The Attack

A short story detailing why you should never surf alone...

The warm water of the South Pacific hugged the man’s body tight as he bobbed up and down in the gentle swell of the current, the constant afternoon sun beating down on the tops of his shoulders, warming the rubber of his wetsuit. The beach was not far away, he could still make out people going about their business on the white sands. Couples choosing where to lay their towels, families arguing over what to have for lunch, and fellow surfers like him standing high on the dunes, hands brought up to their faces, shading their eyes as they looked out to sea to spot the best waves.

It was so peaceful, out alone on the water, not a sound could be heard over the rush of the water and the squawks of the gulls overhead. He came out here twice a week to clear his head after busy days in the office. He couldn’t do the stressful job he had without his ‘escape’ time. It was a habit he’d picked up from his late father, and something he planned on passing down to his children, when he had any.

The office seemed a distant memory when he was out here. It seemed meaningless as his cares floated away with the tide, nature took over and he felt better connected, his sense alive for those precious few hours each week.

It was these senses that told him something wasn’t quite right. He couldn’t place the feeling, the same sense you got when you felt someone’s eyes watching you. There was nothing definitive he could put his finger on, he was far from shore and he certainly wasn’t being watched all the way out here…at least not from anything above the surface.

He shook the feeling off and decided it was time to head back in. The sun was beginning to lose its midday heat and he was starting to get hungry, the thought of his lunch waiting for him back in his car spurring him into action.

He swung himself up onto his board and waited for the next swell to roll in, bracing himself for the wave that would bring him in to shore. As he waited he realised the birds above him had disappeared, the endless screeches replaced with eerie silence. He looked toward the beach and for a panicked moment realised he was in the trough of a wave, he couldn’t see the familiar sights of the shore, and more alarmingly, no-one could see him. The fear rose in his throat and threatened to overwhelm him until the wave dipped and once again he saw the couples relaxing and the families arguing.

The silence had spooked him that was all. He chastised himself for being so pathetic. He’d been coming here twice a week for years and nothing had happened…today was no different.

The beach was the same, the salty taste of the sea was the same, and the warm sea breeze was the same. What was different though was the unnatural rise and fall of his board, a motion that went against the rhythm of the sea.

A pressure wave forced his surfboard’s nose gently out of the water, a motion so sensitive only an experienced surfer like himself would notice. That coupled with the unusual calm put his mind on edge. His skin prickled and cooled, even under the glare of the sun, and for the first time ever he felt he shouldn’t be in the water. He wished for nothing more than to be back on dry land, sat in his car seat eating his lunch, laughing at how frightened he’d become.

He felt another pressure wave gently rock his board, this time coming from just in front of him and passing directly underneath him, causing the board to bob up and slowly drift clockwise, pointing its nose parallel to the shore.

If a wave was going to carry him in he needed to re-position the board to be facing towards the beach, not away from it. He splashed one hand in the warm sea, slowly bringing the board round to face the correct way. And then he waited.

Where had all the waves gone? He thought.

Where had all the swimmers gone?

For the first time that day he realised he was completely alone, not another soul was in the sea. Before he let his imagination get the better of him he caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye. He turned towards the movement and that’s when he saw it…

A wave, a decent medium sized wave, a take-you-back-to-shore kind of wave was heading straight for him, slowly building momentum as it rumbled relentlessly inland. He swung his legs out of the water and gripped his board tightly as he brought his face down to its rough surface, the coconut smell of his board wax filling his nostrils, reminding him how hungry he was. The fear he felt earlier had allayed his hunger, but now it was back, all feelings of terror soon forgotten as the adrenaline of catching the wave took over.

He risked one final glance over his shoulder to better judge the moment the wave would hit, and that’s when time stood still. The wave stopped its previously relentless path, the white froth of its crest hanging suspended in mid-air. The swell of the ocean frozen, its undulating surface motionless, like it was captured on a painting.

Suddenly it all made sense. The disappearance of the birds, the un-shakeable feeling of being watched, the tingle that had been running through his body. They were all trying to tell him something. The prehistoric part of his brain, the part so long forgotten, was screaming warnings at him to get out. If only he’d listened sooner.

Coming directly at him, nose raised ever so slightly out of the water, was the largest shark he’d ever seen. At this angle, so low to the water, the fish looked enormous, its pitted snout seemed to almost block out the sun. As he watched on in horror the shark’s black eyes rolled back in its head, its huge jaws hyper extended out of its mouth, the glittering white teeth pushed forward by its bloody red gums, and with one final thrust of its tail lunged forward, sinking its row upon row of razor sharp teeth deep into the man’s flank.

