Sharks
Brian didn't want to go in the water
“More people are killed by vending machines than by sharks,” Heather said.
“You’re not going to convince me to go in the ocean. The guy at the dock said there was a shark sighting this morning.” Brian shifted in his rainbow-striped beach chair, hunting for a comfortable position.
“He was the beach umbrella guy, not remotely connected to anything maritime. He said his cousin heard somebody spotted a fin off the coast of Jacksonville. We’re in Miami. And it could have been a dolphin.”
A pelican’s shadow crossed over them while light reflecting off the water danced across the hotel’s deco facade, a fantastical display of blues and greens. Cacophonous laughter echoed from the ocean.
“See all those people in the water? Big people, little people, blonde people, brunette people.” Heather covered her eyes with her hand and squinted. “There’s a guy eating a burger in the water, too. If a shark wants to snack on a human, there are plenty of choices other than just you. Take the odds of a shark killing a human, which are—”
“You already said less than being killed by a vending machine.”
“And divide those remote odds by the dozens of people in the water—who, I note, are enjoying their Florida vacation the way we should be—you are as safe as—”
“Stephen King’s The Raft.” Brian reached into his beach bag, retrieved the Hawaiian Tropic 50 SPF sunscreen, and lathered his body.
“What’s that?”
“The Raft is a short story about a monster in the form of an oil slick that eats people in a lake in Maine, not far from where we live.”
“And that’s why you won’t swim in lakes either, despite a dozen beautiful lakes around Bridgton?” Heather poked Brian’s arm.
“Maybe.”
“We’re on vacation in Florida, babe. It’s sad your phobias make you a landlubber. The water’s warm, pretty, and fun.” Heather shrugged. “If you don’t want to go in, I can’t force you. But I’m taking a dip.” She leaned over, put her hand on Brian’s thigh, and whispered, “I’m going to slip off my top when I get neck deep.”
Brian pressed his lips together and held his breath for a half minute. “Okay, I’ll go. But only until the water’s around our necks, and we then come right out.”
“Deal. Baby steps toward a wonderful vacation.” She kissed his cheek, took his hand, and headed to the ocean, her arm swinging in delight.
It happened incredibly fast. The water surrounding Brian exploded into red. Brian’s mouth opened wide, but nothing came out—the scream was trapped inside his throat—and then he disappeared beneath the waves.
Heather sat in the back of the Miami Fire Department’s rescue vehicle, two blankets wrapped around her, shivering despite the ninety-five-degree temperature and blazing sun.
“They found his body,” the firefighter said. “I’m sorry about your husband—I can’t imagine what that feels like and if there’s anything the Department or I can do for you, don’t hesitate to ask. It was probably a rogue hammerhead. I know it’s no comfort, but that shark is certainly long gone and won’t be harming anyone else.”
Heather sobbed into a hotel towel. Salt stained her cheeks.
Two of the three rescue vehicles that had arrived after Heather called 911 fired up their engines and raced off the beach, clouds of sand like a Sahara Desert storm in their wake.
The firefighter reassured Heather, “I’ll stay with you.” Then he brought a walkie-talkie to his ear.
Heather looked up. “What happened?”
“Strangest thing. There are multiple reports of vending machines toppling over and killing people.”
If you liked Sharks, I think you’ll also enjoy my story, How to Slay a Monster.
Omg you are one inventive dude. Thanks
The stats on this one check out, and The Raft shows up in the movie Creepshow, which also depicts a man being lured to his death by a woman's wayward advances. You went pretty deep with this one, Bill 😁