The Woman at the End of the Dock

The Woman at the End of the Dock

Short Stories

The Woman at the End of Dock

I saw the woman in the white dress right after my dentist appointment.

I wasn’t doing anything special: it was a normal night. My appointment had been close to their closing time, so by the time I was done, the sun had already set.

I had just gotten the news that I had a nice, healthy set of three cavities that would have to be filled, so, in anticipation of the pain I would have to endure next week, I was treating myself to a dentist-approved meal of french fries and ice cream.

I was simply sitting on my normal bench that night. It over looked the harbor that was the best part of my seaside town. I would go down to the salty sea after a bad day at work and run into the waves fully dressed. I would let my shoulder-length hair down from it’s pony-tail and dunk my head beneath the waves.

The ocean was the most beautiful part of our world. That’s why I had become a marine biologist. I prided myself in knowing so much knowledge over a topic Earth as a whole knew little about, but that day I watched the woman in the white dress slip away was the day I questioned everything I had ever learned about our great oceans and seas.

I was halfway through my fries when I first saw her. She looked like any other woman might; white-blonde hair pulled back in a bun, a small leather bag, a flowing white dress. Honestly, the first thing I thought of when I saw her was that I like her hat. It was a straw sun hat with a silky black ribbon tied around the middle.

She was a way’s off, far enough ahead that I didn’t have to talk to her, or even acknowledge her existence. This was usually fine with me, but instead of going back to my dinner, I kept my gaze on her. She seemed nervous, fiddling with the strap of her bag. Eventually, she pulled out a letter with a blue seal (that appeared to have already been opened), and read its contents. I noticed that the letter looked worn, almost as if it had been soaked in water then let out to dry.

She stood there for quite some time, not even acknowledging my presence, unaware of my persistent gaze. Eventually, I grew tired of my game, and returned to my task at hand: finishing my fries. Only when I heard the wave crash down on my harbor did I whip my head up.

A strong gust of wind began to blow my hair back and up out of my short ponytail. I pushed my food to the side raising my hands before my face in protection of the wind.

Suddenly, breaking the waves, a huge fish rose above the docks. Its scales were a luminescent pale blue, glistening in the light of the moon. Its eyes, pale and unseeing, where lacking pupils and irises. Fins the size of butcher knives jutted out from its back, and it rose above the level of the docks and stopped when its mouth was level with them.

My breath was short, my heart pumping. I pushed myself back into the seat of my bench, staring up at the huge creature before me. Never, in all my time as a marine biologist, had I seen or heard of an animal like this.

The woman, who had briefly slipped my mind, moved forward back into my view. I almost cried out to her to stop, to get away, before I realized that she was already moving hesitantly toward the creature. In the brief seconds it took the woman to move toward the fish, I took some time to imagine different versions of tomorrow’s paper. “WOMAN DEVOURED BY NEW TYPE OF FISH,” one read. “INNOCENT BYSTANDER DOES NOTHING TO AID WOMAN ABOUT TO BE EATEN.” “MISSING LADY: EYEWITNESS REPORTS SEEING HER EATEN.” “NEW TYPE OF FISH AMAZES BIOLOGISTS, EATS WOMAN.” I probably don’t have to tell you why I got up from my seat.

I tried to call out to woman, screaming at her to get away, but nothing came out. It was then that I realized the strange silence that had fallen over my harbor. There was a light breeze shaking my clothes and the leaves, but you couldn’t hear the rustling. The few steps forward that I had just taken had made no noise. I was plunged into the icy depths of silence.

And it was cold.

I shivered, questioning my next move. Move toward her? Go get someone for help? But I soon realized that it was too late to act. The woman was already at the fish’s mouth. All I could think to do was stare.

The woman in the white dress looked into the eyes of the creature, and tentatively moved her hand up to its face. She stroked the scales, and a small tear slipped down her face. She bowed her head, and I watched her put her forehead on the creature’s.

When she pulled back, the creature slowly creaked its mouth open. I cringed, knowing this was the moment. I silently said a goodbye to the woman in the white dress.

But, instead of the fish eating her, submitting her to a short life of stomach acid, it simply held its mouth wide open as if it expected her to walk in on her own.

But that was the thing. She could’ve, very easily. For, instead of the normal tongue and teeth that accompanied the inside of a mouth, there were steps leading up into the fish’s mouth.

I felt my own mouth drop open.

As I continued to watch, a figure, cloaked in black, came to the mouth of the fish from the inside itself. I gasped (though I couldn’t hear it), and took another step closer. Tall and lean, they had shiny black shoes and long buttoned up cloak drenched in inky blackness. I thought I could see the rim of a top hat, but their face was clouded with the darkness of the fish mouth.

The woman now had many tears sliding down her face. They dripped down on her white dress and fell just through the crack between the docks and the fish’s mouth. I could just see it splash into the water, joining the salty sea.

The figure stretched out a spindly hand, a black glove concealing the skin, and the woman bowed her head in dismay. Carefully, sadly, the lady in that beautiful white dress accepted the hand, putting her own inside it.

The cloaked person pulled her into the depths of the fish, and she stumbled along with them. Just as she crossed the lip of creature, the fish slowly began to close its mouth, trapping her within.

I yelled out in protest, my gut wrenching at the thought of being enclosed in such a thing, but my words were still caught and twisted away, leaving the silence in their place.

I didn’t want the woman to go. I saw the way she acted, and I knew this wasn’t the way it should go, wasn’t the way she wanted it to. But, as I began to move myself toward the docks, the fish began to slowly sink back under.

I cried out again, but just as before, it was a futile attempt. The waves lapped over the creature’s sides, and the mouth of it slowly sunk down under again, submitting the lady to a watery cage.

As the last of the fish was lost from sight, as the last jagged fin slipped away, my world returned. My noise.

The leaves rustled again in the wind.

My breathing was sharp and loud.

My sobs were racking and breathy.

The waves returned to their soothing tune.

But my harbor was changed. Violated. Wrong.

I turned back to my dinner, still lying discarded on my bench. I thought of going back to sit down. I thought of going home. But I ran to the water’s edge instead.

I dove under, letting my body sink beneath the waves. I pried my eyes open, letting the salt sting them. I searched for the woman in the white dress, and I searched for the fish (even though it was the last thing I wanted to find).

But they were gone.

She had been right in front on me.

She had been standing on my harbor.

And she had been swallowed by my sea.

And she was gone.

2 thoughts on “The Woman at the End of the Dock

  1. It was reaching its end. I remembered it before I turned the corner and saw it, in all its dilapidated red-brick glory: the Hempstocks’ farmhouse. It took me by surprise, although that was where the lane had always ended. I could have gone no further. I parked the car at the side of the farmyard. I had no plan.

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