A Sailor, a Boy, and the Sea

The wind washed over the ocean's surface, delivering a strong scent of saltwater alongside the freezing air. Jamie hugged his arms closer to himself, wishing he had chosen to bring gloves, or a thicker jacket. His worn down hiking boots dug into the frost dusted ground, leaving the impression of his steps frozen, at least temporarily, in time. 

As he approached the edge of the water, he looked up to his destination. A small beach side cottage sat about a half of a mile away. Beside it, a long oak dock led the way to a small houseboat, which was now rusted over from what must have been a decade of abandonment.  

The wind released another strong gust, sending a flurry of multicolored leaves scattering across the ground. His nose was beginning to go numb from the cold, so he promptly picked up his pace and continued on his journey. Below him, the ground transformed from the frosty grass he had been walking on into a narrow path, which was almost nonexistent due to years of neglect.  

Now he could see the cottage clearly. The natural stone bricks of the foundation were overgrown with various forms of moss, leaving some windows so obstructed he could not imagine they were still functional. The path he was traveling on gradually widened as it reached the front door, which was adorned with pots that must have held plants in the warmer months of the year. The garden itself sported only a large shed with a rusted metal door, and various deep brown tiles lying discarded on the ground, having fallen from their original placement on the structure's roof. He noticed a rogue seagull sitting on the grass, watching him as he ventured down the path. It tilted its head, as if intrigued by his presence.

Jamie turned back to the cottage, and cautiously walked up to the front door. The small porch that the door stood behind, adorned with two ancient and abandoned rocking chairs, graciously prevented the wind from tormenting him any longer, and he could feel his hands gradually filling with heat. He noted a large, rusty door knocker in the shape of what he guessed once resembled a mermaid of sorts, its face now disfigured due to the passage of time. Taking a deep breath and resisting the urge to turn back, he wrapped his ungloved hand around the freezing metal loop which was formed by the creatures tail, and lightly tapped it against the door three times.

A minute passed with no answer.

Then two.

Then three.

Secretly, he was glad that no one answered; he wasn't sure what he would do if they did. However, for the sake of the dare, he tried one last time before turning around to leave. To his dismay, the sun was already beginning to set behind the barely visible town he had departed from. Just as he took his first step to leave the rickety porch, he heard a gruff voice call out from inside the home, barely audible over the waves crashing against the legs of the dock.

“I'm coming, I'm coming,” it reassured, and Jamie could not help the panic that immediately flooded every nerve in his body. He didn't think he had knocked loud enough to alert anyone of his presence. He felt the sudden urge to back down and hide somewhere before the owner saw him. Maybe in the shed–

The door flung open.

Jamie couldn't help but jump a bit in surprise. He looked up, and met the somber and worn out eyes of a man who looked to be in his mid to late fifties. He wore a thick, deep green turtleneck sweater, of which Jamie could pick out a few stains, a trait shared by his washed out blue jeans. His face was creased with dismay and he adorned a thick beard which covered nearly half his face. Jamie’s immediate reaction, after fear, was confusion. This was the man behind every local myth?

“Who the hell are you?”

He realized he had been staring for a good twenty seconds, and quickly snapped back into the conversation.

“Oh um, I’m Jamie.” His voice peaked at the end of the sentence, making it sound more like a question than a definitive answer. He could tell this man was getting more agitated as they spoke.

“Well ‘Jamie,’ would you like to explain what you're doing, banging on my door at–” he paused and looked down at an antique silver watch on his left wrist, “five-thirty in the evening, while I am attempting to eat my supper?” He crossed his arms and looked down at him with a piercing glare, causing him to shrink back into himself. 

“Do you live here?” Jamie asked, realizing how stupid the question was once he had already asked it. The man ignored him and moved on.

“You need something, or can I get back to my dinner now?” Jamie paused, unsure of where to go with the conversation.  

“No-, um, I'm sorry to have intruded, sir, I should get back now before it gets dark.” He turned on his heel and marched down to steps of the porch, retracing the footprints he had left in the snow.  

“Wait, kid!” He heard a shout from behind him, and turned to see the old man standing in the doorway, looking just as surprised as Jamie did about his outburst. They stood like that for a moment, both waiting for the other to do something, before the man cleared his throat and continued. “Listen kid, it's getting dark outside, and it's at least a thirty minute walk back to town. As much as I don't care what happens to you, your parents might, and I don't need to be getting into any legal trouble right now. I’ll take you back home – after I’ve finished my dinner. Got it?” Jamie’s eyes widened in surprise, but he quickly nodded in agreement. The old man paused again, looking Jamie up and down, then gestured for him to come inside before vanishing through the doorway. The boy quickly hurried up the steps and through the door, eager to escape the biting cold which was nipping at his fingertips once more.

