 It was always the three of us, Cooper, Henry, and me. I'm Jack. We've been friends since the third grade when Dylan Delaney blocked the aisle in the school cafeteria and did a volleyball serve to the bottom of Henry's lunch tray. I can still see it to this very day. Tater tots and chicken nuggets exploding upwards, then skittering down to the surrounding brown laminate tabletops like rain. Cooper walked right up to Dylan and clocked him. He got a three-day suspension, but he said it was worth it. Cooper said taking down Dylan was like stardust. That's what he always said. When something was so perfect that you couldn't even attempt to describe it. We grew up in a small city in Northern California about 40 miles from the coast. Our summers were spent exploring an ever-widening circle. First our neighborhood, then the surrounding parks and wilderness areas. Heading out on summer mornings, we rode our bikes as far as we could and still made it back home before dark. When Cooper, the oldest of us by four months got his license at 16, the circle expanded exponentially. Mostly we were drawn to the coast. When the beaches closest to us became too familiar and overcrowded, we looked for out-of-the-way undiscovered places. We found surprisingly many, but our favorite spot was just north of the Golden Gate Bridge. At the end of an undeveloped street was a gravel access road. 10 minutes down that road, we would park at the tip of an overgrown trail that led down to a small inaccessible beach. The slope of the trail was gradual and we were able to carry our kayaks down to the water. The beach stretched out along the coast for about 500 yards. Both sides ended in sheer cliffs that jutted out into the ocean. We came to refer to it as the Cove. We'd go there every other weekend or so whenever Cooper could borrow his mom's car to fish or kayak or camp. We even moved some large rocks into a circle to use as a campfire, but as often as we went there, we never saw signs of any other people. No cigarette butts, empty beer bottles, not even the obligatory single tennis shoe. Whenever we camped overnight in the Cove, I always brought my dog, a nine-year-old golden named Bella, after Bella Legosi. Dracula was my favorite movie as a kid. The Cove was like Disneyland for Bella, a treasure trove of odd pieces of driftwood or the occasional dead fish, begging for serious and repeated examination. And she loved to swim. I never let her get too far out though, worried that she might get caught up in a strong current. Once, Bella nearly drowned in that current. We had run out of ice and I was elected to hike up to the car and make a quick run to the closest convenience store. I tried to get Bella to come, but Cooper was throwing sticks into the water for her to fetch, so I left without her. Apparently, after a particularly long throw, Bella had almost reached the stick when it started slowly drifting out farther from shore. Coop hadn't initially noticed this and was talking to Henry when they saw that Bella was too far out. They tried calling to her, but she couldn't hear them. When she finally did turn and try to swim back, the current kept taking her farther out to sea. Seeing that Bella wasn't gonna make it, Cooper grabbed one of his kayaks and launched it out after her. He said that it took him a good 10 minutes to get to her. Then he pulled her up onto the front of the kayak, balancing her there with her back legs trailing off into the water. She almost slid off two more times, but after 20 minutes of hard paddling against the current, they, both of them exhausted, made it back to the beach. Since then, we've been careful to keep Bella close to the shore. The last weekend in May was the last time the three of us ever camped out in the cove. It was supposed to be beautiful spring weather in the 70s with no chance of rain. Henry and I loaded our sleeping bags and other necessities into Cooper's Jeep. Bella jumped in and we headed out. We spent the day swimming and fishing, and as the sun began to create longer and longer shadows, we gathered up a huge pile of kindling and ate our dinner sitting around the fire. Afterwards, we watched as a fog rolled in, long gray white tendrils slowly blotting out all but the immediate landscape. It cut us off so completely from the rest of the world that it seemed we occupied an alien land. It was perfect for spooking each other with campfire stories, and we stayed up for most of the night, settling down into our sleeping bags that were scattered around the fire. Bella, who once she found out dinner was over, usually curled up and went right to sleep, tonight sat rigid, staring out at the fog, occasionally issuing a low wine. Two weeks later, I was studying for my final exams when I got a text from Cooper. His parents were in the middle of a huge fight with his older brother, and it was driving him crazy. He asked if I wanted to camp out for the next few days at the Cove. I told him I had finals Monday and Tuesday, so I really had to study this weekend, and Henry, who had already taken his last test, was visiting his sister in San Jose. I said Cooper was welcome to spend the weekend at my house, but he said that watching me study was not all that interesting, so we made plans to go the following weekend, and I thought no more about it. Until two days later, I got a call late Sunday night. It was Cooper's mom asking if I'd seen him. Cooper's jeep was found parked at the