on either side of town, nestled throughout the oaks and pines, were the family homes of the town’s residents. Sweetboro was a simple yet charming town.

 
; Mason’s family had lived here for four generations. He had been raised a proper, God-fearing Southern boy by a doting but disciplining mother. Mabel had to do it on her own, since Mason’s father died in a car accident when Mason was just a toddler. But the community had rallied to her, offering all their support.

  Mabel’s best friend Sherrie Robinson, who owned a restaurant near the dock, was the most helpful. Sherrie, another widow, spent much time at the Parker house. As a result, her daughter and Mason became best friends. Her name was Beverly, but for some reason she took to the shortened variant Eaver (due in part to how she pronounced her own name as a baby). Mason and Eaver were soon inseparable. The two kids spent practically all their waking hours together, whether they were climbing trees, fishing, or playing on the beach, and their time together made it easier for Mabel to continue serving the community as their mail carrier.

  Mason had spotted Sherrie and Eaver earlier during the service. He was glad they came. It brought him a sense of family. Now, on the back patio of the church, he saw them mingling with the rest of the congregation.

  Then he saw Sheriff Steele, on duty and in uniform, which surprised him a little. Jimmy Steele knew everybody in town, including Mabel, so he undoubtedly took time away from work to attend her service here. The sheriff made eye contact with Mason, and he made his way across the patio to the young man.

  Holding his hat against his chest, a solemn frown formed beneath his bushy, brown mustache. “I’m so sorry about your ma. How ya holdin’ up, Mason?”

  “As good as I can,” Mason shrugged. “I still can’t believe she’s gone. I go numb just thinking about it.”

  “I know, son, I know. Your ma was a great lady, and a great friend. We’re all gonna miss her somethin’ fierce. But we can take comfort knowing she’s with the Lord now.” The sheriff rested a hand on Mason’s shoulder. “She was awful proud of you, though, I do know that. Used to talk up a storm about you when you were away to college. You made her real happy, Mason.”

  Mason felt tears welling in his eyes, and he fought to control them. “Thank you, Sheriff Steele, I appreciate that.” He took a deep breath. “All I’ve ever wanted was to make her proud.”

  “She’ll be looking in on you from up there, don’t you worry. I’m sure you’ll always make her proud.”

  He switched to a more positive tone. “So you all done with college?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “I heard you were studying criminal justice?”

  The graduate nodded. “Bachelor of Science. I just need to decide exactly what area to work in. You know, crime scene investigation, criminal investigation, maybe juvenile justice.”

  “Well,” said the sheriff, “I might be able to take on a good employee at the station.”

  Mason smiled. “You never know, Sheriff. Thanks.”

  The moment was interrupted by the vibrating of Steele’s phone. It was Deputy Riggins calling. “Excuse me, son.” The sheriff patted Mason’s shoulder, then stepped aside to pick up the call from his deputy. “This is Steele, what’s up?”

  Curious, Mason listened in to the sheriff’s side of the conversation.

  “You sure it’s blood? …You think it’s ol’ Earl’s? …Pirate’s Bend? …Looks pretty bad, huh? …Okay, Spud, I’m on my way. Keep it as intact as you can.”

  The sheriff ended the call and dutifully returned his hat to his head. Mason watched him walk briskly through the crowd, tip his hat to Sherrie and Eaver as he passed by, and disappear into the church to get to his car out front.

  Eaver caught Mason’s gaze and noticed that he was no longer talking to anybody else. She excused herself from her mother and approached her long-time friend. Mason could not help but notice the dress she was wearing. Eaver had chosen a dark purple summer dress for the somber occasion, so dark that it looked almost black in the shade. It was tasteful enough for a funeral, but also very enticing. It lay well on her slender figure.

  She opened her arms and embraced him in a strong hug. “Hey, Mason. I’m so sorry… she was like a second momma to me.”

  “I know, Eaver. She loved you too.” He released his hug and held her at arm’s length. “You changed your hair.”

  “Just added highlights so it’s not so dark.” Her dark brown hair contained subtle streaks of highlighting, blending smoothly so that it all looked like one brighter tone. “And let it grow out a little longer. You like it?”

  He did. Particularly the way the sunlight brought out the lighter shades. He was finding his childhood friend more attractive each year. “You look lovely, Miss Eaver.”

  She blushed a bit. “Thank you, sir. So do you. All handsome in that suit.” She could not deny that he looked good; tall, slim, and cute, with wavy red hair that looked sharp against the navy blue clothing.

