The fisherman woke before dawn, as he always did. A grey mist clung to the sea, the air sharp with salt and damp, the waves whispering promises of a good catch. He checked his nets, readied the boat, but as he turned toward the water, something caught his eyean odd shape on the rocky shore.
At first, he thought it was driftwood, or an old crate washed up by the tide. But the closer he stepped, the heavier the dread in his chest grew. It was a coffinrusted, battered by the sea, tangled with seaweed as if it had wandered the ocean for years before finally beaching here.
“Bloody hell” he muttered, glancing around. The shore was empty, save for the gulls cries and the relentless sigh of waves. He shouldve walked away, called the policebut curiosity gripped him harder than fear. Kneeling, he examined the corroded lock. One firm tug, and it snapped loose.
His pulse hammered as he lifted the heavy lidthen froze.
Inside lay bones, scraps of wool that mightve once been a coat, blackened buckles eaten by time and saltwater. He recoiled, pressing a hand to his mouth, unable to tear his gaze away.
Later, the experts would say the coffin was nearly a century oldlikely lost in a shipwreck, then dragged across the seabed by storms before the sea finally spat it onto this lonely stretch of Cornwall.
Word spread like wildfire. Villagers whispered about drowned sailors and old curses. But for the fisherman, it wasnt just gossipit was as if the sea itself had chosen him to uncover its long-buried secret.