Cove. His sleeping bag and his backpack were on the beach. There was no sign of him. Three days later, they found his kayak washed up along the rocky shoreline near Stinson Beach several miles north of the Cove. His disappearance was ruled an accidental drowning. Several weeks passed. Cooper's family, always trying to hold out hope, came to accept that he wasn't coming home, and they held a small service for him. Life went on. Henry and I were accepted into different colleges. We tried to retain a semblance of our normal friendship, but Cooper's loss weighed heavily on the both of us, and little by little, we drifted apart. And before I knew it, a year had gone by. As the day arrived that would mark the last day of Cooper's life, his family had a remembrance gathering at their home. A lot of people came. Folks brought food and small groups drifted in and out all day long. I sat with Henry out on the back steps. We listened to the conversations and stories told, mostly funny, about the crazy stuff Cooper had gotten away with. I even found myself laughing at some of them. But underneath, I still felt guilty for not going with him that night. And as I looked around, I saw through the smiles and that same feeling of guilt in the eyes of those who loved him. Maybe it's always like that. When someone dies suddenly, everyone says to themselves, if only, if only I had been there, if only I had listened more carefully, if only I had known that the thread between here and gone was so very thin, if only. Henry and I made the rounds, saying goodbye to everyone. And as we slowly made our way outside of the cars, I stopped suddenly, turning to Henry. I said, hey, let's grab our gear and head out to the cove tonight. Henry paused for a moment and then smiled. Okay, Jack, he said, let's go. Let's go. Tying the kayaks to the roof of my car, I smiled as Bella jumped into the open front seat, barking happily. Don't worry, I said, we're not gonna leave without you. 45 minutes later, we were on the beach. With the sky already beginning to darken, we gathered up a large pile of driftwood and got the fire started. We ate dinner together looking out at the water and we talked about Cooper. How strange it still was. Without him. Then, just like the last time the three of us were here, a thin layer of fog rolled in from the south. We sat in silence, watching, each immersed in their own thoughts. After a few minutes, the silence was broken with a low growl from Bella. She was standing at attention, staring out at the fog, her ears pricked forward, listening. I was trying to follow her gaze when Henry said, what is that? Where? I asked, looking out. There, Henry pointed, that light above the water. After a long pause, he added, almost to himself, it has to be a ship. Squinting my eyes now to better focus, I said, no, it's a lighthouse. It can't be, he said. There is no lighthouse there. But I could tell him by the quiet way he spoke, that Henry saw it too. The lighthouse looked to be less than a mile out. It was tall and very thin, and from here I could almost imagine that I saw a row of darkened windows rising up along the front. A dim, flickering light could be seen at the very top. We stood there silently with Bella between us until I said, let's go check it out. The water's as smooth as glass. As I was speaking, I realized that I was going no matter how rough the water was, and I was going even if Henry wouldn't go with me. I had to go. I couldn't tell you why, but I had to. Henry looked over at me and nodded. Pushing our kayaks into the water, we paddled slowly side by side, and I realized that the only sound I could hear was the soft whining of Bella as we left her behind, disappointed that she had been given strict orders to stay on the beach. The ocean was absolutely silent. Maybe it was the fog, but I didn't think so. Our paddles cut silently into the perfectly still surface of the ocean. Making our way closer, we could now see the lighthouse in greater detail. The tower was extremely high. I counted eight windows rising up one after another. They were set in black and stone blocks that looked almost as if they had been burned. Ordinarily, lighthouses are picturesque tourist attractions, but there was something very wrong somehow about this one. The tower, whose edges should always be perfectly straight, grew slightly thinner in some places and bulged out almost imperceptively in others. The light at the top was not like anything I had ever seen. It was a coal fire in some kind of iron grate. I could see flames at the top and the glow of coals beneath. Henry and I looked at each other. Let's go back, he said in a whisper. I was just about to agree. When we heard someone yell, help me in a horse-desperate plea. The voice was raw and broken as though he had been screaming for a long, long time. I paddled quickly over and used a rope to tie off at the base of the lighthouse. Henry was right behind me. Iron rungs rose up from the water to a height of about 30 feet. Climbing to the top, we clambered onto a small stone landing surrounding the tower. There were remnants of an old rope railing, but all that remained were iron posts set into the stone, some of them badly canted. I moved to the edge and looked down. It was a very long way down, making sure that our kayaks were still tied securely. Turning back to the tower, we saw that a heavy oak door set back into a stone entryway was directly in front of