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It was Halloween, sooo….


The two fisherman pulled the net up. Inside it, caught, were glistening black disks, sand dollars. They were very quick at what they did, they separated the sand dollars into two piles, and began cutting them up to prepare them to be sold at the market. They continued for over an hour in silence, then one broke it.


“Hey Sam, what do you reckon this is?”, one of them said, holding up a very colorful disklike figure. It resembled a sand dollar in all ways except for the color. Sand dollars did not have colors this bright.


Sam shrugged and turned back to cutting up the sand dollars.


“Well then, I guess I’ll just toss it out – OW!”


He quickly let go of the colorful sand dollar, as he felt a sharp sting on his hand. There were two red marks that leaked out red fluid.


“Well I’ll be damned. A sand dollar with teeth. We’re keeping this one to sell to museum.”


“Fine, go toss it into the cabin, I’ll get you a bandaid.”


Sam went to the engine room and opened a cupboard and withdrew a first aid kit. He opened it, and removed a pack of bandages, restored the kit to the cupboard, and walked back over to Dole who had a look of concern in his eyes. He held up his hand.


“Green smoke”, he muttered quietly.


“What?”, the bewildered reply from Sam. He saw no smoke coming from the wound.


“Yeah, what in the world could do that?”


“No, what as in, what green smoke?”


Dole gave Sam a dry look, raised his hand palm up, and pointed where the blood was flowing from.


“This green smoke.”


“No, you’re hallucinating.”


“You’re kidding me.”


“No. I’m not.”


“Did that thing have LSD on its teeth or something?”


“Who knows? No sand dollars are that colorful.” Sam paused. “Where did it go?”


Dole had a finger extended, pointed behind Sam.


“Look. Over there! Fast!”


Sam spun around quickly, but saw nothing.




“The wave!”




“Oh God.”


“We should probably get you to a doctor fast”, Sam started towards the engine room to hurry the boat back to land.


“Yes, definitely.” Dole gave Sam a wry look. “You wouldn’t happen to have brought a pink unicorn on board, would you?”


“No.” Sam yelled back, already gunning the engine. It was about seven minutes away to get to land. What could have bitten Dole to cause hallucinations like that so quickly? He slowly counted down the minutes.


One passed quickly. Six minutes to land. He wondered how Dole was doing, but focused on the navigation.


Five minutes. He heard footsteps just outside.


“How are you doing?” he yelled out.


There was no answer. But the footsteps got closer, slowly. And louder. Dole was probably trailing a hallucination of a mouse. Or trying to scare him.


Four minutes. He felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around to meet Dole. The sight that beheld him was highly disturbing. Dole’s hair had turned a silvery white, skin a pale blue. The skin on his right hand had turned ashy black and was flaking off. The bandage had fallen off, and blood was spilling at an alarming rate. He glanced down. His shoes were now stained dark red. He looked at Dole again, taking note that the eyes were a cracked red, and there were also red trails on his face. Sam was speechless.


A low groan escaped Dale’s lips, though it sounded more like choking. Dale slowly fell forward onto Sam. His body was limp. Sam flinched in shock, and threw the lifeless body off of himself. Three minutes. He could see the dock now. There was probably no hope left for Dale, but at least he could get off the boat and escape the madness.


He turned towards the body that lay against the wall. The flaking had spread to the right shoulder. No skin was left on the hand, bone and muscle lay bare. There was also something else. A brightly colored clump of something, where the original bite wound was. The same colors as the monster sand dollar. The red vessels on Dole’s face became much more defined, and blood pooled from the still open and unblinking eyes. His mouth lay open, as if to scream, but he died too soon. A white foam was forming at the back of the throat. He turned back out the window. The dock was getting bigger in the field of view. Not long to land. Two minutes.


He heard a crackling sound from the body. The skin was liquifying. The putrid odor of human decomposition was setting in. Sam was ready to hurl. The body also began expanding, as gasses from the decomposition built up inside. But what was causing the crackling?


A minute and a half. The crackling got louder. 60 seconds to land. 59. 58. 57. He heard a pop behind him, like a balloon exploding, and felt something wet splash against his back. He turned around quickly, too quickly, and slipped over the blood that splashed onto the floor beneath him. He grabbed onto a nearby rail to slow his fall, but ended up on his back anyway. He looked upwards and saw circular disks on the ceiling of the room. They were soaked in blood, Dole’s blood. They were the same color as the one that bit Dole. He bolted upright. 10 seconds to land. He cut the engine, and dashed towards the engine room exit. He was not going to stay there any longer.


He felt the boat bump into the dock, as he placed his hand on the door. There were a series of splats behind him, as the sand dollars fell from the ceiling. He didn’t turn around. He opened the door, only to see a disk hurdling towards his face.


[Cue throw yarn at Plotinsky]


He couldn’t get out of the way. It latched onto his face and blocked his vision. He felt two sharp fangs cut his skin. His hands flailed at his face. He peeled the sand dollar off of himself, but he knew it was too late.


The ground was tilting. He knew it was a hallucination, but he lost his balance and fell. There were hundreds of the wretched things on the deck. He landed, cushioned by their soft bodies. No use resiting. In 10 minutes, he would be just as dead as Dole.

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