The Echoes of the Drowned

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the beach. A group of friends, their laughter mingling with the waves, worked on their sandcastle. The moonlight reflected off the water, creating a serene backdrop for their playful construction. Among them was Emily, a local artist with a penchant for the eerie, and her best friend, Jake, a curious historian who loved uncovering the town's secrets.

As the sandcastle took shape, Emily noticed a peculiar pattern in the sand. "Look, Jake," she whispered, "it's almost like the waves are trying to tell us something."

Jake squinted at the pattern. "It's just the wind, Em. Let's finish this before it gets too dark."

But as the night deepened, the wind picked up, and the temperature dropped. The friends huddled closer, their laughter replaced by shivers. Emily's eyes widened as she noticed something unsettling in the distance—a figure standing at the water's edge, watching them.

"Who's there?" Jake called out, his voice tinged with fear.

The figure did not respond. Instead, it began to move towards them, its silhouette a ghostly apparition in the moonlight. The friends exchanged nervous glances, their laughter forgotten. They had heard the rumors, but they never thought it would come to this.

"Run!" Emily shouted, pushing her friends towards the sandcastle. "It's coming for us!"

They scrambled inside, the door closing behind them with a thud. The sandcastle, their temporary sanctuary, seemed to creak and groan under the pressure of their weight. Emily's heart raced as she looked out the small window, now a window to a world gone mad.

The figure outside the door was unmistakable—a zombie, its eyes hollow and its skin rotting. It pounded on the door, its voice a low, guttural growl. The friends held each other tighter, their fear palpable.

"Can we lock it?" Jake asked, his voice trembling.

Emily nodded, fumbling with the lock. The zombie pounded harder, the sound echoing through the small space. Emily turned the key, and the lock clicked into place. Relief washed over them, but it was short-lived.

"Where's the key?" Jake asked, searching the sandcastle.

Emily's eyes widened as she realized it was still in her pocket. "I left it outside!"

The zombie pounded again, the door shaking with each blow. The friends huddled together, their fear turning to desperation. They had to find a way out, but the door was their only hope.

"Maybe we can dig out a window," Emily suggested, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jake nodded, and they began to dig, their hands trembling with fear. The zombie continued to pound, the sound growing louder with each passing second. They worked quickly, their fingers cutting through the sand, but it was a losing battle.

The zombie's voice grew louder, and the door began to crack. Emily and Jake looked at each other, their eyes filled with terror. This was it—the end.

As the door gave way, the zombie burst inside, its rotting flesh and hollow eyes a horror they could never unsee. The friends scattered, running towards the back of the sandcastle, their only hope a small window they had just finished digging.

They pushed through the window, the cold air hitting them like a physical blow. The zombie followed, its hands reaching out, but they were too fast. They sprinted towards the beach, the zombie hot on their heels.

The beach was their only hope now, but the zombie was relentless. They turned the corner, and the beach was empty, save for the zombie, its eyes burning with a malevolent fire. They had nowhere to go, nowhere to hide.

Emily and Jake stopped, their breaths coming in ragged gasps. The zombie was almost upon them, its rotting flesh slapping against the sand. They turned to face their fate, their eyes wide with terror.

But as the zombie reached them, a sudden, piercing scream echoed through the night. The zombie stumbled, its eyes widening in shock. Emily and Jake turned to see a figure standing on the beach, a knife in hand, ready to fight for their lives.

The figure was a stranger, a tourist who had stumbled upon the horror. He had seen the zombie, and he had decided to fight. He charged at the zombie, the knife slicing through the air with deadly precision.

The zombie stumbled back, and the tourist followed, pushing it towards the ocean. The zombie fell, and the tourist stood over it, breathing heavily. Emily and Jake rushed to him, their relief overwhelming.

"We can't stay here," Emily said, her voice trembling. "We have to get out of here."

The tourist nodded, and they turned to run. They sprinted towards the town, the zombie's growls fading in the distance. As they reached the town, they collapsed on the ground, their bodies spent.

The zombie never caught up, but the fear remained. They had survived, but the night had left its mark. The beach was a place of horror now, a place where the living had faced the undead. And the sandcastle, their temporary sanctuary, was now a monument to their survival.

Emily and Jake never returned to the beach. They spoke of the night, of the zombie, and of the stranger who had saved them. But the memories of that night haunted them, a reminder of the darkness that lay just beneath the surface of their peaceful town.

The echoes of the drowned would never be forgotten.