The Cove

The end of summer

I’m back from a little break after publishing my debut novel and today you’re getting this ghost story. I couldn’t start October without this horror short story set at the end of the UK summer. Jack and his family are supposed to be staying at an air airbnb that Mum booked, but things don’t go to plan.

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“How long is the A39? We’ve been in this car forever.”

Dad smiled, looking straight ahead. “No motorways in Cornwall, Ker.” 

Mum shook her head and looked around. “How do they cope?” 

Dad rolled his shoulders back and, in a low voice, said, “You chose it, love.” 

She harrumphed and opened a magazine to flick through in the fading light of the summer evening. “We’ve just passed the sign for Bodmin, Jack. Spooky,” said Dad, looking over at me through the rear view mirror. Had he said that five years before, I don’t doubt that I would have shat my pants at the very thought of being stranded on Bodmin Moor with a mysterious, sharp-toothed beast stalking me. It didn’t mean anything to me at seventeen, but I did have a quick check of the petrol gauge over his shoulder after he said it. Old habits die hard. Mum said I had “an overactive imagination,” growing up. She often said that bed-wetting and night terrors were “just another sign of intelligence.” This was never medically verified, of course, but Mum knew best. 

“Why’s it spooky, Dad?” asked Alfie, my younger brother. 

He cleared his voice and, putting on his best ghost-tour voice, said, “The beast of Bodmin stalks the misty moors at night. Some people who go walking there never come out.” 

Alfie laughed and shook his head. “Yeah, whatever.” 

What I would have given to have had the balls that my twelve year old brother had at his age. I turned to look at the window and slipped another wine gum into my mouth. It was one of the lime ones, but it didn’t taste as bad as I remembered. I thought that maybe it was an acquired taste like coffee, stilton and scotch—all of which were growing on me. Perhaps lime wine gums would put some hairs on my chest where the others had failed. I chomped through its sweet, tangy flesh and salivated accordingly. My moment of gelatin-infused reflection was brought to a standstill by the obnoxious pinging of my mum’s phone. After years of asking Dad to help find her phone—of which was always on silent mode—she decided to simply leave it on full volume. “I don’t believe it,” she said, looking down at her lap. 

“What is it?” Dad asked as we slowed into a line of traffic. 

“It’s been bloody cancelled.” 

“What?” 

“They had to cancel. Refund arriving in three to five days.” 

“Christ,” Dad sighed. “And here we are at tea time with nowhere to stay.” 

“Why do you have to say it like that? Check-in wasn’t until five anyway!” 

“I’m just suggesting maybe leaving at midday wasn’t a good idea—” 

“Oh really?” She turned to look at him sharply, as though he had accused her of murder. “What’s that got to do with anything, Geoff?” 

Dad always knew when to move the panic on to productivity, and took a deep breath. “All right, all right,” he said, tapping the steering wheel. “Well, the turn off is in ten minutes anyway. Why don’t we er… why don’t we go into the town and see if there’s a B&B?” 

She nodded in agreement. “I’ll have a look on Google.” 

We waited for what felt like an eternity as she tapped away on her phone and lifted it to the roof of the car—that old unproven trick of boosting signal. I could tell by the clicking that she was searching something with a long, specific search term. “Oh, there’s one by the beach. Bu-Budgies, I think? Bear-joys… Oh I can’t pronounce it. It looks French!” 

Dad sighed again. “Ok, where am I turning off?” 

“Next one on the A-3-8-9. Then there’s a lane. Spillow Lane. Turn left on there. Looks like the only one in the town… or village, or whatever it is.” 

“Great,” Dad groaned. 

We pulled up outside what looked like any other whitewashed pub in any English town. “How’s the dog?” Mum asked, turning around in the seat until she looked uncomfortably contorted. “Does he need a wee?” 

I looked into the boot where Barney was sitting upright, watching out of the back window with a lolling pink tongue. 

 “He might, yeah,” I said. 

“All right. I’m going in there with your Dad to try and find us a room. I don’t even know if it’s dog friendly— Oh God—but…” she held a hand to her mouth, “you just run him over to that verge for a wee and pop him back in. Take Alfie.” She turned back around and got out of the car, slinging her handbag over her shoulder. I watched both parents stretch and wander in through a door that said RECEPTION in gold lettering. 

