Caitiff Point
by Douglas J. Moore
Now, I haven’t seen Samuel Kemble since my last day on campus. The dorms were closing and he was nice enough to give me a ride down to the bus station. That was it, the last time I saw him. I really don’t know what happened to him after that. I’ve heard a little here and there, but who knows for sure? I mean, Sam and I weren’t best friends but I knew him fairly well. He lived down the hall from me and we’d play X-Box 1080 together, football, Madden 2021. I remember he loved the “legendary games” on Madden, the archived Super Bowls where the New England Patriots lost. That never made any sense to me because Sam was from Massachusetts and a major Pat’s fan. Seriously, who wants to replay games where their favorite team loses over and over again?
I should probably say that most of my freshman year is foggy. I was partying all the time, out every night. My GPA melted down. The university didn’t invite me back – not even on academic probation. I don’t blame anyone for that but myself. I was being an immature idiot; even I wouldn’t have invited me back.
I did know Sam was from Paddocks Cove. Somebody – I forget who it was – told me. In fact, one time I asked Sam if he had ever met Tommy Lee Jones or anybody else famous when he was growing up. He said, “Sure, those guys come into the marina all the time.” I distinctly remember a picture he had of his dad with Tim Wakefield, the Red Sox knuckleballer. The two of them were standing beside this rusted old gas pump. It was funny because the price on the pump was something like $5.63 a gallon. The days of cheap gas – man, what a time.
A lot of guys on the floor thought Sam was a real golden boy, that he had too much money and too few problems. I guess he was, I mean, he did have the looks, the blonde hair and blue eyes, a wicked smile that got him plenty of girls. For a while he dated that chick, Erin Delaney, but for some reason they didn’t last. Anyway, you’d have to ask her what she thought of Sam and why they broke up because I have no idea about that one. You know, he wasn’t the type to kiss and tell.
I’d have to say that even though Sam seemed upbeat and generally positive, I’d always thought he had a dark side. You just knew he kept his emotions tight and to himself. I’ve thought about it and I think he was disturbed by his brother’s death and the complete collapse of his parent’s marriage. That would give anybody issues – anybody.
You know, he wanted to be a marine biologist, researching crustaceans and cephalopods, mollusks, squids, and clams. He grew up by the ocean. Of course, the police and his parents all keep saying he drowned on Caitiff Point, but seriously – no way. Not at all, that’s not what happened. I read the stuff on the web and in the newspaper, how they never found his body. I know Sam didn’t drown – how could he? That guy was like an Olympian swimmer and he’d spent three years as a lifeguard. Plus, the beach was littered with bullet casings. Who busts off a mess of rounds before they jump in to drown themselves? Nobody, no one would do that. The police were surprised when they searched his car and found the oxygen tank, fins, spear gun, and ammo. Come on! Of course he was armed.
Anyway, I’m absolutely certain he had a pistol because I was there when he bought it. In fact, we drove up to New Hampshire together so he could get it. It was in the spring and I was so hung over. We stopped outside Newburyport so I could throw up – not my shining moment. We drove up to Nashua, to Border Firearms. They were nice in there. Sam tried about six guns at their indoor range and settled on the .357, a powerful piece. I asked, “Are we in the old west or something?” He just nodded. It never occurred to me to ask him why he needed a gun. I just thought, “Hell yeah, guns! Cool!”
When we were driving back I had him pull over so I could throw up again. As I said, I was bad. I don’t remember too much of what we talked about after that, but I do remember him saying, “You know why I got a gun?” I was sick but I kept joking with him, “Because we’re in the apocalyptic end of oil days?”
“No, for my brother.”
“What?”
“Yeah, his anniversary is coming up and I’m going to kill that son-of-a-bitch that got him.” I remember he sounded so serious and determined, so angry, and as we drove back to Boston I thought it probably wasn’t the best idea for Sam Kemble to have access to a brand new high caliber handgun. As we drove back to school he told me everything.
“My brother Mathew,” he said. “He’s four years younger than me, but he’s been gone now for more than two years. We were out at Caitiff Point when he was killed. It was early spring, the perfect day, a bright sun, an incoming tide, it was like a movie. We’d brought our dog, Seaborn, down to the beach; he was a great dog, a water dog, always getting wet. We must have been to that beach together a hundred times, me and my brother – swimming, duck hunting, drinking, everything. I lost my virginity there to Libby Gosner. Shit, that was ages ago.”
