Evening had fallen over the port town of Durwick. Soon the wind would pick up, a cold wind that swept through every last street and alleyway. The evening wind had come to be regarded as a landmark of sorts by the Durwickers; London has its clock, Oxford its college, and Durwick its wind. No matter the weather or season, the chill breeze would always pick up when the sun began to set, often followed by a slight drizzle, and everyone would head indoors to the warmth of a cozy fireplace. Not even the oldest Durwicker could remember a single day where the wind had not arrived, and none would have wished things to be any other way.
And indeed, it was a cold day as usual when a man walked through the door of the the town’s main inn. The tavern keeper, a rather stocky woman named Jane, would not have given him a second look if not for his attire; it was much too fancy for a local, with dark spectacles, a posh albeit damp bowler hat, a small briefcase, and a black suit that vaguely resembled that of a police officer. He didn’t even bother to brush off the rain from his clothes, walking past the stares of the few gathered patrons to take a seat at the counter. Jane walked over to him, with a slight sense of curiosity about the stranger. Durwick wasn’t exactly the kind of place people went on vacation.
“Good evening,” said the man in an upper-class Londoner accent, speaking in a soft voice that didn’t seem to fit his appearance. He pulled out a small badge from his jacket and placed it on the counter between them. “Inspector Kasperski, Home Office. Pleasure to meet you.”
“Name’s Jane,” she replied gruffly. She had a gut feeling that the man wasn’t being completely honest, but the badge looked real enough. She chose to overlook it. “We don’t get many visitors around here, much less government inspectors. What d’you want?”
The inspector put his badge back in his coat and leaned forward, lowering his voice to the point that Jane could barely hear it over the ambient chatter of the tavern. “Gotten several reports of noises near the cliffs at night. We have reason to believe it could be related to a... smuggling ring in the county. Do you happen to have any information on that?”
Jane let out a slight chuckle. Clearly this man didn’t know much about Durwick. “At night? Much too cold around here to be smuggling stuff ‘round at night, mate. They’d be frozen solid before the sun comes up.”
“You haven’t heard or seen anything around the cliffs, then?”
As if on clue, the wind picked up into a sudden howl, causing the doors and windows of the inn to rattle in their frames. Jane flinched in surprise and a few of the locals paused their conversation, but the inspector didn’t seem phased in the slightest. Jane quickly composed herself as the wind began to die down, then answered. “Naught but the wind.”
The inspector looked around the room with a slight air of suspicion, almost as if he couldn’t comprehend why everyone else had suddenly acted surprised. However, after a moment he turned back to Jane, seemingly letting it go. “I understand. Tends to get a bit windy in the evenings, I assume?”
“Aye. You catch on quick, for a stranger,” said Jane, giving him a slight smile.
Suddenly, a bit of information popped into her head. She knew someone who traveled by the cliffs a lot, so there was a good chance she might know what the inspector was looking for. She paused for a moment, considering whether to trust the man, then spoke up. “There’s a fisherman by the name of Harold who’s an old friend a’ mine. Tall man, grey beard, blind in one eye. He sails near the cliffs quite often, so if anyone can help you out, it’d be him. Head out to the docks early tomorrow morn, and tell him I sent you.”
“I appreciate the information, Jane,” said the inspector. She noticed a subtle look of surprise on his face, as if he hadn’t actually expected to be able to get anything out of her, but it quickly faded. “Also, do you have rooms open? I could use somewhere to stay.”
“‘Course. Sixpence a night.” The inspector took a small silver coin from his coat pocket and placed it front of her. Jane took it and handed him a key from behind the counter. “Up the stairs, second door on the left is yours.”
“Thank you. Good evening,” he said with a tip of his hat. The man picked up his briefcase and headed up the staircase. Jane watched him leave, a lingering sense of curiosity about him stuck in her mind. He didn’t seem untrustworthy, and yet she still felt a pang of doubt about the sincerity of his motive for coming to Durwick. She shook it off and directed her gaze towards the nearby window. The wind outside still twisted and howled, as it did every night. It had been a somewhat strange evening, but at least one thing brought with it a sense of comfort and normality.
