#beach gothic

[novemberlasting]

from the abandoned fishing village in my county.

[honeyrosepetals]

poached and left to rot

[in-the-inky-black]

Florida Vacation Gothic

~ You’ve heard tell that the lighthouse on the hill above your cabin is haunted. A chill runs through you as the beam of dingy yellow light passes over you.

~ You’re standing on the porch, looking out over the beach. “The ocean is unforgiving,” you think. “If given the chance, it will take you. And then you’ll be gone.”

~ Your cabin feels...wrong, somehow - the interior is stark white, yet feels dark at the same time. You feel eyes burning into you from every crevice, every doorway. You found a dead crab next to the water heater yesterday.

~ The only restaurant you’re able to find is a ramshackle, hole-in-the-wall seafood place. You sit in the empty parking lot, hesitant. The waitress watches you from the front window, her smile a bit too wide.

~”Don’t swim after dark,” everyone tells you. The look in their eyes hints that they aren’t talking about sharks.

~ You hear rustling in the patch of thistles under your cabin’s porch every night. Something that was once a raccoon was left on your doorstep.

~ Something grabs you by the ankle. You can see clearly into the water. There’s nothing there. You feel the grip tighten.

[gotischer-prep]

suspicious activity #1

yesterday, i arrived on the island. our house is at crest of a cliff, bordering a small village. my grandparents were preoccupied so i suggested that i might wander the land for an hour or so. a marvellous idea. i made my way to the end of our road and saw the shoreline- eerily deserted. it was also nearly inaccessible, and i had to stumble over long grass and concealed rocks before landing on the beach.

i made my way to the sea- a short walk. i was disturbed to find the water decievingly close, and decievingly deep.

of course, this didn't matter a jot. i continued walking, round beside the base of the cliffs. they looked grassy and low, and a good accompaniment to the stretches of earthy pebbles. my stroll was easy. the wind was mild and the weather was comfortably grey. i stopped to pick up a seashell, one that shone silver in a fleeting glimpse of sun. when i looked up again, i was shocked.

the cliffs i knew so well had turned dark, and most monstrous.

i whipped my head around, hair tangled in the now gruesome winds. at my feet where i had picked up the shell was the frail skeleton of a bird - a seagull, perhaps? - the hollows where eyes once were, staring up at me.

i remembered my terrible loneliness. surely i was the only one alive for miles. yet, there was something i could hear. the banging of a drum. i didn't want to look behind the cliffs.

i began to run back, sensing that something was not quite right. a most vile stench followed, i expected there to be something else dead somewhere close. that's what it smelled like- a rotting corpse. the rocks i trekked over were stained a peculiar red.

[the-space-between-the-columns]

You are standing on the edge of a beach at night. At least, you're pretty sure that it's a beach. The breeze and whoosh of the surf tell you that surely... you must be at a beach. But staring, wide eyed towards the space in front of you leaves you only knowing that you are somewhere very dark. The darkness of the whooshing void before you melds somewhere far away with the darkness of the sky above, studded with more stars than you've ever seen. It might have been beautiful if you could shake the feeling that the melding voids were pulling you in. The feeling that the distant light of the street lamp grew ever more distant. It might have been beautiful if you could remember if you had come to the beach alone-- because you're sure that you came with friends, but you are undoubtedly alone now. You stare into the stars. There is no moon here. Has there ever been a moon here? You have surely been standing here for more than one night. More than one week. As your feet sink deeper into the sand, you struggle to remember if there was a time when you were not on this beach, alone. Surely you came with friends. It might have been beautiful if you had come with friends.

[novemberlasting]

sandbanks provincial park, new year’s eve

[ganglingman]

Nothing like coming down to the beach and finding someone buried their dog in the night. Beach gothic is a thing now.