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'Why in God's name would you want to go back there?'

My mother's voice comes through my phone, on speaker, echoing around the kitchen.

'Because I haven't been here in over two years. I called this home once, remember?' I remind her.

I hear her sigh heavily and I resist rolling my eyes. I knew she wouldn't understand, that's why I didn't tell her I was returning to my grandmother's house on the cape.

'Why did you feel the need to go back? Nana died two years ago.'

I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting back the pain.

'I am well aware of that.'

Thanks for reminding me.

'I wasn't ready before, I am now.'

My mother scoffs. 'And what exactly are you going to do? It's an island. There are limited activities. How long are you staying for? You only finished school two weeks ago!'

I resist the urge to just hang up on her. It would make my life easier. Well, until she called back and gave me an earful for hanging up.

'Only a week or so. It's silly that we own this house and never use it. It's summer vacation, I'm going to relax.'

It's quiet for a moment and I wonder if God blessed me with a miracle and took her voice.

'We still have the house because in the will, it said that Nana didn't want us to sell it. She wanted you to inherit it. We can't even rent it out because the locals scare all the tourists away with those wild fairytales.'

After another few minutes of ranting, I finally get my mother off the phone. With her sorted, I begin to unpack my things.

It took me four hours to drive to the coast. Then, I had to take a twelve minute ferry across the water to get to Cape Mare (Latin for sea). Despite being called a cape, the place is actually an island. The land bridge between Cape Mare and the mainland eroded a long time ago.

It only took ten minutes to get to Nana's old beach house. Luckily, despite being an island, the cape doesn't get many storms.

The clapboard beach house is still standing and in good condition, even though it is build almost on the water.

A set of stairs leads from the back down into the sea. You can quite literally walk from the house, straight into the waves.

Nana's parents built in themselves over one hundred years ago. Over the years, it has been modernised and improved.

I'm glad that my mother wasn't allowed to sell it. This place is a part of my childhood.

When I was ten, my parents divorced and my father took a big step back from my life. I still get presents on my birthday and Christmas, but that's it.

My mother remarried and built a new family with my step-dad. At twelve, I hated being in a house with two children, both under two years old. They were always screaming and crying. I was getting so tired that I was falling asleep in school.

My nana insisted that I move to the cape and stay with her until my half-siblings got older. I lived with her for four years, until she died. I woke up one morning to find that she had passed in her sleep.

I was forced to return to live with my mother for two years, until I turned eighteen. The moment I could, I moved out and into a run-down flat with one of the girls from school. It's a bit of a hole but both of us prefer it to living with our families.

My mother and I have a tenuous relationship. She never got on with her mother, my nana, and I think she was always jealous of the relationship I had with her. Nana loved me more than she did her own daughter, I know it.

Those four years with my Nana were the happiest of my life. I miss her all the time, and being here lets me feel a little closer to her.

I look out of the kitchen window, staring at the endless waves, drawing nearer to the house. It's mid-morning and high tide is upon us.

After sorting out everything at the house, I grab my purse and some string bags to go food shopping.

I walk down the street towards the centre of the town. It's still as small as it once was, not just in size, but in population.

Very few people visit or migrate to Cape Mare. Despite being an island with great weather, there is only one beach and it is a rocky one. There are signs up everywhere, warning people not to swim in the waters due to hidden rocks.

There are many local legends about what is in the waters around here. Nothing has ever been found, of course, but the number of drownings is alarmingly high. A girl drowned whilst I was at school here.

I didn't know her, she was a couple of years above me. Her body was never found, but she was seen by multiple people, waving for help out in the water.

By the time they got a boat out there, there was no sign of her.

The path I take winds towards the water and I walk a little faster past a particular cove. My Nana took me down there once, when I was thirteen.

It's the only time I'd ever gone in the Cape Mare water deeper than my knees. I'd paddled as a child during visits, but never swam.

A shiver runs down me as I think of that day. I remember it with horrifying clarity. What happened that day is the reason I never go swimming in the sea, not even in other countries. Pools only for me.