Alfie removed his headphones and pulled his Green Lung hoodie on. I opened the boot of the car and hooked the excited dog up to his lead. “I don’t need a wee,” Alfie said with his arms folded. 

“She just didn’t want to leave you in the car.” 

“I’m twelve,” he protested, climbing out of the car. 

“I know mate.” I looked down at his chubby middle and smirked. “Maybe she thinks you need a walk.” 

“Funny,” he said, pulling a face. “Prick.” 

Barney pulled us to the green verge where he cocked his leg on a tuft of tall grass. He then proceeded to sniff every other tuft of grass, cocking his leg on those, too. I looked around at the car park on the late-august evening. The sun had dipped beneath the horizon and painted the town with a palette of pink, orange and gold, but what surprised me most of all was how quiet the place was. Ours was one of two cars in the car park, and the road running past the grass verge was empty. 

Mum and Dad reappeared a few minutes later, with Mum waving excitedly at us. Dad, looking tired, rolled back into the car and closed the door. 

“Aren’t we staying here?” I asked as we approached her. Barney dashed to greet her and beat his wagging tail against her legs. “Where’s Dad going?” 

She looked up at the pub. “Oh we couldn’t get a room in there. It’s full! But the landlord said we could stay in his cottage for the night until we find something else. He only charged us the same rate as one room!” She smiled and rubbed her hands. “The people renting it aren’t coming ‘til tomorrow, so it’s ours for the night!” 

Alfie’s top lip curled upwards in disgust. “A cottage, like what old people live in?” 

Mum rolled her eyes. “No, sweetheart. Like a holiday cottage. A nice cosy one with its own little beach.” 

“Has it got internet?” 

She shook her head impatiently. “I don’t know, but it has beds, Alfie, and unless you want to sleep in the car, you’re staying there, in a bed.” 

Alfie lowered his head and shuffled back over to his side of the car as I opened the boot and let Barney jump back in. Mum yawned and slid into the passenger side. “I’m hungry,” said Alfie, rooting through the bag of snacks. 

“Well just hang on,” Mum said, flapping her hands. “There’s a co-op next door. We’ll get some pizzas to cook.” 

“Can’t we just have Domino’s?” 

Mum tutted. “Do you see a Domino’s round here, Alfie?” 

We all looked around. There were rows of pastel coloured houses, a sad-looking repair garage and two or three charity shops: one with a broken window. 

“I did see a kebab takeaway on the way past,” Dad added quietly. 

“Yes! Kebabs! Go on my son!” Alfie cheered.

Mum dropped her shoulders and smiled. “Fine. We’ll get takeaway.” 

---

The drive to the cottage was a quiet one. The lack of streetlights further emphasised the rough edges of the rugged coastline, its grasses hissing and waving at us as we passed. Single-car lanes always made me a nervous passenger, and this one was no different. There was something about the way the hilly road was leaning down into the mouth of the sea: its growing blackness like the maw of a watery beast, waiting to swallow us whole. 

The car almost danced over the rough gravel as we slowed at a turn off. “I think it’s this one,” Dad said, not sounding sure at all. 

“He said it was the only one for a mile,” Mum said, also sounding unconvinced. The little lane was wall to wall with wildflowers and sharp shoots of grass that looked like spindly silhouettes of limbs in the semi-darkness. The silence that filled the car could have only been possible by the way we were holding our breath in unison. Wafts of hot doner meat and sweet chilli sauce penetrated through the paper wrapper and forced me to resume breathing. My mind took me to my stomach, which rumbled so much it hurt. “Well, go on then, we’ll just turn round and go back if it’s not right.” 

If it’s not right. I wondered what else could be wrong with this holiday. We rolled along the narrow lane for another five minutes until it opened out into a wide, grassy driveway. The headlights bounced off the windowless walls of the cottage as we approached it, animating it slightly in the otherwise motionless evening light. “Not much happening at the side,” Mum said, eyeing the long-neglected trellis at the flank of the structure. 

