Beneath Dark Waters

Chapter 1 | The Beach House

Little Sleepy Salem Hallow.

It was quiet.
Gloriously quiet.
Hillary could hear the rush of the ocean against the rocky bluffs somewhere off in the distance. Sea Gulls called dully over head, blissfully sailing on open wings, high above the water.

There was no back fire from cars, no idle chatter from early morning joggers dawdling under her apartment window. Or the obnoxious catcalling  from the construnction workers as the joggers moved from under her window to across the street.

Everything was a perfect picture of peaceful  coastal tranquility. Hillary was exhilarated to be spending her summer months in such a perfect little town, far, far away from the noise and bustle of Boston. The quaint, coastal town was definitely the right choice, she decided.

Hillary dropped her heavy duffle bag on the ground, stretching her arms high over her head.

"Oooh," she sighed as her sore muscles popped and strained. Hillary hated buses; if she could have flown from Boston to the Hallow she would have. The town, however, was so small its closest airport was 3 hours away. Thus resulting in the cramped, smelly, four hour bus ride.

But oh, how the air smelled amazing now!

Salty and sweet from the marshes, briny and tangy because of the sea. A moderately sized cottage loomed up in front of her as she picked up her bag again and made her way up the gravel driveway. Blue shutters stood out on white paint, brazen and awkward compared to a powder yellow door. A brass sea shell knocker was nailed in crooked under the peephole. A house number rocked idly in the breeze.

#462

Hillary smiled; she liked that number. It had a nice ring to it.

snatching up the house key hidden under a very sandy 'WELCOME' mat, Hillary let herself in. The door swung open silently, the cool of the house spilling out into the heat of the day. Hillary closed the door behind her, dropping her bag next to the a tall coat rack. A small table with a lacey runner sat against the wall to the left, a little ways away from an open spiral stair case.

The house was completely open on the bottom level, and Hillary soon learned that every door besides the front were frosted sliding glass. Sea shells, birds, varying ocean creatures, and pastel colors were the choice of decor throughout the cottage.

Hillary chuckled. It basically looked like a pastel ocean had thrown up on every available surface in the house.

A mysteriously monstrous aquatic dragon rearing six heads was embroidered on several throw pillows scattered about the couch in the living room.

Hillary smiled at the many snarling teeth. "I've always loved dragons," she mused out loud, running a finger over the embroidery of one of the throw pillows. Eventuallythe growling in her stomach won out and her exploring was put on hold.

The old guy's pit stains on the bus ride over had really put her off her lunch previously. Now she felt ravenous, the fresh air reinvigorating her appetite.

A sky light let the sun filter lazily into the kitchen. Hillary noticed just about everything in it consisted of  oak, ivory, or cast iron. She pulled open the refrigerator and discovered it was already stocked with small snacks and a six pack of soda. Hillary grabbed a can and opened it with a pop.

She sipped at it as she climbed the stair case, dragging her heavy bag along behind her. It jangled and thunked up the steps.

Hillary already loved the cottage.

This summer was going to be one relaxing blur, she thought idly.

A bedroom and an adjacent bathroom were all that consisted of the upstairs. Hillary noticed the same image of the many headed sea serpent coiling it's way on a few of the bedrooms pillows. Peering into the bathroom she noticed the image again, this time embroidered on several bath towels hung neatly on hooks near the sink.

"Guess the owner really likes sea dragons," Hillary mused to herself out loud.

"Yes, she did," said an unfamiliar voice behind her.