~~~
It was a chilly morning at the Durwick docks, but even the coldest of mornings were nothing for the townsfolk compared to the frigid wind. To Harold, it felt almost warm compared to the breeze that would blow through the cliffs as he sailed by. The cold was not something he enjoyed, but he was a fisherman, and he felt a duty to fish. And so, every morning he would head to his sailboat, sail through the cliffs to the open ocean, and fish until his iceboxes were full. It was not the most exciting job, but like most Durwickers, Harold felt a strong sense of comfort in routine. He had being fishing since he was a child, and he would continue to do so till he took his last breath.
As Harold walked to his berth, he had no reason to think this day would be any different than the rest. But that changed when he noticed a man in a dark suit standing near his boat as he approached. Harold had never seen the man before, and he could tell just from his attire that he was not from Durwick. As he walked up, he racked his brain for a reason why a stranger would be there. Durwick wasn’t the type of town people would just visit. Perhaps the man was simply a figure of his imagination, and he had lost his mind from all the time at sea?
"Excuse me, are you Harold?” said the man in a soft voice, with an accent that sounded nothing like any Durwicker’s.
“Aye. Tha’s me.” Another possibility popped into Harold’s mind. Could this man be the Grim Reaper, here to take him to the afterlife? He was certainly dressed in the way he had imagined Death might look, and it would explain how a complete stranger knew his name. Harold was not young by any means, but he had assumed he had at least a few more years left in him. He tried to look at the man’s eyes, to perhaps glimpse his intentions, but the dark glasses on his face prevented it. Harold feared the worst. “Is—is me time up?”
“I’m sorry?” said the man, evidently confused by Harold’s words. He paused for a second, then pulled out a strange piece of paper that Harold couldn’t recognize. “Er, I’m Inspector Kasperski, Home Office. I’m investigating reports of smuggling around the cliffs. Jane at the Raven’s Beak told me to talk to you.”
Harold breathed a sigh of relief. Jane was one of his oldest friends; if she trusted this man, he would as well. The sense of unease he felt due to the break in normality seemed to fade somewhat. He breathed in the familiar smell of fish that lingered around the docks, and realized that everything was still normal. Perhaps a small disruption in his regular routine wasn’t nearly as bad as he had thought. With a newfound confidence, he faced the inspector. “Aye, of course. What would ye like ta know?”
“Have you seen or heard anything out of place around the cliffs?” asked the inspector, returning the piece of paper he held to his pocket. “Any strange noises, or the like?”
“Out a’ place? Nay, of course not. Everything’s always the same ‘ere in Durwick.” Harold was happy it had been such an easy question. Perhaps now the man would leave, and he could head out to the ocean to fish like any other day. “I haven’t ‘eard nothing but the wind, as usual.”
“Hmm. I see.” The stranger paused for a moment, then spoke. “If it’s not too much trouble, would you mind taking me through the cliffs by boat? I’d much like to get a look at them myself. I’ll compensate you a few shillings, of course.”
A jolt of fear shot through Harold. A stranger showing up asking questions was one thing, but to take someone else with him on his boat? He would have dismissed it immediately, if not for the promise of payment. As much as the thought of breaking his routine even further terrified him, he couldn’t deny a few extra shillings would make his life a bit nicer for a while. After all, it was much more than he would normally earn from a day of fishing. He mustered his courage and replied, “...I can do that, aye.”
“I appreciate it,” said the man. He took a few coins from a pocket in his briefcase and gave them to Harold, who put them in his bag. The stranger waited for Harold to board the boat, then stepped onto it himself and took a seat on one of the benches. The anxious feeling didn’t subside as Harold prepared his boat for departure, but the soothing sound of water rushing by the boat as they set off calmed his nerves.
