Tides Of Yesterday

The first storm in a decade rolled into Crescent Bay under a bruised sky, wind howling like ghosts returned from exile. Rain sliced the air with urgency, flooding the narrow cobblestone streets, drenching the bones of the town’s sleepy history. To most, it was a storm like any other. But not to Elara Thorne. Elara stood at the edge of the pier, soaked to the skin, her chest rising and falling as if the sea itself had climbed into her lungs. The smell of salt and something more ancient—something forgotten—hung heavy in the storm air. Her fingers trembled around a leather-bound letter. It had no name, only a wax seal: a crescent moon cleaved by a sword. She had hoped to leave Crescent Bay behind forever. The town held too many ghosts, too many unanswered questions—and him. But after eleven years, the letter had summoned her home. And now, the tide was pulling her back into a story she wasn’t sure she had ever truly escaped. She turned, her gaze cutting through the veil of rain to the old Thorne estate that loomed at the hill’s edge. Dark windows stared like vacant eyes, the iron gates yawning open as if expecting her. “Elara?” a voice called from behind. She turned slowly. There he stood, older but unmistakable—Kael Merrick. The boy who once shattered her heart and the man whose silence had haunted her for over a decade. Kael hadn’t changed in the way people usually do. Time had refined him—sharpened the jawline, deepened the shadows under his eyes—but the storm in his gaze was the same. The way he looked at her now, like she’d both haunted and healed him in her absence, cracked something in her chest. “Elara,” he repeated, quieter this time, as if saying her name again might make her stay. “I didn’t come back for you,” she replied, stepping past him, her soaked boots thudding on the dock wood. “This town sent for me. Or did you think I wouldn’t come when my mother died?” Kael flinched. “I thought you’d left us all behind.” “You gave me no reason to stay.” A silence passed between them, thick with unsaid years. Thunder cracked across the sky, and Kael motioned toward his truck. “You shouldn’t be walking in this storm. Let me drive you up.” “I’ll walk.” “Elara.” She hesitated, swallowing down the thousand things she wanted to scream. Then, without another word, she climbed into the passenger seat. The drive was short, the silence inside the truck louder than the storm outside. Raindrops hammered the windshield. Every street corner, every rusted sign they passed seemed to whisper pieces of memory—sun-drenched childhoods, late-night promises, and the final betrayal. “How did she die?” Elara asked finally. Kael's hands tightened around the steering wheel. “They say it was illness. But… I think something’s off.” Elara turned to him sharply. “Off how?” “She kept talking about visions. Warnings. She said the sea had started whispering again.” Elara's pulse jumped. “She used to say that before Father died.” “I know.” They reached the Thorne estate gates. The house hadn’t changed—the same weathered stone, the same ivy crawling like veins across its facade. But as Kael pulled to a stop, something shifted in the pit of Elara’s stomach. A light flickered in one of the upstairs windows. “But no one’s supposed to be home,” she said softly. Kael leaned forward, peering at the window where Elara had seen the flicker. The light was gone. “Probably just faulty wiring,” he offered. “No,” Elara said firmly. “That was movement. Someone’s up there.” Kael stepped out of the truck first, scanning the shadow-drenched house. Elara followed, the storm slicking her coat, coldness biting through fabric to skin. She clutched her bag tighter, her eyes fixed on the house she hadn’t entered in nearly a decade. Inside, the house was a tomb of silence. The old wooden floor groaned beneath her step like a voice from the past. Everything was still where it had been—the portraits, the grand piano, the spiral staircase. Her mother’s scent still clung to the air: lavender, sea salt, and sage. A candle flickered on the foyer table. Elara froze. “Who lit this?” she whispered. Kael walked to it slowly. “It’s still warm.” As he picked it up, a gust of wind blew through the open front door, snuffing the flame. Elara turned, startled—and there, framed by the doorway, stood a girl no older than ten. Wet, barefoot, and dressed in white. Kael moved instinctively in front of Elara. “Hello? Are you lost?” But the girl didn’t respond. She stared at Elara with wide, glassy eyes. “I know you,” the child whispered, her voice a strange harmony of ages. Elara’s breath caught. “That’s not possible.” Then, without warning, the girl stepped back and vanished into the rain. Kael rushed after her, but there was no one on the porch. No footprints. Nothing. “Tell me you saw that,” he said, turning back. “I did.” Elara’s voice trembled. “And I think… I think I’ve seen her before.” “When?” Elara’s hand went to her temple. A memory fluttered like wings in the dark. “In my dreams. Every year since I left. She always stands by the shore and says one thing: ‘Don’t forget the tides.’” Kael and Elara stepped back inside, locking the door behind them. The storm had thickened, drumming wildly against the windows as if trying to crawl inside. “Who was that girl?” Kael asked, wiping rain from his brow. Elara sank onto the velvet chaise near the staircase. “I don’t know. But something about her felt... familiar. Like she wasn’t from this time.” Kael scanned the room. “You said you’ve seen her in dreams?” She nodded, unease curling in her gut. “Always by the shoreline. Always right before something goes wrong in my life. The night my father disappeared. The night I left this house. And