It’s a long weekend here in Vancouver, so you get a story.
This was my entry to a recent flash fiction contest run by Crystal Lake Publishing. It didn’t win, but I like it so I thought I’d post it here. As usual, this hasn’t been professionally edited so expect typos.
Trigger warning for kabourophobiacs.
Crab Hands
The princess cackled as she buried Dale alive.
Well… as she covered his legs. He’d warned her not to bury him completely or he wouldn’t be able to buy her ice cream on the way home.
Dale wiggled his toes, dislodging a layer of sand.
Princess Erica planted her hands on her hips to show she was really mad and shouted, “Dad!”
Dale twisted his face into a grimace. “Must… Break… Free… gngh!” He slumped, breathing heavily. “Can’t do it. Trapped… Foreverrrrr.”
Erica giggled, dug her plastic shovel into the damp sand and hurled another scoop over Dale’s thighs. A soft chuckle came over his right shoulder.
Dale turned to look at Marie. Her lips were curled into that small, crooked smile he loved so much. “You could do something to help me.”
“You’re right, I could.”
Marie pushed herself out of her chair, grabbed another of the plastic shovels and began piling sand onto Dale’s legs. Erica cheered and redoubled her own efforts.
Dale clutched his heart. “Betrayed by my own wife!”
He lay back, resigning himself to the role of victim. The sun was warm on his face, and he smiled at Erica’s delighted chatter as she directed Marie on the best way to bury him alive. It wasn’t a bad way to die.
A scream cut through the air.
Dale sat bolt upright, scattering sand.
Erica was clutching Marie’s legs, her eyes wide in terror, finger pointed toward the hole she’d been digging.
Marie patted Erica’s shoulder. “It’s okay, honey. It’s nothing to be afraid of.”
Dale followed Erica’s gaze to the hole she’d been digging a few seconds earlier. Two tiny hands appeared over its lip, waving in the air. They bent forward, immobile fingers digging at the sand, fighting to gain purchase. Gradually, the ugliest crab Dale had ever seen dragged itself out of the hole.
Its mottled brown shell was twisted and blackened; the edges half-melted as though it had caught fire at some point in the past. Two of its legs were missing, and the front right one was so misshapen it dragged along beneath the creature’s body leaving a thin line in the sand behind it. The crab’s “hands” were plastic doll arms, wedged in place where its claws would normally be.
The crab took a few uneven steps toward Erica, hands reaching toward her.
Erica gave a slight yelp and retreated farther behind Marie’s legs. “What’s wrong with her claws?”
“They’re just doll arms, honey,” Marie said. “People throw them away, and they end up in the ocean. Animals like this cute little crab get stuck in them.”
Dale didn’t consider the crab either cute or little. It was at least six inches wide.
The creature twitched forward again. Its beady little eyes flicked left and right, taking in the three humans in front of it.
Erica frowned. “Does she like wearing them?”
“No, I don’t think she does.”
Erica stepped nervously from behind Marie, her lower lip caught beneath her teeth. She dropped onto her haunches and peered at the crab. It took a few tentative steps forward. The movement made its hands rock, almost like it was waving.
“Can we help it?” Erica said.
Marie nodded. “We can tr—”
“No,” Dale snapped.
The crab scuttled backward, twisting sideways to look at Dale as it retreated.
Erica stared at Dale, eyes wide with shock.
“Sorry, honey. We’re not really qualified; you need to be trained to help wildlife. And it might bite you.”
Marie glared at him. “It’s a crab, not a cobra.”
Erica put her hands on her hips. “Yeah, it’s a crab not a crowbra.”
“We shouldn’t interfere with nature.”
Marie rolled her eyes. “It’s not nature. It’s man being shitty.”
“Men don’t play with dolls.”
“Oh, for fu- fudge sake. Now you’re just being a dick.”
The crab skittered sideways. Dale could almost feel its pinprick gaze burning into him.
He gave Marie a pleading look. “It’s just a crab, Marie. And look at it. It’s gross.”
Marie jabbed a finger at him. “You’re gross.” She took Erica’s hand and started toward the crab. “Come on, we’ll try to help her.”
