Crab Tree

My not-so-great great-grandfather died a stubborn fool in the summer of 2021, only a few days before my birthday. He left me with a beach front property the family didn’t even know he owned. He had always been a sedentary man, locked away in his strange manor with his hidden corridors and collections. Not the kind of man to buy houses he very well knew he would never touch. We were never close, but I am certain I had voiced my disdain for the beach in his presence on many occasions. Perhaps he left me the house as a joke; he certainly had the money for it. Whatever the case, it certainly disrupted my standing in the family. I went from unseen and ignored to being outwardly despised. Many family members had dedicated their whole life to appeasing him and his strange whims in expectation of the rewards his death would bring. When the man fell, few of us walked away with anything; the rest did not take it well.

At first inspection the house was nice enough. Oddly it was not the kind of house I could envision my great-grandfather in. It had far too many windows for his taste. Natural light and air circulated in such a way that every room was brightly lit and full of fresh ocean winds. The grounds devoid of walls or barriers, it provided no protections from the rabble he was so unfond of. Beyond the gravel driveway a lively tapestry of Palm trees, Seagrape, Gumbo limbo, Kapok and Royal poincianas, a beautiful composition that would have surely soured his mood as they encroached on the house and left little room to breathe. The sand always found a way inside but aside from that it had ample rooms full of potential. It was also a respectable distance away from the water so it would be a long while before shore erosion became a concern. I considered selling it; God knows I could get a small fortune from it but something in me wanted to give it a chance. Sure, I would never touch the shore which as I’m told “is the entire appeal of a beach house” but I was ready to own a home and was too tired to go through the process of selling the house and buying a new one. My apartment in Oregonhad become sour with tears, heart ache and bad memories, this was my chance to start anew in a familiar place.

Upending my entire life to move back to Puerto Rico was surprisingly easy. A testament to my life there I suppose. It was a life-defining move, but I felt confident in it. There was nothing to lose, my 15 years there had gotten me nowhere and I would rather go nowhere in a house I own among my own people. Who was I to reject the opportunity to leave the diaspora? Once I was properly settled, I scraped the bottom of the barrel hitting up old friends to throw a housewarming party and try to rekindle withered connections. I was a bit nervous. I had not seen any of these people in years, but if I was going to have any kind of life here, I would have to try.

The waters were quiet that night, the occasional small crashing wave all but overwhelmed by a steady stream of Jazz and Pop that seeped outwards through my freshly-painted red walls. I sat by the entrance awaiting the first guest, my belly sunken and mouth dry. Tinted glass tiles adorned my door, teasing me with shadows that promised dread and company, a future yet undisclosed. About an hour and a half passed and dread had long crowned itself upon my head, my eyes watery and closed, betrayed once too many times by the passing shadow of some waving palm tree. It was then that the door rang out, I wiped my tears as I attuned my ears to find a chorus of voices growing just beyond my door. I opened my door carefully; fearful I had forgotten to take my meds and this was just another illusion. To my surprise a line had formed upon my doorstep. In rapid succession my hands were shaken and my cheeks were kissed as familiar yet foreign faces made their way into my home. They quickly made themselves comfortable, connecting with people they themselves had not seen in ages. I let out a small, relieved laugh as I had long forgotten our long-standing tradition of arriving fashionably late; I had truly been away too long.

Marcello entertained us with his street magic turning the kitchen into a stage, Victoria took over the living room as she captivated others with stories of her work as a public attorney and Fabian hijacked my playlist to start a never-ending conga line. It was everything I could have hoped for, and it would have continued to be, had Valeria not convinced everyone to move the party to the beach.

It’s my fault really, everyone knows alcohol plus ocean always equals an inevitable dip. I wasn’t about to upend the party or miss this opportunity due to my hatred of the beach, so I reluctantly followed. The group split in half with one group swimming and splashing in the moonlight while the other danced and drank on the sand, tracing their toes on that granular menace I was sure would soon consume my house. I stayed on the sand, I would sooner eat a fork than have sand crawl up my every crevice and be coated in salt like some nut. I pushed past my discomfort and did my best to remain calm and reconnect. Fabian had brought along an old flame of mine, Jesus. Against my better reasoning I wanted to get closer to him. In time the winds picked up, chilling and pelting our skin with grains. Fabian went off to find some dry driftwood to start a fire. He never came back.