now.” The silence that followed was dense. Then, Kael’s phone buzzed. No signal. “Elara,” he said slowly, “why did you really come back?” She hesitated. “My mother’s lawyer sent me a letter. He said she left something for me here. Something I needed to see in person.” Kael frowned. “What is it?” “I don’t know. He wouldn’t say.” She stood, restless, and started wandering the hallway toward her old room. The air grew colder the closer she got. The room was preserved in memory—faded pink wallpaper, dusty books, seashell mobiles hanging still. Her gaze drifted toward the north wall, where a crack split the surface beneath a painting. Her fingers itched. “That crack wasn’t there before.” Without thinking, she pulled the painting down and ran her hand along the split. The wall felt oddly hollow. “Elara?” Kael called from behind. She turned to him, breath quick. “Help me.” Together, they pried at the plaster until a panel gave way. Inside, tucked between studs and insulation, was an envelope sealed with dark wax and her mother’s initials—*A.M.* Her hands trembled as she broke the seal. Inside was a letter, handwritten in her mother’s cursive: > My dearest Elara, > > If you’ve found this, then fate has begun to stir again. The tides never forget, and neither should you. The girl you see is not a stranger—she is the key. Your father’s disappearance was no accident, and the answers lie where the sea meets memory. Trust Kael. And beware the seventh wave. > > With love always, > —Mother. Elara stared at the words, the blood draining from her face. “She knew.” Kael read over her shoulder. “‘Where the sea meets memory’? What does that mean?” She folded the letter, heart pounding. “It means this house—and the past—is holding more secrets than I thought.” Kael touched her arm gently. “Are you ready to find out?” Elara looked at him, eyes dark with determination and something like fear. “I have no choice.” Thunder cracked like a scream through the sky. The house moaned with age and wind as Elara and Kael sat on the floor of her childhood room, the broken wall panel lying beside them. Elara clutched the letter tightly, her knuckles pale. “What does ‘beware the seventh wave’ mean?” Kael asked. Elara’s eyes locked on the window, where the rain blurred the night outside. “It’s an old myth... My mother used to whisper it when I was a child. The seventh wave is the strongest. The one that drags you under. She always said it was a warning.” Kael stood, pacing. “Do you think this has to do with your father?” “I know it does,” she said. “He disappeared without a trace, Kael. No body, no note, no explanation. Just... gone. And now this letter is telling me it wasn’t an accident?” Kael’s expression darkened. “Do you think your mother knew what happened all along?” Elara hesitated. “Maybe. But if she did, why hide it?” Suddenly, the lights flickered and went out. The storm howled louder, like a beast outside their door. Kael reached into his bag and pulled out a flashlight. “We need to check the generator.” “You still remember where it is?” she asked, rising to her feet. “Unless they moved it, it’s in the basement. You okay?” Elara nodded, but her hand trembled as she reached for his. “Let’s go.” They descended the narrow staircase to the basement. The door creaked open with effort, revealing shadows and dust. Water dripped steadily from a cracked pipe overhead, and cobwebs curled like skeletal fingers along the beams. Kael moved toward the generator, checking its connections. “The storm probably fried it. Might be a fuse.” Elara wandered through the basement, shining her light on old trunks and boxes. One wooden chest caught her eye—it was her father’s. A brass nameplate was affixed to the lid: *CAPT. A. MARIN*. She knelt and opened it. Inside were faded maps, nautical tools, and a small leather-bound journal. She opened it gently. Her father’s familiar handwriting covered the pages. > April 14th—The girl appeared again on the cliffs. She was crying. I followed, but she vanished into the water. Elara says she sees her too. Anna says it’s just grief playing tricks on us, but I know what I saw... Elara’s breath caught. > May 3rd—The tides aren’t natural. There’s something beneath them, something watching. Every seventh wave crashes differently. It whispers. Kael turned. “Elara, what is it?” She looked up slowly. “My father saw her too. The girl.” The basement groaned. Somewhere above, a door slammed shut—though no one else was in the house. “Elara,” Kael said, pulling her up, “we’re not safe here tonight.” As they climbed back upstairs, lightning flared—and in that flash of white, Elara saw the girl standing at the top of the stairs. Dripping. Silent. And staring directly at her. Elara froze. Kael saw her too—and for the first time, Elara heard real fear in his voice. “She’s not... real.” But the girl didn’t disappear. She turned... and walked toward Elara’s old bedroom. Elara followed. Inside the room, the window was wide open—rain lashing against the sill. The girl was gone. But on the bed was a soaked newspaper clipping. Elara picked it up. It was dated July 19, 1999. > LOCAL GIRL DROWNS DURING STORM—BODY NEVER RECOVERED And beneath the headline, a grainy photo of a child. The same girl. Elara looked at Kael. “She died here.” Kael stepped back. “Elara... that’s your handwriting on the back of the article.” She flipped it. > I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. I didn’t remember... until now. Her heart dropped. The words —her words—written years ago, in ink that had bled from the water. But she had no memory of writing it. “Elara,” Kael whispered, “what aren’t you telling me?” She met his gaze, eyes wide, mouth trembling. “I think… I knew her.”