Sam just kept on talking, and I was so thirsty and my mouth was so dry I was content to let him jabber away. I just sat there and tried not to puke again.
“We were playing catch,” he said. “Me, Matt, and Seaborn, just fooling around tossing this crappy old stick into the surf. Seaborn would swim out and bring it back. It was just like any other day, really. The sun, water, the sand – it all seemed normal until Seaborn bobbed under the water, his head dipping down. I thought he was just getting tired, you know, what with the undertow and current. I figured we’d pack it in when he hit the sand. Only he didn’t make it back. The water started to swirl all around him and he started to bark in this high-pitched squeak that told me he was getting scared. Matt turned to me then and asked me what was going on, but I didn't know. Seaborn was barking like crazy by then. Anyway, all of a sudden the water started to splash all around and foam up in these milky white bubbles, and the next thing I knew Seaborn was gone. Completely under water, no barking, howling, nothing. I was about to panic and dive in after him when I saw what was wrong.
It was unbelievable, just unreal. It’s hard to describe what it looked like because I didn’t see this thing too well. It was huge – enormous, at least the size of a small johnboat. It was some kind of sea creature, a sea monster. From what I saw the thing looked like a cross between a mud crab and the segmented parts of a sea worm, completely disgusting. Its carapace was covered with clusters of lumpy barnacles and green and black seaweed. It had two massive claws that jutted out of the water like broken tree trunks. The rest of it was an awful mass of wriggling tentacles and jellyfish-like polyps.
When Seaborn went down it reeked like the longest ebb tide I’ve ever smelled. It was horrible. Of course, Matt sees all this and starts freaking out, screaming, “Seaborn! No! Seaborn! Come here, boy! Sam! Sam, we’ve got to help him!” and before I could stop him Matt had his shirt and shoes off and was jumping over the waves toward that stupid dog. I knew Matt couldn’t swim as well as me and I yelled to him, “No! Matt! No!” but he went in anyway. He was swimming and swimming and I remember these two weedy eyestalks rose out of the water and bent right towards him. I called out to him again but this mass of tentacles came over the top of the water and grabbed him, yanking him under. I started screaming and throwing rocks. I heard Matt yelling and I didn’t know what to do. I froze. It was terrifying, worst thing in the world. I remember dialing 911 on my cell but by then it was too late. The water bubbled over with a red and yellow foam and Matt and Seaborn were gone, just gone.”
After he told me all that it got real quiet in the car. I mean, I didn’t know what to say. How do you respond to something like that? All I remember is looking out the window and wishing I’d drank a little less the night before.
“See,” he murmured, “I’ve been thinking about that thing since my brother disappeared. I’m certain that creature is migratory, like Striped Bass or Bluefish, or any other warm water species. I’d bet that it comes this far north in the spring and then goes out into deeper water in fall, wintering somewhere in the North Atlantic or in the Caribbean. You know my parents just got a new dog, another water dog, a Black Lab named Shallop. I’ll never love him the way I loved Seaborn, never.”
Sometimes I think that I should talk to the police, tell them what I know, but I never do. By now my story probably wouldn’t matter. Sam’s case is closed, and according to their report, he drowned. It’s easier this way, and I feel bad for Sam’s parents. Shit, losing both of your children, it’s just unimaginable.
Yeah, that’s right, I did visit the memorial they’d built down there. I guess I liked it, I don’t know. It’s a massive granite slab on the marshy side of the trail as you walk down to the beach. You can clearly see Sam’s name on the rock, but Matt’s name is just about covered over with thick green algae. I probably should have cleaned it up when I was there, but I didn’t. I just passed by and walked down to the beach. The tide was out and the water was wicked low. The whole place reeked like a shit-filled diaper. I kept skipping stones and collecting shells from below the water line, purple and white pieces of quahog, Indian Wampum. I thought about turning some of the pieces into jewelry.
When I got down to the end of a long sandbar, I noticed empty crab shells all over the place. I don’t know why I got mad but I did, I was pissed. I remember I stomped all over them; I must have crushed a hundred. I remember I didn’t cry, I probably should have, but I didn’t.
I spent the rest of the afternoon smashing seashells all across the beach until an incoming wave caught me off guard and drenched me to the bone.
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