At about 2 AM the party had calmed down and people were heading out if not passing out on the beach or on my floor. I spent all night chatting up Jesus. He seemed a little nervous as he started fiddling with his cheap little plastic gold necklace depicting a pyramid. We were so engrossed in each other we had not noticed till now that Fabian had disappeared. His then droopy eyes popped open with concern, all attention robbed from me. He swiveled manically, calling out for Fabian. I knew if I didn’t act fast he would remember this night as the one where he panicked and briefly lost track of his friend and that the memories of our time together would always be secondary. Thinking quickly, I offered to help him look for his friend, hoping I could salvage his attention and just maybe use the opportunity to regrow our bond. We searched the beach for longer than I would have cared for, calling out Fabian’s name. As nothing turned up, we called the police. They said they would send a boat to comb the waters in case he wandered into that now-black soup and drowned but that it was too early to call for a search on land. I tried to reassure Jesus he probably just had too much to drink and fell asleep somewhere, but he was unconvinced. I practically had to drag him back into my house. The sand had burrowed itself into my hair, dug into my nails, and crawled into my socks; the only thing keeping me together was wanting to save face in front of Jesus.  Seeing an opportunity, I told him he could rest at my house while we waited to hear from the sea search team. He was clearly too out of it to fall asleep and knowing they weren’t going to find a body it seemed like the stars had aligned in my favor. I sat by him all night, inching closer at every opportunity.

When morning came, Jesus’s eyes had still not moved, staring at that shore while gripping the phone in expectation. The last few guests had shuffled out by now and taken to the roads with reckless abandon. Suddenly Jesuses’ nose twitched, and his face shifted to a look I could not quite make out. His bloodshot eyes, once droopy now gaped open, alert and full of intent. He stood up, slowly making his way to the window, occasionally rubbing—almost ripping at—his eyes. Whatever conflict occupied in his mind seemed to be alleviated as he said, “what is that?” I very well thought he was looking at the sun rise until he spoke those words. While it did embed in me a curiosity it was not enough to rouse my tired body from that couch. Gently he stepped towards the screen door and walked onto the back porch. The morning light complimented him perfectly as he moved beyond my vision and into the unknown; I am lucky to get to remember him so beautifully. Rest came to me swiftly then.  

I woke to the phone ringing; I was informed no body was found. I walked out to the back to tell Jesus, expecting to see him asleep at the sand’s edge but he was nowhere to be found. I left him a text asking if he had found Fabian and headed back home. I went about my day cleaning up the debris from the festivities, avoiding looking at the beach where I was sure a mess awaited me. My skin went hot, and my breath became heavy as the swift grains that snuck inside seemed to taunt me, consuming my space, and corrupting the place I wanted to call home. The house could not be clean- no, I could not be clean till every last speck was gone. Once it could no longer be ignored, I stepped out to the grassy dune and looked out to the beach where my worries flew away into the salty wind. The beach was spotless, as if not a soul had ever been there. Nature had done right by me for once and I was free to continue to live life tucked away from the shore. 

The Dog

Things were going well. sure Jesus left me unread, but I could do better. I got a job at the ticket booth & concession stand at the local theater. It doesn’t pay well but I get to see a bunch of cool plays for free and they let me invite people, so it really lets me grow some of my relationships. Victoria had quickly become my BFF even if I was not hers quite yet. Marcello helped me reconnect with some folks that didn’t make it to the party. Things were really looking up until that animal darkened my doorstep.

My great grandpa named her Mange. pretty sure she’s a mix between a Xolo and a Wolf but maybe my grandfather just told me that to scare me whenever we visited the manor, just like all his talk about a family curse. She was never big on people; nearly bit me a few times when I got close as a kid, so I had no love for the animal. Honestly, I was more surprised she was still alive than seeing her appear out of the blue, the thing was ancient. When they called out her name at the Will reading I was sure she had been turned into a stuffed mount like his other old dogs, heck they were supposed to be a package deal. As soon as I opened the door she waltzed in and started pissing on the floors. I would have stopped her had I not thought she would have taken my hand. Looking around I noticed a little post-it note placed on my door simply stating: “fuck you loser, your problem now”.

