The Rocks Below by Nigel Bird Page B

of half-baked sponge cake that was moving in and out by millimetres at a time.  
         From all around the bottom appeared spiny, black tendrils, 6 on one side and 6 on the other.  
         Each of the protrusions wiggled and felt around in the air as if they were new-born snakes tasting the air for the first time and trying to get their bearings.  
         These tentacles slithered their way along the sand and the pebbles on the beach together, like a team being carefully choreographed from within.  
         As the green light flashed on, they continued on their way, silently and stealthily over to the legs of the surfers trying to decorate their home.  
         They got to Hashtag first.  
         3 of the tentacles slipped their way at different heights between Hashtag’s left ankle and knee and 3 to his right.  
          “ Stop messing about, mate. It tickles.”  
         Sam didn’t have a clue what Hashtag was talking about and just carried on with taping the stencil.  
         The tentacles tightened their grip. Squeezed hard around the rubber of the suit.  
          “ I mean it, man. That hurts.”  It hurt like someone was giving his calves a serious rope burn.  
         When he looked down and the light flashed, he saw the cause of his pain.  
          “ Sam!”  His shout was distorted by the fall of his body as his legs were taken from under him.  
          “ Tag?”  Sam had found his voice again just as he discovered that he’d been snared by some crazy, unearthly creature that seemed to want to pull him onto his backside and have him for its supper.  
         As the limbs dragged the 2 men towards the opening at the bottom of the boulder, the guys screamed and kicked and grabbed at the sand around them.  
         Each of the men managed to get a foot onto the boulder a few feet from the ground. Years of surfing meant that their legs were strong, but Sam’s hadn’t felt the same since the plaster had been removed.  
         Their faces contorted as they pushed against the beast, the boot polish making them look like wax toys that were melting in an intense heat.  
         It was Sam who cracked first. His foot slipped momentarily, allowing the tentacles to drag his other leg inside. He felt a cold suction at his toes, like he was being licked to death by a toothless grandma with ice cubes in her mouth. The sensation was too unpleasant for him to bear. Instead of facing the pain, his body seemed to take control and do the best thing it could manage – make him pass out and ensure he missed out on the final moments of his existence.  
     
    What Lies Beneath
    There was no sign of Doc Brown anywhere.
         The local police had done what they could but, because he was a known eccentric, they were mostly expecting everything to come good in the light of day. No point calling the coastguard and getting him all hot under the collar in this situation.  
         Still, Dougal Munro didn’t like it.  
         He’d seen the footprints going over to the boulder and stopping without reason.  
         Sure, if he’d had time before the tide washed them away, he might have seen that they’d gone on into the distance after all. He’d certainly have had an easier time explaining things to the police.  
         Once the enquiries had been made and a small search been carried out, the constables had assured Dougal that the best thing he could do would be to go home and get some rest. Dougal knew that was the last thing he’d be able to do.  
         In his living room, he’d sat by the gas fire and stared into its imitation coals as the flames roared around them and sipped at a large glass of Talisker. His mind was like a pile of clothes at a jumble sale, a few quality items mixed in with a heap of old tat. In the midst of all his confusion, images of Thumper and the Doc pricked at his conscience.  
         By midnight, he’d