Curious Waters

PROLOGUE

THE NIGHT OF THE TENTH full moon was when William and Lilia Hawthorne unleashed the curse of Port Barhen. It took the form of a crate, washed up from the sea. Despite its unassuming size and quiet appearance, it carried a burden the town could never have prepared for. It settled surreptitiously upon shore by the couple's manor cloaked in a brown sheet soaked through with salt water and dotted with bird excreta. The top yellowed by the sunlight and the edges frayed nearly to the point of unwinding entirely. The wood was dark and heavy with water, nearly heavy enough to sink, and the sea lapped against its sides as if trying to pull the box back into the depths.

The wooden crate was an odd thing to have washed up to the Hawthorne grounds. Seaweed and shells were all that had washed up until that day. And so it came as quite a shock to Mrs. Hawthorne when she spotted the box late that evening on her daily stroll.

Without thinking much of it, the curious woman picked up the corner of the cold, soaking cloth to peek inside. Her curiosity quickly gave way into horror. Her limbs locked in place and her scream caught in her throat. She was unable to do anything but stare into the crate with unblinking eyes. Once the pink of her sun kissed cheeks paled to white and the waves came and went around her feet too many times to count, she dropped the sheet back into place with trembling hands. It only took two more beats of her racing heart until she was rushing back towards the manor, kicking up sand onto her dress and shouting for her husband.

Unable to complete a proper sentence, Mrs. Hawthorne could only drag her husband from his study by the elbow to the beach where the ominous crate still sat, partially sunken into the sand. Mr. Hawthorne had never seen his wife act so erratic. He tried many times to piece together the miscellaneous words she repeated again and again but only became more confused and hesitant to follow. Eventually, she could only insist he see for himself and hold achingly tight onto his arm.

Upon reaching the crate with the sheet swaying temptingly around the edges, Mrs. Hawthorne freed her husband's arm and pointed faintly towards the still box.

"In the crate—a baby," she managed to explain. "It's dead."

"A baby?" Mr. Hawthorne's brow creased. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure!" Mrs. Hawthorne cried. "It--It's eyes...." Her words faded into a whimper as the tears began to burn her throat.

Mr. Hawthorne slowly stepped from the weeping woman's side toward the crate. As though he expected something to leap from under the sheet, he slowly lifted the corner as Mrs. Hawthorne had before pulling it off completely with a flick of his hand. 

Indeed, lying on the dark moldy boards was a newborn, sickly pale and limbs as stiff as a statue's. The head was slicked with hair black as tar against the skin. The glazed eyes stared up at the grey sky like a porcelain doll—wide and blank. The tiny body was wrapped loosely in the same sheet that covered the top of the crate, chubby fingers poking through torn holes.

An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of the man's stomach and he feared he would be sick.

"The poor thing." Mrs. Hawthorne sniffed. "Where do you think it came from?"

"I don't know," the queasy man said gruffly. "This crate could've been drifting for days." He looked out to sea for any ships or other floating debris. The dark, restless waves reached up to the sky, eager for the coming storm and hiding any other fragments lost at sea.

"What's that she's holding, Dear?" Mrs. Hawthorne pointed out.

He tore his gaze from the horizon to the small hand clutching a bundle of red cloth. He carefully tugged it from the baby's weak grasp and unfurled it to reveal a delicate ring embedded with a spherical white gem. Against the red of the cloth, the gem reflected spots of light that swirled like a pool of water. The two found themselves unknowingly leaning towards the enchanting piece of jewelry in Mr. Hawthorne's palm. Mrs. Hawthorne had plenty of rings with heavy emeralds and diamonds but none shone quite as brightly as this.