RÍONE pondered how she became a writer.

What trickery was involved there? She did not know. Despite her being published many times, she still failed to believe that it was all her credit. There must be something else too, which she did not know.

"You are one talented girl. We would love to publish you." That was what her agents said back when she was twenty-three, a fresh-faced young woman who tried to juggle college and writing together. She remembered her awe when she heard it, the validation that coursed through her body like the warm touch of her lover.

And here she was now, outside the house on the beach, thinking about her worth. She sipped tea from a blue porcelain cup, eyes distant with thoughts. Why did it fade with age, the feel of being something more than ordinary? The belief that she was indeed talented, like her agents had said, and that was the sole reason she was successful?

Maybe it was for all creative people, she decided. They ought to feel like this sometime or the other. It is hard to believe in yourself at all times.

She had spent two more days in Loutham. These days went by without incident: no disembodied voices or strange dreams plagued her. Instead, she had made good progress on her manuscript, completing over seventy percent of it, and had updated her agents about it. In the evenings, she went downtown and when she returned, she would FaceTime with her husband and kids. Oh, she was back on talking terms with Timothee.

So on her fifth day back at Loutham, she thought to challenge herself.

Ríone had taken out a chair from the dining room table and placed it in a place in-between the shoreline and the house. She was nearer to the sea than she ever had been in the past few years, but she was not close enough for the water to touch her. It was safe - a no-man's-land.

A handful of parents had brought their kids to the beach. They thumped on the sand with their little feet, their laughter mingled with the swish of the waves and created a joyous tune. Some of them tried to make sandcastles, most of which ended up like giant mushrooms squashed in the ground. Few of the older kids also swam in the shallow waters while the parents sat on colourful mats and observed them.

She smiled at them. They were far away to not notice her, but she could see them well from her position. It was nice to see people enjoy themselves. She could use this scene as an inspiration for some of her future stories. Readers would love reading about something so nice and happy.

Ríone took another sip of her tea.

She had a faint memory of a similar day at the beach when she was younger. Those were the golden days of her life - her father did not drink or hurt her and her parents did not fight all the time. She was no older than three and the house was being constructed. That day, her mother had planned a picnic lunch for them.

She remembered herself playing in the water with her father. He would laugh when her jumps would spray seawater water all over him. She remembered the salty taste of the sea. The crisp sunlight that tanned her dark brown. Unlike other brown moms who had brown daughters, her mother never stopped her from playing in the sun.

"Love your skin," she would say. "Love its rich shade. It is the colour of the mother earth which sustains us all. Never forget that you are one of the lucky ones to have inherited her colour."

This and so many other minute things made her mother so different from the others. She was not just beautiful from outside; she was beautiful from within. Ríone's eyes gleamed in happy reminiscence. She was a rare find. You don't meet many people in this world who are like her.

A loud splash broke her reverie.

Ríone looked up at the horizon, eyes narrowed. What was that sound? She could not discern it. Her eyes trailed towards the sea when she noticed that something was moving close to the shore. Eyes widened, she stood up.

There he was, the little ginger headed boy. His small face was red with trepidation, his big green eyes aghast with horror. He thrashed against an unseen foe, but the more he tried, the more it gained control.

"Jake!" He cried. "Rona! Help me!"

Ríone gasped. She put a hand on her open mouth. A shudder shook her entire being. What was she seeing? Why, after all this time? Fear held her frozen in place.

The boy was sobbing. His chest heaved up and down with each heart wrenching sobs. He raised his arms and waved them with full vigour but no one came to help him. After a while he abandoned the futile try, realising the same.

That was when the first tendril tore through the sea's surface and entwined itself around the boy's left wrist. It was white with a green tinge, its many ends moving as if they had a mind of their own. Another one rose and bound the boy's right wrist. Three more rose in quick succession and wrapped itself around the boy's throat.

"-ake-" the boy emitted one last forceful scream. His face was fast turning blue and his eyes bulged like two oversized dinner plates.

That was when two more of those fiendish tendrils rose and drove through his eyes, lodging deep within his brain. Thick streams of crimson blood rolled down from the hollows of his eyes, accompanied by gooey brain matter. In the next moment, those tendrils pulled him downwards, deep into the bowels of the sea.

"No!" Ríone yelled. She raised a hand towards the sea. Then she looked down. Another gasp escaped her mouth. She stood right by the shoreline, barefoot. Small waves tickled the underside of her feet. Her teacup lay beside her in the sand. The tea spilled around it gave it a crimson tinge akin to that of blood.

No, this had to be some mistake on her part. When did she come so close to the sea? She looked around, and she found she was alone on the beach. No one was there. And judging by the sun's position in the sky, it was much later in the day.

She took a cautious step backward. The tendrils from the vision-or whatever it was-did not appear. Deeming it safe, she turned around and fled homewards; the teacup was forgotten. Her heart raced like a caged bird in her amid her ribs.

Another terrible edict from her past had been resurrected.