Sebastian ran to make the boat, carrying his coat despite the chill in the air. Slipping it on while running would have only slowed him down. His heart sank when he rounded the final turn to see the boat pulling away from the dock. If he’d arrived just ten seconds earlier he could have made the jump from the dock to the boat. He slowed to a jog and slipped his coat on, cursing under his breath.
“Late again, greenhorn! Best be lookin’ for a new boat,” someone aboard called out. The boat disappeared into the thick fog that blanketed the bay. He turned to walk away, but stopped when the voice called out again. It wasn’t a jab at him that time, but a plea for help, and it wasn’t just one voice–it was all of them. He looked over his shoulder. The voices died and the fog crept closer.
The fog nipped at the edge of the dock. The boards creaked and groaned. Sebastian backed away as greedy tendrils of mist snaked across the planks toward his feet. His boot sizzled at the mere touch of the unearthly fog.
This story was written for Sunday Photo Fiction.