As far as I knew, any of my relatives could have dumped the thing on me. I was going to arrive late to work so I flipped the thing off and ran out leaving the door open, hoping beyond hope the animal would step out into the street and die.

I was pretty out of it during my shift, my mind focused on who could have dumped that creature on me and how I could send it back without getting mauled. I was hitting myself, wishing I had paid better attention when the will was being read. It’s illegal to own a wolf dog so if word got out it could land me in really hot water. My coworkers must have noticed my distress because they kept giving me weird glances that made my heart sink. I knew if I broke down now it would destroy all the progress I had made, and it would be Oregon all over again. I had come too far to be ostracized again. I left everything behind along with all those judgmental pricks, but every time a coworker or passerby gave me that look, I felt like I was the same person who was once looked upon like a psychopath. I was beginning to spiral my mind debasing itself in dread and fiction. I would have surely snapped but a warm hand gripped my shoulder and drew me out of my collapsing psyche. I looked into the deep blue of my manager’s eyes where I saw no judgement, just pure concern. He calmly asked whether I needed to go home. I nodded without even thinking. He helped me to my car as I kept silent, battling to avoid falling to my own thoughts again. I gave him a nod of appreciation as we parted ways without a word spoken.

The drive home felt slower than usual. I think I may have taken a longer route but it’s all a blur. All I remember is a calm focus on the hot pavement before me as I navigated the car and drowned out all critical thought. I was on the lonely road leading to my driveway when a great chain of crunching noises broke my trance. I the car idle for a moment, considering what I could have crushed and whether I should exit the car.  It certainly did not sound human; perhaps it was a wayward turtle or Mange if I was lucky. Looking down the stretch of road, I recalled the spot I just passed was the residence of a gaping pothole. Whatever it was I crushed must have been big enough to curl up inside it. I was not in the mood but I swung open my door, fueled by the fear that whatever it was it would be a bigger problem if I didn’t deal with it now. The moment the pothole became visible I almost threw up. Some dull orange mass squirmed inside with an oceanic rhythm, a hazy grey juice leaking from exposed white muscle. It was clear that whatever it was that I’d crushed, the world was better for it. I retreated to my car and drove off before whatever was in there could crawl out and display its wretched form. I needed sanctuary and I could only pray my home could still be one.

I found the door closed; no doubt slammed shut by passing wind. As my hands wrapped around the temperate doorknob, I crossed my fingers the beast had been locked out. I swung the door open, and an itch crawled up my skin as I stared at what would be best described as an unholy union. Surrounding those two monstrosities was pure delirium fuel as they had thoroughly eviscerated the sanctity of my home and only left behind proof of wrath and debauchery. I slammed the door shut as I fell on my knees and screamed at the uncaring blue sky. The very atmosphere had been befouled, should I ever step through that door the image of that Chihuahua mounting Mange would surely be conjured. I walked around my house peeking at the windows and recoiling at their handiwork as I gazed upon torn cushions, mangled plants, murals of toppled decorations, trails of food raided from the kitchen, all coalesced into shrines to gods of filth, stains, and urine. They were destroying the fabric of what made that house a home and needed to be dealt with.

I made my way to the patio door, dragging my hose, and swung the sliding doors open with such ferocity that the startled Chihuahua toppled off the now-irritated Mange. She carefully paced towards me, a violence in her eyes that belied her graceful steps. I knew she would lunge if I provoked her; she had always been temperamental. The key was acting in time to slam the sliding door on her neck, secure the door using the hose, and pin her in place long enough to get inside through the front door and push her out from behind.

Tightly gripping the trigger, I launched a torrent of water on Mange sending her into a frenzy, all while her boyfriend stared at us with his strabismal eyes in confusion. Keeping the stream of water on her eyes I managed to disorient her as she rushed me. While she neared the full gravity of the situation finally dawned on me and my traitorous legs turned and ran.

