Silas

Andy needed to get home. It was time to pack up and leave, take his kid far away from this God forsaken place.

With each panicked step up the narrow path through the wood leading away from the road that ran past the beach, the ground sucked at his feet. The choking darkness was beginning to take hold. The wind whipped through the arms and fingers of the trees, naked and misshapen. Nearing the clifftop, he felt it again. Like cold oil trickling down his back. Not up here. It couldn’t?

The voice in his head repeating the name – Silas, Silas…

What had his son said about his dream? A faceless shadow. Sitting and waiting. Until the time was right.

Silas, Silas…

Louder now.

Head down against the drizzle, he could make out the pub stood the other side of the old golf course that swung around the cliffs, its light a flicker.

Then the clack of something knocking in the hole ahead of him.

He dared himself not to look. Her face on the beach had told him what to expect. But it stared up at him all the same, rolling, unblinking.

Silas was coming.