The man sat in silence as they sailed through the cliff passage in the direction of the ocean, intently focused on the cliff walls on either side and the sound of the wind whistling by them. Again, Harold realized this was not nearly as bad as he had expected. If he kept looking forwards, it was hard to even tell anything was different than any other day. For the pay of a few shillings, he thought, perhaps he could even open up a ferry service, and make more than enough to retire comfortably in a few years. A sense of calmness slowly washed over him. For a few moments, everything felt normal.
Suddenly, the man spoke. “What do you know about that cave there?”
“Cave? Thar’s no—” Harold glanced in the direction the man was pointing and froze. On the water, in the walls of the cliff, lay a somewhat large cave, long enough that it was too dark to see the end. Harold had been sailing this route for over fifty years, and not once had he seen a cave in the cliffs. Was he simply forgetting it, losing his memory from the years he’d spent on the sea? Had the man made it appear somehow? The wind seemed to howl out of it, as if it were taunting Harold with its very existence. He wished he had never left his bed this morning. Or perhaps he never did, and this was simply a bad dream. He tried to speak, but trailed off. “I....”
The stranger took the look of bewilderment on Harold’s face as an answer. “I see. Stop here for a moment, please.”
Harold wanted nothing more than to row back to shore, but he stopped anyway. The man leaned over the side of the boat, studying the cave. He paused to take a pocket telescope from his briefcase and stared through it, looking into the darkness past the entrance. Harold turned his head away. Perhaps if he ignored the cave, it would simply disappear, and he would forget all about it the next day. Why had he taken this man on his boat? Nothing bad had ever come of sticking to routine.
After a few minutes, Harold heard the faint click of the man placing the telescope back in his briefcase. He felt a slight sense of relief at the chance that the day might be able to get back to normal, but then the man spoke again. “Could you sail up to the cave entrance, please? It’s too far to get a good view.”
“Get... closer ta the cave?” Perhaps it was the freezing wind that rushed from its mouth, or simply the sudden appearance of something that he could have sworn was never there, but the thought of approaching the cave terrified Harold to his very core. “Nay. I won’t.”
“I assure you, it’s perfectly safe.” The stranger’s voice took on a reassuring tone, but he didn’t take his gaze off of the cave. “It’s imperative that I’m able to better see the inside. I’ll throw in an extra shilling.”
“I said nay, and I meant it,” said Harold in a stern voice that belied the fear he felt. The promise of extra money tempted him somewhat, but it was not enough to offset the strong unease he felt regarding the cave. “I don’t like the look of tha’ place. I’m heading back ta town, and I’ll not take ye out ‘ere again.”
“Of course.” Harold had expected the man to put up greater resistance or even become suspicious of him, but his face remained expressionless. He sat back down on the bench, and said nothing for the entire time Harold sailed back to port. There was no sound but the rushing of water and wind until the boat reached its place in the docks, at which point Harold rushed back to his house without giving the stranger a second look. He didn’t like breaking his daily routine, but if he had ever earned a day off, it was today. He would just stay in bed until tomorrow, where there would be no strangers or mysterious caves to bother him.
~~~
Father Martin wiped a bead of sweat off his balding head, gazing at the now freshly-swept floors of the All Saints in Durwick Church. Caring for such a large church on his own was not an easy task, but he viewed it as his purpose in life. After all, the people of Durwick needed a place to worship, and they relied on him to provide that to them. He took great pride in his position as the vicar of the town’s church, so having to do a bit of manual labor now and then was entirely reasonable. With a glance at the revered Prophet’s Eye in its case, the holy relic that had been a cornerstone of the town since its founding, he rested his broom against the wall contently.
He noticed the ornate doors to the church creak open as a person walked in. The man’s attire stood out to Martin; his bowler hat and dark suit reminded him of a London bureaucrat. Had the word of this church spread, that strangers would travel here to visit it now? Such a thought brought great happiness to Martin. He greeted the man in a cheerful tone. “Welcome! Are you here on a pilgrimage to see the Eye, stranger?”
“The eye?” said the man, his tone of voice betraying his lack of knowledge of the relic. Martin felt a twinge of disappointment, but he chose not to show it.
