Creative Writing: The Beach

It was a silent night. Too silent. Not even the sound of the wind, nor the howl of the grey wolves could be heard. The lake was a dark mirror, reflecting the dull moonlight shrouded by a thick layer of fog. Pine trees surrounded the vast lake, towering menacingly as if to swallow it. Broken pine cones scattered across the uneven ground, creating a dark border around the lake.

A small wooden jetty protruded from the shore and a flickering light was present at the end of it. A little girl’s silhouette can be spotted, waiting quietly, almost as quiet as the night, on the jetty. Her long and soft silver-blonde hair wafted across her pale face. In her hands, she clutched a small basket covered with checkered cloth. Her pale blue eyes stayed fixed

The fog began to thicken, to the point where boat man could only make out the still figure of his passenger; the temperature began to drop quickly. The ring on the man’s left hand seemed to burn with coldness as he clenched onto the oar tightly.

He began to inquire again.

“Have yer heard of recent happenings around this area?” whispered the boat man He paused for a moment, waiting for the girl’s reply.“There’s a serial killer on the loose.” He paused to let the words sink in. His gnarled fingers gripped tightly on the oar as he rowed on. “Nine o’ them in the last few weeks or so. All o’ them stabbed and mutilated mercilessly until the victim is an unrecognisable mush. I’d imagine they’d have a hard time putting the pieces back together.” He chuckled grimly.

“But there’s one thing in common with all the victims.” He leaned forward. The girl could feel his warm, sickly breath on the back of her neck. “Fingers. Everyone o’ them. Each missin’ a different finger.”

The girl still didn’t respond, not moving from her position at all. The clouds parted to reveal the gloomy moon, its light pierced through the fog, which lit up the man’s hidden face. His eyes gleamed with menace which bore intently into the girls