The villagers noticed his wandering. More than once, Marta caught him lingering near the breakwater after dusk and scolded him for tempting fate. “You’ll be the first it takes if you keep calling it to you,” she warned. He said nothing. The truth was harder to explain, he didn’t believe in their monster, but he couldn’t deny something was there.
As the days passed, tension thickened. Nets came back empty more often than not. Some said the fish had been driven off. Others swore they’d seen shadows too large to belong to any shoal. A few younger men suggested moving the boats farther north until it passed, but the older fishers refused. “The sea is ours,” one growled. “It’s this thing that doesn’t belong.”