With a little resistance from the sea-rusted hinges, he swung the heavy mahogany door shut and was greeted with a welcoming burst of the warm cabin air, combined with a savory smell he could not name. The walls of what Jamie presumed to be the living room were composed of deep brown wooden logs, matching the door which he had just walked through. An impossibly soft looking dark red carpet was neatly placed over the ground, and was the foundation for several antique leather armchairs, along with a matching couch. The source of the heat, a hypnotizing fire which burned bright enough to light most of the room, was located in a grand stone fireplace in the center of one of the walls. From the few large windows which were visible from where he was standing, Jamie's suspicions were confirmed; you could not, in fact, see through the overgrowth covering the glass panes.

His eyes drifted away from the window and back to the walls, and his breath caught. There, covering each wooden beam from top to bottom, were picture frames. What must have been dozens, hundreds even, of pictures, filling every empty space Jamie could find. Each one depicted two people. One was a man who looked to be about twenty-five, with thick, brown hair and bright green eyes which sparkled with adventure. The man bore a crooked grin in almost every frame, and Jamie recognized him vaguely as the younger self of the old man. However, he did not recognize the other person who he shared these images with. She was a beautiful young woman with flowing auburn hair. She had deep dimples visible in almost every scene she was in, and he could vaguely make out freckles that dotted her face like constellations. The two were on what Jamie realized must have been the houseboat in its prime. As Jamie carefully made his way down the wall, it felt like he was watching their lives play out in real time. The woman sitting on a rocking chair, knitting a checkered sweater; another of her leaning off the edge of the boat, the water shooting up from the sea forming an ethereal mist around her. He saw the man cooking in a small kitchen, then charting a map with his face twisted in concentration, and finally sitting on the edge of the boat with the woman, both holding fishing rods.  

The final image on the wall was larger than the rest. Jamie could tell they were older in this one, approaching their mid forties. The man had his arms wrapped around the woman's waist, and they were both smiling into the camera. The sunset on the horizon was visible behind them, and the light reflecting off the water caught their eyes in an indescribable way. The woman's hair was tied back in a loose bun, and Jamie could make out light bags beneath her eyes. In the dark, handmade frame which encircled the portrait, there was an engraving which read:

“For my dearest Angeline, whose soul and spirit restored the faith in every heart she touched.”

“You coming, kid? Dinner’s getting cold.” Jamie jumped at the sudden sound. If the old man made note of what the boy was observing, he made no indication of it, instead choosing to lead him through an entrance way opposite to the main door. This entrance way opened up into an equally cozy kitchen, filled with a warm glow from wall bound lamps. On the far side of the room, Jamie could see a long, handmade wooden table with two chairs. The source of the smell was located on a gas stove pushed against the side wall, where a small ceramic pot was heating on the burner. By far the most eye-catching fixture in the house was the grand window which set the background for their dinner. Unlike the others, this one was crystal clear, providing a breathtaking view of the ocean waves crashing against the ridged rocks that formed the house's foundation. 

Jamie quickly passed the man, who was now tending to the pot, and sat in one of the chairs. He could feel the chill from outside radiating off of the window. His eyes fixated on the stream pouring out of the soup pot, watching as it slowly rose before finally dissipating into the atmosphere. It reminded him of the woman – Angeline – and the sea spray from the boat. 

The man took out two bowls and placed one in front of Jamie before sitting opposite to him. The man began eating, and Jamie listened to the rhythmic clinking of his spoon against his bowl. After a minute, the man looked up, and Jamie realized he had been staring. He quickly picked up his spoon and took his first bite of the chili, and almost gasped. He had never tasted food like this before. The flavors of this soup seemed to bypass his taste buds entirely, instead seeping directly into his soul, warming him from the inside out. In the midst of all the hiking and cold, he hadn't realized how hungry he was. Every polite manor he had ever learned quickly slipped his mind and he began wolfing down the meal.

“Whoa there, kiddo, slow down,” The man wore a much more gentle expression than he had prior, almost fond. “The food’s not going anywhere.” Jamie flushed and set down his spoon.

“Sorry sir–” He began before being abruptly cut off.

“Harvey.” The man – Harvey – interrupted, then looked at the boy considerately. “You never did answer why you showed up to my house.” He raised an eyebrow, and Jamie looked down at his food.

“It was a dare from my friends,” He answered sheepishly.

