 The ocean is the mother of all mankind. I read that in an old mythology book in my school's library. It said we came from it and would return to it in the form of fish after we died, spitting death out like a bitter poison before entering the water to be forever caught in our mother's embrace. When I asked the old librarian about it, he said no one was certain as to why this belief originated, but I think it came from the feeling you get while you're in the water. The way it envelopes you feels as if you're being embraced by a parent. It's a quiet embrace that calms you and takes away your worries. That at least is why I like the ocean. No, love the ocean, and my love of the ocean is why I'm the only one of the group that offered to sleep outside when we learned the hotel didn't have enough rooms for all of us. To be honest, I don't mind. I don't even care that much for school trips. I just go along and usually end up by myself, which happens all the time. Come to think of it, once again, I don't mind. I wouldn't want anyone else spoiling the experience of this night. A gentle breeze is blowing in from the sea and brushing against the grass further up the beach, creating a soft rustling sound. Aside from that, the only other noise to reach my ears comes from the lapping waves in my breathing. I stare up at the bunched clusters of stars uneasy. Usually the steady sound of waves puts me to sleep right away or be released within a few minutes. But I've been laying here for hours without even the slightest feeling of drowsiness thanks to an unsettling fear that hides in the corners of my awareness. I roll over, watching the grass bobbing in the wind. Further beyond it is the small hotel. It's porch light illuminating the darkness. The wife of the hotel owner probably turned it on for me. She seems like the kind of person who would do that. But now I have my back to the water. That shouldn't be a problem though, it's just water. I'm guessing the chances of something crawling out of it to drag me to my death isn't high. But it feels like I just turned my back on a crouching predator. Like I just invited it to come and get me. Why am I afraid? What am I afraid of? I roll back over to confront the imagined threat. Predictably nothing has changed. The water is the same water as before broken by the same waves and exhaling the same salty breeze. But I still feel the unease. I've learned that the only thing that can put me at ease when I'm this stressed is to go for a swim. I need to feel that comforting embrace to remind me that everything is still alright. After all, I'm probably just restless because I can't wait to get in the water. True, teacher did say that we were supposed to wait until tomorrow to do any swimming. But there's not much difference between swimming one day as opposed to another unless some natural disaster occurs or the water freezes. I tear away the sheet that's on top of me and hop up the foam pad I've been lying on rolling up into a loose tube. I find a rock laying nearby and use it to hold the pad down in case it decides to see the world for itself and roll away with a breeze while I'm gone. Sneaking across the sand, I take care to stay out of the light shining from the porch in case anyone's awake and looking outside. I'm already in my swim trunks with my torso bare to the wind and evidently sand. The only things I need now are my snorkel and goggles. Teacher had us all put any swimming gear we brought with us into a shed to the side of the hotel, which I'm hoping isn't locked. I'd like to think that we're far enough from any big town for anyone to worry about robbery. But the hotel owner could be cautious and keep it locked anyway. I pause in front of the shed door, making sure nobody is going to catch me. Nothing stirs in the darkness. The porch light remains unbroken. I reach over and try the handle. It's not locked. Perfect. Pushing the door open, I navigate to where I think my snorkel and goggles are based on my memory of where I put them. Please don't knock anything over. Aha. There they are. I slip back out of the shed, doing my best to close the door as silently as I'd opened it. Now liberated from the fear that I'll be caught swiping my gear from the shed, I trot down to the beach, slipping my goggles over my face as I go. They fit snugly, pinching my nose, but I tighten them for good measure before hooking my snorkel to the goggles straps and biting down on the mouthpiece. By now I'm already shin deep in the cool water. I continue to wait out until the water is above my waist before turning on the small waterproof flashlight attached to my swimming trunks and submerging. The water is a little colder than I thought it would be, now that all of me is beneath it, but it's not unbearable. I give a few kicks, sending me soaring effortlessly over the seabed. A few crabs scuttle away from the flashlight's beam, but otherwise I'm completely alone. The embrace of the water, true to my expectations, calms me down. I stop kicking and float