The Sighting

by Christopher Coleman

  The Sighting

  Christopher Coleman

  The Sighting © copyright 2017 Christopher Coleman

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Description

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  About the Author

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  More from Christopher Coleman

  Sample from Gretel (Gretel Book One) | Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Description

  The Sighting

  One morning during his daily run to the beach, Danny Lynch witnesses the strangest and most incredible thing he's ever seen.

  A dark, man-like figure emerges from the ocean, stands for just a few moments on the beach, and then retreats back to the surf. Danny's perspective on the world changes in an instant, and as the only eyewitness to this event, his mission now is to convince anyone who will listen that what he saw was real. But with only a vague photo and a dubious story, that task is proving almost impossible, and his only hope may be in finding a mysterious woman who was at the beach earlier that morning, and who may hold the terrifying secret that could cost Danny his life.

  Chapter 1

  Danny Lynch kept his shoulders high and wide and then turned sharply off the asphalt jogging path, striding east now on the planks of the beach access. As his soles hit the wooden planks, he was instantly grateful for the softer feel of the boardwalk on the bottoms of his feet, and he closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the sensation as he increased his speed. He opened his eyes again and was now close enough that he could just make out the bottom landing of the stairway that led up to the ocean overlook. He turned his gallop into a sprint, determined to end this run—as every run—with the last drops of fuel left in his tank.

  Danny reached the sandy landing like a wild dog, panting and dishevelled, and then began his ascent of the stairway, staring down towards his feet, shortening his steps as he pumped his knees high, deliberate with each march, careful both to maximize every muscle in his legs and to keep from slipping on the treacherous incline. He turned his focus forward now, craning his neck toward the welcoming arms of the railings above him and the dark sky that was just beginning to blossom to blue.

  He reached the top of the overlook with a fury, stomping out the last two steps on the boards that formed the floor, and then unleashed a low-pitch grunt that was some hybrid of scream and growl. He put his hands on top of his head and eased into the first stages of his wind-down routine, pacing the square, boxing-ring-sized overlook, moving his hands to his hips now and thrusting his chest forward, full and proud, taking in full breaths of the cool morning air before puffing them out toward the beach. As always, he was thankful to be done with this part of his daily regimen. He looked at his watch—6:47 am.

  Danny unshouldered his backpack onto one of the overlook benches that bordered the square, unlatched the fold-over cover, and pulled out his bathing suit, laying it out in front of him next to the backpack. He quickly undressed, stripping entirely naked for just a moment before stepping his legs into the swimsuit. He tied the suit tight and left his clothes on the bench next to a nylon bag, which he brought everyday for his wet things, and then began his slow descent toward the beach.

  He touched down on the sand just as a bright orange wedge formed on the horizon. He headed towards it, appreciating the cool dry grains that flowed between his toes as he ran.

  Danny reached the water’s edge and continued into the surf without breaking stride, never giving the cold ocean a chance to make him rethink his morning dip. The salt water rushed quickly over his groin and waist, then his torso and shoulders, before Danny ducked his head forward into one of the relentless waves that had been peppering this beach for untold millions of years. He held his breath and stayed under the water for what seemed like two minutes, but was probably closer to thirty seconds, before exploding up, breaching the surface like some tiny humpback whale.

  This had been Danny Lynch’s practice for five months now, six days a week, with only a few exceptional days when the weather had simply not cooperated. Otherwise, he ran the 3.7 miles to the beach, swam for ten or fifteen minutes (except on the winteriest of winter mornings when he’d barely allow time for the water to get him wet), allowed himself time to dry on the sand as he watched the sun rise, and then ran the 3.7 miles home. Living within five miles of the beach and a dip in the ocean every day: those were two things on the list of a dozen that made up Danny’s dream life, a list he’d first started compiling about four years earlier.

  And now here he was doing it, living those bullets on his list—this one at least—honing his body and spirit in the process, and not for anyone or thing in particular, but rather to increase his own feeling of self-worth. He was as fit as he’d ever been in his life. And it felt great.

  The rest of his life, however, was still a work in progress. In certain ways, the money had given him freedom; in others, it held him back.

  Perhaps it had come too easy. He’d written one song, that was all, and only the lyrics mind you, not the music, which Danny always admitted was the much more difficult part of the equation. Most people he knew could rhyme a few words and create two or three double entendres, but there were far fewer who could form the melody behind those words.

  But the deal was deal, right from the beginning: if any money ever came from “Full-blown Superstar,” the split would be 50/50. And when the song reached number three on the Billboard Top 40, that money became fairly significant. It was amazing what one hit could pay off over time, especially when it was used in a couple of commercials and one bad movie. And he still heard it quite often on television, playing in the background of an arena or stadium, being used as a device to pump up the crowds at various sporting events.

