In the distance they could hear the surf crashing against the sand. With tackle boxes in one hand and poles in the other, the teenage boys trudged across the cool sand to the water's edge. They set down their boxes and began setting up their poles. Only the moon out, this consumed a bit of time as the air filled with profane language exerted by the striplings. When both lines were set and the cursing had died down they cast the lures into the dark ocean water. Five minutes turned into three hours as the boys both stood stock still, looking out over the ocean for any sign of movement of their lines.
Both had now sat down on the beach half asleep. One had dug a small hole and put his pole in it while the other, still waiting for a bite, held onto his. More time passed as the sun began to rise over the ocean. Suddenly a jerk at the end of the vigilant boy's line brought him up and pulling at whatever was fighting against him. Slowly, the boy was dragged forward, his feet creating twin trenches in the sand. The water was now up to his knees as the youth was still being dragged into the water, at a quicker pace now. Desperate screams escaped the terrified adolescent's mouth but his sleeping onshore companion heard none of them, lost in his own dreams of catching prize fishes and winning surfing contests. A wave now knocked the boy, paralyzed with fright onto the sandy ground as a wave overtook him. Only now he was able to let go of the fishing pole bit it was too late. The unseen menace had glided in and overpowered the boy, bringing him into the depths of the black, relentless ocean.