Chapter Two -

Ophelia stirs in her sleep as a gentle breeze caresses her exposed skin from the open window. A sigh leaves her lips as she slowly comes to consciousness. She blearily wipes her red hair out of her eyes and pulls herself up into a sitting position. Her gaze travels to the open window, a smile twisting up her lips at the sight before her.

Beyond the porch outside her window lay the rolling dunes. Sea oats sway as the breeze blows down the deserted beach. Crystal blue waves crash against the shore as pelicans swoop down from above, easily catching fish in their eager beaks.

She also notices that the breeze is blowing much stronger than it normally does, along with a dark strip of clouds on the horizon.

Deciding it's probably time to get up, as it's almost 8am, Ophelia stands from her reclined position, stretching her arms above her head as she does so. She pads into her en suite, humming a tune under her breath as she prepares herself a shower. She has been looking forward to this day since they first planned the trip.

Today was to be spent sailing on the south side of the island. Her parents had already rented a small sailboat for them to use on their aquatic escapade, and Ophelia couldn't be more excited to got out on the open ocean. Although, with the strength of the wind and the ominous clouds in the distance, perhaps they may not get to go after all.

A small voice in the back of her mind quietly whispered of the possible dangers of the water, urging her to remember the fear-stricken face of the village man. Wouldn't it be silly to push her luck? Maybe it isn't a mermaid that is stalking the island, but there is something. Ophelia brushes the voice aside; this was her day of fun and nothing was going to stop her from enjoying herself...not even a storm or the rumour of a flesh eating monster.

After he shower, she slips on a navy blue swimsuit that compliments her pale complexion. It was just a simple suit with thin straps that crisscrossed over her back and attached to the strings in the back, which were tied neatly in a bow. the front was a simple, low v-neck, something she could easily pull off with her small breasts. The bottoms weren't flashy either, just plain navy blue fabric that showed off her curves.

She threw a pair of ripped jean shorts and a loose maroon tank top over the top and slipped into a pair of sandals. With her hair still slightly damp from her shower, she leaves it hanging to form beach waves. Grabbing her waterproof camera, she leaves her room and heads to the kitchen.

She enters the main living area to see Othello already up and ready to go, no doubt just as excited for today as Ophelia is. He wears sunglasses perched low on his little nose and a floppy hat adorns his head.

He is a rather rambunctious little boy, and would sometimes get on her nerves when he disturbed her quiet time, but she probably loved him more than both of her parents combined.

It's not that she didn't love her parents, but she never quite clicked with them. They just didn't understand her quirky, introverted nature. Othello, on the other hand, was amazed by anything she did. He would listen to her play music and demand she'd perform mini concerts for him, and in turn, she would always cheer for him at his little league baseball games.

*

The walk to the marina isn't a long one, only about a mile. Ophelia spent the entire time staring up at the sky, almost willing the dark clouds to go away. Maybe it was childish to act as she was, but she ignored the thought.

By the time the reached the marina, the sun was almost at its peak. According to Ophelia's watch, its 11:43am. The family ventures down the dock to their destination: a small dock with rows and rows of rentable sailboats.

They enter a small shop, a bell ringing at their entry. The atmosphere was clearly geared towards fishermen with all of the fishing equipment and bait. Ophelia scrunches her nose at the unfamiliar stench of raw fish.

She vaguely hears her father talking to the man behind the desk as she wanders through the shop, her fingers occasionally brushing along some of the merchandise.

"Alright! Y'all ready to go?" Ophelia's father says excitedly, raising a small pair of keys in his hand, jingling them.

"Are you sure? The storm looks a little rough..." her mother says, squinting her eyes at the horizon.

"Well, we can ask the locals, right? The probably deal with storms all the time," Ophelia suggests, nodding towards the grungy-looking man behind the counter.

"I guess so," her father says with a shrug on his thin shoulders.

He approaches the counter, looking entirely out of place with his khakis and over the top Hawaiian T-shirt. The man never looked up from his magazine.

"We were just wondering if, as a local, you thought the storm was too rough to go sailing in? We were looking and weren't su--"

"You'll be fine," the man says, cutting him off.

"Oh! Uh, alright then. Have a great day, sir!"

The man grunts in response, flipping the page of his magazine. Ophelia's father turns around, shrugging his shoulders.

"Guess we are alright, then."

The small family makes their way out to the dock, looking for a boat with the number '29' on its side.

"Is it that one?" Othello asks, jogging over to a small, white sailboat with '29' stamped on the side in red.

"Probably," Ophelia says.

The boat is really small, only about sixteen feet in length. As her father busies with the sails and trolling motor, Ophelia watches the ocean before her, unable to shake the feeling that something very, very bad would happen.