Lost to the Tempest

The wind bit through his jacket; the waves crashed against the pier, like they wanted to swallow Stoneham. The boy squinted, the snow whipping across his face.

His dad should have been back by now; his old lobster boat should have been visible long ago. But there was nothing, just the growl of the ocean and the howl of the wind. Alex shuffled his feet, the toes of his boots wet and numb. Stoneham huddled behind him, lights dim and flickering. Everyone was inside, waiting out the storm that settled like a curse.

Storm of the century, they called it. Alex had not believed it till the clouds opened up like this, spilling snow like the end of the world.

A shiver rattled up his spine. He knew his dad was tough—stubborn as the Maine coast—but something felt off tonight, like an itch under the skin. He could almost hear his mom’s voice: “Shouldnae be oot there, no in a storm like this. Even the sea's got rules.” But his dad wanted to make just one more trip before the storm hit, a quick haul off Little Tall Island.

Alex stamped his feet, trying to wake them up. The snow piled higher, the dock groaning under the weight. Shadows twisted between the boats, flickering in the corners of his eyes. He turned, but there was nothing—just the hulking outlines of trawlers, their nets swaying like ghosts.

Then he heard it.

Hoofbeats.

Alex frowned. This could not be, not with the snow this thick. But the sound came again, louder this time. He craned his neck, squinting through the snow, and his breath hitched.

Down the pier, just past where the lobster boats bobbed, something moved. A dark shape, almost blending into the night. A horse, blacker than the water, with eyes like dying embers. Its hooves clacked against the wooden planks, slow and deliberate.

The boy’s throat felt dry as sand. “Hello?” he called, voice small against the storm. The horse’s head jerked up, its breath steaming like smoke. Then he saw the rider.

It was a man, or something that looked like one, draped in a cloak as dark as the horse’s coat. But his head… There was no head. Alex’s heart hammered in his chest, his feet rooted to the spot. The figure held its head under one arm, cradling it like a broken doll. The black eyes locked onto Alex, and the mouth twisted into a grin that did not reach its eyes.

Alex stumbled back, feet slipping on the snow-slicked boards. “No, no, no,” he muttered, shaking his head, like he could blink it away. But the thing on the horse was real as the wind tearing at his face. It moved closer, and the stench of rot filled the air.

The rider raised its free hand, pointing a gloved finger at Alex. “Boy,” the voice croaked, deep and hollow, like a whisper from the bottom of a well. “Where’s your father?”

Alex felt the blood drain from his face. “H-He’s out there,” he stammered, pointing out toward the churning sea. “On his boat, coming back from Little Tall soon.”

The rider’s head—still tucked under its arm—tilted, the mouth stretching wider, the grin splitting like old fabric. “Not tonight. He’s mine now.”

A gust of wind whipped through, and Alex shivered so hard his teeth chattered. He wanted to run, to bolt back into the town, but his legs felt glued to the dock. “No,” he whispered. “No, that’s not true. He—he promised.”

The rider chuckled, the sound like a blade dragged over stone. The horse snorted, steam hissing from its nostrils. “Promises,” it spat, voice low and mocking. “The sea takes what it wants, and so do I.”

Behind him, the wind howled louder, and Alex swore he saw something, a glint in the darkness, a light far out on the water. Hope flared, bright and desperate.

“There!” he shouted, pointing. “That’s him! He’s out there!”

But the rider didn’t turn. It just laughed, a sound that rattled deep in Alex’s bones. “Look closer, boy.”

The wind biting at his eyes, he squinted. The light flickered, growing brighter, but as it did, he saw it was not the warm glow of his dad’s boat. It was cold, a sickly blue, like moonlight on bone. The waves parted for a moment, and there, drifting in the dark, was a wreck—splintered wood and torn sails, half submerged.

His heart dropped like a stone. “No,” he whispered, the word catching in his throat. “Dad…”

The rider leaned down, the head grinning wider, eyes glinting with a terrible hunger. “He’s gone, boy. Lost to the storm, just like you will be.”

The hoofbeats started again, louder, faster, and the horse charged. Alex’s instincts kicked in, and he turned, sprinting down the pier, slipping and stumbling. The dock creaked beneath him, the wind screamed in his ears.

He didn’t dare look back. He could hear the thunder of hooves behind him, closer, like the storm itself was chasing him. His lungs burned, his legs aching as he pushed harder, the lights of the town a dim promise in the distance.

Just as he reached the end of the dock, the hoofbeats stopped. Silence swallowed the night. He risked a glance over his shoulder.

The pier was empty. The waves crashed, and the wind howled, but there was no rider, no horse. Just the snow, falling in thick, heavy flakes.

But the smell lingered. Rot and seaweed, hanging in the air like a warning.

Alex turned, running for home, his breath puffing out in panicked clouds. His dad was out there somewhere, lost to the tempest, and maybe… just maybe… that thing was telling the truth.

Stoneham had rules, and some promises it did not get to keep.

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Word Count: 974

Written for Kenny Penn's Frighten Me Challenge

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