“Of course! The most holy Prophet’s Eye, the pride of Durwick.” Martin motioned over to the glass case near the pulpit. Inside shone a small statue of clear quartz, in the shape of a cyclone with a carved amethyst eye at the center. No matter how many times he looked at it, its beauty still stood out to him. “God brought it to us when this town was first founded, and we have treasured it ever since. Some say it is the eye of Moses himself, encased in gemstone. Is that not why you have come, to see it?”
“It’s a beautiful idol, but I’m afraid I’m here for a different reason.” said the man. He pulled out a badge from his coat and showed it to Martin. “Inspector Kasperski, Home Office. I’m conducting an investigation in this town.”
“I see. I’m Father Martin, the vicar of this church. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He felt a strong dislike towards this Inspector Kasperski, but he was careful not to let it show. He had always hated government officers, especially those who tried to stick their noses in his business. Martin was a man of strong faith, and he believed that the government had no right to meddle in matters of God. The Church of England may be overseen by the Queen, but it was the priests that were truly divine in his view. Why should some bureaucrats be able to undermine his power as a man of God? Regardless, he made sure to remain cordial, so that the inspector would not get suspicious. “Kasperski’s not a very common name. Polish?”
“On my father’s side,” said the inspector, giving him a friendly smile. He stowed his badge back in his suit pocket. “Anyway, I’m here because I saw a strange glow coming from this church last night. Do you happen to know anything about that, Father?”
“Ah, I see.” Martin smiled. He had been wrong to judge this inspector; he was just another soul trying to find God. Even among the faithless government, there were still those who felt a desire to believe. He changed his tone to be more priestly. “Don’t worry, my child. What you have seen is the light of faith calling you. It is simply your own desire to worship God that you noticed, calling you to a place of holiness.”
“I didn’t mean a metaphorical glow, I meant a literal one,” said the inspector.
“A strong desire of faith can show itself through your vision directly. It may seem confusing at first, but rest assured there is nothing to fear.”
The inspector didn’t seem entirely content with that answer. “So you’re saying there was no light out of the ordinary at this church last night?”
He must be fighting against his bureaucratic nature, thought Martin. But he knew God would always emerge victorious. “That is correct, my child. If it would ease your doubts, the light you saw was shown to you by the Lord, and seen by no other.” He could tell this inspector must be on the verge of belief; all he needed was a push. “You may want to join us for the sermon next Sunday. It would be wonderful to have you.”
“I’ll consider it, thank you,” replied the inspector, somewhat absentmindedly. Martin noticed his gaze had drifted back to the shine of the glass display. “One last thing. That idol—the Prophet’s Eye, was it? May I look at it a bit more closely?”
Martin felt a sense of joy that the inspector was showing such an interest in the holy relic, the heart of the town. He knew its allure well, how its divine glow would illuminate even the darkest and dreariest nights. Perhaps that was what had drawn this inspector here in the first place, for Martin had no doubt this church was the holiest site in the north of England thanks to the Eye. “Of course! The beauty of the Prophet’s Eye is a gift from God, for all of his children to lay their eyes upon. Look for as long as you like.”
As the inspector stepped up to the glass case, a strange sense of unease suddenly permeated Martin’s stomach. Was something wrong? He chose to distract himself by talking about the Eye. “This relic is recognized as the crystallized eye of a great prophet, preserved in pure quartz fallen from Heaven itself. It’s said it appeared to us the day Durwick was first founded, as a gift from God to protect us against the cold, windy nights.”
“I see,” said the inspector, staring at the idol with a clear interest. “I must admit, I’ve never seen something so unique. This is a relic of monumental importance.”
Martin beamed with pride at the inspector’s words. Then, an idea popped into his head. Perhaps the fact that this man was a government bureaucrat was a good thing. If he could get official recognition of the Eye as a relic, perhaps the Church would finally recognize Durwick as the holy site it deserved to be. He decided to try and push the issue. “I’m glad you’re able to recognize its glory, my child. Tell me—as an inspector, you have connections, yes? Would you be able to convince an appraiser to confirm its authenticity, so that others can see the beauty of the Eye as well? I’ve sent many requests to the Church, but they’ve gone unanswered.”
