The wind had a bite to it, even before the storm rolled in. I could taste the salt on my lips, felle the damp chill crawling up my spine as I stepped off the bus into the grimy streets of Goodwater. The air was heavy, oppressive, like the town itself was holding its breath. waiting for something-or someone. that someone, I guessed, was me.
I was young. Too young, most people said, for the line of work I was trying to break into. But I wasn't fresh out of school, not really. Life had taught me a few hard lessons before I even hit graduation. Enough to know the world wasn't all that kind to a kid without much going for him. So when I saw the job listing for a shipping clerk in this small port town-a job that promised decent pay, room, and board-I didn't think twice. Packed a bag, scrapped up enough cash for a bus ticket and figured it was as good a place to start as any.
The problem was, nobody around here had ever heard of the damn company.
I'd asked about it at the bus station as soon as I arrived, showed the job listing to the clerk, and old man with a face as wrinkled as a crumpled map. He just squinted at it like it was written in some foreign language and shrugged. "Ain't no shipping company by that name here, son" He'd said. "You sure got the right town?"
I wasn't sure of much, but the name Goodwater was right there, printed in bold letters on the ad. The address too. Still, when I asked a few more locals, they all gave me the same blank stares, the same tight-lipped silence that hang around places like good water-places where people have learned to keep their heads down and mind their own business.
But I wasn't like them. I wasn't looking to keep my head down. I was here to find work. Maybe I was here to find something more in life, though I didn't know it yet. The shadows clung to this town like an old coat that's seen too many winters, and if I had any sense, I'd have turned right back around and caught the next bus out of here. But I didn't. Maybe it was stubbornness, maybe it was desperation, or maybe it was just that part of me that always had to dig deeper when things didn't add up.
The sun was setting now, disappearing behind a thick wall of clouds that looked like they'd been dipped in ink. The wind was picking up, making the water in the harbor chop against the rotting wooden docks. You could hear the groaning of the boats swaying on their moorings, the soft creak of old rope stretching tight, like everything in this town was straining to hold on. and then there was the storm. They'd been talking about it on the bus ride in. Said it was like nothing anyone had ever seen. Dark clouds rolling in fast, swallowing up the horizon, like some angry god had decided to pick a fight with this little town on the edge of nowhere.
It wasn't just a storm, though. No, it felt bigger than tat. more personal. Like town is hiding something, and whatever it was, the storm is coming to collect. The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife. Even the seagulls weren't squawking like they usually do in port towns. The only sound was the wind, howling through the narrow streets like it was trying to tear the place apart.
The first drops of rain hit the ground like bullets, fat and cold, soaking through my coat before I had time to take cover. I ducked under the overhang of an old bait shop, watching as the sky turned a bruised shade of black. The wind howled down the narrow streets, rattling shutters and sending loose trash skittering across the cobblestones. the fishermen down at the harbor dock were pulling their boats in, tying them off with a kind of urgency I hadn't seen before. It was like they knew something I didn't
I found a cheap room for the night above a bar that smelled like stale beer and desperation. The mattress was lumpy, the sheets scratchy, but I wasn't in any position to complain. I sat by the window, watching the clouds roll in, feeling that sense of dread settle in my gut. Something isn't right about this, I went down to the bar to find out more information on the shipping company that seems to just never exist.
The air in the bar was thick with smoke, the kind that clung to your clothes and made you feel like you'd been living in a cloud stale nicotine for days. The low murmur of conversations filled the dimly lit room, but it felt distant, like white noises. I slid onto a barstool, the cracked leather squeaking beneath me, and signaled for the bartender. I wasn't expecting much from a place like this-a quiet dive in a town that seemed content to mind its own business-but I need answers, and bars had a way of loosening lips.
The Bartender, a grizzled man in his forties with thinning hair and a face that looked like it had seen a few too many rough nights, nodded to me as I settled in, His nametag read "Jack." He moved with a weary efficiency, pouring drinks for the regulars like he'd been doing it for years.
"Local beer?" I asked, keeping my tone casual. Jack gave me a quick nod and reached for a bottle with a worn label. He popped the cap and slid it across the bar to me. The beer was cold, and the first sip felt like a relief after the long day. I could hear the storm growing outside, the wind rattling the windows like it wanted in.
I let a few minutes pass, letting the tension of the place sttle over me, before I leaned in just enough to catch Jack's attention again. He wiped down the bar with a rag that had seen better days, his eyes shifting warily from one end of the room to the other. I keep my voice low, playing it like an innocent inquiry, as though I didn't know any better.
