The Ghost Crab, a short story
Fresh flash fiction!
I’m back!
I thought I’d try something a little different — I have some short stories kicking around the hard drive and why not share, especially one that reflects on summer? I wrote the following story about a crab in June of 2014, fresh from coming from the beach (that’s where ghost crabs live).
As you’ll see, the fact that it’s over 11 years old doesn’t matter, considering it’s concerned with timeliness, the ocean, etc. Enjoy! Hope you’re all having a great summer!
The Ghost Crab
Scales of pewter flaked off the mullet left behind by the frustrated fisherman. Hours ago, the dead fish was bait; now, it was the evening meal for the ghost crab.
At this hour it was her beach. No reddened men buoyed in chairs sinking in the sand. No sunglassed undergraduates, half-drunk, half-dehydrated. No children, no dogs, no kite-flyers tapping the sun. No sleepy fishermen cursing fate and bait. There were much larger beings adrift in the blackened sea, but this beach was the ghost crab's domain while the stars blazed. And so was the mullet.
Compared to ocean-bound crabs, she stood upright, as if concerned with her posture. Her black eyes poked skyward, silly but attentive, knowing that many other night creatures—many other crabs—would desire her treasure. She ate in prayerful silence, claws picking at the white flesh.
She faced the ocean. The darkness crashed against darkness, not quite oppressive—the rhythm possessed the fortitude of a routine learned over eons.
With all the quiet monsters held in its belly, surely the Atlantic wasn't concerned with the ghost crab. It blurred and dipped, danced and shook—performing for no one, so the ocean was unashamed. The waves were the puppet of the moon sitting a few feet above.
The ocean stretched—somewhere on the other side, dawn broke. Fish ate fish, bigger fish ate those fish. Boulders, licked by time, dissolved into sand. Ships bumped along the surface, splitting the water. Underneath, older ships lost to memory sat in their graves, octopi hiding where the ancient sailors used to dream.
The ghost crab finished. She left the mullet shining in the starlight for another crab, or perhaps a screeching, stupid seagull in the morning.
Dancing sideways, she found her burrow, looked at the night, and dropped into the earth.