“Funny you should ask that—I actually happen to be certified as a relic appraiser by Church authorities. Comes in handy as an investigator, you know.” The inspector took a document from a pocket inside his coat. Martin’s heart rose as he read through it; it was clearly genuine. “I’d be happy to verify the Prophet’s Eye for you. Would you mind removing it from its display?”
Suddenly, Martin felt an unexpected anger shoot through his entire body, as if God himself had chosen to place the emotion within him. The glow of the relic pulsated, almost like it was in pain. A singular thought forced itself into his head: this man was trying to steal the Eye! How naive he had been, to think a government lackey could ever have a genuine desire of faith! Whatever part of Martin that had thought positively of the inspector had been stifled by the invasive fury that had appeared within him, and he felt a series of words appear in his mouth. “You dare ask to defile the relic by removing its case? Out, blasphemer! Remove your vileness from this place of worship, and never return!”
Strangely, the inspector’s face betrayed no sense of surprise about Martin’s outburst, as if he had somehow expected this to happen. “I understand. You have my apologies,” he replied calmly. He gave a cordial tip of his hat, and with no further comment, he walked towards the door and left.
As the door closed behind the inspector, any sense of confusion Martin had about the inspector’s reaction to his berating was washed away by a sense of happiness about performing his duty. He turned back to the Eye. It shone with a comforting light, as if he could hear the voice of God thanking him for protecting it. He felt a powerful feeling of contentment, stronger than anything he had felt before. He was happy.
But then, the glow of the Eye changed. God was proud of Martin’s devotion, but there was more that was needed of him. He felt its warmth encompass him, and knowledge of God’s will filled his mind. Suddenly, he knew exactly what he had to do; what the Eye had told him to do. He would prove that he was worthy of his position as a man of faith. As the light of the Eye burned itself into his own, Martin smiled.
~~~
Jane woke with a start in the middle of the night. It wasn’t from the wind—one cannot get much rest in Durwick without being a heavy sleeper, though the howling gale outside did seem a bit louder than the norm. Rather, what woke her was a sudden sense of dread. She didn’t know what, but she had the strong feeling that something bad was about to happen. The only thought that entered her mind was to get to the ground floor as fast as possible. Grabbing her lamp off the bedside table, she rushed out of her room towards the stairs to the main room of the tavern.
As she descended the stairs, her worst fears were confirmed. Jane saw the inspector walking towards the front door, wearing his clothing over his nightgown, with the clear intent of leaving the safety of indoors. A mixture of fear, anger and confusion rushed through her. What madness had overtaken him, that he was willing to sacrifice his life to the cold of the wind? The inspector heard her footsteps and turned to face her, as she instinctively yelled out, “STOP!”
The inspector flinched in surprise, but stopped in place. Jane noticed a look of confusion on his face, as if he didn’t understand why she had yelled at him out of nowhere. She paused for a moment as well, unsure at where the sudden sense of anger and fear had come from. Then the reality of the situation hit her once again: he was trying to go outside in the middle of the night! Desperate to save his life, she spoke up again. “Are you mad?! You can’t go outside after dark, you’ll freeze t’ death!”
“I’m afraid it’s a necessary part of my investigation,” replied the inspector calmly, in a slightly apologetic tone. “I saw an abnormal glow through my window just now, from that old church to the north of town. It happened last night as well, but the vicar said he didn’t notice anything. If it’s related to the... smuggling ring, It’s very important that I see what it is as soon as possible.”
“I see....” The wind continued to howl outside, and once more Jane paused. The church never had any lights on past dark, so it didn’t make sense for any sort of glow to be coming from there. The inspector was here to investigate suspicious activity, after all, so she could understand why he would want to go outside... wait, outside? After dark?
