The tide was low that night. The crab watched, hidden under the jagged rocks, eyes scanning the water. Its pincers clicked in the quiet, a hollow sound against the pull of the ocean. The waves didn't stop. They never stopped. That's what made the beach so damned—every inch of it coated with layers of salt and sand, churned up by something that wouldn't rest.
It had been here for years, the crab. It didn't need much, didn't want much. The beach was home. There were people who came, too—humans, stupid things, stomping on the sand, thinking they knew the sea. They never saw it coming. They never saw what was hiding beneath the surface.
The crab had learned not to make noise, not to stand out. It had learned that the dark corners of the shore were safest. It stayed out of sight, waiting. It wasn't like it had a choice. The sea had a hold on it, now, just as it did on all things. The crab had become part of the ocean. It wasn't really a crab anymore. Not like the others.
The moon wasn't visible, the sky wrapped in black. The tide came in, inch by inch, the water creeping up toward the crab's lair. It hadn't seen anyone for days. The wind felt strange. It was warmer, heavier somehow. The crab didn't care. It was used to being alone, used to the emptiness.
Then it heard it.
Footsteps. Too soft to be anything but a human. A soft tread on the sand, no heavier than a breath. The crab's claws clicked in time with its heartbeat.
The figure moved toward the water. The crab didn't move. Its eyes never left the approaching shape. The human stopped at the edge, staring down.
The air was still, the kind of stillness that made your skin crawl. The crab was ready, though. It always was. It knew how to wait.
Then the human stepped closer. And then, it stopped.
The water rose higher, the moon still hidden, the waves curling in dark, unforgiving lines. The crab could taste the salt in the air. Could feel it in its joints. The hunger.
The figure leaned over the edge of the shore, its hands shaking. It reached toward the water, like it was looking for something, something it couldn't see. But the water had it. The crab knew it. The sea had always taken what it wanted. It always would.
Without thinking, the crab moved. Its claws snapped out faster than anything could react. It was all instinct. The human never even saw it coming. It never felt the pinch. Just the sharp press of something pulling them under, the scream lost in the rush of water.
The crab retreated, dragging the body under the water, hidden beneath the swells of black. The waves would cover the mess. The body would be lost to the dark, a thing of salt and flesh. And the crab would be back here tomorrow, waiting again.