"You wouldn't happen to know anything about a shipping company around here, would you?" I asked keeping my tone even.
The effect was immediate. Jack froze mid-wipe, his hand hoovering over the bar for a second too long before he slowly straightened up. His eyes, which had been tired and distant, suddenly sharpened, cutting through the haze pf smoke and liquor like a razor. He leaned in closer to me, his voice drooping to a near whisper.
"Where'd you hear about that?" he asked, his tone now colder than the beer in my hand.
I shrugged, trying to play it off. "Job listing," I said. "Saw it in the paper. Figured I'd come down here, see what it was about."
Jack's expression darkened, his eyes flicking toward the far end of the bar, where a young waitress-Stayce, her nametag read- was busy refilling drinks for a group of men who looked like they'd been parked there for hours. She didn't seem to notice the sudden tension between Jack and me.
"Listen," Jack said, his voice tight and low, "I don't know what brought you here, but take a word of advice : don't go talking about that company around town. Not in the open, not in here, no anywhere."
His words were clipped, urgent, like he was doing me a favor by even acknowledging the question. I studied his face for a moment, searching for any cracks in the tough exterior, but Jack was locked down tight. Whatever this was, it was serious. More Serious than I'd expected.
"Why not?" I asked, lowering my voice to match his. I didn't want to spook him, but I needed more than just vague warnings.
Jack leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "Because people here don't talk about that place. The one who know anything about it keep their mouth shut, and the ones who don't? Well, they're better of that way. Just... leave it alone."
"Seems like a lot of fuss over a shipping company," I said, my curiosity only growing. Jack's reaction told me there was more to this than just a few missing records.
"You don't understand," Jack hissed, his eyes darting around again, as if he was afraid someone might be listening. "That place-whatever it is-It's trouble. People who go look for it don't come back the same. Or they don't come back at all. Goodwater's got enough problems without stirring up that mess."
I Leaned back in my chair, trying to let the weight of his words sink in. Jack's warning wasn't casual; it was real fear that I saw in his eyes. And that only made me more determined to dig deeper.
Before I could press him further, Stayce wandered over, flashing a bright smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. She was younger than I expected, maybe in her early twenties, with dark hair tied back in a loose ponytail and the kind of tired look that came from too many long shifts and not enough sleep.
"You need anything else?" she asked, her voice light but tinged with and edge of weariness.
I shook my head, but before she could turn away, I caught her gaze, holding it for just a moment loner than usual. "You ever hear anything about a shipping company around here?" I asked her, as casually as I could.
Stayce's smile faltered for just a split second, and I saw the same flicker of fear in her eyes that I'd seen in Jack's. She glanced nervously at him before looking back at me.
"Don't ask about that," she said softly, her voice barely audible over the noise of the bar. "Just... trust us on this one, alright? Let it go."
And with that, she turned and walked back to her other customers, leaving me with more questions than answers.
Jack stared at me for a long moment, then finally sighed. "Look," he said quietly, "you seem like a good kid. Don't go sticking your nose where it doesn't belong. This town -it's not what it seems. That storm outside? It's nothing compared to what you'll find if you keep digging. Just... be smart. get out while you can."
The smell of greasy food and stale beer was oddly comforting after the day I'd had. I ordered dinner-something vaguely resembling a burger and a side of fries that looked like they'd been sitting under a heat lamp for too long. It wasn't gourmet, but it was warm and cheap, and that was good enough for me.
I ate slowly, letting the food settle in my stomach while the storm outside continued to build. The wind was picking up, rattling the windows, and the rain was coming down in sheets now. I watched the other patrons huddle in their corners, their faces set in that same stony expression I'd seen since I arrived in Goodwater. People here didn't seem to enjoy much-they just endured, like life was something they were waiting out. I couldn't help but wonder what it was that had made them this way. What had broken them down so thoroughly that a storm like this didn't even make them blink?
"Don't look around, Kids." Jack whisper, "Better you finish dinner fast and get some rest."
I nodded slowly, but I wasn't the type to walk away from something like this not when I could feel the weight of secret hanging heavy on the air, a secret that no one wanted to talk about.
After I finished my meal, tipped Stayce, and made my way upstairs to my room. It wasn't much-just a bed, a small dresser, and a window that overlooked the main street. I tossed my jacked on the back of a chair and kicked off my boots before collapsing onto the bed, hoping to sleep through the worst of the storm. but sleep didn't come easy.