“Hold on, you can’t! Any sane person knows the wind’s much too cold t’ go out at night! It’d kill you!”
“I appreciate your concern, but I’ll be perfectly fine. My coat is quite warm. Interior padding, you know,” said the inspector with a slight smile. He reached for the door again, but then paused. He stared out the window for a moment, seemingly considering something, than turned to Jane again. “Actually, I have a question for you first, if you don’t mind. Has anyone in Durwick ever gone outside after dark?”
Jane felt a bit confused about the inspector’s question. The howling gale outdoors seemed to flood her mind, preventing her from thinking too clearly. Surely this man had to have realized by now that the wind was much too frigid to ever leave the safety of indoors, but then again, he was still standing in front of the door. “Didn’t I tell you? It’s too cold—”
“Jane, please think very carefully. This is extremely important.” The inspector’s sudden stern tone came as a shock to her. “Can you recall a single time, at any point, where somebody went outside at night? Even if just for an instant?”
Closing her eyes, Jane tried to clear her mind. The howling wind still drowned out her thoughts, but to her surprise, the more she focused on it, the more the sound seemed to fade. Had it always been this soft? She could swear it was deafening just a second ago. As she concentrated more, she realized she was able to think completely uninterrupted. Somehow, she was absolutely sure of the answer to the inspector’s question, the word echoing around in her mind clearly. “...No.”
The inspector considered Jane’s reply for a few seconds. Then, without a word, he flung the door open and walked outside. A wave of fear, more terrifying than anything she had ever felt before, flooded through Jane. As she stood there, petrified, unable to do anything but watch as the man walked to his inevitable death, something strange snapped her from her stupor. The door was open, right in front of her, but not even a slight breeze came though it. The fear suddenly disappeared as soon as it had came, replaced by an overwhelming curiosity, and she carefully inched towards the opening.
It was completely inconceivable, but as she took a wary step outside, Jane was forced to admit the reality of the situation to herself. Not only was any kind of wind completely absent, but the night was even a bit warm. Never in the history of Durwick had there not been a cold wind after dark, but the evidence was undeniable. Had that inspector done something? Desperate for answers, she gulped, nervously shut the tavern door behind her, and ran to catch up with him.
He was only a bit further up the street, walking at a brisk pace in the direction of the church. Jane quickly caught up with him. “Oi! Why...” She paused to catch her breath from the running, searching for the words to explain an unexplainable situation. “... There’s no wind. It’s after dark. Why’s there no wind?”
The inspector stopped walking. He looked around the street curiously, almost as if he hadn’t even noticed the complete lack of wind until now. “Hm. You’re right, there isn’t any. Bit strange, isn’t it?”
“Strange?!” said Jane exasperatedly. How could this inspector not realize how inconceivable this was? She knew he was a stranger to Durwick, but surely he had to understand that there had not once been no wind after dark. He had to be hiding something, there was no other explanation. “But there’s always been wind. Why isn’t there any? What did you do?!”
“I’m afraid my knowledge of the situation is not much better than yours,” said the inspector calmly. He started walking towards the church again. “Though I will say, I wouldn’t have ever noticed the absence of wind had you not pointed it out to me. I’m a bit closer to putting all of this together. Thank you for that.”
Jane said nothing. Was he being sarcastic, or had this man truly gone mad? Regardless, she wouldn’t get any answers if she left now, so she kept walking after him. The warmth of the night air still deeply unnerved her, but she found herself getting more used to it as they approached the church. If there was a silver lining to this, she was finally able to see the stars clearly, like tiny eyes in the night sky staring back at her.
Suddenly, the silence was broken by the inspector. “Oh, that’s not good.”
She looked down from the sky. The church stood in front of them, its doors propped wide open. It took Jane a moment to realize what was wrong, her mind still taking in the nocturnal world, but then it hit her. The doors of the church were propped wide open in the middle of the night. What had happened? Had the vicar opened them? Her heart pounding, she quickly rushed inside the church with the inspector just behind her.
