Play@YSDC

The whole harbor area, is dominated by a thick and murky fog, which spreads across the beach and then reaches the first houses. The fog here is very common, being the typical and persistent weather condition produced by the Bay of Fundy waters.
The harbor of Greyton lies South of Kenneth beach. The harbor is chocked with sand, leaving the water no deeper than seven or eight feet in many places and creating a sandy tongue dotted with the wooden houses and shanties of fishermen.
There are several wharves where many small fishing boats are berthed. There´s a long stone wall, fifteen feet wide, extending from the sandy spit of land just northeast of town out into the harbor. Sandy deposit have been built so as to form sandy beaches, now lined with the rude shacks of fishermen. The fishermen nets, lobster pots, dories and dilapidated shanties mark the shores. Piles of fish bones and spent campfires attest to their life styles. Some harbor docks host the larger fishing boats, the schooners, those destined to challenge the immense and menacing Atlantic.

Michael manages to find the captain of the shipwrecked schooner where Martin Thompson disappeared into the sea.
His name is Thomas Cornel. He´s a fifty year old man, with grey mustache and a long beard that hides the flushed cheeks. He´s wearing felt-lined rubber boots and jackets and hats made of oiled canvas.
He is preparing his schooner to leave, and talks to the apprentices, without stopping his work. When Michael approaches, he interrupts and lights his pipe, showing an expression of curiosity and interest.

"Morning, Captain." Michael shows his ID to the man, keeping it hidden from the other men if he can. "Got time for a little chat?"

The fisherman looks at the stranger. He closes one eye and moves the head, as if observing closer a piece of gold to find out if it is authentic.
"Sure! What can I do for you, man."

The old mariner replies. He talks loud with energy, as if someone who experienced a strange situation and likes to have it known by people.

"Wal, thar's not much t'say, the Bay not a fine place t'fish in. The Arcadia was an old vessel that was already fallin' apart. Sometimes goes fine, sometimes goes bad, curse it all to damnation. So, the boat got stove up. Martin Thompson is a guy from here and accompanied us. He said he wanted t'see us gettin' the scrods, but fo' me, he was just a fool, as any fool could plainly see.
Didn´t talk that much. Did not mean anything' about himse'f. When we were caught by th' sto'm, he took another dory, he wasn´t with us.

Wouldn´t yo believe it?! Instead of getting back, he headed on, facin' the fucking sto'm, with the fucking dory. I doubt he got out from there still alive.

Anyway.. believe this old sea dog who knows what the sea she is like..."

He pats on his chest with his hand as to enforce he has mystical knowledge about the sea.

"I've nevah see a sto'm like thet in th' Bay. Yo' can tell me I's crazy, I felt the sto'm occurred on account of us. She did not want us there. Got it?
Thompson was a fool, an' he was a risk for our lives. I don´t knows nothin' else about him an' don´t wanna know fo' sure."

The old man is surprised to hear this. He tries to remember.

"The sea has not been stormy in recent days."

In fact, the wave that submerged the group at Amanda's home did not come from a storm. As strange and absurd as it may be... it was the product of a sudden and anomalous wave.