  And the royalty checks just never seemed to stop flowing in. He wasn’t a millionaire, per se, it hadn’t quite reached that level, but last year he’d cleared six-hundred thousand dollars and hadn’t really done a day’s work.

  Danny stood in the water with his knees bent, keeping his shoulders beneath the surface while he stared at the horizon and the sun’s emergence beyond it. This was a gift to live this life, he thought, but then immediately shooed the notion from his mind, returning instead to the reality of the sunrise. Stay in the present and just focus on what’s happening now. He must have recited tha
t refrain to himself twenty times a day. It was a tough path to stay on, but it was good self-advice. Life always seemed a bit better when he followed it.

  He dipped his head once more beneath the water line and then propelled his body forward toward the beach, pushing off with his toes from the soft, oily sand and emerging tall into waist-high water, shaking off the chill as he rose.

  And then he saw her.

  She was blurry through the prism of water droplets, a figure just off to his left, standing on the dunes, slightly shrouded by the tall bent grass. Danny wiped the ocean from his eyes and watched her; she was staring with intensity, straight ahead but not at him. Her aim was the beach, or perhaps the water beyond, and he could see that the newly-risen sun was reflecting in her eyes a look of concern. Alarm even. He turned to look at the object of her gaze, and as he did, he thought he caught a glimpse of her head turning toward him. Danny searched in the direction of her stare for several moments but could see only sand and water, and when he turned back to the dunes, the woman was gone.

  He walked up toward the beach grass, in the direction of where the mysterious woman had been standing only seconds ago, and looked down off the dunes that sloped back past the beachfront homes. But she was gone. Almost impossibly.

  The land around him was flat and open, so if she had sprinted away—which would have been odd, but Danny accepted the possibility—he would have seen her retreating somewhere in the distance.

  He supposed she could have lived in one of the homes that lined the dunes, and after seeing him, had quickly meandered back through the tall grass and into the safety of her house. But why?

  Danny took a deep breath and shook his head quickly, bringing his focus back to the moment once again. He scoffed at his imagination, quietly embarrassed by both his interest in the woman and his excessive concern about where she’d gone. What was he so intrigued by anyway? A woman staring out at the ocean at seven in the morning wasn’t at all unusual. And perhaps she hadn’t noticed that he was there at first, and when she finally did see him, she became uncomfortable and left quickly. Maybe she’d even hid from him. Perhaps she’d been assaulted at one point in her life and wasn’t taking any chances. These were all reasonable explanations for the moment he’d just experienced.

  But it also didn’t feel right.

  He had caught a glimpse of something in her eyes, before she’d known he was there. Something that resembled fear. And she wasn’t just staring at the horizon; she was looking at something specific. Or, perhaps, for something specific. He could see it in her posture. Hers was no snugly cup-of-coffee moment, one arm hugging her chest while deep in existential thought. No, there was a searching there. A telling pose. A rise in the shoulders. A lean forward and craning of the neck.

  Danny turned back toward the water and let his gaze rest on the ebbing waves as he continued to look in the general direction of where the woman had been staring. He didn’t notice anything unusual, and as the moment waned, he slowly began to ease the woman from his mind as he walked back toward the stairs that led to up to the landing.

  He ruffled his hair dry with his hands and then brought his hands down across his face as he reached the landing. He took two steps up, and that’s when he heard the sound explode behind him.

  Sploosh!

  The sound was as violent as a car crash, like an open refrigerator had been dropped from a helicopter and had landed front first into the ocean.

  Danny spun toward the sound, staring back to the place where he’d been only seconds earlier. He saw his towel on the beach—he forgot it at least once a month—but at first glance, he detected nothing in the dark dawn waters.

  And then he saw it began to emerge.

  It materialized slowly at first, just thirty yards or so from the shore, a form so black it looked to be the shadow of some other figure, one flying above the water perhaps. But there was no sun above to create shadows, and as the black object rose higher above the surface of the water, gradually plodding forward toward the beach with every step, there was no doubt in Danny’s mind that what he was seeing was something three-dimensional and real.

  It reached the water’s edge, where it slapped its feet down on the shoreline, stopping just at the point on the sand where the tide would continue nipping at its heels. It walked erect on two legs, this thing that had the general shape and limbs of a man. But what man could this be? It was enormous. Danny estimated whatever was standing there on the shores of Rove Beach, perhaps less than fifty yards from him, must have stood seven feet tall. At least. But even more impressive than its height was its build. It was almost gorilla-like in its mass, but unlike a gorilla, it stood tall, and its body appeared hairless. Danny was too far away and the hour still too dark to tell if there were scales or skin covering the thing, but whatever formed the outer layer of the creature made it look like a walking void of blackness.