Inside the church, propped up against the glass case of the Prophet’s Eye, lay the frozen corpse of Father Martin.
The wind howled through the open doors, chilling every last part of her body. It had always been there. Why did she think it was gone? The inspector had closed one of the doors. She had to close the other, but she was too cold. As she collapsed to the floor, she saw the inspector, fearful, yelling something at her, trying to get some message through, but it was no use. All she could hear was the wind, and all she could feel was its frozen touch. As Jane’s consciousness slowly drifted away, her last thought was of the warmth of her bed back at the inn. It was much nicer to be inside after dark. She wished she had never gone out.
~~~
It was another chilly morning at the Durwick docks. Harold was still out of sorts from the events of the previous day. He had barely managed to gather the resolve to climb out of bed today, but the thought of breaking his routine two days in a row was enough of a motivator to encourage him to face his fears and return to his duties. He had to fish, after all; fishing was Harold’s sole purpose in life. He had always been perfectly content with it, so the last thing he wanted was a repeat of the previous day.
To his joy, as he reached his sailboat, he saw no trace of the stranger from yesterday. He had been dreading the possibility of once again seeing an unfamiliar figure standing on the wharf, but it seemed his fears had been unfounded. Relieved, he stepped onto his boat, and began to prepare to set off. It was nice for things to finally be back to normality.
But then, as Harold was checking the ropes, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye that sent a jolt of fear through him. The stranger was running down the docks, directly towards his boat. Why? Why did this have to happen yet another time? Panicked, Harold decided to forgo the checks and set sail as fast as he could, but despite his experience he knew he would never be able to finish casting off before the man arrived. He kept running, getting closer and closer, and Harold could hear him yelling in his strange, non-Durwicker accent, “Excuse me! Please wait a moment!”
Harold’s heart pounded in fear. Life had been so simple, before. Nobody had ever run up to him before, breaking his routine, demanding he serve as some sort of personal ferry service. Why should he have to stand for it? The fear began to give way to anger. For once in his life, Harold actually felt confident, like he could stand up for himself. “I told ye, didn’t I? I’ll not be taking ye out thar again!” he snapped.
“I apologize, but...,” said the man, stopping to catch his breath. “...please, it’s a matter of life or death. I need a boat.”
Something about the stranger’s voice made Harold pause for a moment. He had never been good with people; in fact, he rarely talked to anyone if he didn’t have to. But the man’s voice betrayed a sense of genuine desperation, to the point that even Harold felt a twinge of sympathy. He glanced down at the stranger, standing there in a disheveled suit, clutching his faintly-glowing briefcase tightly to his chest. His glasses from the previous day were missing, and he looked truly shaken, staring forward vacantly as if something traumatic had just unfolded before his eyes. Harold should have felt nothing but disdain for this stranger, but he couldn’t help but hear him out. “... I’m listenin’.”
“Thank you, I really appreciate it,” said the man gratefully. Harold noticed a glimpse of a polite smile on his face, but it quickly faded back into a blank expression. The man said nothing for what seemed like an eternity, the docks silent aside from the omnipresent wind, before suddenly snapping back into awareness. “...The cave. I need to go into the cave.”
Harold froze. He had forgotten about the cave. That cursed, unnerving hole in the cliffside that seemed to defy reality itself just by existing. It had never been there before yesterday; he had sailed through the cliffs so many times that he would bet his very life that it was never there. And yet, it had clearly been there, before his eyes. It simply wasn’t possible. Had he lost his mind from the decades at sea? Was this all some grand hallucination? Had he ever even gotten out of bed, or had he just dreamed the events of the past two days? He had thought that yesterday, too. But he somehow knew it wasn’t a dream. The cave was real.
The stranger seemed to notice his hesitation. “I’ll give you five pounds. Ten, even. Hell, I’ll buy your sailboat from you if you can’t go yourself. All that matters is I make it to the cave.”