for a moment, my snorkel poking above the ocean's surface. I'm facing the open sea, which means the kelp forest the hotel owner told us about is to my right, and to my left the beach extends without any notable features. I don't want to get caught in kelp or get lost on a seemingly endless stretch of beach, so I decide to head a little further into the open water before heading back. It shouldn't be a problem, as long as I don't go too far and encounter a current that pulls me out to sea. After a few more kicks, my flashlight suddenly fails to illuminate the sand beneath me. It catches my hand in front of it, ensuring it's still on. Its glare catches my hand, temporarily blinding me with a sudden brightness. If the flashlight's still on, but not catching the seabed and its beam, I must have swam over a drop off. Swiveling around, I manage to illuminate the edge of the drop with the flashlight, a massive rocky crag jutting out into the sea. I look back down, nothing but ink black darkness meets my eye, but I can hear something. The source of the sound is too far away for me to hear it clearly, but that only heightens my curiosity, taking control from my better judgment. I take a deep breath, fix my snorkel's cap over the end of the tube that still stands above the waves, and dive. After descending a short distance, I stop and listen. There it is, much clearer this time. I've heard the sounds of fish, shrimp, and even a few dolphins during past snorkeling expeditions, but this sounds like none of those. I dive deeper to get a better idea of what I'm hearing. It's still there. I raise one eyebrow, my heart seeming to stop in my chest as I listen. The best comparison I can draw to describe these sounds is like the babbling of infants with the voices of adults. Several of the voices are baritone, while others sound more feminine, all vocalizing in tandem as if a conversation is taking place. Those aren't the sounds of any sea creature I've ever heard before. My lungs begin to burn as my body signals its need for more oxygen, but I'll swim a little farther down to see if I can catch a glimpse of these speakers. As soon as I begin to descend again, the voices go quiet. I stop, my heart pounding alongside my lungs. Did they see me and get spooked? Were they that close? I shine the flashlight around. A small school of fish darts away to my right, but otherwise I don't see anything else, which doesn't reduce the panic growing inside me. If the speakers were that close, they could be watching me right now. Are they afraid of me? Do they see me as a threat? Are they waiting for me to turn my back on them? No, no, I can't think like that. Aquatic creatures can sound strange sometimes. Why can't there be something that sounds like a person? Dolphins can sound very similar to humans when they talk. No, that can't be it. Those were voices. No creature can possibly replicate human speech that accurately, even as unintelligible as the words were. Finally giving in to my need for air, I ascend as quickly as I dare, watching the depths below for any sign of the speakers or any other possible danger. None show themselves. I remove the cap from the end of my snorkel as it breaks through the surface. Taking deep breaths through the small mouthpiece, I continue to watch below me. Still nothing. What made those sounds? I swim to shore as quickly as possible. Those voices were there. I'm sure of it. I replay them in my head as I rise from the waves and head for the beach. There was no doubting that the sounds had been there, but what made them? There were no discernible words. Rather it sounded like the speakers were trying to learn how to talk. Grabbing my towel from the pack I'd been using as a pillow and drying off, I wonder what disturbed me more. The sound of adult voices babbling like toddlers, or the fact I heard them in the same water in which I was swimming. I shudder as my imagination begins to play with what I just experienced. Shaking my head as if to shake these thoughts out of my brain, I sneak back to the shed to replace my snorkeling gear. What use is there in wondering about this? The likelihood of me ever discovering the origin of the sounds is probably next to impossible. Just forget about it. I return to my sleeping pad and rummage around my pack for the little bottle of alcohol solution I keep for cleaning out my ears after a swim. I drop some of the liquid into my ears, wincing at the sensation, before tilting my head and letting the loosened water fall out of my ears and splat onto the sand. But unlike the water, the sounds don't leave my head. I play the memory of them backwards and forwards as I lay on the pad once again, staring up at the night sky. The sound of them is just too unsettling to forget, no matter what excuse I feed my mind to get it to go to sleep. At this rate, good morning. My eyes fly open to the glow of early morning sunlight rising from across the water. Apparently I drifted off to sleep in the middle of my speculation, though it