Melissa gave him a peck and a mug of coffee-with-cream.

“How was your run?”

Trent nodded. “This is a nice place.”

“Beautiful,” Melissa corrected.

“When can we go swimming?” Jasmine asked.

“We’ll see,” Trent replied. His gaze snagged on a brooding cloud in the east. “We may be in for a storm.”

*

The storm didn’t come that day. By noon the sun had burnt through the steely padding of clouds.

Trent returned to the beach, this time with his family, and this time it was now a hive of activity: voices, splashing, a cacophony of radio music; the air fragrant with birch wood and grilling meat.

Trent, Melissa, and Jasmine staked their claim by laying out beach towels on a little patch of sand.

“C’mon, you guys!” Jasmine cried, her chubby feet stomping divots into the sand. Trent took her hand and she tugged him toward the water. The bluffs darkened the edge of his field of vision, but Trent refused to acknowledge them.

The sight of Jasmine so enraptured by the rustic pleasures of sun and surf soothed him. After a while Melissa took over watching Jasmine to allow Trent some swimming time.

He submerged himself beneath the waves. The cool dimness, the isolation, the air held tight in his lungs: he felt he had somehow slipped back into his dream.

His surfacing was dramatic, or so he believed. For one awful instant he wondered whether he had indeed become the shrieking thing. But none of the other bathers seemed aware of his existence.

The undertow must have been stronger than Trent realized, for it had whisked him several metres nearer to the bluffs. He was facing them full-on now.

They were the antithesis of the beach, with its all its life and noise and ceaseless motion. The bluffs were austere and silent and staid. Even their trees appeared unwavering. Such stillness made it very easy for Trent to spot the tiny figure traipsing along the top of the bluffs.

Trent cupped his hands and splashed some water on his face in the thin hope this would cleanse the apparition. When it didn’t, he made his way back to shore.

Melissa and Jasmine were huddled under the meagre shade of a staked umbrella.

“Jasmine’s shoulders were getting a little pink,” Melissa explained.

“Why don’t we head back now? I’ll drive into town for more groceries.”

“Aw, I don’t wanna go!” Jasmine cried.

“We’ll come back tomorrow, sweet-pea. Besides, I need you to pick out the ice cream for dessert.”

It was all the incentive Jasmine required. They returned to the cottage just long enough for Trent to fetch his car keys, and then they piled into the hatchback and drove to the barn-like grocery outlet they’d spotted on their way in.