DARK COUNTY by Kit Tinsley

no deal machine, and started to pour in pound coins. The wheels went round and around. Several times he got onto the game board, but always went bust.
    ‘We’re closing in a couple of minutes,’ a voice behind him said.
    He turned around to see a young man in a fleece with the arcades logo on the chest.
    Paul turned and waved at the young man, acknowledging the comment. He was down to his last few quid anyway. He hit the start button and carried on with his game.
    As the arcade closed down Paul exited with nothing but his hands in his pockets. He knew now that he would have to get up early and leave town tomorrow, before Baz could find him. He would ask his mum to lend him some more money to get on a train, and he would get away for a while. He still had friends in Nottingham, from his university days, who would be willing to put him up for a while. Maybe he would try to get a job over there, but with his record that was unlikely.
     
    4
     
    He wandered the streets aimlessly, lost in his plans. Eventually he found himself stood on the end of the pier looking out to sea, and the distant, blinking lights of boats. Perhaps he should do that, get on a boat and go out to sea, find himself, get over this damned gambling habit, then he could start over.
    ‘The problem with going out to sea to find yourself is you might not be the only thing you find,’ said a voice at his side. He turned to see a man stood next to him. His age was difficult to discern as he wore a large, wiry beard and had a hood on. He looked disheveled, a tramp, Paul assumed.
    ‘Excuse me?’ Paul said, startled by the man's presence.
    ‘You said you should go out to sea and find yourself,’ the tramp said. His accent was English, but not recognisable to Paul. It sounded old fashioned. The words, though, troubled Paul, he could not remember saying them, he could only remember thinking it, but he guessed he must have been thinking out loud.
    ‘It’s a wonderous thing, the sea,’ the tramp said. ‘Spent many a year out there myself.’
    Paul was not in the mood to listen to an old, vagrant mariner's tales. He wanted nothing more than some time to himself to finish planning how to get away from the serious beating that Baz was destined to give him tomorrow.
    ‘Well, I have to be going,’ he said, but the tramp put his hand on his arm. Even through his coat, the hand felt cold and damp. A shiver, like a little electric shock, ran up his arm. For some reason he could not understand, Paul felt scared all of a sudden. More scared than he had ever felt before.
    ‘There are many wonderous things out there,’ the tramp repeated. ‘And, many things that would turn your soul icy and cold. Things most people never see, things most people don’t even know exist.’
    Paul tried to pull his arm free, but the tramp tightened his grip.
    ‘I’ve seen them, though, I’ve seen the lot of them, Paul,’ the tramp continued. Paul barely registered that the tramp was using his name, he was just so terrified.
    ‘Once you’ve seen them, you can’t ever forget them. They change you, Paul, change your very essence. It’s so long since I’ve been home, I doubt it’s even there anymore. Now all I do is travel around and do their bidding. A slave to the sea. A slave to the cold. A slave to them.’
    Paul was freezing. It was like his arm was turning to ice where the tramp had hold of him. The cold was spreading through his veins. It was getting hard to breathe. Paul was sure that if he were to look in a mirror he would be turning blue.
    ‘Once the sea has you, Paul, it won’t let you go. It drains your blood and fills your veins with ice-cold brine. It takes your humanity, your very soul and makes you something else. I never wanted to be this Paul, I never wanted to be the harbinger of doom for those fucking monsters, but here I am.’
    Paul could hear his own heartbeat in his ears, despite his terror it was slowing down. He was certain he was getting