doesn't feel like I got any rest. Wait, was it a dream? Please let it have been a dream. The hotel owner's wife, an older woman with her thinning gray hair pulled into a bun on the back of her head, is standing nearby. I grunt and sit up, still hoping my experience with the underwater voices was just a nightmare. What time is it? I ask, time for breakfast? She answers, we couldn't leave you out here while everyone else ate, could we? I nod silently, touching my arm. A flake of salt film falls off, but the older lady doesn't seem to notice. I rub the salt flakes between my fingers, disappointed. Apparently I was in the water last night. I look out at it, questions once again whirling about my head. I'll, um, I'll be there in a minute. I say, certainly, the old lady says, your plate will be ready soon. I hear her walking over the sand towards the hotel, but I don't take my eyes off the water. What's in there? I wonder aloud. I stand, brushing off some of the salt film and pull on a shirt, still staring out at the water. The edge of the sun suddenly peeks over it, piercing my vision and forcing me to look blinking. I roll up my sheet and foam pad and stuff them under one arm, slinging my pack over my other shoulder. I head for the hotel, stepping into my shoes as I go pushing the front door open. My ears are suddenly bombarded with the sound of multiple conversations taking place in the hotel's dining room. All of them made up by the familiar voices of my classmates and, thankfully, intelligible words. It's comforting to hear coherence after last night's incident. Good morning. I turn to see teacher standing behind me. He nods at my salt encrusted arms. Looks like you were too close to the ocean. I hesitate for a moment, glancing at my arms. Yeah, I feel kind of crusty. You should have accepted the owner's offer of the lobby couch. He says, go rinse off out back before coming to the table. I nod again. Yes, sir. Nodding with apparent satisfaction, he strides towards the dining room, one hand clasped in the small of his back. I head for the hoses behind the hotel. What's the point of rinsing the salt off? I'm just going to go into the water again this afternoon. Yet, I still find myself twisting a nozzle, prompting a thin stream of salt free rainwater to flow through the hose from a rain catch on the roof above me. Rinsing the salt off my arms and legs, I glance up towards the beach. Considering what happened last night, I might not go swimming again. That decision didn't last long. As all the other students run eagerly to the ocean, I realize that my two choices for passing time were either sitting on the hot sand watching everyone splash around like maniacs or going in the water myself. Predictably, I decide to go snorkeling again. I leave my goggles up on my forehead as I once again wade into the surf. The water is much warmer than it was last night and proves to be so clear that anything on top of the water looks as though it's floating in midair. I enter the water to the left of the main group so any piece I find wouldn't be interrupted by a classmate with less tranquil motives. When you swim with a group of rowdy people on a recreational trip, it's only a matter of time before somebody decides to hold you underwater for some reason they attribute to fun. It's thanks to this that I only swim with other people in recent years when I'm with the school's swimming club or a scuba team. At least they want to be in the water for the sake of being in the water. Pulling my goggles down over my face, I submerge myself. Sunlight distorted by the water above forms into strange patterns on the seabed. The illumination it provides lets me see for a significant distance, giving me a much better look at my surroundings than I had last night. Save for a couple of sand crabs and fish, nothing but the flat seabed extends around me. I don't see the other students splashing about in the water, but they're far enough from me for them to be shrouded in a haze. I can hear their splashing too, like the rumbling of distant thunder. I shift my gaze back out to the blue expanse in front of me. My curiosity of what I experienced last night rekindled. I set my mind on the one thing I know I have to see. The drop off. It can't be more than a hundred yards ahead of me. So I don't think it'll be too separated from the group, at least not by my definition. I fix the cap over the end of my snorkel and submerge completely using the seabed as leverage to propel me forward quickly. Then I hear one of the other students thundering splashes followed by what I can only describe as an underwater scream. My exploration can wait. I turn quickly and propel myself in the direction of the noise. Wait, where did it come from? I raise my head above the water's surface. Sure enough, I can see someone thrashing in the water. I swim towards them as fast as I can. When I arrive, I can see wispy traces of blood in the water. The victim, a girl, has her leg in a vice like grip and is still yelling. Hold on, I