The group of fishermen huddled in their jackets against the evening coolness, talking and smoking. They weren’t here to swim, David thought miserably. No-one came to the beach at night if they had a choice. It belonged to the Naughty Boys and the Wyfies. In the morning there were murky condoms, sometimes blood-stained panties, always empty Black Label quarts.

More and more often there was something worse. The youngsters who went missing were only gone for a few days, thought David. Then they turned up on the beach – small bodies without limbs, bloated and grey from their time in the water, the sockets empty where their eyes should have been.

The beam from the Slangkop lighthouse rounded on the men every ten seconds, making them shield their eyes. They stood with their backs to the water, forming a ragged circle around something wrapped in plastic on the sand. They didn’t seem to notice the familiar stink, but it made David’s nose sting.

Usually David loved the smell of the sea at night: it felt as if anything was possible, but tonight the sea was sulky, sucking and releasing the heavy strands of kelp seaweed. The weed grew half a metre every day, David knew. They called it sea bamboo. Marine biologists came here all the time to study the unique formations and ecosystems of the coast, but now it looked like a crime scene, light and dark, confusing: at any moment another body might be dragged out of the water.

He looked around him, peering into the darkness. There was a small fishing boat pulled up onto the sand. He scanned its sides for a name. It starts with a V, he thought. And maybe that’s a roman ‘II’ there, at the end. But then his stepfather was talking.

“Well, now. Hier is ons.” His stepdad seemed jolly, like a politician at a fundraiser. David hardly ever saw him smile. His teeth, stained yellow, were sharp and gleaming now, slick with spit. “It’s a nice night for a swim. Did you see that full moon?”

“I don’t understand,” said David. But the truth was that he had an idea why they were out on the dark beach.

“Ag, come on! We’re all friends here!” His stepfather swept a flabby arm out to the other men standing around. The old shark and sea monster tattoos looked like veins. One of the men waved, and sucked on his cigarette until the tip glowed red as an evil eye.

“Oom Jazz!” said David. The man nodded his greeting.

I have to ask, David told himself. It might be the last time I get the chance. He took a breath. “Why did we have to come here, now?”

His stepfather wiped his forehead and cocked his head to one side. “I think you know, mos.”

“Not really.”

He sighed. “You are dof sometimes, hey? And that mother of yours thinks the sun shines out of your arse.”

“Just tell me.”

“That book you were reading. It’s not a kid’s story. You think all the fish come for free?” The men nodded their agreement.

David shook his head as his stepfather explained. It was one thing to imagine your own monsters, but to have adults say that it was all true was another thing altogether. And what he heard was terrifying.

His stepfather stood there in the circle of men and told David that the fishermen were only allowed in the bay at a price. Their existence depended on sacrifices to the sea. “Now that’s what I call ‘hard livings’, hey?” His stepfather smiled crookedly.

“What kind of sacrifice?” David asked, and behind him Kendell burst into laughter.

“If you’re going to join this crew, you have to take the offering out into the bay.” David looked at the package on the sand again. Was this the sacrifice?

The more his stepfather spoke, the less frightened David was of him. If this was his fate, then fine. He would be a fucking fisherman. Why not stay here? It was easier than always struggling, struggling, struggling, like a drowning man, his lungs filling as he went under. David felt the same weight lifting off his chest that he had felt that morning, when he had fought to free himself of the dream-squid’s tentacles. He would let go.

“Say hello to your new crew.”

David turned full-on to the group of men standing around the package in its plastic. They began clapping their hands – slow, mocking applause for David and his new life.

“And say hello to our mascot.”

Oom Jazz kicked the plastic open and David saw a raw tentacle loll out, wet and boneless. The claps sped up and someone whooped and then the men were all calling and cheering like it was some gruesome birthday party. The squid that the men had fetched from the yard!

David felt his stepfather grab him by the wrist, his grip cold as a handcuff.

“Kom, seuntjie! It’s time. Come and show us that you’re a man!”

***

Tell us what you think: Should David have stood up to his stepfather? What should he do next?