“Me boat’s not for sale,” snapped Harold instinctively. But again, something stopped him. What if he was thinking about this whole situation the wrong way? The only two things that disrupted his normal routine were the strange man and the cave. If he brought them together, perhaps the problem would solve itself, and they would both disappear. It was a stretch, but it made more sense than anything else that had been happening over the past couple days. Harold was desperate for any chance to return to normality, and this seemed like his best shot at doing so. Plus, the money was enough for him to live comfortably for the rest of his life. He stifled the fear inside him, and replied gruffly, “...Fine. Ten pounds, I’ll take ye to tha’ cave. But this is tha last time I’ll let ye on me boat, got it?”
Relief washed over the man’s face. “Of course. I can’t thank you enough.” Though he was reluctant to admit it, Harold felt a slight sense of empathy towards the stranger. Getting to this cave seemed incredibly important to him. Perhaps reaching the cave was to the man what getting back to routine was for Harold, and that was something he could understand. The stranger handed Harold the promised small fortune before taking a seat on the same bench he had sat on yesterday. With the vacant expression returning, he said nothing as Harold cast off.
It was a windier day than usual today. The wind had never bothered Harold before— he was a Durwicker, after all—but this time, it didn’t seem right. Normally, he could hear the boat drift through the water, smell the smell of salt and fish, feel the spray of the ocean on his arms. Today, however, the howling winds drowned out every sense but itself, even his own thoughts. Soon enough, they rose to a near hurricane, a deafening storm that would have dashed any but the most experienced sailors against the rocks. But Harold had sworn to himself he would reach the cave, and he wouldn’t let a simple storm stop him. And then, it appeared.
Harold saw the cave, and it filled him with the purest sense of terror he had ever felt. Its inky blackness screamed at him, echoing through the galeforce, promising a fate worse than death for any who dared approach. He needed to reach the cave. The storm itself tore at his boat, thrashing it from side to side in a desperate attempt to throw it below the waves. He needed to reach the cave. The cliffs seemed to bend in on him, poised to bury him beneath a landslide. He needed to reach the cave. The world itself cursed his name. He needed to reach the cave, but he could not. His mind itself would not let him. He could not reach the cave. His name echoed through the cliffs—echoed? He could not reach the cave. It had been spoken. Someone had said his name. He could not reach the—
“Harold! There is no wind! Harold!”
Silence. He had reached the cave. A pure sense of tranquility washed over Harold, more calming than anything he had ever felt before. He had made it to the eye of the storm. All his problems, fears, his desperation to cling to routine, had been washed away. He felt as if his entire life had led up to this moment, this battle against himself, and he had won. There was no longer anything to worry about. He saw the stranger—the inspector, was it?—standing next to him. He had a kind smile on his face.
“I...” Harold felt an overwhelming sense of tiredness. He gently sat down on the deck. “I got ye to tha cave.”
The inspector beamed at him. “Indeed. Very well done, too. I thought those winds might capsize the boat.”
“...I thought ye said... thar was no wind?” said Harold drowsily.
“Hm?”
Harold was too tired to say anything more. He lay back on the deck, the clear airwashing over him. Perhaps he had been right; he had brought the stranger and the cave together, and the problem had solved itself. He would be able to finally get back to his normal routine, just like he had wanted. But he could do that later. For now, he was tired. As Harold began to drift off, he gazed upwards into the eye of the storm.
And the eye of the storm gazed back.
~~~
Evening had fallen over the port town of Durwick. Soon the wind would pick up, a cold wind that swept through every last street and alleyway. The townsfolk had felt the night to be oddly warm, but as the sun set, they knew that would quickly change. But it had not come yet, so they would not go inside.
The Durwickers stood in the streets, making the most of this rare warm night before it was inevitably taken away by the wind. Just one more minute of warmth, they thought, then we’ll have to head inside. And as the sun dipped below the horizon, they waited one more minute. But the wind did not come, so they waited another. Then another. They kept savoring their last minute of warmth, over and over again, waiting for the wind to finally come. It had always come, and it always would.
And then, a speck of light shone on the streets of Durwick. It was dawn.