Soft little waves licking at the sand. Moon clouds all misty and high. This was my dreaming place, the shore.
Night birds called from twisted pine and myrtle behind me. Here, I could feel my breath and heartbeat slowing down, matching rhythms of silvery bay waters.
I walked down the beach until I found a tree stump to sit on, far back almost to the grass and vegetation that ringed my quiet beach. This was one of Eastpoint’s hidden places, virtually unknown to tourists and sightseers, a place of spiritual healing and soul renewal.
It was late, after midnight, and a half-moon was riding the dark sky.
There was wine in my bag, a cheap Malbec that I had become overly fond of. Lights from the island looked like flickering diamond fancies, a faraway fairy ring. Salt air seemed the sweetest perfume, like promises made in youth. I uncorked the bottle and took a deep, red swallow.
Movement to the left of me caught my attention. A fluid, dark shape emerged from the brush. It seemed to be a shadow, moving quietly across the sand. I sensed danger and held myself very still, scarcely daring to breathe. This was a place of wild animals, a town built next to that vast swamp of folk tales and legends - Tate’s Hell.
Fog moved swiftly across the moon as strong breezes began to blow in from the west. I shivered and took another swallow of Malbec, watching vigilantly as the shadow began to take shape in the wavering moonlight. It’s eyes became flaming orbs and it’s tail switched as it sniffed the air. A large catlike creature turned towards me - a panther! My blood became ice in my veins, my heart seemed to suspend itself between beats, and I felt fear course through my body - a primal warning system. The moon disappeared behind a passing cloud and a silent owl flew past me, it’s wings a quiet dance of death.
There was nothing else to do but drink more wine and hope my scent was not appealing to the large beast before me. It approached slowly, a vision of stealth. Then, just as it uttered a low, barely audible growl, headlights appeared on the road nearby. Someone was laughing and a radio blared rudely into nature’s quiet retreat. The cat disappeared into the night just as silently as it had come.
I picked up my bag and walked quickly down the beach and up to the road. A truck was parked at the end and a couple leaned against the hood, drinking beer and talking. I greeted them and rushed on by, glad for the safety of my car.
The next day I began to wonder if this had really happened or if it was just my imagination fueled by red wine and moonlight. Again, I headed to the beach, hoping to find some proof of what I had seen. Unfortunately, tides had washed the shoreline clean and there were only new bird tracks to be seen. I kept looking, determined to verify my sketchy memory of the previous night's adventure.
Finally, in frustration, I gave up and headed back towards the road. Then, a small dog raced past me with a man in pursuit. "Grab that dog!" he yelled. It ran past me, then stopped abruptly to sniff some nearby bushes. I lunged and managed to get a back leg. The little pet immediately turned around and clamped onto my hand with it's needle-like teeth. "Thank goodness! She jumped out of the car before I could catch her," the man explained. After apologizing for my maimed and bloody hand he clutched the dog tightly and went off down the beach.
I continued across the sand until a heavily barnacled piece of driftwood caught my eye, partially hidden in the grass (something I collected for art projects).
And as I reached down to pick it up, something else caught my attention - several large, deep paw prints leading back into the trees. Perhaps it was a trick of the light or the twist of a shadow, but there, just ahead of me, something slipped through the dry brown grasses and I heard a faint, but unmistakable growl carried past me on the soft Winter wind.