The jingle of the keys was the only sound coming from our party, as Mum walked around to the front door of the stone cottage and unlocked it. I waited in the car and watched some lights flick on before getting out myself. No one had said anything, but I’d prepared myself for her to come straight back and declare that we were going home instead. 

Stopping to let the dog have another trip to the toilet, I looked up at the starless sky: one of many beautiful reminders of why we bothered driving so far into the country in the first place. The moon suspended itself high above, its white carpet of light glistening on the sea like a lit path for me to follow. I called the dog back to me and went inside. 

---

It had been a disappointing evening for Alfie without a stable internet connection, but we’d managed to sit through a couple of card games before he started to yawn. “You’d best be off to bed,” I said, packing the cards away. 

He shook his head. “No way. Not going unless you come too.” 

“Why?” I asked. “Are you scared?” 

His eyes darted around the room and then back to me. “It’s creepy as fuck.” 

“Alfie!” Mum said. 

“Sorry, it’s creepy,” he shrugged, then pointing at me, said, “I’m sharing wi’you.” 

I told him I’d come to bed after Barney had had his last trip to the toilet. Mum and Dad declared that they weren’t long for bed, either, and tidied up the kebab wrappers. I opened the front door and stepped out into the front garden of the cottage. I hated to admit it, but it was so peaceful out there. There was nothing in front of me but sea and sky, and a veil of twinkling stars above my head. The sea crashed gently onto the rocks of the cove with a gentle kiss, pulling away at the last moment and repeating the courtship ritual again. Barney sniffed at the sand and wagged his tail, occasionally breaking into a dance and running around in circles. “Barney, come in,” I said, feeling my teeth start to chatter. The cloudless sky had taken all of the day’s heat from us, but it was a price worth paying for front seats at the edge of the world. The dog stopped for a moment, cocking his head as though he heard something. “Yeah, it’s me you dickhead. Come in,” I said, rubbing my arms. He stood for another brief moment and eventually rushed back into the cottage, scrambling up the stairs as though he knew it was bedtime. I locked the door and followed the dog up to my room where Alfie was already in his bed, playing something on his console. “I’m brushing my teeth,” I said, reaching into the duffel bag for my wash kit. “That’d better be off when I come back.” 

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I don’t remember having any trouble drifting off. The sound of the sea outside was quite peaceful and the drive had been exhausting. I wasn’t sure what time it was when I woke up, but the dog was scratching at the door and whining. “No, mate,” I mumbled, rolling over. “You’ve been out already.” 

His whining continued. “Lie down,” I pleaded. He barked once at the door and it was enough for me to sit bolt upright. “Shh!” I said, “just wait a minute.” I reluctantly threw on a jumper and followed him down the stairs. Now fully alert, I heard something outside: the ringing of a bell. I discovered that the keys had been left in the door when I went to unlock it. I turned the handle down and released the dog out into the cove. He ran into the distance, barking profusely until I realised he was barking in harmony with the bell. 

I narrowed my eyes and peered out into the distance. Barely able to see his silhouette in the moonlight, I tracked it desperately and waited for a minute. The bell was still ringing. 

I tried whistling first, but it wasn’t loud enough; I didn’t want to wake my parents up for what could have been nothing. The dog didn’t come back after my third attempt so I followed him out onto the beach. He’d come slightly closer to the cottage and had stopped barking, but the bell persisted. I looked around for the origin of the sound. Nothing. 

“Barney, come on boy!” I called with a fear I hadn’t acknowledged until now. He ran toward me and just before I could grab his collar, turned around and ran back to the beach. My stomach dropped. “Barney!” Here, boy.” I slapped my hands together rapidly and called again. “Barney, come on. Baaaaarney!” 

His shadow flitted back and forth as he ran rings around what appeared to be a large black rock, exposed by the departing tide. I rubbed my eyes and thought I saw the rock move. I looked at it again. It was not a rock, but the figure of a man crawling across the beach toward me. I took a step forward and stopped when I saw the figure stand up. Hooded and wearing a jacket that went down to his calves, he started walking slowly towards me. “Barney!” I called, hearing my voice break as I said it. “Barney, please!” 

