No Harbour

by R.L. Summerling

Left, then west of the breakwater, just beyond the stacks. Don’t be seen.

I recite Carter’s instructions, walking towards a sky the colour of omens. Foam slurps black sand. Kittiwakes shriek; my mind ebbs away, swallowed up in the riptide. I do not notice the woman approaching. Her footsteps make no impression in the sand, inhuman movements more sea than flesh. The woman’s eyes and mouth were sutured shut, yet still she sees me. In the distance, I see what I’ve come for—the cave. 

Carter was wrong. There is no refuge here. Just a gaping basalt mouth screaming into the ocean.

R.L. Summerling is a writer from South East London. In her free time she enjoys befriending crows in Nunhead Cemetery. She has stories with Ghost Orchid Press, Seize The Press and Apex. You can find her at rlsummerling.com and on Twitter @RLSummerling