The Collector

Arthur had an insatiable fascination with the bottles. His home, perched on the beach's edge, was a museum of glass-encased secrets, tales cast into the sea, their authors never imagining the voyeur who would discover them. Each message contained within held a mystery, a secret, or a final confession.

"I love you, Sarah," one message proclaimed, a declaration of the heart forever etched in the ink.

Another bottle held a sorrowful request: "Please forgive me."

Yet another contained a chilling plea: "Somebody, help," the lost Sailor's urgency palpable even through the worm parchment.

His thrill was in knowing that he was the custodian of these strangers' stories, the last witness to their deepest confessions and most pressing desires. For without Arthur, the whispers would go unheard.

Then, the obsidian bottle arrived...

Washed ashore, it stood out against the pristine white sand, its glass as dark as the depths from which it came. A note was found inside, hinting at an undisclosed secret. Despite the unease that stirred within him, Arthur was drawn toward the mystery it presented.

"Pier. Midnight."

The two words echoed in Arthur's head. This wasn't the usual confession or cry for help he had come to expect, this was an invitation - or was it a command? It incited both fear and fascination within him. Was this sent for him? Who could have sent it?

Throughout the day, his thoughts spiraled, teetering between apprehension and curiosity. The cryptic message cast a long shadow over his mind, turning anticipation into a restless tug-of-war between fear and fascination.

As midnight approached, Arthur found himself at the pier, guided by the pull of the unknown. He waited, the silence of the night disturbed only by the distant lull of the waves and the soft, cool breeze against his skin.

Suddenly, a soft clicking began to emanate from the ocean's depths, its faint sound crept into Arthur's consciousness, making the hairs on his neck stand on end. The mysterious sound grew louder, transforming into a cacophony of glass that reverberated through the night. Each clink seemed to anchor Arthur to his spot, filling him with a mix of awe and dread.

From the endless darkness of the sea, a monstrous wave began to form, its foamy crest adorned with countless bottles. They appeared to move with a singular purpose as if guided by an unseen force. Arthur's eyes widened in disbelief as he witnessed the impossible before him.

Amidst the turmoil, Arthur's voice trembled with a mixture of horror and astonishment:

"My... collection..."

The wave surged forward with a deafening roar, crashing against the pier with an explosive force, consuming Arthur in its fury.

And then, as swiftly as it had emerged, the tidal surge retreated. The pier returned to its silent state, its secret swallowed once again by the unending rhythm of the sea.

The following morning, a beachcomber strolled along the calm shoreline, his eyes scanning the sand for hidden treasures. A glint caught his attention, and he swiftly recovered the buried glass bottle. Wiping away the sand from its smooth exterior, the man could discern just two words scrawled upon the parchment within:

"My... collection..."