Dover walked along the boardwalk until he came to the intake area, the salty air so thick he could taste it. The Harbor, everyone knew, had the reputed mystical place in its borders. During the first half of the century, the people who lived there refused to fish near the area due to men disappearing even before there was an intake built. Even after that, a woman had vanished while sunning herself. Arlyn was her name. She was never seen again. There were a few rumors she’d shown up twenty years later, but that was never confirmed, though folks said she had disappeared once again, soon afterward.

He relaxed as he took a deep breath. He was not a believer in nonsense, especially any that dealt with mystical sea creatures. He smiled in his shy way and shook his head.

Sunsets were especially beautiful from the grassy hill above the area of the intake, and he planned to take off his shoes and socks, roll up his pant legs, and lie back to enjoy one of nature’s most beautiful manifestations.

He removed his suit jacket, put it under his head and waited for the show. After about five minutes he heard something coming from the water, a strange sound, something akin to a sick bird. “Seagulls,” he said. “Flying rats.”

As the sun set, he watched the colors more stunning than any firework display. There was that sound again. High pitched like a seagull, but what was it? More melodically enhanced, softer, gentler? He sat up, leaned on one arm and waited for the sound yet again. Nothing.

With the sun almost set, he couldn’t believe how this sojourn near the sea made things a bit better. He also couldn’t believe how far he’d come getting close to the water.

He could remember the day like it was yesterday.

Being harbor boys, he and his brother spent as much time in the water as they did on the land. They had a small rowboat, nothing but a skiff, and their nanny told them to be back by dark. That wasn’t unusual, and they ran off, their old poles, lures, and sinkers in hand. They had been in such a good mood as they headed out and started catching fish straight away.

They’d been out for a few hours when one of them—he couldn’t remember which—looked over to the north and saw nothing but a coal black sky. Terrified, they rowed as fast as they could for the coast, but a large wind hit and knocked the boat over. As they clung to the sides for life, the frigid waves crashed over them, making it even more difficult to hang onto the wooden bottom.

Eventually, after several hours of drifting, they made it to the shore.

Ever since that day, he and his brother, two harbor boys to the last, hadn’t been anywhere near the sandy shore.

Out now from his hazy memory, he walked back to his car, ran a hand through his windswept dark hair, and drove home. His apartment complex was located near the sea in one of the more affluent areas of the city and butted the quaint small town.

His day of ringing phones, disgruntled workers, and unhappy customers jumbled his head, so, once home, he poured himself a drink and went to bed. That night he had a horrid dream. It came out of the blue, and he woke himself up with the groan of dying men.

Men with sharp spears surrounded him, poked at him and generally attacked from all sides. Because of this, he couldn’t get to a certain woman. This woman, whoever she was, was someone he cared for deeply. She was frightened and alone, and he and only he could protect her. He saw her so closely. He was able to look into her bright green eyes, and her dark hair was swirling around her head. She, whoever she was, brought out the manhood in him and the feeling was so strong he could write a book about her looks alone.

With the thoughts and feelings left after such a strange dream, he stood and stretched. He rambled to the shower and stepped in. He felt chilled, and it felt wonderful to be under the steaming hot water. He stayed in longer than he planned. The woman in the dream moved around in his head like his mood lamp. Slow, steady movements. Never rushed or forced. Calm, relaxing, colorful. What is wrong with me?

He stepped out of the shower, dried himself, and with one look at his clock hanging on the wall, realized that he had overslept. Being the owner of the company did give him a bit of an advantage when it came to being late, but he hated to show bad habits to his employees.

He made some calls before heading off. “Hi, Cory, it’s me,” he said to his administrative assistant. “Listen, I’m feeling under the weather and think I’ll stay away from the office for a while.”

“The flu has been hitting the town,” Cory said.

“Really? I had no idea.”

“Did you get a flu shot?” she asked.

“No, not this year. So, I should stay away. Okay, yeah, any calls coming in, just transfer them my way.”

“I’m going to bring you some of my chicken soup,” she said.

“No. Please don’t bother yourself.” Cory, one of the nicest people he’d ever met, wouldn’t take no for an answer. “Chicken noodle soup would be great, but don’t bring me any, Cory, you’ll get the flu, too, and I need you. I’ll heat some canned soup up later in the afternoon.” Dover hung up the phone thinking it a little early for a flu bug to hit town, but who was he to predict it?

Being sick was usually the only time he took time off from work, but that didn’t mean he meant to stay home, just away from the office.