“Ah,” Harvey replied considerately, staring out the window at the untamed sea, a small smile forming on his face, “do they still tell stories about me, back in town?” Jamie nodded. Over the years the old man by the seaside had gradually become more and more of an anomaly, morphing into whatever the children of Baybrook needed him to be for the situation– monster or monster hunter, government agent or outlaw. Harvey's reclusiveness and infrequent appearances in town, aside from the occasional grocery visit, did not aid in dispersing these claims.

“You know, not all of the stories are false,” Harvey said, his voice low and a twinkle in his eye. Jamie met his gaze and leaned in, his curiosity peaked. “Have you ever heard that one about my defeat of a sea monster? That one really happened. I've been waiting ages to tell that story, if you would give me your time?” He wore a shadow of a grin, and seeing the boy's eagerness to continue, he went on. 

“Now, it started off just your typical night, you see. I was in bed with my wife, reading, when we heard this large bang from outside…”

So there Jamie sat, listening to Harvey describe the most phenomenal tales to him as if they were happening as they spoke, hanging onto every detail.

“Now, if you ever encounter a sea monster, Jamie, you must remember; while they do have good vision, their eyes are very sensitive, and you must take advantage of this fact. That's just what I did; I grabbed a flash camera I had hanging in the kitchen and snapped a picture of it, and the light was so bright that it temporarily blinded the creature. Now, during this time, it was thrashing about and nearly capsized our boat–it still has a dent in it, to this day– and my wife took advantage of this, grabbed a cast iron pan, and WHAM, hit it right in the skull. It let us be afterwards, but we still kept a flashlight on hand after that, just in case.”  

Now, Jamie was fifteen, and if you had asked him any other day, he would testify against the existence of monsters of any sort. But something about the way the old man told these stories, the way his hands flew about and he wove the words together in such a way that could only be done through lived experience, caused Jamie to set his reality aside for a moment to make room for the old mans. Jamie could hear the boy he had been all those years ago come to life within each retelling, and, although he would never admit it, he believed every word Harvey said. The six inch fangs of the sea monster, the buried treasure guarded by sirens (who’s call had no effect of Harvey due to already being so smitten by his wife), and the ghost ship that sailed the sea only once every fifteen years became just as much of Jamie's reality as they were the old man's.  

“Could you take me out to sea sometime?” Jamie blurted out, too entranced for logical thinking. The man looked surprised by his sudden outburst. Then he laughed, a sudden, sharp noise.

“Kid, I haven't been out to sea in nearly a decade, not since– not since Angeline passed on. I'm rusty. Besides, wouldn't your parents be worried about you going off into the ocean with some strange old man? Speaking of,” He glanced back at his watch. “It's getting late. Come on, I'll drive you home.” With that, he stood up from his chair and picked up both empty bowls of soup, expecting Jamie to follow.

“Wait!” Jamie jumped up, nearly knocking down a chair, “Please. My parents have been wanting me to get an internship. You could teach me how to man a boat, or fish, or anything really!” He knew he sounded desperate, but the old man had just opened up a whole new world for him, and he didn't want to let it slip past him. Just then, an idea hit him. “Those ghost pirates you mentioned, you said they come back every fifteen years, right?” The man turned to face him, curiosity clear on his face. “How many years has it been since their last appearance?” Jamie continued, and the man looked at a calendar placed on the wall.

“This year will be fifteen.” Jamie couldn't help the grin that broke out on his face. If he could play his cards right…

“They stole something from you, correct? Meaning this is your chance to get it back! And,” He paused for dramatic effect, “it might be helpful to have a co-captain with you when you do.”

A moment passed.

Then two.

Then the man smiled.

“I mean, it would be pretty difficult sneaking on board without someone to help me distract them…”  

“Yes!” Jamie was almost shaking as the excitement washed through him. The old man sighed in exasperation, though there was no real contempt in the sound.

“When you see your parents, tell them you got offered an internship with me, okay? But kid,” Harvey's expression turned serious, “you get one chance, okay? Don't do anything stupid. If you play your cards right, you might get the chance to become my co-captain. If I'm feeling nice, that is.”

The next day, Jamie boarded the old houseboat, crushing barnacles beneath his feet with the weight of a newly gifted flashlight in his pocket (“Just in case”). Harvey shot him a crooked grin before turning the key in the engine which had lay dormant for nearly a decade, and they set off. The gentle roar of the boat cut across the miles of empty water surrounding them, sending fish scattering as they approached. As the old man charted a map on the deck, Jamie leaned over the railing, feeling sunlight heat up the back of his neck as he watched the boat release untamed waves in their wake.