The branches shiver next to me, and I make haste down the steps. They’re damp with sea spray, and I breathe a sigh of relief when I finally step onto the sand. It’s soft underfoot, tiny bits of broken shells glistening in the pale winter light. I look around eagerly, feeling a strange throbbing in my blood.
It’s a beautiful place. The sea is a very pale turquoise with white froth roiling onto the beach. Huge waves hit the rocks that surround the sandy area, and to my right, I can see part of the Minack. If I look closer, I’m sure I could spot the window where I sat half an hour ago. Seaweed lies in clumps around me as if the sea flung it away in a temper.
But I can’t focus on any of these details because everything in me is saying,Here I am.Finally.The feeling of familiarity is startling, as if I’ve been travelling for years and have finally found home.
This is the cove from my dream. The realisation comes slowly and surely, and I shake my head, looking around.
“How can that be?” I say out loud, the wind snatching my words away. “I’ve never been here. It’s not possible.”
But it is possible. Every detail is present from my dream. I start to walk towards the water. The sand turns damp, and walking becomes suddenly easier; each step depresses the sand, forming pale circles around my feet. The sea slides onto the beach in creamy surges, laying patterns on the wet sand like lace, and the winter light is so bright that I put my hand to my eyes.
I look over my shoulder, and note my solitary footprints on the smooth stretch of shoreline sand. I walk for a while, slowly making my way across the beach. The wind is fierce, blowing my hair back, and my head is filled with the sound of the surf.
Movement draws my attention, and I tense. When I see a red-brown head, sleek and wet, poking above the sea, I relax. It’s a seal. Raising my hand in a silly gesture, I wave to my only companion and keep walking. Dimly, I’m aware that I should be doing other things than this. I should call the hire company to deal with the car and rent another one. Christmas is a busy time, and if I’m not careful, I’ll be stuck with no means of getting home. But none of that seems important, and I keep walking.
As I approach the end of the beach, I gaze at the golden rocks lining its edge. They tower over the beach in strange formations. One outcrop resembles stone turrets, and in another area, the rock is shaped uncannily like a door. It’s like a magic building is hiding in plain sight. I smile, amused at my fancy.
Stone steps cut into the nearby cliffs, but they don’t seem to go anywhere. I walk over, idly interested. There’s no rail, and as I take a step up, I feel a deep thrumming under my feet. I climb another step, looking uneasily at the ground when the rumble happens again. Maybe the sand is unstable beneath the rocks?
I suddenly recall reading about an accident on a nearby beach where the sand collapsed. Two boys sank into the hole and nearly died. If that happened to me, no one would know or be able to help me.
I shiver at the thought and reluctantly step down, but when I turn to retrace my path, I stop in shock. The sea and beach are shrouded in thick mist. It eddies around me, the light from above making it sparkle. It’s surreal and almost scary. All sound is muted, and I have a sudden flash of my dream. It was exactly like this.
My skin crawls and I shiver. How did I dream all this? It isn’t possible.
A drop of rain hits my skin, and then another, and then rain pelts me fiercely with cold, harsh drops. I quickly make my way over to the rocks, seeking shelter. As I slip on wet stone, I put a hand out to keep from tumbling. The low rumble sounds from beneath me again.
Could it be thunder? I slowly make my way around the tall rocks and step onto a small, sandy area. It’s shrouded by the surrounding rocks and lit dimly, but it’s oddly warm out of the wind and the space seems like a vestibule that might lead to a bigger shelter. Enchanted by the notion, I step forward. There’s a dark patch in the rocks in front of me. Is that an opening? A cave?
Curiosity has always been my besetting sin. It’s what makes me a good researcher. My mother used to say that my nose should rightly be thirty feet long. Picking my way carefully, I make my way over. It is an opening—a fissure between two rocks.
More whimsy strikes as I look up and notice how the shape of the surrounding rocks resembles a grand entrance to a great medieval hall. I’m disappointed when I realise that the opening is too narrow for me to step through.
Stepping back, I notice markings on the stone that look like intricately carved figures, but I can’t see details in the dim light. I fumble for my phone, switching on the torch and playing the light over the carvings. They’re beautiful, I realise, charmed. Small creatures gambol in the depicted scene—mermaids, dragons, and even a gryphon.
I touch a tiny dragon, the stone rough under my fingers. It’s growing warm under my touch, I realise with a shock. In fact, it’s very hot now. As I try to pull my hand away, a flame runs across the stone. I cry out, but the flame doesn’t burn me. There’s atingling warmth, the low rumble sounds from beneath me, and then everything goes black.
I come back to awareness with a start.
I’m sitting on a rock in front of the fissure. My jeans are damp, and my skin is cold. How long have I been sitting here? I flash a gaze upward, but there are no signs of flames. The carvings are just small marks on the stone, doubtless made by the sea over the centuries.
What just happened? Did I fall and hit my head? I rub my scalp, but nothing feels sore. The sea’s roar sounds closer, and I recall the waiter's warning. The tide turns quickly on the coast. I shiver. What if I don’t see it coming in this mist and become trapped on these rocks?
I scramble to my feet, and my wallet falls from my pocket. As I crouch to grab it, my gaze catches on the fissure. It seems wider now.
“Don’t be silly, Cary,” I say out loud.
I close my eyes and open them again. Yes. It’s definitely wider. And now it appears as though there’s light beyond it. I’m unconsciously drifting closer to it, but I force my legs to stop. I need to go before I’m trapped.
The urge to see that light is apparently stronger than my sense of self-preservation, because I keep walking towards the fissure, even as the rumble sounds from underneath my feet. My eyes widen when I see there’s a door where, before, there had just been inky darkness. It’s enormous and looks ancient—wooden with metal studs and a wrought-iron handle that’s bigger than my head. The door is easily seven or eight feet high, and somewhat incongruously, it’s propped open by a large stone.
“What thefuck?” I breathe.
Panic fills me, and I raise a hand to my forehead. Am I hot? Maybe I have a fever and I’m imagining all this. I’m ill and I’ll probably die here, drowned by the tide. Maybe I’m already dead.I take a step back in fright, and then a warm breeze blows out of the open door, strong enough to blow back my hair. It carries the most delicious scent. Amber and sandalwood, and it warms all the cold parts in my body, chasing away my fear. I sway towards it, and the breeze seems to pause and circle me, tugging at my hair and clothes. It’s playful, and I suck in gusts of the scented air. It smells of warmth, of love, of… of home.
The breeze retreats and the door slams shut.
“Oh no,” I say, distressed. I take a step forward, desperate to push the door open. I need to explore what’s on the other side. I stop dead when I see it’s once more a dark fissure. I rub my eyes, but it’s no help. There’s only a sandy gap in the rocks. The sense of loss weakens my knees, takes my breath.