  Danny’s first instinct was to scream, to call out to any passerby who might happen to be in the general vicinity, perhaps the first of today’s beachgoers who would shuffle hurriedly towards his voice and bear witness to this discovery. But shouting was sure to cause one of two reactions from the giant black form: it would either retreat back to the ocean, leaving no evidence that it had ever stood there in the first place; or it would turn toward him, perhaps run with the pace of a bear and maul Danny before he ever reached the top of the overlook. He wasn’t in any immediate danger, he decided, and the notion to shout suddenly seemed foolish and cowardly.

  His next thought was to flee, make a run for it, one short deliberate burst up to the overlook and his awaiting phone. At that point, he could either call someone or take pictures with the camera, immortalizing proof of this extraordinary morning.

  But for the moment, his muscles refuted both notions. So instead, Danny just stood on the bottom landing and watched the giant marine creature as it stood at the edge of the Atlantic, standing tall, staring up at the dunes.

  It moved closer up the beach, just a few steps, and then stopped, going no further than the tide. It raised its head now, and Danny thought it was about to bellow, unleashing some angry Kong-like cry to the world, calling out for some unrequited love or lost child. But it stayed silent, instead moving its head back and forth, scanning the dunes, until, as it reached the farthest right point in its side-to-side swivel, exactly in the direction of Danny, it stopped.

  It was smelling, Danny now considered, searching for a scent, and it had picked up his. Or perhaps it had heard him breathing, detecting him with some type of superhuman sonar. Whatever sense the thing was using, Danny was suddenly exposed, possibly threatened, even with the distance between them.

  When the beast was blind to him, unaware, Danny felt almost like he was observing an animal at the zoo. But now that it had seemed to notice him, or at least detect his presence, Danny felt in the crosshairs.

  He sized up the man-thing one last time, and based on its height and girth, and Danny’s own running acumen and distance from the beast, he calculated that, even if the thing turned for him, he could outrun it. Perhaps not for more than a few hundred feet, but long enough that he could find cover. This calculation wasn’t a mathematical given, but it was a reasonable estimation.

  And also, he thought, what the fuck is that thing!

  Danny took three or four slow steps backwards in the direction of the stairs, testing the thing’s reaction to his movements. The creature tilted its head up once at the movement, but its feet stayed planted. Danny began moving more quickly now, steadily in reverse, his eyes never leaving the giant ocean animal. In less than ten seconds, Danny had made his way up to the midway landing where he stopped again, positioning himself behind a portion of the deck’s railing, believing in some abstract way that the thin strip of rotting wood could somehow protect him if things suddenly deteriorated.

  But it would never be put to the test.

  Without cue or hesitation, the creature suddenly pivoted its head back toward the dunes, stared for a
few seconds longer, and then turned back around toward the water. Danny absently labeled the creature’s motion one of disappointment, as if the thing had been promised some gift that never came to pass. It took several huge strides toward the ocean, lingered for a moment at the edge of the surf, and then, facing due east now with its head high and level with the horizon, as quickly as it had emerged, began to step back into the ocean.

  Danny took a breath and blinked for the first time in what felt like minutes. He was out of harm’s way and would live to see another day. Both of those things were no sure thing less than five minutes ago. He took two more deep, deliberate breaths, trying to keep from hyperventilating as he watched the thing ease slowly back to the ocean.

  And then panic set it.

  “Shit,” he whispered. “Shit, no!”

  Danny pushed himself off the railing, and with the same urgency he would have had if the creature were actually chasing him, he scaled the remaining steps up to the landing, two at a time, reaching the top and grabbing his backpack almost in a single motion.

  “No, no, no. I can’t not get this,” he mumbled to himself, rifling through the bag for what seemed like an eternity before his fingers finally found the cool thin metal of his mobile phone.

  He pulled the phone from his bag and plucked the thin, raised button at the top of the device. The screen illuminated, and Danny instantly punched in a series of numbers which allowed the device to work for him and him alone.

  “Dammit, come on!”

  A menu of icons appeared on the screen, and Danny tapped the one resembling a camera. He turned the phone sideways and raised it in front of his eyes, finally bringing what remained of the creature into focus. He tapped the camera icon repeatedly, snapping picture after picture of what remained of the beast, which by this point in its re-entry wasn’t much. The thing’s entire body was submerged now, leaving only its head exposed, and from this distance and perspective, Danny could only capture it at an angle between the left ear (if it had ears at all) and the back of its skull.