say, towing her towards the shore. She doesn't resist, nor does she release the grip on her leg, which is probably keeping it from bleeding too much. By the time we're almost to shore, everyone else has finally taken notice of the commotion. Teacher and the old man who owns the hotel run out to the edge of the beach, brow furrowed and that distinctive look adults get when something goes awry. The other students rush out of the water in a panicked mass, apparently fearing that whatever happened to the girl could happen to them as well. I can't say I blame them. What happened? The old man asks as I haul the girl out of the beach. I don't know. I admit loosening my goggles straps so they hang around my neck, but she's bleeding pretty bad. The old man calls to his wife, who runs out of the hotel with what looks to be an emergency medical kit, her face draining of color as she glimpses the scene. The girls yelling is finally subsided into whimpers of pain through clenched teeth. Blood is beginning to drip out from between her fingers. Here, I say, trying to pry her hand away from her legs. You need to let go so we can get to it. She takes a deep breath and pulls her hand away. Immediately, the blood held back by her hand begins to flow freely onto the sand. I can't see exactly where it's coming from, but it looks like a roughly circular wound, probably a bite or scrape. The old woman presses a small cloth through it. Hold still now. In my experience, this is one of the worst things to hear from someone administering first aid, but the girl braces herself the best she can. The old woman damns at the injury softly, though I can see each touch is sending waves of pain through the patient. Teacher turns to look at the other students, who stand a short distance away, glancing between their injured classmate and the water. Did any of you see anything? Teacher asks, like a shark or ray. I don't catch their response too focused on the revealed wound. Beside me, the old man and woman also stare at the injury. I don't think it was a shark or ray, sir, I say. Teacher turns back, frowning as his gaze meets the injury. Seeing his face, the girl leans up to get a better look at her leg. Her eyes widen as she sees it. It was unmistakably a bite mark, no more than two and a half inches in diameter, engraved into her left shin. I lean closer to ensure I'm not seeing things, but closer examination only proves my suspicions. The bite mark had been made by teeth that clearly belonged to a human. Teacher whirls around, facing the other students, show me your teeth. The students hesitate, confused. A few cram their necks to see past them. Even from behind them, I can see teachers muscles tighten in what I'm guessing is a glare. Now. All of the students bear their teeth at once. None of them have blood, skin, or residue of any sort clinging to any part of their mouths. Teacher turns back, raising an eyebrow at me. I bear my teeth too, proving my innocence. Do you know of any fish like this? He asked me. I shake my head and glance at the old man. He shakes his head too. She probably got caught in some trash that was floating around. She'll just need to keep an eye on it to make sure it doesn't get infected. The girl looks at him doubtfully, but doesn't say anything. The old woman nods as she finishes wrapping the girl's leg in a length of gauze. I put some antibiotic on it, so that'll help. Keeping it clean is the most important thing now. Teacher nods and turns back to the students. She just got caught in some floating litter, nothing too serious. Just remember to be careful. The students relax and make their way back to the water, not bothering to see the injury for themselves. Teacher bows slightly to the older couple. Thank you both for the help. The old woman waves a hand. Don't worry about it, it's what anyone would do. I look out at the other students who have returned to their carefree splashing. Teacher nods and returns to his nearby beach chair, apparently satisfied with the old man's explanation. Here, sweetie, the old woman says, helping the girl up. Let's go inside. I didn't get caught in trash, the girl says, speaking for the first time. I stepped on something and it bit me. I know, the old woman says quietly, patting her shoulder, but it's nothing to worry about. The girl turns her head and looks at me, her face carrying two expressions, silent gratitude and a confusion that pleas for answers. The gratitude surprises me. This isn't the first time I've been an impromptu lifeguard, but it is the first time anyone has indicated thankfulness. As for the other expression, I guess I look like I'm silently pleading for answers too, which is appropriate, because I don't have any of the answers I'm sure she's looking for. I glance at the old man. I might know where to look for them, though. You don't really think that mark was made by trash? I say quietly, more of a statement than a question. The old man grimaces. This isn't the first time this has happened. I raise an