Storm Emmet

TW: Death of humans and animals

Storm Emmet

From her elevated position in her fishmonger shop Kelyn could oversee the town, the harbour and the storm beyond. She pressed Pa’s binoculars against the shop’s rear window and studied the waves in the English Channel, churning as though they were being stirred within a giant cauldron. Darkened clouds blotted out the sun giving the impression that it was night rather than the middle of the afternoon. A lone fishing trawler ploughed into a grey wave, in a desperate attempt to reach the shelter of the harbour, the lights of the vessel flicking in and out of view.

Feeling a pang of pity for the crew of the trawler, Kelyn turned her attention to the harbour. The beach was invisible, submerged beneath the waterline. The storm ripped a garish flag, depicting a cartoon sun wearing sunglasses, free from the ice cream kiosk on the sea wall and tossed it into a breaking wave. The few vessels in harbour, with any exposed fabric rippling in the wind, strained at their mooring lines. 

As the trawler rounded the sea wall and entered the limited safety of the harbour, Kelyn glanced over her childhood home. So far, the storm had stripped most of the aerials from their rooftops and had collapsed half a dozen chimneys but there would be worse to come.

She could remember when Port Karrek had been a quaint fishing village most well known for its natural harbour and later its Victorian lighthouse. She glanced at the lighthouse, now considered a Grade Two listed building, as the ship skirted by its base and wondered what the victorians and the generations before them would have thought about this storm.

Kelyn glanced out the shop window and at the cobbled street that wound its way down to the harbour, decided it was unlikely she would receive any customers and bolted the door. 

Although she had become nose blind to the smell of the fish, she had yet to grow used to the countless lifeless eyes watching her from shelves of ice. She failed to suppress a shiver. A warm shower would raise her spirits and provide an excuse to return to her novel afterwards.

Something rapped at the door.

Kelyn jumped. 

A yellow mass, that looked pixelated behind the frosted glass, peered inside. 

‘Hello? Who is it?’ 

The figure was wearing a yellow mackintosh and something grey was protruding from their face. The owner of the coat was stooped over, casting a shadow through the glass.

‘Hello?’ she said again.

The figure rapped on the door with a gloved hand. Kelyn heard the person speak but their words were lost to the wind. Their Cornish accent, however, was unmistakable.  

‘Ernest, is that you?’ 

Kelyn unbolted the door.

Ernest stumbled inside, his rain sodden boots leaving puddles on the floor. 

‘Christ, you kept me out there for long enough, didn’t you?’ he muttered as he lowered his hood. Kelyn spotted rainwater dribbling from the man’s beard. 

‘Couldn’t see who it was,’ she answered, closing the door. 

Ernest unzipped his coat and Kelyn saw he had failed to change out of his fishing overhauls. They clung to him like a second skin. 

‘Were you up on the coastal path? Or was that you coming back into the harbour just now?’ Kelyn asked.

Ernest mopped his face and offered her a toothless smile. As he did so Kelyn glimpsed the Ernest she knew growing up, the smiling man telling stories on the harbour side. Now his smile seemed forced, almost desperate. ‘We were fishing.’

It isn’t safe.

‘Is it safe to go out in that?’ Kelyn asked, turning the thought, spoken by the voice of her Pa, into a question. 

‘We’ve been out in worse,’ Ernest said. 

Kelyn decided not to question this lie. ‘Can't imagine you caught much in this weather. They were saying on the news that the storm keeps growing over Cornwall. No end in sight, they said.’

‘We caught plenty. I’ve never known us to be so lucky before. The fish must love the weather. Best haul we’ve had in years. Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.’ He held up an object wrapped in brown paper. ‘I wanted to show you this before it goes to market tomorrow.’ 

She watched as Ernest placed the package onto the counter and began to unwrap it. 

‘Cod,’ he announced and stepped away.

Kelyn examined the fish. Its mouth was ajar, its dull silver skin was flecked with tints of orange. 

‘Right…’ she said, ‘it’ll go lovely with chips I’m sure. What’s-’

‘It. Has. Fangs.’

‘What?’

‘Look,’ Ernest stuck his index finger into the fish’s mouth and peeled back the lips.

Two teeth, so large Kelyn could have called them tusks, protruded from the fish’s lower jaw. She failed to suppress a gasp.

‘It looks like a vampire,’ Ernest said with a dry chuckle.

‘What’s caused that then?’

‘Dunno. Might be a freak of nature. Vampire Cod. Is there such a thing? Anyway, I wanted you to see it. That’s all. Unless you want it?’

