'I want to die.'

  He couldn't help it. Despite the clearly supernatural events occurring right in front of him, he thought that same annoying thought. And it was still as true as ever. But one thing he knew was that he didn't want a painful death. That was the reason he brought pills. Hanging was a no-go—definitely too painful. Drowning? Yeah, fuck no. A gun? Well, he didn't own one. His father did, but he wouldn't go that way either.

  He wanted to overdose and just pass off... oh, and now? Yeah, death by giant tentacle didn't fit his criteria for death.

  He looked to the glovebox, debating whether or not he could take the full bottle in a second and just how long it would take for the effect to, well, affect him. Probably not fast enough. Sitting in the car, he stared out at the giant grayish-black tentacles slithering further around the bridge, almost like they were pulling something up.

  And could you guess it? They were. A gigantic beak broke from the water. It was dirty yellow, like chain smokers' stained teeth. Finn could accurately guess that this was the mouth of the eldritch abomination. Along with its mouth, it also exposed the large round head which in Finn's humble opinion was even more disgusting than its mouth. It had two cold beady eyes with clear intelligence behind them, and that's when a third tendril rose from the water. The subsequent waves splashed violently as the limb tried to flick the floating tan man away like a fly.

  Still not moving, Finn, with the survival instincts of a grapefruit, watched as the floating man raised a hand. The waves that sloshed around from the creature's emergence seemed to still, and his eyes glowed, full of power. The tendril came within meters of the man, but at the last moment, as if it had a mind of its own, the water sprung up, catching the attack and acting like a cushion to protect the tan man.

  Finn was sure he saw the strain in the man's face, almost as if he were constipated. Was he dead? Did he do some hard-core drugs? Eat something bad? Because this was obviously a hallucination. Perhaps he was already dead and sinking deep into the sea after that sea bird hit his windshield. That was more likely than the scene that was unfolding in front of his eyes.

  He watched as the squid, octopus, or kraken—whatever it was—look at the water cushion as if it had personally called its mother a prostitute. Pulling back its tentacle, the large appendage almost appeared to be moving in slow motion, but that was just a trick of his eyes. The sheer size and girth of the single limb made it seem slower than it actually was.

  Finn watched, his attention still wrapped . Who wouldn't be, with a spectacle like this in front of them? If he had taken the pills as he originally thought, he would be dead by now. But he decided to watch, and he was awestruck not to mention scared as hell. So his next action wasn't something he couldn't explain.

  He rammed his right foot down on the gas pedal. His car was all-wheel drive, so there was no burnout, just a lurch of the vehicle as inertia did its work and pushed Finn back into his seat. The two tentacles still covered the bridge in front of and behind the car, but he was racing toward the one in front of him. This was stupid. He was stupid.

  The tentacle in the air raced toward the man halfway through its flight pattern already. The tan man braced himself, but his glowing eyes caught the vehicle racing forward on the bridge. As if expecting this outcome, his once-weary expression turned confident. Instead of focusing on defense, he prepared an offensive response for his enemy.

  Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

  Slamming engine-first into anything was stupid, and Finn was stupid but not to that point. His speedometer hit 80 miles per hour, and that's when he swung the steering wheel almost like he was preparing to drift. That never happened. The back wheels lost traction, and the speed slowed just slightly as the passenger side of his car slammed full force into the tentacle blocking his way. The window splintered and cracked, and the door was dented inwards. The car shook and sputtered, and Finn felt woozy. The crash hurt more than he'd thought.

  But it was enough. The kraken-like creature was distracted. Its beady eyes left the tan man and swiveled over to the bridge it was using to leverage itself up. It prepared to lift its tentacle and smash the thing that had tickled it.

  And it would've gotten away with it if it wasn't for the floating tan man. As soon as the creature's eyes left him, he shot forward. He didn't push off anything but air. His body slid around the grayish-black tentacle trying to flick him away, barely dodging. He aimed his left arm at the sea below, and it answered his call. It raised like a geyser before forming something, shaping itself like a drill. The water spun and sloshed around until a point formed. The man aimed his creation straight at the creature's beady right eye.

  Water was depicted as something that flowed, an element that, in fiction, usually showed healing properties or a more defensive nature. But the tan man showed another side to it. The water acted as a solid, breaking the creature's eye with a sickening pop as purple-black ichor sprung from the popped organ.

  There was silence, and then there was a cry—a cry louder than anything Finn had ever experienced in his life. The kraken's beak opened as it let out a guttural scream of pain and rage. Tentacles around the bridge slipped away and shot toward the tan man, who was still floating. But this battle was already decided.

  Now, with no signs of the previous worry, the man scoffed. The water answered his call, and he stared down at the beast. The water pulled it down to where it once resided, stopping any further attempts at attack. The cry didn't stop, even as its beak was submerged underwater. Finn swore he could still hear it. Sure, it was a water creature, but it almost sounded like it was drowning, like the sea was working against it. The cry was soon quiet, and the tan man huffed, his shoulders sagging.

  He stared at the car, at Finn in the driver's seat. Giving a nod, a nod that Finn had received from random men that he had walked by, just as a greeting, a nod as if this were just any other Tuesday night. Before Finn could do anything—respond or even break down—the man descended into the water, following the creature. The battle hadn't ended yet.

  Finn paused. No tentacles or birds stopped him from moving again, but even without those obstacles, he didn't move. His car stayed parked. Weirdly enough, even now, he didn't see any cars leaving the bridge or heading to the Keys, almost as if everyone knew what was going on right now and he was the stupid one for being here at this exact moment.

  Finn wasn't sure when, but he started making the final dregs of his journey. His mind was blank, and no matter how much he tried to give a probable reason, he couldn't. He was crazy. That didn't happen. And he was...

  What was he? He had to check in for his hotel room, but when he arrived in Key West, he didn't stop there. He doubted he could sleep. So with his battered car, he pulled into the parking lot of a empty restaurant. It was called Crabby Dick's, and the backside was on the beach, giving the customers inside a stunning sight.

  Finn, though, found himself at the bar. He had ordered a few beers and some crab. He sat there, the buzz of the TV a distant background noise, just as the idle chatter of the servers was. He had to fix his car. He had to do a few things, but he just couldn't get the energy to do anything other than drink and eat that entire hallucination away. That was once again where his thoughts were cut off.

  The front doors opened, a small bell rang, and out of instinct, Finn turned to the sound. Walking into the restaurant as if he were a local who had been there hundreds of times was a tall man, broad-chested, wearing a sun-dyed tropical shirt, tan skin, cargo shorts, and dark black hair that seemed to be wet. It was the man. The one who was floating. The one who had fought that thing. And now he was here, and he was approaching Finn.