The Undertow Choir
They say the ocean sings when it wants to drown you.
The salt was a permanent resident beneath Elias's fingernails, a scent that clung to his skin like a second layer of skin. He'd been a fisherman all his adult life, longer than some of the old-timers in the village had been alive, and the sea had been his entire world. It gave, and it took, and lately, it had been taking more than it gave. The nets came up emptier each morning, the fish fleeing from something no one wanted to name. But Elias wasn't afraid of the sea. He was afraid of its voice.
It started as a hum, a low vibration that resonated in his chest long before it reached his ears. A harmony that didn't belong in the natural world, a chorus of voices woven together in a way that was both beautiful and profoundly wrong. The other fishermen dismissed it as the wind, or a trick of the waves, but Elias knew better. He'd heard it when his brother's boat was pulled under, a mournful melody that had haunted his dreams for a decade. Now it was back, stronger, clearer, calling to him from the depths.
The villagers had their own name for it. They called it the Undertow Choir, and they said it was the souls of the drowned, luring the living to join their eternal chorus. Elias had always scoffed at such superstitions, but as the singing grew louder, he found himself checking the locks on his doors, peering into the dark corners of his shack, wondering if the voices were getting closer. His wife, Lena, begged him to stay ashore, to let the sea have its peace, but the tide was rising, and the music was irresistible.
Today, the water was unusually calm, a deceptive mirror that reflected the bruised purple sky. Elias stood at the end of the pier, his small boat bobbing gently beside him. The singing was there, a full-throated anthem that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. He knew he should turn back, that this was how it started for his brother, but a terrible, magnetic pull drew him toward the edge. He could see shapes moving beneath the surface, dark figures that swam in perfect time with the melody. As he took a step toward the boat, the water at his feet began to churn, and the voices rose into a crescendo, a single, clear note that seemed to tear at his very soul. He looked down, and for a terrifying instant, he saw not his own reflection, but a dozen other faces, all of them smiling, all of them reaching up to pull him in.