Kelyn considered this but the fish would only be useful as a party piece, not that she attended any of those.

‘No,’ she said, ‘keep it. Put it with the rest of your catch or better yet have it for your supper.’ 

Clearly disappointed he hadn’t raised as much excitement as he had hoped, Kelyn watched Ernest wrap up the fish as though it were a Christmas present. ‘You coming down to the market tomorrow morning, buying your wares?’

‘Yeah,’ Kelyn said, ‘before the emmets get out of bed. Mind you, storm’s keeping most of those away, anyway.’

‘Like rats,’ Ernest said, zipping up his coat, ‘plague rats. Or leeches. Coming down from London and the like. No, don’t you tut, your Pa would agree with me. They’re bloody running us out of our own home.’

Kelyn wasn’t sure if the remark had been aimed at her but knew her Pa wouldn’t have agreed. He had loved the tourists, the lifeblood of Cornwall he had called them and would often preach that without them the county wouldn’t be as prosperous as it was now. It had been his idea, although he hadn’t had time to implement it, to send the fish to London via train rather than selling them locally. It was essential to keep the shop afloat.

She wondered what he would think of the storm.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ Kelyn said before Ernest could speak and closed the door behind him.

Kelyn woke the following morning exhausted. The storm was anything but. On her walk down to the market, she was surprised to find that her shop had remained undamaged while the rest of the village had not been so lucky. Both the primary school and new town hall had been struck by lightning, leaving blackened scorched marks on their roofs. More chimneys had been felled, in addition to several dozen roof tiles. The content of the village’s drains had spilled out onto the streets. Two builders were arguing at the base of the lighthouse, beside a van containing building supplies, their argument turning into a brawl as she passed. 

Kelyn hurried on.

After learning Ernest had already left for another day’s fishing and placing her order, she returned to her shop and continued her novel until she spotted a yellow figure hurrying up the hill that evening, hood lowered against the rain.

‘Got another one,’ Ernest cheered as he entered. 

Kelyn placed her book onto the counter. ‘Another what? Cod with fangs?’

‘No but similar.’ 

Ernest opened the brown parcel in his hand and dropped something that looked like congealed jelly onto the counter with a splat. 

Kelyn snatched up her novel. ‘Is that a squid?’ she asked, studying the array of tentacles.

‘An octopus,’ Ernest beamed. 

Kelyn stared at the dead creature. Its bulbous head swayed from side to side like a King Cobra. Tentacles lay out in every direction across the counter which was now covered in a layer of salt water and ink. Kelyn poked at one of the lifeless suckers. 

It’s wrong, her Pa’s voice said. Unnatural.

‘You don’t get octopuses off Cornwall,’ she said.

‘You do sometimes. Very rare though and never this big. But look, it has an extra arm.’

‘What?’ Kelyn counted. ‘Oh my God. A nine armed octopus,’ she muttered. ‘I’ve never seen the like.’ 

Wrong, her Pa’s voice said again. 

Filled with a sudden sense of revulsion, Kelyn took a step away from the counter. 

‘It’s that storm,’ Ernest said. ‘It’s brought all sorts in. We’re making a killing out there.’ As he spoke Kelyn heard a distant crash and felt the ground tremble. She suspected that a tree had blown over on the coastal path. 

‘Did you hear that?’ but Ernest hadn’t seemed to have noticed.

‘I might donate it to the RNLI station, see if they want it on display. Or the new town hall maybe? If there’s anything of it left standing after the storm. I saw the bloody mayor having a right go at some of the repair men just now. Proper waving and shouting he was. The builders were going on about some celtic graves they were told to dig over or something. Should have called in some specialist, they were saying. I don’t know. Anyway, we brought some more fish in. Me and the men, we’re going to do a night fishing trip so there might be more fish for you to buy tomorrow. Unless of course, you want to send it up to those fancy hotels in London? That’s what they’re saying down in the market. That we’re not good enough for you.’

‘That’s where the money is,’ Kelyn explained but Ernest had started ranting again.

‘Your Pa, if he could see you now, would be disgusted, do you know that, girl? He would have been sick.’ 

Although Kelyn had spent her childhood in this building, she had never worked in it. Now she wished she had paid more attention when Pa was discussing margins and cost cutting measures. She he died, she had returned from London, discovered she had inherited the shop and felt the weight of his legacy land across her shoulders.

‘It was his idea-’ Kelyn began.

‘A traitor against your own home. Running up to London.’

‘Listen, Ernest. I don’t want your octo-’

Ernest snatched up the dead creature, bundled it back into the parcel and fled the shop.