Dale pointed out to himself that they were teaching Erica to be kind. But the crab really was gross. It was probably full of disease. And the doll hands were creepy.
The crab dropped low to the sand as Marie and Erica approached. One of its legs stuck out awkwardly, and it looked for all the world like it was giving Dale the finger.
Erica knelt down beside the crab. She peered at it; her hand pressed thoughtfully against her chin. The crab gave a little shimmy, then began sinking into the sand. Within a couple of seconds it was almost completely buried. Only the crab’s white plastic hands were visible. Then they, too, vanished.
Erica looked up at Marie, a pained expression on her face. “She’s gone.”
“Probably for the best, honey.” Dale said. “Those hands looked really old. It’s probably used to them by now.”
Marie picked Erica up. “Come on. Let’s go get some ice cream.”
“Is Daddy coming?”
“No, Daddy needs to stay here and look after our stuff.”
Erica narrowed her eyes at him. “Good.”
Dale gave Marie a pleading look. “Come on, I’m sorry.”
Marie sighed. “It’s fine. I just need to find a washroom. We won’t be long.”
Dale paused, then said “Can you bring me a Magnum?”
“If they have any,” Marie said.
Erica glared at Dale over Marie’s shoulder. He was pretty sure he wasn’t getting a Magnum.
Sighing, Dale watched his wife and daughter make their way up the beach. “It was just a crab.”
Once they were out of sight, he turned to watch the ocean. Gradually, his eyelids grew heavy, the sun’s warmth dragging them down.
His right leg began to itch.
Dale considered leaving his legs buried and continuing the game when Erica got back, but who knew how long they’d take? And now he was paying attention, the itching was becoming unbearable.
He dug his hands into the sand covering his thighs. But when he tried to sweep the sand away, it wouldn’t move. He gave a snort of disbelief and tried again. The sand felt like concrete locked around his wrists.
Panic flickered in Dale’s heart.
He pulled his arms, tugging and twisting in an effort to get them free. He failed. He could still wiggle his toes, and sand slid off his feet when he did. But somewhere between his ankles and his thighs, the sand became a solid, immovable mass.
Dale dragged in a breath. His chest tightened. He looked around the beach, searching for help. It was deserted. Even the sun had retreated, swallowed up by dark clouds that seemed to have materialized out of nowhere.
He took another breath.
It’s okay. Marie will be back soon, you’ll be fine.
The beach shifted beneath him. He sank a few inches, sand flowing over his legs, encasing them in glistening yellow grains. Visions of people drowning in quicksand from a dozen black and white movies filled Dale’s mind.
Something brushed against the underside of Dale’s leg. He yelped. It was just sweat, or the sand moving. It definitely wasn’t something alive and hungry.
He looked around again, more desperately this time. “Hey! Anyone there!”
The sand moved again, seemingly alive. It flowed up and over Dale’s chest, pulling him down until he was lying on his back, forcing him deeper and deeper into the beach. Hot sand slid across his skin. It writhed beneath his spine, crept across his neck.
Dale strained his head forward and screamed. “Hey! Help! Someone! Anyone!”
The sand crawled up and over his face. Dale clamped his mouth shut as it tried to force its way down his throat. Sand filled his ears, muffling the world.
Dale’s body sank lower. The sand flooded in, covering him until only his nose was exposed. He fought against the panic, dragging shallow breaths in through his nose so as not to seal it himself. The sand writhed, crawling across his skin, burrowing into his flesh.
Then the beach stopped moving
Dale lay there. He was still engulfed in darkness, still struggling to breathe, but at least he wasn’t sinking. He just needed to stay calm until Marie got back.
He could do that.
If he focused on his breathing.
In.
Out.
Claustrophobia wormed its way into his thoughts. He wasn’t getting enough oxygen. He was going to suffocate if he didn’t open his mouth and drag in the fresh, ocean air.
Dale started to open his lips then realized what he was doing and closed them again.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
A tickling sensation danced across Dale’s chin, there for a moment then gone. He held his breath. Something hard brushed against the tip of his nose. Then two plastic hands plunged into his nostrils and began burrowing into his sinuses.
Dale screamed.
[Free Fiction – Crab Hands by Philip Harris first appeared on Solitary Mindset on 5th August 2024]