us. Symbols were carved into the blackened wood. They looked almost Aramaic, but to me were unrecognizable. Cautiously, we stepped inside. The main floor was small, maybe 12 feet across and it was empty. The floors, walls and circular steps leading upward were all made of stone. It was dark inside, but we were able to see well enough from a gray light coming in from the windows. Maybe it was the moonlight reflecting on wispy tendrils of fog. We listened for a moment, but it was eerily silent. Motioning to Henry, we quietly moved to the stairs and headed up. The second floor was empty as well, identical, but a little smaller, maybe 10 feet across. And when we reached the third door, it was smaller still. Henry, who had always suffered from claustrophobia, began to have some trouble breathing. I asked if he wanted to go back down, but he shook his head. No, I'm okay, Jack. While I waited for him to calm his breathing, a low sound echoed off the stone walls of the tower. We froze in place. It was the rasping sound of metal against metal. And it came from below. Heart pounding, I took out my pocket knife, then motioned for Henry to follow and we silently made our way back down the stairs. The second floor was still empty, but before continuing down, I stopped on the top step and, leaning over, tried to view the main floor as thoroughly as possible. I could see everywhere, but directly under the stairs. We kept going. Moving from the steps onto the main landing, I aimed my knife toward the darkened space under the stairs. A quick search showed us a doorway that we had previously missed entirely. Through the doorway, we could see stone steps leading down into blackness. I had a tiny pen light on my key chain, holding it out in front of me. I could see for maybe two steps down, but it was better than nothing. We moved cautiously down a few steps at a time. The only sound was the lapping of water against stone. The bottom step was half covered by saltwater. There were no windows here, so we let our eyes adjust to the darkness. Directly opposite the stairs was a large opening in the stone that connected to a small enclosed chamber, maybe eight feet across. I could see no floor below, only large stone blocks that led down into the sea. The rushing sound of the ocean tide was much louder here. Henry and I stood in the opening, looking down into the swirling black water. When a loud metallic clanking came from directly behind us, spinning around, heart pounding, pocket knife held out in front of me, I aimed my pen light at the sound. As scared as we were, I think it took both of us almost a full minute to comprehend what we were seeing. At first it looked like something large and thrashing under the main stairway, and I wondered if we could get past it and back up the stairs, but we soon saw that it wasn't moving toward us, and then we saw that it couldn't. It was attached by large chains to the wall. It wasn't until we heard the whispered, please, that we realized it was a man. Henry and I looked at each other, then moved cautiously towards him. Startled, the man backed up until his head hit the wall. Directly in front of him now, I could see that he was covered in grime and dried blood. His shirt was in tatters and there was a huge gash on his forehead. One of his arms was clearly broken, bent back at the elbow. Once he saw that we weren't there to hurt him, I could see him physically relax. He leaned back, closed his eyes, and whispered something in his rasping voice that nearly stopped my heart. Like stardust, Henry and I froze. Cooper, Henry whispered, he didn't answer. And when Cooper did open his eyes to look at us, they held no recognition. At first, I wasn't able to speak, unable to breathe. This was immediately followed by a wave of relief. He was alive. It's all right, Coop, I said, looking directly into his eyes. We're gonna get you out of here. Checking to see that he really was bound, we found that his wrists and ankles were chained to a large iron peg set into the stone wall. Christ, Henry said, looking at me. Who the hell put him here? How do we get him out? Cooper's head snapped forward then, but he wasn't looking at us. He was looking past us, to the open chamber that led down to the sea. I noticed that the water was rising. It was now over a foot deep. The tide was coming in. Moving quickly now, Henry and I tried to pull the rusty iron ring holding the chains from the wall. It wouldn't budge. Using my pocket knife, I began to loosen the mortar around the ring. But after 10 minutes of this, I'd only managed to dig out about an inch and by now the water was up to my knees. This is taking too long, I said to Henry, go back up to the landing and see if you can find a loose piece of the steel railing post. We can use it as a lever. Henry waited over to the steps and ran up. I kept on digging. All of a sudden, there was a loud inrush of water and Cooper whispered, it's coming. I stopped digging then, grabbed the chains and pulled and I thought I felt a tiny movement. Help me, Coop, help me pull. But Cooper wasn't moving. He was staring over my shoulder, his eyes wild with panic. I heard the loud wet slap of something alive connecting with stone. Twice more the sound came and I realized with an overwhelming dread that something was coming up from the sea. As I turned, I saw a figure slowly rising step by step until it consumed all the space in the doorway. It seemed hunched over