Kelyn, wondering if storms could affect human behaviour in the same way it could affect animals, bolted the door behind him. Just in case. 

When Kelyn opened the shop the next morning she saw that the cobble street outside had been transformed into a miniature river. A brown torrent of water washed its way down the coastal path, round the street and disappeared towards the harbour. Hurrying up the flooded street, waving his arms was Ernest. 

Swearing, Kelyn snatched up her coat and left the shelter of her shop. 

‘What are you doing?’ she shouted as Ernest continued to stagger towards her, his arms spinning to maintain his balance. She felt the rain penetrate her shirt and shivered as droplets ran down her spine. ‘If you fall you’ll be washed away.’ 

‘Beach!’ Ernest answered, pointing down to the harbour.  

‘What?’ 

Ernest’s mouth moved but only half the sentence reached her ‘-washed up on the beach.’ 

The wind stole his words and the hammer of the raindrops was so loud that the sound created reminded Kalyn of white noise. ‘What is? What’s on the beach?’

Kelyn thought she heard the word whale in his reply but couldn’t be sure.

‘What’s on the beach?’ she asked again, bellowing over the wind.

‘Everything. Fish, crabs, debris, the lot! The tide has brought tons of stuff. Everyone’s helping themselves.’

Kelyn peered down at the harbour through the sheet of rain. The occupants of the village were sprinting, some wading, through the flooded streets and towards the coastline. 

Ernest offered out his hand. ‘C’mon. Before all the good stuff is taken. You can find something good to sell, help your Pa’s sinking shop.’

Don’t go to the beach.

‘No. Ernest, wait. Stop.’

Kelyn watched a flicker of irritation pass over his face. 

‘What?’

‘I don’t think…. I don’t think this is a good idea.’ 

‘Why not? It’s free. The bounty of the sea. Ain’t no law against it.’

Kelyn shook her head and took a step back towards the shop.

‘Pa said we should always respect the sea,’ she said but knew, as soon as the words left her lips, that it was a feeble defence.

‘You ain’t got no spine,’ Ernest spat, ‘your Pa would recognise opportunity when it came. If he were still here that shop would be doing fine, wouldn’t it?’ He turned and staggered his way back towards the harbour. 

Kelyn stumbled through the water and to the shelter of her shop. Snatching up Pa’s binoculars she scanned the beach. 

The lighthouse light washed over the sands, illuminating the scrap metal and shards of wreckage. Kelyn wondered if they had come from a shipwreck but then noticed that some of the debris was moving. Fish flopped helplessly in the sands as crabs attempted to escape the waves. Maybe it has been a fishing trawler? It hadn’t been Ernest’s ship, she could see that in the harbour and no other ship had dared to leave the shelter of the seawall. Her gaze fell on a chunk of dull metal nestled on the edge of the beach. She shrieked when the metal rolled over and opened its mouth. She couldn’t hear the animals' screams, but she could imagine them. The whale calf slapped its tail against the rocks but remained ignored by the villagers as they searched for salvage.

Kelyn waited. The clouds were as black as tar and the sea the same colour to match. After an hour she decided that a giant wave would not appear to wash the villagers away. Likewise, a sea monster would fail to materialise. Kelyn, still wrestling with the knot of dread in her stomach, continued to watch the ignored whale calf, as its movements slowed and ceased. The humans passed around the carcass, either oblivious or uncaring.

It’s what the storm wants, her Pa’s voice said again and no matter how much she tried she couldn’t ignore him. It’s what the storm wants. 

Kelyn spotted Ernest's ship leaving the harbour.

The lighthouse began to lean. 

Ernest’s ship disappeared under the collapsing tower and was replaced by a silent plume of water.

The plume turned into a wave and began to advance. 

Kelyn screamed.

The beach vanished in an instant, the marine life reclaimed. 

The sea wall broke within seconds. Moments later the harbour was destroyed, the ships at anchor swamped or cast aside as though they were children’s toys.

The occupants of the village were washed away, their screams stolen by the wind and salt water.

The RNLI station was submerged from view. 

Kelyn, fully realising how pointless it was, bolted her shop door shut.

The roof of the new town hall crumbled, disappearing behind the row of cottages. 

The wave charged up the cobbled street, the debris carried in its flow striking the remaining homes like shrapnel. 

Kelyn closed her eyes and thought of her Pa.

The wave reached her shop door, paused and receded. 

She opened her eyes to see the water retreating down the hill, flowing back into the harbour and breaking upon the remains of the seawall. 

The rain had stopped. The clouds had drifted away. Port Karrek was silent.

As was her Pa’s voice.