I hurried towards the ocean, certain she would grab me by the heels and tear me apart, but she never did. I could hear her paws pounding on the sand, always a few steps behind me but as my stamina drained, I felt her slow in tandem. As old as she was I think it is was intentional. Even her boyfriend seemed to be making better pace with his stubby excuses for legs as his high-pitched yaps drew closer and closer.

My skin screamed as I touched the ocean. The animals were left barking and howling respectively by the shore. The salt and sand dug into me, and I recoiled as I forced myself deeper into the ocean. I was in hell, and they had a beach and dogs. I did my best to float and tried to stay away from the shore where I could see the wretched couple waiting.  Hours passed and as night took hold their shapes faded into darkness; their presence only made known by her boyfriend's occasional yapping. Needing rest, I fashioned my jeans into life preservers and swam even deeper into the ocean where I could float for a while without fear of drifting back to shore while unconscious. I hoped the currents would carry me further down the coast and away from this madness. I drifted into a fragile sleep where reality and dream merged, and a natural uncertainty arose as to the nature of my reality.

Dreams of Cancer

There was a girl on the water, lost, drowning between here and there. Her hyperventilating head bobbing in and out of the water as she struggled to float. I would have gone to her, but she would have surely drowned me, she seemed like that kind of animal. So, I watched from my island of denim, eyes half shut as salt clung to my skin.

It wasn’t long before the first figure came to her rescue. A small and skinny thing, she drowned him almost immediately, scaling him like a sinking stone. There was no malice in her murder, just a senseless drive to touch the sky. Gradually six more men made their attempt, others drowning behind them too weak to make the swim, all found union beneath the waves. The last was far larger, he thought he was too strong to drown no doubt but his strength only provided a greater spectacle as she sunk him beneath the waves.

Those drowned men so outraged at their fates dragged themselves from the depths, clawing at this ever-drowning woman, but she would not sink. Eternally one ebb away from the breathing world, her feet clawed bloody by those she had sunk. I did not mind the performance, it was familiar in a way, but some fear was stirred by the realization that her struggle was bringing her my way. Should she reach me we would both surely sink but I was too defiled and defeated to move.

I tried to distract myself by gazing at the stars, but those white dots only reminded me of the small grains that scratched at my flesh like wild dogs.  The sky was only a dome to the wet prison I put myself in. I wept or perhaps I didn’t, it can be hard to tell as small waves drench your tired eyes. I certainly did make a noise but it was too strange and shameful a thing to describe.
It felt like night should have turned to day in that time but no light ever crept on the horizon and over the island of Puerto Rico.

I could hear her clearly now, getting closer, her manic splashing creating the illusion of rain. Nothing until now stuck me as strange, but something about the woman’s cold grasp felt real in a way that made my brain scream. There was not too much time to think on it before we dragged each other down, with the generous help from the sea-dammed suitors pulling at our heels. My breath left me as I was consumed by what I hated most in this world, the woman’s gurgled screams seizing as her eyes became glassy and she joined the writhing string of men. Looking down the fleshy chain of clawing males something more sinister flailed beneath their terror-struck faces. A titanic thing sucking us down, too large for the entirety of its shape to be understood. Using the drowned like a writhing tongue to drag all into its feathery, almost fan like maws.

I woke by the shore, my jeans nowhere in sight and a torrent of sand and water erupting from my mouth. I dragged myself to the dry sand, my skin jumping at the touch of every wretched grain. The sun was only beginning to peek out; I needed to move before the sand started to burn me. I could see it in the distance, the thing I once dreamt of calling home. I did not want to go there but I had nowhere else to turn. So I made my way, with a weak frustrated scream erupting with every sinking step.

I could not have been more than twenty minutes away when I spotted it. A slow steady movement, like the remnants of a wave rolling into shore- but this movement was emanating from a point in the eroding shore line. Its orange coloration made me think it was dirty water, but as I drew closer and its movement became more aggressive it became clear it was alive. It was too late. It was picking up speed and even as I turned heel I knew I did not have the strength to out pace it.

