Battery Rocks by Merriel Gardiner – Winner of the 500-words Ghost Story Competition
The Highlander Army kit bag was olive green with a small frayed hole in its base. It leaned up against the granite hewn seawall of Battery Rocks at daybreak. I saw it in ex-actly the same place whenever I changed into my swimsuit and it slowed my breathing. Like the tide coming in and going out, the broken bag was elemental.
When first light is exploding sky into blood mixed with sweat, is when I swim. People’s eyes are still closed then; the land distilled to just four elements. I imagined the bag’s owner, always out in the sea before me, swimming darkness into light. A head down, slice through the water, no nonsense kind of approach.
This morning the wind was moaning and pushing and pulling so that the waves were swollen lungs. It was earlier than usual. The sea was still ink black; dawn just a wound on the horizon.
I could see the shape of the familiar bag by the seawall. I started to get changed. The wind pulled at my hair and slapped at my face, dragging the kit bag across my bare toes. I reached down and caught the bag. It was empty. I found a stone and weighted the bag to the concrete.
Walking down the gun emplacement steps allowed me to slide into the water. The shock of it took my breath away. Head under. Breathe...two three...breathe. Never forget to breathe. Behind me on the gun emplacement, the war memorial was wreathed with poppies. I closed my eyes and saw their scarlet petals floating down to the bottom of the sea.
The tree stumps from the four thousand year old for-est were sharp when I saw them. They looked like wounded soldiers standing on the seabed of the inter-tidal area, their semi fossilised remains perfectly preserved by salt. I don’t know why, but I had never seen them before. I dived down. I couldn’t stop thinking about the army kit bag being empty.
When I saw him, the man was naked. He was moving among the tree stumps and seaweed as if he were a fish, his body ex-panding and contracting with the water. He swam towards me without rucking the wet and reached out to clasp my swimsuit’s straps. I was not afraid. He pulled me to the surface and swam with me back to Chimney Rock on the western side of the Battery.
Together we walked towards the war memorial and the empty Highlander Army kit bag which I had weighted with a stone. Beside it was my bag, but rather than clothes my bag was only filled with air. It was blowing up and down the gun emplacement as if it was on patrol.
I heard firing. It was overhead. The na-ked man looked at me. His eyes were wide whirlpool green.‘When do you think this war will be over?’ he asked. ‘It’s over for us,’ I replied. ‘Even the sea forgets to breathe.’
by Merriel Gardiner