The Creeping Kelp

July 21st - Lyme Regis

Jim Black enjoyed these evening trips more than the afternoon ones. The sun was lower, the heat level was usually less severe, and the tourists tended to be older and more controllable than the post-lunchtime crowd. And tonight, there was just the right number, about a dozen elderly tourists. Any more than that and they became harder to manage, any fewer, and what little tips he made were hardly worth the effort.

It was still very warm after a scorcher of a day on the beach, but he was hopeful of a nice tally of tips from this crowd. He’d already showed them the steps where Louisa Musgrove jumped off the Cobb to Captain Wentworth’s dismay, and the spot where the Duke of Monmouth landed at the start of his Rebellion. Now it was time for the highlight. The desired effect worked best when the wind howled and threw spume up over the Cobb, but then again, weather like that cut down on the number of tourists… and the tips. This was much more preferable. He led the small party out to the end of the stone pier.

He hoped they had all seen the movie. Time was—a few years back, you could count on it, but the very same time was not kind to once-popular culture. The fact that the group was older helped; when they were younger, they tended to reply to his next question with blank, uncomprehending stares.

“Okay,” he said. “Who wants to be Meryl Streep?”

The sudden smiles told him all he needed to know. It turned out they all not only knew what he meant, but they all intended to get the appropriate pictures taken. Jim had to organise them into an orderly queue so that they could step up, right out on the edge of the Cobb, pretending to be pale and interesting.

A pair of American pensioners went first. The lady took her place on the edge. She started out giggling skittishly, but as soon as she reached the edge of the Cobb she went quiet and pale, looking apprehensively down at the water below.

“Don’t worry, dear,” Jim said, stepping up beside her and steadying her with a hand on her arm. “I’ve been doing this for years and haven’t lost anybody yet.”

Even as he said it, something came over the Cobb and snaked around the old woman’s ankle. Jim got an impression of a long snake, but far quicker than anything he’d ever seen. It tightened around her leg with an audible sucking and tugged, once.

The elderly tourist squealed and made a grab for Jim. Instinctively, he backed away. Then, disgusted at his cowardice, he stepped forward again, reaching for her outstretched hand.

He was too late. She fell forward, her chin cracking on the edge of the Cobb. Blood flew. Jim tasted copper as it splashed against his face. The fallen woman stretched out a hand towards him again. He bent to take it. Their fingers touched… but that was as close as he got. The tentacle tugged again and with a final, despairing wail, she was gone.

Her husband rushed forward, shouting her name.

“Ellen!”

Jim didn’t have time to hold him back. The old man leaned over the edge. “Ellen!” he called again. There was no reply. He turned to Jim.

“What have you done with her? Get her back, right now, or I’ll have you arrested.”

Jim had no idea how to reply to that. His own mind was still full of the image of the black snake and he could still taste the woman’s blood in his mouth.

I need to get them out of here right now.

He reached over to the old man.

“Come on sir. I need to call the authorities.”

The old man turned, snarling. Once again, Jim stepped back, fearful of an impending punch. The blow never came. The old man’s look changed from anger to surprise as an inch-thick black tendril wrapped tight around his neck and pulled. The sound of the man’s neck breaking echoed along the pier. He still had the surprised look in his eyes as he was dragged away out of sight.

That was the signal for Jim’s well-organised party to turn into a running rout along the Cobb.

“Form an orderly line,” Jim shouted before realising just how stupid that sounded. He was at the end of the group as they started to run, but was soon overtaking the oldest without stopping to check on them. The group fled down an avenue of terror. High tentacles rose above them, swaying on either side like grass in the wind. One slapped on the Cobb and Jim was dismayed to see the old stone crumble beneath it. It didn’t stop there. The tentacle seemed to writhe and curl and as it moved, it dug a deep groove in the Cobb.

It’s as if it’s eating the stone.

Jim saw that he’d have to jump over the prone tentacle. He didn’t think twice and leapt, feeling his left-foot touch something soft and yielding. He heard a cry. An elderly lady had stopped on the other side of the tentacle, unwilling, or unable, to jump over.

“Come on,” Jim shouted, barely slowing in his flight.

She just stood, shaking her head from side to side. The tentacle started to slide across the Cobb towards her.

Come on!

He stopped in his run, but before he could even start to make his way to her rescue, the old lady was engulfed in black coils. Something squirted redly and Jim turned away, once again tasting blood in his mouth.

As he turned, he saw that his group was now twenty yards ahead. One was faster than the rest. He sped yards ahead, but lost his footing on the uneven rock of the upper Cobb and fell to one side. Even before he hit the ground, two tentacles had him, one at the leg and the other at the arm. A tug of war ensued over the screaming man, until, almost mercifully, one of the tendrils proved stronger and tore the body from the other. It left an arm behind, which dangled above the tourists, dripping blood on them as they fled under it.

The avenue was narrowing all the time as more tentacles rose to join the forest.

We’re not going to make it.

From the corner of his eye he saw that the whole expanse of the bay to his left seethed, a black carpet of fronds and tendrils, creeping up the beach and approaching the promenade.

An elderly tourist stumbled just ahead of Jim, but he never even slowed. Somewhere behind him he heard a pitiful scream, but he steeled himself against it, keeping his gaze on the end of the pier and the open streets of the town beyond.

More screams rent the air. A woman was plucked from the path just ahead of him and he had to swerve, like a football player avoiding a tackle, as she was lifted away out of sight. As he neared the end of the pier, the knot of people packed tighter together and started to dance and pick their way past the swaying fronds. More screams could be heard all along the promenade. A police siren started up a nee-naw wail that echoed around them. Jim pushed himself through the other people. One stockily built man refused to budge. Without a moment’s hesitation, Jim kicked him behind the right knee. As the man buckled, Jim pushed him away… straight into a nest of writhing tentacles that took him away with a crack like a whip. Finally, Jim reached the end of the pier and ran out onto the promenade, screaming with joy.

His relief turned to despair as soon as he looked round.

The whole seafront was a crawling carpet of greenish black weed, with tentacles, some as thick as tree trunks, rising up out of it. At the leading edge of the mass, round pustules developed and rolled away like self-propelled beach balls, heading deeper into the streets. All along the promenade, the kelp attached itself to cars, lampposts, and bus stops, and crawled over and through anything in its path. One bus-stop, the long, large shelter nearest the shore, was pulled apart with no apparent effort and the sheets of Perspex were carried aloft on the tendrils, taken rapidly away out to sea and out of sight. A thick black plastic bumper was similarly torn from a car and carried off.

More screams came from the Main Street, from the direction where some of the beach balls had travelled.

Jim turned and ran, heading for the main car park where he had left his car.

He nearly made it. He reached the car, shoved a hand frantically in his pocket to look for his keys… and heard a squelch from behind him. The air was suddenly full of the taste of iodine. He turned to see one of the dark balls open out, like a cape opening.

There are eyes inside.

He turned back to the car, scrambling for the keyhole. He got as far as starting to open the door when it was torn from his hands and thrown aside like a Frisbee. Something grabbed him round the waist and squeezed.

Blood filled his throat and pain flared like a lightning strike.

He was dead a second later.