While on a trip down to Florida years ago, we had the benefit of staying in a hotel right on the ocean. The sand dunes ended only a foot away from the wall of the hotel. It was beautiful, but there was also a sense of urgency to it. In a few years it was likely the ocean waters would rise enough to flood the bottom floor of the building. At night a lightening storm blew in from the ocean, and we turned out the lights to our hotel room and sat staring out with the window open to our balcony.
The ocean was completely black and it was too dark to even see the sand or the waves crashing in the distance. All we could see was emptiness. In the intense blackness the roar of the ocean was like a train that wouldn’t stop. Not even flashes of lightening would illuminate the water below or hint at the thrashing waves. In that moment, it was easy to imagine how terrifying it would be to see a dinosaur emerge from the sea to snatch its prey. It was easy to imagine how a ship would get misdirected and crash against unseen rocks. It was easy to see how dangerous it would be out on the ocean in that storm.
There’s nothing quite like the feeling of respect and adoration the ocean gives. It is both beautiful but at the same time dangerous.
In a separate post I made about creepy corridors, I briefly talk about how vulnerable it can feel to be on a boat in the middle of the ocean. At night when I slept listening to the motor of the ship humming in its belly, I wondered what I would do if the engine stopped, or if I would hear the squeal of metal, or if the alert sounded in the middle of the night. Needless to say it took some time to sleep the first couple of nights. During the day the ocean provided a beautiful picturesque paradise and I absolutely adored being able to watch the ship break through the waves. At night however it could be alarming to look out during a storm and see only empty ocean in every direction. (The stargazing, however, was incredible.)
I loved going to the beach, going on cruises, and appreciating the ocean (back when I could), but it’s good to have a healthy respect for it too. Movies and pictures don’t quite grasp the chilling emptiness that comes from looking out at a black, stormy ocean and realizing that anything could be out there.
Or maybe that’s just my love of monsters talking…
Do you have any creepy stories about the ocean that you’ve experienced? Do you know of any other places you want me to tackle in my horror analyses? Let me know below!
Speaking of monsters, I recently wrote a horror short story with mermaids and pirates titled “The Mermaid’s Kiss”. Expect to see more about it soon. Make sure you subscribe to my mailing list to get all the latest updates about my writing including a sort-of-secret project I’m working on.
I love your dark ocean description. I’m sitting in a bright living room in the middle of the day as I read it, but I still got an eerie feeling. I’ve been within a glacier (on purpose, on a tour in Alaska) and that was scary and dangerous and loud (glaciers make noise) and had an other-worldly blue light. A glacier might be an interesting place to tackle in your horror analyses.
Mermaids and pirates in a horror story . . . I’m intrigued!
Oh wow, that’s so cool! I’ve always wanted to go on a glacier tour like that, but I can only imagine how scary that can be. I really like that idea too because often people think of glaciers as static, immovable objects but they really aren’t. Thank you so much, Priscilla, you are inspiring! <3
Today, I went to the beach front with my kids. I found a sea shell and gave it to my 4 year old daughter and said “You can hear the ocean if you put this to your ear.” She put the shell to her ear and screamed. There was a hermit crab inside and it pinched her ear. She never wants to go back! LoL I know this is completely off topic but I had to tell someone!
Oh my goodness, what are the odds of that? I’m sure she’ll want to go back to the beach one day, but she probably won’t think of hermit crabs the same way again haha. Thank you for sharing!