eyebrow. It isn't? The old man sighs heavily. It doesn't happen very often, but for as long as anyone on this coast can remember, people have been getting bites like this. I shift my gaze to the sea, studying the waters. What causes them? Who knows? The old man says with a shrug, we've never been able to find out. The wounds have never gotten infected, apart from one incident, so we just brush it off as trash and take care of the victims the best we can. I frown. What was different about the time it did get infected? The old man frowns as well. Different? Yeah, was there anything different about that particular bite? The old man thinks for a moment, I squinted. I wait silently, kicking fresh sand on top of one of the clumps of blood that had dripped out of the beach. There was black liquid in that bite, he finally says. The next day, the victim died of infection. The next day, I repeat, that's not an infection. The old man looks at me. What do you want to call it then? I hesitate. Then nod. What would you call something like that? We don't know what it is. He mutters, or what to do about it for that matter. I remain silent. I don't agree with the way he's handling this, but I have to admit that I can't entirely disagree with him either. He knows just as little as I do, and I have no idea what I'd do if I was in his place. For generations, this hotel has been my family's sole source of livelihood, the old man says. That's why we brush it off as trash. We don't want people to stop coming here for fear of what's in the water. I still don't say anything. I have the distinct feeling the old man needs to get this out, a confession of sorts, I guess. I'm scared, he says, his voice trembling slightly. I don't know what's in that ocean. I don't want anyone else to be scared either. I nod. I, uh, I understand. The old man glances at me, his face finally relaxing. Thank you. The old woman calls from the hotel's front door, prompting us to turn. The radio says there's a storm coming. She shouts, it'll be here in a few hours. I look back over the water, glimpsing for the first time, a dark line at the edge of the horizon. A big one, I'd better get things tied down. He says, I glance back at the dark line, I'll help. He smiles slightly, follow me then. I sit on the couch in the hotel's lobby, my bed for the night, looking out the window at the nearby storm. I'd open the sliding metal doors that were made to cover the window during bad weather so I could see outside. You sure you don't want to come in the dining room with everybody else? The old man asks from the doorway, I nod, I never really got along with them. The old man nods as he makes his way to a chair by the window I sit at. People aren't that easy to get along with, that girl you brought to shore is really grateful though, I can tell. I watch the grass bend to the ground in a sudden gust of wind, once again saying nothing. A second gust of wind blows in from the sea, shaking the entire hotel. Maybe we should close the storm window. The old man says, I get up slowly, keeping my eyes on the rapidly approaching storm. I grab one of the metal door handles while the old man grabs the one on the other side of the window. Then with as much strength as we can manage, we push the two doors towards each other. During a brief pause between pushes, I look out the window, suddenly noticing that the waves have the telltale markings caused by drops of rain. As I watched, the rain visibly raced across the water, making its way to the sand. The old man grunts, face bent in a strained grimace. The hotel shutters as another blast of wind slams into it, joined soon after by the sound of raindrops pounding against the roof. The lights flicker. You got a flashlight? The old man asks. Yep, I answer, feeling my shoulder joint adjust as the metal door slowly slid forward. Another gust of wind, the largest so far, shakes the hotel. All of the lights go out with an audible pop. A few surprised shouts rise from the direction of the dining room. The old man and I finally push the doors together, shutting out the dim sliver of gray light that had been shining in from outside. I hear the old man clamp the lock shut as thunder rumbles outside. Get that flashlight of yours on. He says, we're gonna need it. I pull the diving light from my pocket and turn it on, cutting a claustrophobic swath of light through the stale darkness. Let's get back to everybody else. The old man says. The only thing you can do during storms like this is wait them out. It isn't too bad of a storm. The old man tells everyone as we arrive, you just have to wait these things out. The old woman calls to me from the kitchen. I carry the flashlight over to her, making my way around the large dining table my fellow students are clustered around. She hands me several half used candles, telling me to set them up on the table and join them. As I set them up, I noticed that everyone appears to be calming down, particularly after the candles are lit and casting a warm flickering