Relief fills me as the path twists back towards the road. Five minutes later, I'm on the main street. I enter the supermarket and grab a basket.

Living alone in Nana's house gives me free rein to make whatever I want. I'm craving spaghetti bolognese, so I start with getting the ingredients for that. I add the essentials and then pay.

I've had a part-time job since I was sixteen and Nana left me a substantial inheritance. I'm not silly with money, I save most of my pay-check.

The simple dress and old sandals show that I don't like spend money on frivolous things.

I take the long way home, not wanting to go past the cove. I didn't realise how weird it would feel going back there and I don't much fancy going past it again.

This other route takes me along the docks. The fisherman are returning from their early morning trips.

I scrunch my nose up at the overpowering smell of their catches. I weave in and out of the stacks of netting and ice buckets filled with a variety of fish.

The back of my neck prickles and I feel eyes on me. I look around, trying to find the source. My gaze lands on two men, who I recognise instantly.

My high-school bullies. For the four years I went to school on this tiny island, Billy and Mike made their resentment for my existence very clear.

Their families have lived on the island for generations and that made the two boys think they had some kind of authority around here.

I quickly break eye contact and pick up speed, hoping to carry on without incident.

'Marlie!'

Damn it.

I stop and turn around slowly. The two of them stride up to me, frowns on their weathered faces. A few years at sea hasn't done them any favours.

'What are you doing here?' Billy demands.

I narrow my eyes at him. 'It's lovely to see you, too, Billy. I've been well, thank you. How have you been?' I retort sarcastically, giving him a glare of my own.

Mike takes a threatening step towards me.

'Answer his question, Marlie. What the hell are you doing back here?'

I sigh heavily. It appears they have not made any improvements in character. It would be nice to think that they had grown up, done some self-reflection, maybe read a book?

'I wasn't aware that I couldn't visit my family home. My Nana left her house to us.'

Both of them share a cautious look, intriguing me. I could be completely wrong, but they look...nervous.

Why on Earth do I make them nervous?

Mike clears his throat. 'Look. You shouldn't stay. Do whatever you have to do, take a trip down memory lane, whatever. Just make sure you leave as soon as possible.'

I frown at his suggestion.

'No. I'll stay as long as I like.' I huff in frustration and put my hand on my hip. 'What is your problem with me? You've been like this since high school, both of you. Why don't you like me being here? I've never done anything to you!'

Billy scowls. 'It's not anything you do or have done. It's what happens because you're here.'

He glances anxiously at Mike, as if he's worried he's said too much.

Mike nods. 'It's not safe when you're here. You attract them.'

I draw my eyebrows together in confusion.

'You can't seriously be talking about the pistris?' I ask with a humourless laugh.

(pronounced pee-strees, Latin for shark)

The two of them share a look again. Mike shakes his head at Billy.

'You know every story is based off an element of truth, Marlie,' Billy responds condescendingly. 'It doesn't matter what you believe or not, it doesn't change the fact it is dangerous for you to be here. You need to go.'

I take a step back from them, eager to get as far away from the assholes as possible.

'Just stay away from me, alright?' I tell them. 'I don't want to talk to you again.'

I turn on my heel and take quick strides away from them. I can feel their eyes watching me as I go.

'Pistris,' I mutter the word under my breath.

At school, we studied the local legends of our island. Another reason that tourists never come here; the Pistris. Latin word for sharks, given to the supposed sea monsters that inhabit the waters around the island.

During the turn of the twentieth century, there were a spate of drownings and attacks around the island. The islanders rebelled and went hunting for the creatures in their boats, brandishing spears and guns.

But they never found anything.

When I was younger, my Nana told me about the Pistris. She said they were like mermaids, but a darker kind. Ones with shark features rather than the beautiful, gentle ones drawn in fairytales.

I always called them pastries, seeing as that's what I thought my Nana had said when she first told me about them.

My heart clenches painfully in my chest at the thought of Nana. With a heavy heart, I increase my pace and return home.

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