  “Yeah, well I can’t wait to get it off and get back in my shorts and tee. Just have to tough it out until I’m done here.”

  “Going straight back to the house after?”

  “Yeah, some of the folks said they’d be by later with food and such.”

  “Are you going to stay there? I mean, even after… this?”

  Mason nodded. “Sure, it’s still my home. Guess it’s mine literally, now. I deal with the lawyer on Monday and figure out all the legalities.”

  “I’m glad you’ll be staying there. I’ve missed hanging out with you while you were away.”

  Being back in his hometown did bring a sense of solace over him, despite his recent loss. “I think I missed being home. It’s not gonna be the same anymore, but I’m still glad I’m here.”

  “Maybe we can drive up to the Gardens sometime and paddle a canoe through the swamp, like we did when we were kids.” She touched his shoulder gently. “Might do you good,” she added with the sweetest Southern drawl.

  He forced a smile through his sorrow. “Thanks, Eaver. That does sound nice.”

  “Are you gonna be okay tonight? Me and Momma could come over later if you like.”

  “No, thank you, I’ll be fine.” He knew it was a lie; he felt utterly alone and depressed. But it had always been his nature not to impose on anybody else. He was sure that he was strong enough to get through this. “No need for y’all to fret over me.”

  “Alright, sugar. But you just call on us if you need anything, okay?”

  “Okay,” he said. Then he watched while Eaver turned and walked away to find her mother among the crowd. What a good friend, he thought. She had always been there for him, ever since childhood.

  At that moment he thought about the empty house waiting for him, and a pain shot through him. He realized he was not strong enough after all.

  “Hey, Eaver?” he called, and she stopped. “On second thought, if you don’t mind, I think I’d appreciate the company.”

  She nodded proudly. “We’ll leave Cinch to close up the restaurant for us. See you around seven?”

  “I’ll be there. And thank you.”

  “No trouble a’tall, Mason. I’ll go tell Momma.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Jimmy Steele always felt uncomfortable at Pirate’s Bend. There was something about the cove that made the sheriff feel cold and edgy. It had a dark aura about it, almost evil.

  He had reservations about the cove ever since the tragedy. When he was a high school senior, he and his friends would drive there at night to drink beer and let loose. One particular June evening, when Jimmy wanted to go to a house party to do something different, his buddies still insisted on their usual routine of climbing down the cove face to build a fire by the water.

  They had managed to coax two girls from school to join them, with the promise of supplying whatever alcohol they wanted, which made Jimmy feel a little better about missing the house party. Especially since one of the girls was somebody he had a secret crush on.

  Her name was Samantha Kramer. A sweet but fairly quiet girl, she did not go out for sports, cheerleading, or any of the school clubs. But she was friendly enough – and pretty enough behind her
glasses – to be socially included by her more popular classmates. Jimmy sat directly behind her in Social Studies class, and he spent more time admiring her thin waist and soft, pale neck than listening to the droning of his teacher.

  She and her sister Amy were happy to be carousing with the boys tonight. A campfire at the water’s edge would be more exciting than hanging out with the girls in town. Boys and alcohol would be a fun, refreshing change from their usual Friday night.

  Once the group got to Pirate’s Bend, they navigated down the rocks with their firewood and booze. Before long, they had built a lively campfire near the shoreline. And it did not take long for the alcohol they consumed to take effect on their inhibitions.

  Samantha and Amy dared each other to dive into the dark seawater from one of the rocks. Naturally the boys encouraged this idea, figuring the girls would strip down to their bras and panties before getting wet. To the boys’ delight, the sisters did peel their clothing to expose their underwear and smooth, willowy bodies.

  Samantha was the first to scamper up the rocks to a decent ledge. She asked the others what dive she should attempt, and they gave their suggestions. Jimmy wanted to see a can opener, and that was what she decided to do. She took a step back, lunged forward off the ledge, and tucked a knee to her chest as she entered the water. The high splash erupted, then rained back down into the settling wake.

  Jimmy smiled while waiting for her to resurface. The seconds continued to tick away, and Samantha still had not returned to the surface. Jimmy’s smile slowly shrank into a tight frown. After half a minute, fear and panic set in.

  He grabbed the flashlight and aimed its beam where Samantha had entered. It was hard to see through the turbidity of the water, but he briefly saw a glimpse of her white face, several feet below the surface. The image was something that would haunt him forever; her eyes wide in terror, her mouth screaming unheard. Then the currents brought in more sediment, erasing her from sight.