The Smiles Family - Novelized

NOVEMBER 11, 2013

HALLAM ISLAND — the sign was barely visible through the thick snowstorm swirling around them, the vast, open ocean stretching out behind them. It had been 19 years since Mike had last come here, back when his father had struck up a friendship with the Smiles family. The island had once felt like a strange, distant retreat, but now, it felt like a tomb. And now, he was returning, not for a visit, but to rescue them from an unimaginable horror—an eldritch abomination.

It felt disturbingly poetic.

Mike gripped the wheel of the motorboat tighter, the biting cold seeping through his jacket. Dan had fallen asleep in the cabin, leaving him alone to navigate through the black waters. The snow continued to fall, thick and relentless, the darkness so heavy it felt oppressive. He glanced down at his watch. 12:13 AM.

The rhythmic hum of the boat's engine and the crash of the waves provided a hollow backdrop as Mike's thoughts drifted. The creature. Its associates. The deal. His mistakes. He shook his head in frustration. "What a stupid move," he scolded himself silently. "Letting your emotions get the better of you. You should have known better."

He muttered under his breath, "The ocean still sucks."

Up ahead, the shadowy silhouette of Hallam Island came into view, the house barely recognizable. The once-grand structure now stood in ruins, its eerie form towering like a skeletal reminder of the past. Even from this distance, the decay was unmistakable. It looked more like a forgotten relic, a place that should've been swallowed by the sea years ago.

Mike flicked on the boat's front lights, illuminating the crumbling dock ahead. He steered the motorboat closer, parking it with a dull thud. His father's old boat still rested there, though it had long since decayed, half-sunken and beyond repair, as if time had finally claimed it.

"We're here, Dan," Mike called out, glancing back over his shoulder. He made his way to the cabin, opening the door and flicking on the light. Dan stirred, groaning as he woke up, stretching his stiff limbs. Slowly, he rose from the small bed, rubbing his eyes.

"Already?" Dan muttered, rubbing his eyes before slowly pushing himself up.

"Yeah, come on," Mike said, pulling open a cabinet and grabbing two flashlights. They weren't as bulky as the one from the diner, but they would do the job.

Stepping off the boat onto the dock, they were immediately hit with the biting wind. The cold sliced through Mike's jacket like a knife, and he shuddered.

Dan let out a sigh, a visible puff of breath in the freezing air. It caught Mike's attention. He turned to see Dan rubbing his arm, an expression of guilt clouding his face.

"Mike, I—" Dan began, hesitating. His voice was thick with regret. "I'm sorry you got dragged into all this. I know none of it makes any sense... but I need you to work with me here. Please. We're running out of time."

Mike nodded, his breath fogging in the cold air. "I understand."

Dan reached into his back pocket and pulled out a Colt Python, checking the chamber. The sight of the gun caught Mike off guard—he hadn't realized Dan was armed. Dan cracked a grim smile. "A true Southern man never loses track of his gun." He popped the chamber open, dropping the bullets into his palm. Mike noticed there were only four left—two had already been used.