A young man returns home to take care of his ailing father and encounters supernatural forces that connect to his past.
The icy water swirled around the ferry; dark waves like melted sapphires crashed against the sides of the boat before spilling away into froths of lace. The white crests of waves were like teeth framing the great maw of the ocean, which opened wide and threatened to swallow me whole. Frigid wind tugged at my clothes, like a playful but wicked faie child, pulling me to the railing, enticing me to step over it and let myself be dragged into the freezing depths below. The seagulls were laughing.
I turned my gaze to the horizon, the salty air burning my lungs, and the island came slowly into view. At first there was nothing but that great expanse of water, a shimmering salty desert. But then I began to see the rocks, jagged and sharp against the horizon. It was almost as if someone had tried to sew the sky and sea together, but the two pulled against each other and the stitching ripped. That was what the island was: a small, dark rip stuck between the bowels of an icy hell and the shining vaults of heaven.
It was low tide when the ferry pulled into the docks; the smell of rotting seaweed ripe in the air was both unpleasant in its strength and pleasant in the nostalgia it brought with it. I breathed deeply, choosing to relish the memories that washed over me and to ignore the sense of disquiet that came with them. It is said that once you have been born and raised by the sea, you can never leave it. The saltwater runs too strongly in your blood. It sings to you. The thought made me shiver.