glow around the table. Part of me is still uneasy, a feeling that I attribute to how the wind outside sounded like screaming voices. In random intervals, the screams sound less like wind and more like an actual person reminding me of the underwater voices the night before and making me even more uneasy. Could those screams be caused by the speakers I heard last night? Could they even be the things that have been biting people? Are the screams I hear outside really screams? After all, they could just be from the storm. I try to steer my mind away from the sounds as I sit at the table with everyone else for a change. They're so at ease, laughing and shattering without any obvious fear or worry. Have I gone crazy? Am I just imagining the noises I think I'm hearing? And if I was, how would I find out? Maybe if I'll go to the beach tomorrow morning before anyone else wakes up. If those sounds are coming from something other than the storm, then whatever it is should leave some sign of its presence outside. And if I don't find anything, I won't give the sounds or the bites any more thought. If I do find something, well, I guess that will depend on what I'll find. I open one eye, waking to absolute silence. The wind has stopped, no rain audibly falls on the roof, and it doesn't sound like anyone else is awake. The storm window is still closed, but I can tell it's early morning. I get up and make my way to the front door, pulling my swim trunks and a shirt on as I silently creep through the lobby. Sure enough, I can see light beginning to appear on the clear eastern horizon through the front door's window. I slip my shoes on and quietly leave the building, wincing as the door rattles slightly when I shut it. The entire beach is strewn with remnants from the storm. Driftwood, strands of kelp and seaweed, and several shingles from the hotel's roof dot the sand as far as I can see. I step around them carefully, keeping an eye out for anything that looks as though it could be a sign of the noises I heard last night or the night before. I reach the edge of the waves, finding a lone and evidently dead fish surrounded by shards of driftwood and torn kelp. Otherwise, I see nothing. So it was my imagination. My fear of what I heard in the water had just made everything that happened after that more frightening than it really was. I let out a heavy sigh, shaking my head at my unnecessary worry. Then the fish gasped, making me jump. Fish usually gasped one out of water, but I've never heard one make a sound while doing so besides catfish. And this is no catfish. I kneel down beside the fish and take it in one hand. Its eyes are rimmed with white, making them appear intelligent and almost human. It gasps again, opening its mouth and flexing its gills. My eyes catch sight of something strange in its mouth and I peel its lips back with my other hand, exposing its human teeth. I stare silently down at the fish in my hands. The mouth has teeth just like that of a person in a tiny human tongue to match. I measure its gape with a finger, finding it about the same width as the bite on the girl's leg. The fish coughs, a sound not unlike that of a sickly human and a black liquid dribbles down the side of its mouth. I angle the fish so the liquid won't touch my hand, causing it to drip on a leaf of kelp. The leaf immediately curls up and crumbles into a black dust when the liquid touches it. I look at the fish as it looks at me with its white rimmed eyes and urge to throw it as far as I can rising in me. I want to forget that I ever saw the fish to get it out of my sight, to go back in time and keep myself from coming out to the beach this morning. To do something to prevent myself from ever being here right now and discovering this aberration. But as I look at the fish, I can see the light of panic in its eyes, the same expression in the eyes of every captured animal I've ever seen. I blink. Maybe this wasn't the way this fish was made. Maybe it had no answers as to what was happening to it, just as I have no explanation for what this fish was. This in mind, I carry the fish to the water and submerge my hand, holding the fish loosely. He belongs in the water, no matter what I think about his unsettling appearance. The fish rests for a moment in the softly rolling waves, then darts out of my hand, a silver streak arcing through the water. I stand, looking out at the ocean. It looks infinite from where I am. It might as well be. I haven't even begun to understand what hides in the depths. Maybe the fish was becoming something. Maybe it was a new species, never seen by modern man. Maybe something had become the fish. I don't care anymore. Not about the fish, the voices, or answers about what happened the past few days. I fear that if I focus on those questions, I'll lose my love of the ocean, swimming, even water in general. For the first time in my life, I'm actually satisfied with my ignorance. After all, if I knew all the ocean's secrets, I might not want to share this planet with it.