I was almost in tears by the time the dog registered my calls. He barked once more and ran toward the house. “That’s it, come on boy! Come on!” I don’t know if he could hear the terror in my voice but he kept coming this time and passed me. I ran after him into the house, shooting a quick glance over my shoulder. The figure was still walking towards us as the dog leapt into the hallway. I closed the door firmly behind me and locked it, taking the keys out. 

Like a child, I ran back up to my room with the dog and shut the door, diving under the covers with nothing but my heavy breathing for company. That was until I heard the front door close. I looked across the room to where Alfie was sleeping. His arm dangled from the bed as he snored peacefully on his front. Barney waited by the door, listening. 

All other sounds had ceased the moment I heard the heavy boots touch the first step of the staircase. The bell still rang outside somewhere, growing fainter as the minutes passed. Each step creaked under the weight of the boots as they ascended. Whoever it was walked past my room and back again several times. I held my hand over my mouth as they stopped outside my door. Slowly pulling the blanket down and feeling the cool air on my nose, I dared to look at the door. In old cottages such as this one, there was an inch of space between the door and the floor, and in this gap I could see the bottom of a man’s boots.

 If I had been able to scream, I would have done, but I remained still, listening to my heart beat as primal fear pushed it to the limit of human endurance. Finally, the boots moved away, the bell ceased and the footsteps faded into nowhere. I held myself under the covers as though the force of my own embrace could numb the fierce shivers.

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Somehow, despite the incident in the night, I managed to fall back asleep. I woke early in the morning to a cacophony of gulls screeching somewhere on the water. The early morning mist lingered outside, pushing its face up against the thin windows. I rubbed my eyes and looked down at the dog who was sleeping at the foot of my brother’s bed. Deciding not to wake them, I quietly left the room and headed towards the bathroom. That’s when I felt it. I’d stepped in a puddle of water, right outside my bedroom. Perhaps the dog needed to go, I thought, but as I looked across the landing, I could see another one, and another. Each bare-footed step I took down the stairs into the hallway was wet. Several more of these small puddles dotted the floor all the way to the front door, which was closed. The icy cold water electrified my body, sending hairs standing. He had been there. 

Later that morning, having shoved the last of the bags into the roof box, Dad looked around as though he’d heard someone speaking: a whisper on the wind. I stepped outside and looked out onto the cove to see Mum returning from the beach quickly with a poo bag in one hand and the dog’s lead in the other. “All done then?” she asked Dad with tight lips and an ashen face. 

“Yeah,” he said gruffly. “Shall we?” 

It wasn’t until we’d reached the service station somewhere near Bristol that my parents started speaking again. From our direction of travel, I’d surmised that they must have decided to go home at some point in the night. I hadn’t mentioned the water, or how I’d slept. I just cleaned it up after convincing myself that I’d let a wet dog back into the house. After all, I couldn’t really see him all the way out there in the dark, and no one would have believed me anyway. 

Dad was the first to speak as he looked down at his hot black coffee. “How was your night then?” he asked me. 

“I dunno,” I said, finding myself unable to say what I actually felt. Our eyes locked and for the first time in my life, I could read him. At seventeen, I’d finally reached the glass wall that shattered when you realised your parents didn’t know everything after all. He was just like me. He was scared.

“Mine was terrible,” Mum said. “And I know it was the same for you, Geoff. That bloody storm.” 

“Storm?” I asked. 

Mum stirred her coffee idly. “Yeah. It was awful. Had the walls rattling. I thought the roof was going to cave in. Didn’t you hear the sea?” 

“No?” I asked. They both looked at me, dumbfounded. 

“It was a really bad storm, Jack. I’m surprised it didn’t wake you,” she said, taking a sip of her drink. “Someone out there was ringing a bloody bell and all.” 

“I heard the bell,” I said, seeing my hands start to shake. They looked at each other and then across the table to Alfie who was tucking into a bacon roll. 

“What about you, Alfie? Did you have a good night?” Mum asked. 

Knowing he would have received the look from Mum for talking with his mouth full, he chewed for a minute and shook his head. I felt my soul leave my body as I waited for him to tell them about the fisherman. I watched the final lump of food pass down his throat as he swallowed and followed up with a slug of coke. He cleared his throat before saying, “no.” The three of us leaned in, waiting for him to elaborate until he shrugged and said, “I couldn’t find my charger.”