There was no pain at first. The situation was too surreal for his mind to comprehend. Only moments ago he had been thinking about which way he was going to drive home, considering the fact it was tourist season on the coast, so the roads were busy no matter the time.

That seemed like so long ago, and a lot had changed since then. He watched on with a mixture of awe and confusion as the massive fish shook its head violently from side to side, its teeth working like little saws, just as nature intended.

With a final, effortless clamp of its mouth the Great White bit fully through the man, and his surfboard, disappearing under the surface in a cloud of white and red, the frothing at the surface slowly returning to gentle calm.

And then time started again. The man was still looking down the length of his body at where the shark had been. A huge chunk of flesh had been taken out of his side, leaving a gaping hole surrounded by shreds of black wetsuit. The stubs of broken ribs protruded out into mid-air, with the gristle of mangled organs slopping ungainly out into the ocean. The dark purple lumps slipped out of the huge gash in the man’s side, floating on the surface among the froth and seaweed. Shortly, bright red blood began to seep from all around the wound and pour out into the ocean. He’d never seen so much blood before, it literally pumped out of him, staining the sea a deep crimson all around him. The sensation reminded him of urinating, that feeling you got of emptying oneself away. Except there was no feeling of satisfaction with this, only pure terror. With each pump he got colder, and colder. He felt tired too, his head rested on the board, the familiar coconut smell still present, reminding him of how different things were, seconds ago.

As he lay on the board watching his life drain away into the Pacific, he thought to himself, this is it. It’s over.

The lack of blood made it impossible for him to feel anything, even the pain. Which was a blessing in disguise, as the devastation done to his body by that single bite was immense. His right lung, collapsed and exposed, trailed in the water as it hung limply below his surfboard.

As he prepared to drift into unconsciousness, at peace with the feeling that this sudden, horrendous ordeal was done, a gentle bob of the ocean rolled his otherwise unresponsive head across the surfboard, leaving him staring directly down into the watery depths below him.

What he saw terrified him to the end of his broken ability. Even with his body pouring into the ocean and his mauled, pulpy flesh hanging in tatters from his board, the sight spurred him into the only action he could do. His limp hand slowly rose out of the water in a vain attempt to protect his face.

Coming towards him at an antagonisingly slow pace was the shark. It came straight up out of the depths, the majority of its vast mass still hidden in shadow. It glided gently upwards with the barest flicker of its powerful tail, its curving pectoral fins keeping it aligned as it swam up to meet him.

From this angle the beast actually appeared to be smiling. The devil’s grin, he thought as the huge fish got closer. The rough skin of its snout broke the surface and felt coarse as it rubbed against the man’s pale face, the deep pits in its nose like sandpaper against his loosening skin.

The maw rose, higher and higher. Soon the teeth became visible. Huge, pearly white triangles glinting in the reflection of the sun. Some of them still had chunks of ragged flesh attached to them, my flesh, he thought absent mindlessly as he recognised the pattern on the wetsuit material mashed into the lumps of crushed gristle.

The teeth gouged deep furrows in the thin skin of his face, opening up rough gashes. They didn’t bleed however, he had none left to give.

As the huge fish rose ever so slowly out of the water, huge drips of water fell from the beast’s snout, splashing across the man’s face, the only sensation that he could now feel. The water around them both was bright scarlet as the last of the man’s blood drained into the ocean, and with one final lunge the beast bit down hard on the man’s torso, biting clean through the collarbone and shoulder, severing the man’s body at the chest. The man’s head tumbled down the huge shark’s gullet as it swallowed its prey whole, disappearing into the gloom below. What was left of the man’s body convulsed and slowly shrugged itself off the board and sank to the ocean floor below, pulling with it the remains of the splintered surfboard. A few errant, rose-coloured bubbles rose to the surface and popped. The surface of the sea returned to its natural calm, and gulls could be heard in the background, screeching to one another. Or perhaps it was a warning, a warning to the lone surfer paddling over to investigate the dark shadow in the depths.

Author's Note

This is my first attempt at writing, please let me know what you think. Any advice would be gratefully received.

Reviews

[PWyates]

Pretty timeless topic for a scary story, don't be self conscious about academic bull hunky; this is great for your first work! Amazing build up and payoff at the end.

[Christopher M. Musick]

This was great! Really intense and atmospheric. The bloody details at the end gave the whole piece a satisfying and terrifying finish. Nice job keep it up!