Bogleech.com's 2013 Horror Write-off:

"A Will for the Beach"

Submitted by Revereche

I'm afraid I will not live to meet you there.

When the time comes, take the slip of paper I put in your diary. You know the one. I want you to take it when the wind is blowing, and the sea is swelled up to hide the view from onlookers. Then, I want you to trek down to that wide old rock we always adored. Put the paper in the alcove facing the sea. That's all. Wait the night.

It will come for you then. When it comes, YOU MUSN'T BE AFRAID. It means no harm by you, I promise. It will say things. You may not understand all of it. You will understand the important parts.

There is only one thing it will accept, but I do not know what that is. I don't know how much you will miss it, but whatever it is, you must give it over. There is no other way, my dear.

When it takes the prize, you will have to follow. Maybe it will even offer you a ride; we were close friends, you know. Maybe remind it of that. It will be such a long, cold walk, and I want you to be as comfortable as possible.

When you arrive to the first stopping place, I want you to point to the east. It will not know where to go, otherwise. Please remember this part above all else, or you will become completely lost. Bring a compass, if you must, though even from there the constellations should be recognizable.

After this point, not even constellations will be there to assure you.

But it's all right; you can relax then. It knows what to do from there.

There is one more thing I must ask of you, before all of this is through.

Take a quarter and flip it. It doesn't matter how many times; it doesn't matter what you're flipping for.

Then, you may leave. It will show you the way.

WHAT DOES THIS MEAN, YOU BASTARD? I CAN'T MAKE ANYTHING OF IT

I'M AT THE ROCK AND IT'S BLISTERING COLD AND NOTHING IS HERE

WHY AREN'T YOU HERE?


So this is what you meant. Wish you had told me before, back when I might have been able to prepare for it. No use for it now.


God, but what is all of this. What is THIS. It's looking at me, as I'm writing this. Can it understand our writing? Why didn't you tell me ANYTHING



I think I'm beginning to understand why you kept it quiet. I want to think I would have understood, but I really don't think I would've. I'm sorry for any doubts I must have cast on you


It's saying you're here. Can that be? God help me but I'm not sure how to feel if it is

I really don't know why I'm writing on this. Before I could have rationalized it as a last way to keep in touch with you, sentimentally, but now that I know you're not really gone I just feel sort of stupid


Sentiments justified. I really wish it hadn't gotten my hopes up. This doesn't count. It doesn't come close to it.


Why would you think I would want to see you like this? I won't dignify that thing with speech. This bundle of paper is more you than that.

I did my work. I'll leave the papers here, I suppose. No one else should see it.



I MISS YOU