A dementor in the dark


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I look over the dark sea, the horizon only visible by the beam of my headlight. It must have been quite a sight in the middle of the night back when I was last at the cave. The water was still, so still it had me wondering what it'd mean if there was a monster of some kind in it. I am standing on the edge of the cave, staring out at it. I lean over the edge to check the general state of the water, just to be sure. There is no one here, just darkness behind the sheets of water. Some of the smaller waves still lap on the shore, just sucking against the jagged rocks sticking out into the water, but this place is too still. It's too dark or maybe I'm too used to it to notice it, but for a cave that's been here for years, it's a little too quiet.

Maybe I'm a chronic paranoid. I mean, who wouldn't be in a cave by themselves, in the middle of the night, with no company but the darkness and the seafoam. Maybe, just maybe, despite everything I've been through, I'm just a little too comfortable that quiet and dark that I don't trust it anymore. Could there be something lurking, silent, black behind all of these clear, blue waves? I know this is all silly, but it's the first time I've been alone for this long. I'm tense. Nervous. I'm also tired of being alone. I'm thirty years old, not a kid anymore.

I shove the current of water out of the cave with my foot, watching it slither along the beach until it disappears off into the large rocks. The rocks are more jagged here. I check the water carefully before I step into it, my sneakers squeaking against the surface of the rocks on the bottom shelf. The water is deeper here, deeper on top of the shelf itself. I'm kicking my feet slightly, testing the hold of my sneakers on the bottom shelf down to see if this water is deep enough for my normal stride. It is. My steps are deep, but not too deep. I'm comfortable here, in the dark of night, in the quiet of this cave.

I walk here often. It is my time to get away from everyone else. I am the only person who comes down here- or at least I was. I was here two nights ago, kicking back, listening to some quiet music while leaning against the rock wall. My guitar was in my lap, the sound of my fingers trailing along the strings filling the cave while I was submerged in the water. It was so peaceful, so distant from my life, that I didn't have the heart to tear myself away from it.

There was no one here.

It occurred to me recently that that old man, the one I encountered at the end of the cave, could have killed me. For only a few minutes I had the upper hand, the situation was reversed. I have no proof, but I'm fairly certain he could have killed me. Or did he just want me to think that? The thought scared me. Really scared me. Who was he? How did he really know me? How did he know about my dad?

He didn't care about the treasure.

He probably all he wanted in the end was an explanation. But why take my torch? Why not just leave me? The thought that he was sent by my father freaks me out; I want to think that, that my father is out there, that he is alive, that he was looking for me when I was in the hospital all those years ago.

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