slightly as though it was almost too large to get through. In the darkness, I could see that it was maybe seven feet tall, muscular with arms that were much too long. Tendrils of seaweed dripped off its elongated fingers. But all of these things I could see only peripherally because from the moment I saw it, it held me with its eyes. I was physically unable to look away. In them, I saw the inky blackness of an intelligent predator. It made the whites of its eyes seem so bright like they were almost glowing. And though I couldn't see its mouth, when I saw the edges of its eyes turn up, I knew it was grinning. It came towards us then and I was held by its eyes like a moth to a flame. I couldn't move. The water was up to my waist now, but I could not move. It halved the distance between us. The water slew saying back and forth and the confined space, but it wasn't in a hurry. There was no need to hurry. It raised one of its hands towards me. And I knew then that when I felt its long seaweed encrusted fingers touch my face, I would go insane. A flash of movement flew past the right side of my face. It struck the creature high on the chest. Its shriek of pain and surprise reverberated against the stone walls. It fell back and I looked towards the stairs to see Henry yell, come on. I looked back at Cooper. The water was now almost up to my shoulders. I floated onto my back and set both my feet against the wall on either side of the iron ring. And I pulled. I pulled with everything I had. There was a snap and a large splash as I fell back under the water. Coming up fast, I grabbed Coop and flung us both towards the stairs. Henry was yelling, don't look back. I had no intention of looking back. Henry met me on the steps and we half dragged Cooper up to the top. As we moved, a low hum began throughout the lighthouse and the solidity of the stone walls began to fade then rematerialize, then fade again. Once my hand went right through the iron railing and I wondered what would happen if my hand was sharing the same space when it again solidified. It seemed at times that I could almost see right through the circular walls to the ocean beyond. We moved across the main rail and burst outside through the doorway. Cooper was unconscious now and Henry shouting over the loud hum yelled, how do we get him down the ladder? I saw with impending horror that the landing was fading and I could see through to the floor below. We hold on to him and jump, I shouted and that's exactly what we did. Then we jumped off the landing and as we fell the 30 feet into the water, I had time to imagine Cooper's chain catching in the stone as it reformed back into solidity. I could see him swing slowly back and strike the stone exterior of the lighthouse hanging there until something unimaginable appeared in the doorway and pulled him back up like a fish caught on a line. Then we hit the water and went back down into darkness but we held on. The chains were heavy in the water but Henry kept his head up as I swam over to retrieve the kayaks. Henry got in first then holding the kayaks together we heaved Cooper onto the front. I got in last and I can tell you I wanted nothing better than to get the hell out of the water. We paddled hard for sure keeping together as best we could. My imagination ran wild then I could almost see that thing trailing behind us far below but moving fast. I could see it looking up from the deep to see the outline of the kayaks and Cooper's feet trailing over the side. We were paddling so hard that I was surprised to hear the sand pull against the bottom of the kayaks. Nearly to shore now we jumped into shallow water and pulled Cooper well up onto the beach. Bella, wagging vigorously was almost as happy to see us as we were to see her. Then we sat there in the sand the three of us staring back at the lighthouse exhausted but together the tower was fading but still visible and I thought that I could see something at the peak raging back and forth across the light. I think it stopped then and looked directly at me. Then it screamed. It was the scream of a thing that wasn't used to the abomination of air in its lungs. The lighthouse and whatever remained within flickered out like a snuffed candle. It left only the faintest echo and the fog of a scream from a nightmare. We got Cooper to the emergency room Bella and the backseat watching over him. As soon as they got Cooper on a gurney and wheeled him in, I called his parents. While we waited for their arrival Henry and I came up with our story. We told his parents and the police that we found Cooper laying on the unused gravel road leading up to the cove. Whatever crazed lunatic took him must have brought him back there pushed him out of the car and left him to die. They bought it. After all, it's California. Cooper regained most of his memory his family, his friends, his life but could never catch hold of what happened while he was missing. He said the harder he tried to remember the more it moved out of his grasp. I think maybe there are some things that we are not supposed to remember. Sometimes though he has bad dreams says he wakes up screaming but as time passes it happens less and less. He was accepted into the University of Colorado State just about in the dead center of the country about as far away from the ocean as you can get. We still keep in contact and see each other whenever we can but he doesn't go anywhere near the coast. Not anymore.