Where The Tide Takes You

A Short Story by Chloe Hefford, St Ives, Cornwall. UK

The ragged, angular shape cut from the granite was only visible on a low tide. The edges softened slightly by the grassy,

luminous green seaweed. Mottled shades of ochre, charcoal, and terracotta veiled beneath the green like a forgotten

painting. The face of the cliff was scarred with stains of erosion and the passing of time and tide. The air had an

overpowering energy of something larger than oneself, evocative and majestic like a gothic cathedral. The

crevice was deep enough to appear dark but not so deep that the light could not reach the shadowy recesses. Just high

enough in the cliff face to need to climb but not so high that it was beyond reach. With a little determination and a firm

grip, you can just reach the edge of the opening.

It was a fresh spring day the first time I noticed the intriguing rectangular crevice. An arrangement of acid-yellow

flowers and bright green seaweed were neatly placed on a ledge just below the cleft. I couldn't help but wonder why

they had been placed there. Did something happen? I climbed curiously, scraping my shins on a jutted-out rock as I

lifted my leg and finally landed on the narrow, rocky grey platform before the opening. I glanced down at my leg, now

bleeding, grazed and stinging from the climb.

There was nothing. Just a dark dead end. Ducking my head, I went into the damp space, which was just big enough for

one—littered with debris from the tide and a pungent smell of salt and seaweed. Moisture dripped from the ceiling and

down the sides of the wall. I steadied myself with my hand touching the slimy rock. It felt warm, sharp, and damp at the

same time. As I peered into the darkness, I heard a faint, wet, scuttling sound and sensed a sudden movement

deep in the back of the tiny hollow. It was too dark to see; my chest tightened, and fear washed over me like the

crashing waves that were heading up the beach. The tide was coming in and I needed to get back before I was cut off.

Still curious, I stared into the darkness, trying to make out what was triggering the noise. It seemed to be coming from

under a clump of seaweed that had washed in and become trapped in the shallow opening. I ventured a little further,

stretched out my leg and tried to poke it with my foot when my hand slipped on the slimy surface. I stumbled, off

balance and falling, as a hand suddenly grabbed me, and a voice from behind whispered. “No don’t go in there.”

Catching myself, I stood up sharply banging my head on the low granite roof, and while holding my throbbing head, I

turned sharply, expecting to see one of the many local dog walkers that regularly frequent the beach…but it wasn’t…I

felt dizzy. My ears buzzed with a rush of blood.

My next thought was that there must be a fancy dress party going on somewhere and this person was lost…but it was

me that was lost.

The figure was out of place, with a petite frame wrapped in a faded sea-worn jacket with not much left of the sleeves,

wide open pockets, and threads hanging from the collar. Their neck hung with beads of shell and bone, and dreadlocks

like seaweed hung around a weathered old face. Their eyes were shocking pale green, like the crystal waters when the

sun illuminated the shallow waters of the shoreline. Their skin was etched with strange swirling symbols that seemed

almost bioluminescent in the dim light of the alcove. It was a sight that both fascinated and unnerved me.

"You shouldn't be here," the figure said. "Not now. Not yet."

"Oh, thank you, yes, sorry, I mean, who are you?" I blurted awkwardly, trying to step back, but there was nowhere to go

but further into the dark crevice.

"The flowers were a warning," they stated with a flat, emotionless voice. "A marker. A boundary."

"A boundary for what? “I quizzed.

The figure tilted their head, like a curious cockatoo. "This place is a seam. A place where the veil is thin. Once opened, it

doesn’t close easily."

I didn't know how to respond. My head was throbbing, and my skin was damp and cold with fear. I could hear the

waves growing louder as the tide rushed up the shore.

“I'm sorry, “I thought it was just a feature in the cliff,” I said defensively.

“That’s how it wants to be seen, or not seen, preferably until it's ready to open.”

They moved closer, and I could feel their breath on my face, an odour of fish and salty seaweed that was unsettling but

not threatening.

“look again!”

I moved inside. Their body pressed close behind me as a hand landed on my shoulder, motioning me to crouch and

press my cheeks against the damp granite wall.

“Listen!”

Hesitating, thinking to myself, I have been here already, a throbbing head to prove it. But something compelled me to

obey,

The stone was cold against my cheek, and for a moment all I could hear was the blood pulsing in my ears, the rising

tide crashing nearer and nearer and my breath. Then – a clunk, like an oversized bolt shifting in a socket. The smell of

salty seaweed and old stone intensified. My eyes lifted from the floor, and the wall seemed to shimmer in front of me.

Like heat rising from the tarmac on a hot day or how delicate silk cloth moves in the breeze.

The hole deepened and grew more expansive, and beyond the granite, there was space like peering through the keyhole

into a brightly lit room. My body followed my eyes, and there was a sensation of being elsewhere. The hairs on my arms

lifted, now hovering over my goose-bumped skin.

My voice became hoarse as I whispered, “What is this?”

“It’s the other side”, they said. “You are not dreaming. It's just part of the world that most people are duped not to see”.

I stared, unblinking, frozen, my body limp.

“Some people find it by accident”, they continued.” Others because they are searching, but you, I think you are being called.”

“Called by what?” I stammered, my breath now shallow and slow.

The figure smiled sadly. “that’s the part that depends on you.”