Looking back as I bolted to a low ledge on the shoreline the picture became clear. Fist-sized crabs moved like a living ocean, climbing and pushing each other until the sum of their movements created a living wave of claw and sand. Despite how fluid their movements were I could not help but think they were chasing me, bending the chaos to consume me in their mass. I didn’t even get close to the shore line before I tripped and joined their dance.

An uncountable amount of claws pulled me in every direction as the shuffling beasts dragged me under and up. Sand and smaller crabs rushed into my mouth and down my throat still pinching and pulling all the way. Blood tricked out of my now sand scorched maw, as I wrestled with the mutual needs of breathing, vomiting and shutting my mouth closed from further intrusion. Alien pains echoed from my throat and stomach; I think they were trying to eat me from the inside. Sand trickled into my eyes and my foolish sand encrusted hands only made things worse as they tried to claw away at the filth. It was just as I pulled away my hand from my tormented eye in defeat, that my terror and pain was punctuated, as my left eye was gouged and my blood flowed free. Small pieces of my meat were being greedily devoured by the crabs all the while. Had I not been in such a state of shock I might have screamed, but all I could do was hold my mouth agape in terror as I was slowly devoured.

Something changed, the flow of the crabs’ movements lost their rhythm and I felt less and less claws pulling at my anatomy. Then something big and hot bit into my shoulder, a thick slime coating the wound. My bones ached under its strain as whatever had dug into me was beginning to pull. The crabs scurried off surrounding me but remaining at an arm’s length. Burning sand ran across my bloodied back and began to dig into my wounds, digging deeper inside of me than ever before.

In the agony and delirium, I melted into the beach. For a moment my body ceased to become an instrument of pain and turned into just another grain of sand, blown by forces beyond its control. I was as close to the beach as I will ever be, it was inside me and digging deeper as I decorated its shores red. In a moment of sapience I glanced at the tree line. I could tell I was getting closer to home but I didn’t dare look up at what had gotten ahold of me.

My mind and pain returned to me as my head slammed against the wooden stairs leading up to my patio. I was dragged up and then abandoned. Still in the thralls of shock I laid frozen until something warm and fowl splashed on my face. It was mange, that demonic bitch had dragged me out of my death bed just to piss on my face. I would have killed her if I wasn’t dying.

Luckily I managed to muster enough strength to drag myself to the car and call 911. I spent about two weeks in the hospital and tried to stay longer, anything to keep me out of that house. Of course I didn’t tell anyone what happened, last thing I wanted was for people to think I had another “episode”. I headed straight to some small dirty motel after the hospital. There was no way I was going back to that house, not just yet.

I procrastinated for about two months before I was ready to face that place again. The house was in shambles. Mange was a monster, but even she could not have done the kind of damage that was present. On the bright side there was no sight of her; she must have booked it when she ran out of food, but I had spotted her boyfriend on the drive in so I couldn’t be too optimistic.

Money was thin but I opted to hire some folks to help me clean and do repairs. It really felt like the madness was behind me; maybe it was that feeling or just having others around the house that gave me the courage to investigate the spot where the crabs emerged from. I needed to know they were real, even if I told no one. I needed to prove to myself that I had not totally lost it.

I didn’t have to go too far into the thick brush before it stuck out. A singular pine tree, I’d say it was about 80ft tall if I were to estimate. not the kind of thing I thought could even grow in this climate. I could have probably spotted it from my house had it not been so overwhelmed by the local flora. Seeing a familiar orange hue dotting the branches I froze. I could not be certain, but it appeared as if crab shells had been impaled on the branches. The shells clung to every level of the tree; someone must have been adding them for a long time. I debated approaching to inspect but this was all I needed. I would not call it proof, but it was weird and it was enough. I turned to finally walk away from everything when I noticed the tree’s thick roots under my foot. They led all the way to the beach house and then appeared to dive under the foundation. Curious I pried open the hatch to the crawlspace. I spotted some random junk, surprisingly some stuff I recognized from the party, but what really drew my eye was a familiar triangular necklace. My hair stood on end as I finally noticed hundreds of eyes huddled in those wild tangled roots, focusing on me. They were under the house.