For the Seagulls by Deraius Greenebaum
The Pacific Ocean crashed and pulled rhythmically along the rocky shore. The sound of seagulls echoed across the oceanfront in the night air. Drizzles of rain fell from the overcast skies. A lighthouse stood roughly five-hundred meters from the shore, striped black and white. A cone of light stared into the rainy gray ocean. Inside the living quarters, a man slept peacefully. Rays of moonlight lit up his salt-and-pepper stubble, as well the fine wool blanket that laid his body that was striped with blue and tan. In the dining room, a wrapped and tied box stood on the cherry-wood table. He’d been mailed the package the day prior. No name was attached. Something about its ominous presence left a malaise in the air, and the man was hesitant to open it right away.
Sweat began to build on the man’s forehead, his eyes still sealed shut. A few moments later, he jumped out of his bed with a frightened gasp. He remained still for a moment, then slowly raised to his feet. His feet shook underneath the weight of his frail body. He stumbled across the room. Suddenly, an excruciating sting rang across his stomach. He frantically speedwalked, reaching for the small window in the dining room. A torrential stream of vomit exited his system, raining yellow opaque liquid on the ground outside like rain from a distant planet. Something was wrong. Very wrong. His head was writhing with pain. It felt like a silverback gorilla was crushing his skill with its bare hands. Holding his forehead with his gaunt hands, he stumbled away from the window.
His eyes locked with the box on the center of the table, emitting dreadful curiosity. At last, he gave in. He reached for the box and untied the neatly wrapped string. The paper crinkled in his hands as he unwrapped it. A smooth black cardboard box, roughly the size of a baseball, rested in his fingers. A small note fell on the ground. The man picked it up and grasped it weakly. “FOR THE SEAGULLS, I LAY THIS UPON YOU - The Judge,” it read. His heart raced with crippling anxiety, fingers shaking and forehead sweating profusely. He didn’t know why, but he was sure this was the cause of all of his suffering. Slowly, he lifted the lid of the box.
A blinding ray of light shot through his head. Pain shot through every nerve of his body. He fell down on the ground, writhing in indescribable anguish. Brown hair began to shoot up from every square inch of his skin. Screams could be heard from the shore, scaring away the resting seagulls. He rolled around the floor, knocking over the chairs with his seizing feet. He grew five times his original size; the living quarters became a casket for the poor man. His skin turned gray like silver. His thoughts slowly faded, and soon the monster turned still. It looked as though it was dead. Days passed. He remained in his comatose state. However, the monster soon gained consciousness. It was no longer the man it was before. It extended his limbs, crashing through the walls of the lighthouse. Rubble fell on the island below. It crawled out of the stripped coffin, and fell gracefully on his enlarged feet. It swam to the Oregon shore, and disappeared into the woods.