SCS 59

Story 59

 Algae

This is a story about the time I went to the sea with my girlfriend.

It happened one day in August, when the summer heat still lingered in the air.

That day, we went on a drive date and visited all sorts of places during the day — we had ice cream at a roadside station, stopped by our favorite bakery, and visited a shrine known as a “power spot.” Finally, we had dinner at a stylish café about an hour and a half away from our hometown.

We could’ve gone home after that, but since we had only just started dating and didn’t want to part yet, we decided to go to a nearby beach.

We sat side by side on the sand, hugging our knees and chatting away. Before we knew it, we had been sitting there for about an hour, talking nonstop.

“We should probably head home soon.”

she murmured softly.

I agreed — it was getting late, and she lived with her parents. She had to be home before midnight, or she’d get in trouble. Her parents were quite strict about curfew; once, when she missed it, her father had given me quite the scolding.

And since we were in a serious relationship, talking about marriage someday, I wanted to stay on her parents’ good side — so I thought it best to respect the curfew.

We started walking toward the small port where we had parked the car.

It wasn’t much of a port — just a tiny one in the countryside. Sometimes fishermen would be there, but tonight there were no boats, no fishermen.

We trudged slowly through the sand, our feet sinking with every step, until we finally reached the car.

I had parked it facing the sea, so when I got into the driver’s seat, the ocean naturally came into view.

That’s when I noticed something.

Out past the end of the breakwater — where a line of concrete tetrapods stretched out into the sea — something was moving.

It was squirming, wiggling in a strange, sluggish way. I couldn’t help but stare.

“Hey… there’s something over there,”

I said, crouching a little to peer past the windshield, calling out to my girlfriend, who was already in the passenger seat.

Curious as ever, she said, “What is it? Some kind of machine?” and hopped out of the car.

She leaned forward, staring intently at the wriggling shape in the distance.

“It looks like… a doll,”

she said.

I squinted harder to see what she meant.

And yeah — it did look like it had a head. And maybe two arms, too.

But it wasn’t quite human. There seemed to be something fuzzy or tangled growing all over it. And its arms — stretched out to the sides — were moving in a strange, wavy motion, almost like it was dancing. The arms looked a bit puffy or swollen, and oddly large compared to the rest of the body.

The longer I looked, the more uncomfortable I felt. My curiosity was fading fast, replaced by disgust and unease.

I wanted to leave.

So I climbed into the car and started the engine. We didn’t have much time left anyway; I just wanted to go home.

But she didn’t.

She closed the car door and began walking toward the thing.

I had no choice but to follow her.

Halfway there, I grabbed her shoulder and stopped her.

“Let’s go back,”

I said firmly, pulling her toward the car.

We got back in and drove off.

Because that thing… was moving toward us.

And by then, I could see it clearly.

It wasn’t a machine. It was human.

That realization sent chills racing up my spine.

Under the faint, flickering light from the lamps along the port, I could see it — a person, tangled in seaweed, arms outstretched, waving them around like they were dancing.

And they were slowly, slowly walking toward us.

It might not sound dramatic, but it was deeply unsettling — a quiet, eerie moment I’ll never forget.