They stepped back, giving me space. I felt like I was floating. Suspended in icy indifference.

“You can go in if you want. But understand this. Your life won't come with you, not as it was.”

“Like a death? I uttered under my breath.

They heard.

“No. Like a moult. Like a crab leaving its shell to form a new better fitting one. The world you know will still be here, but you will never truly belong to it again.”

I wanted to laugh, but the feeling was stuck in my chest and just emerged as a sigh. This wasn’t making any sense. They seemed to hear my thoughts.

"Neither does the tide if you try to hold it back." They spoke with an assured tone that was unnerving and kind at the same time.

I turned to leave. It was too much, all too weird. But the tide had already reached the base of the rocks. The beach was shrinking fast; there was nowhere to go.

“You’re not ready,” the figure said calmly. “But you will be. The door will always be here waiting for you. Just remember: the flowers mean the veil is thin”.

I scrambled awkwardly back down the rock. My knees and shins scraped on the sharp limpets, and my palms burned on the coarse stone.

When I looked up, the figure was gone, and the hole was just a watery shadow in the granite cliff face.

I tried to forget. I tried hard, but the dreams kept coming night after night. Dreams of glowing crystal waves and

underwater forests of waving kelp and sea bass that spoke in riddles and heaps of spikey shells like the waste from a

seafood restaurant, surrounded by naked crabs quickly donning a new home. Dreams of the tide pulling seawards onto

the ocean floor and into vast caverns blazing with sapphire light, voices echoing in languages I knew but had never

spoken. They spoke with soothing kindness. Pleading with me to heal, to grow, to learn. To come back. I wake

momentarily with salt on my skin, damp hair, and sand on my skin.

I stopped going to that beach. Months passed like hours—days like minutes.

I took other walks. Wandering in ancient forests of leafy beech and deep-rooted oaks. Sunlight kissing my skin through

the twisted branches. My nostrils filled with the scent of mushrooms, of moss, and decaying trees; I filled my ears with

music and birdsong. I felt the wind on my face. I ignored the pull, the itch in my body, the way my breath caught

whenever the faint smell of seaweed wafted on the coastal breeze.

But the pull to return only grew stronger. Until one gloomy spring morning, I saw the flowers again. Undisturbed and

arranged like an offering to love.

This time, there was no hesitation. I climbed confidently onto the ledge, stooped low, and peering in it was just as I

remembered. The walls that shimmered were clear to me now, and as I pressed my cheek on the damp, coarse granite

wall – clunk – it opened, not like a door swinging on hinges but like stepping through the surface of a still rock pool.

I stepped through the shining surface, and on the other side, the world was different, just as they had said.

Beyond it was brighter, the space filled with light that had no visible source. The sky flamed the colours of burnt orange

and violet. The air smelled of tangerine and crushed mint. The sandy shore was full of flickering golden lights, and the

sea, flashing turquoise and green sparkling like emeralds and topaz, enticed me.

There were others there. They were all familiar but not. Seaworn and liminal. Shimmering like shifting reflections in

ripples of water. A child full grown now with jet black hair and the bluest eyes. A girl with curly pale red hair and rosy fat

cheeks, her lips moving the words – come with me- but there was no sound. A man with a twisted neck looking the

wrong way with faded leather clothes of dull, faded grey, his expressionless face looking into the distance. A woman all

grey, grey hair, grey eyes, grey floating dress that waved in harmony with the hush and rush of the watery air.

They all welcomed without words. Even the man in dull leather turned his head to face me, and he smiled knowingly, a

forgiving expression.

I stayed.

Time moved, but not at all. Inversely. Endlessly. I learned with no awareness of learning. I learned how to read the stars

and how to control the wind. How to shape the light into being and how to make the wind sing. I learned how to feel the

vibrations of the music in my heart, its communications distinct and knowing. I learned a depth of appreciation of the

wonders of creation itself. The cycles of the earth, The biogeochemical, the water, the oxygen, the carbon and

nitrogen. I became part of the universe, a transcendence into spiritual otherworldly,

I became someone else.

Not lost.

Just… changed.

Sometimes, I long to go back. The door is still there, waiting patiently for me. More flowers are placed every day. The

arrangement of timeless blooms and sweet memories. Just waiting for the tide to turn and be seen again.

If I want to be seen. I am unsure if I am meant to be a bridge or a barrier. Some doors only open one way, and some are

intended to be left ajar. There is always a way if you want there to be. The universe is timeless, and everything comes

back to itself in the end.

So, if you see a rectangle in the rock face, marked with yellow flowers and seaweed like an offering – think carefully

before you climb. And if you hear a voice whispering “Not yet”, then listen.

Because not every crack in the cliff is empty, and not every emptiness is a void. Some are waiting and watching. Some

are calling your name and calling your name, calling your name, calling your name.

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As the sun rose, the bay was suddenly filled with a chaos of sound. Screeching gulls, all taking off from the cliffs as one

mass of fluttering white and grey. Disturbed by the commotion and the juddering noise of the rescue helicopter blades

in full spin. The high-pitched wail of the ambulance sirens was heard in the distance.

“I can see her!” shouted one of the aircrew. “There on the rock ledge!”

As they reached her still body on the ledge, her face was peaceful. Salt on her skin and seaweed in her hair. Her eyes open

to a sky of burnt orange and violet that only she could see.