Hands

The children of the seaside town joyously ran around the hills holding out their handheld sparkler fireworks beaming bright red, green and yellow sparks of light. After a few hours of feasting, playing and watching the adults light the skies with colorful rainbow explosions, the children would run indoors for an enthralling story time session. Even some of the adults would join in, mainly my brother Johnny who would enjoy chiming in and creating a puffery of sorts.

"Aunt Aurora!" they endearingly called out. "When can we hear the story of Grandpa Murphy and the Deep Sea Monsters?"  

My Daideó had long passed now, but he left beautiful memories and lessons with me. Ones I revered and shared with the younglings in town. Stories of bravery that ultimately reminded me of the symbolism of his hands and what they've built throughout his years. Those callus rough warm hands that held my mother as an infant and welcomed her into the world, they similarly introduced me to my love of the oceans. I remember him holding my hands lovingly while he strolled me around town, they were never soft and smooth but dirty and gruffed with salt crystals. They smelled like the fish and lobsters he'd catch during his excursions. Holding them reminded me of security and calmness like that of waves on an early morning. Consequently, they also reminded me of how wild and terrifying the open waters could be, like a constantly changing living organism.

"Children, look at those unique hands of yours", I began the story the same every year, trying to get the children inquisitive and engaged.

"Those hands of yours they tell a wonderful story". I say, "Every wrinkle, every scar, every burn mark is a story of your life, your adventures". I looked over to see the children stare intensely at their open palms and fingers to explore the creases and broken lines. They laughed and began to peer into their neighbors hands. "Every hand is different, some are soft and smooth, some are molded by the wrinkles of time, polished by the rays of the sunlight". It was like an ethereal connection, not just physical.

I sat on the chair in front of them, sliding through images of Grandpa Murphy on his boat holding out enormous trophy cod fishes and working on his boat. "This story is about the incredible pair of imperfect hands of a brave old fisherman from Waterford Harbor, one as mighty as you'll ever remember. I looked around the room and their curious eyes were widen with intrigue. "And one last thing..." I say pausing for dramatic effect. "These pair of hands were missing a pinky!". To their gasps I proceeded to explain as vividly as I could, they stared and balled their small hands into fists and rested them under their chins listening attentively.

Fifteen years ago, Grandpa was woken up by screams of a scared little girl who saw the fiercest monster in the darkness of the ocean. But, she refused to speak a single word about the mysterious giant in the sea, instead keeping her secrets to herself. Those small secrets turned into bigger ones, Uncle Johnny was the first to hear of them. This giant had eyes like windows of a lighthouse and tentacles almost as tall as them. Though they were as real as anything she refused to burden her grandpa dismissing it as an isolated event. My brother had just came home from a three month work at an oil rig in South America for the week.

After explaining my sightings to Johnny, he says to me, "Look at me, Aurora, I know my baby sister, I know when you're lying". He couldn't believe a creature so big could exist. Even longer than the fifteen feet long female anacondas in the tropical Andes he's told me about.

Then me and Johnny began to notice stranger events in town, incidents of docked boats getting destroyed and strange shadowed sightings from around town. They escalated when a fisherman disappeared and the fish became scarce. Me and Johnny would read the newspapers to find clues to pinpoint the sightings, we finally discovered they lead to Nohoval Cove. Given the high amount of migratory fish that swam by the surface at nighttime, it seemed like the right location.

We had finally decided to tell grandpa and he immediately came to the conclusion he wanted to confront the beast. We would set out to sea armed with flashlights, flare guns and other miscellaneous items that illuminated light. Grandpa carried a large heavy metal case with him and dragged it to the boat.

"Aunt Aurora, Aunt Aurora!" the kids called out raising their hands up.

"Yes?" I pointed to a young boy waiving it higher than the rest.

"What was in the metal case?" he says.

Oh, it's a secret, you'll know soon enough! We sailed out several feet from shore in the middle of the cove in our boats waiting hesitantly. If anything happened we weren't too far away from the shore to rush over and escape. Then suddenly that same trembling growl begins to emit from below the ocean creating ripples on the surface. I knew the sound too well as they replayed in my nightmares. The beast propped its head up for a brief moment before it vanished into the darkness below. I jumped and alerted Johnny and Grandpa.

Then almost instantaneously our boat began to vibrate again more violently. Then almost as if it were guided by a ghostly pilot, the boat began to move by itself deeper into the ocean further away from shore. We almost crashed onto the rocks protruding from the surface as our boats scraped them passing by. Grandpa tried to override the boat trying to turn on the motor but it malfunctioned. I tugged on Johnny's hand frightened, then suddenly the boat stopped. Like a calm before the storm the creature reappeared but this time almost in front of us. It crept in closer and beckoned us with its tentacles stretching from every direction pinching the wood as if it were fragile and easy to break.

"May the cat eat you, and may the devil eat the cat, you evil beast", yells Grandpa holding out his flare gun waiting for the right moment, he shoots it in the air startling the beast. It swam away but not before divulging the skyline from obscurity, the horizon blocked by large tall vertical shapes. We realized he was not alone, beneath us revealed tentacles squirming allover the ocean. They slithered around, one foot in the water would risk being drowned and entangled in their tentacle traps. In the distance some of their heads poked above water as they approached. Some were much larger than the first monster, almost tripled in size.

Grandpa yelled but his voice disappeared in the symphony of growling and erratic water splashes, he fell off the boat and tripped tangled on a rope. Johnny tried to pull grandpa back, his hands wrapped in the suckers of another giant squid, he bled fighting them away. Grandpa yelled for the metal case while trying desperately to climb back on the boat hanging from the edges with one hand. Johnny was finally able to pull him back yanking him from the the collar of his shirt. Grandpa then ran to the case enclosed and pulled out a large harpoon gun from inside. He could barely hold it straight as he wrestled to balance it, he hugged it under his arms and pulled the trigger. The giant was injured as it ripped one of his tentacles clean off, much like when he took Grandpas pinky several years ago in a vengeful fashion. The beast screamed out and moved away, while the rest of the creatures came closer. They created small whirlwinds beneath the water.

After being surrounded we panicked and emptied out our pockets and bags for anything useful. I hadn't considered the damped firework in my pocket. Our last resort, I grabbed it and held it up towards Johnny's face. His trembling hands pulled his lighter and flicked the striker, nothing. The tentacle beast closed in and surrounded us each now whilst pushing the boat side to side. Once more Johnny flicked the striker and no luck. Grandpa ran towards us and flicked his match the first try and held it to the fuse of my firework. Third times the charm. The spark trickles over to the firework and soon after shot out to the skies, creating a loud deafening explosion, sparks of flickering flames danced in the sky. The creatures from beneath disappeared back down to where they came from.

From this day forward the tradition was born. The three of us escaped back to shore with the guide of the light house. We had alerted all of our neighbors in town and shared our warnings. Now, before the fishing season commenced, in March we began a tradition for a firework show. It served to bless the fishing harvest season and to keep the beasts under control. We kept the tradition alive throughout the years. The marks on our hands caused by the smoke powder and small burns were our testimony. My grandpa's hands eventually worn out, but his legend and the tradition he set out to bring the small town together would live forever.