The fog rolled in off the bay. It swallowed the lighthouse. It swallowed the pier. It swallowed us.

I held the line. The rope bit into my palms. The salt spray stung my eyes. I did not blink.

Thomas stood behind me. He was small. He was quiet. He always was. We had been at this post for three years. Three years of gray water and gray sky. We did not speak much. Words were for other men. Men who had homes. Men who had futures. We had only the watch.

The order came down from High Command. It was a simple instruction. Hold the perimeter until dawn. Do not let it cross.

We knew what it was. Everyone in the town knew. The thing that lived in the dark. The thing that wore the faces of the dead. It had come before. It always came back. The cycle never ended. The loop was tight. It was a noose around the neck of the world.

I tightened my grip on the rope. The wind screamed. The fog thickened. I could not see the water. I could only feel the pull. Something was out there. Something heavy. Something old.

Thomas checked his rifle. The metal was cold. His hands were steady. I envied him. My hands shook. I was tired. I was so tired. I wanted to sleep. I wanted to stop. But I could not. I was the anchor. I was the stone. I held the line.

The first one emerged from the mist. It walked on the water. It wore the face of my father. His eyes were hollow. His mouth was open. It made no sound. It just looked at me. It knew me. It remembered me.

I raised my rifle. My finger tightened on the trigger.

*Do not let it cross.*

The bullet hit it in the chest. It did not fall. It stepped forward. The water rippled around its feet. It smiled. It was a cruel smile. A familiar smile. I had seen it in the mirror. I had seen it in Thomas.

I lowered the gun. I did not know why. My mind was fog. My body was stone. I waited for the pain. I waited for the end.

The thing raised a hand. It pointed at Thomas.

Thomas stepped forward. He did not look at me. He looked at the thing. He raised his own rifle. He did not fire. He just stood there. He was calm. He was still.

"Thomas," I whispered.

He did not answer. He never answered to that name. Not anymore. We were just the watch. Just the two of them at the end of the world.

The thing reached out. It touched Thomas’s shoulder. The fog swirled around them. It was a dance. A slow, terrible dance. Thomas did not fight. He did not scream. He let it take him. He let it pull him into the dark.

I watched. I could not move. My legs were lead. My heart was ice.

The fog cleared. The thing was gone. Thomas was gone. The water was calm. The sun was rising. It was a pale, weak sun. It offered no warmth. It offered no light.

I was alone.

I stood on the pier. The rope was still in my hand. It was soaked in blood. It was not my blood. It was not Thomas’s. It was the blood of the sea. The blood of time.

I looked at the horizon. The line was clear. The boundary was intact. I had held it. I had won.

But I was empty. The victory tasted like ash. It tasted like salt. It tasted like loss.

I walked back to the watchtower. The door was open. The chair was empty. There was a note on the desk. It was in Thomas’s handwriting.

*It was always going to be one of us. I chose to go. Do not follow. The cycle must break. Or the cycle must continue. I do not know. I am tired. I am sorry. I loved you, brother. Not as a brother. As the only other soul in the dark. Let me go. Stay. Hold the line. It is your burden now. It was always your burden. You are the anchor. I was just the rope.*

I read it again. The words blurred. The ink smeared. I dropped the paper. It floated to the floor. I did not pick it up.

I sat in the chair. I put my feet up. I closed my eyes. The silence was loud. The silence was heavy. It pressed against my eardrums. It pressed against my soul.

I was safe. I was alone. I was free.

I was trapped.

The fog rolled in off the bay. It swallowed the lighthouse. It swallowed the pier. It swallowed me.

I held the line. The rope bit into my palms. The salt spray stung my eyes. I did not blink.

I waited for the next one. I knew it was coming. It always came. The loop was tight. The noose was tight. I pulled the rope. I held it tight. I would not let go. I would not let it cross. I would hold the line until the end. I would hold the line until the world ended. I would hold the line until I became the thing.

The sun set. The sun rose. The sun set. The sun rose.

Time was a circle. We were the spokes. We were the wheel. We turned and turned and turned.

I heard footsteps on the pier. Slow. Wet. Heavy.

I did not turn around. I knew who it was. I knew what it was.

It stood behind me. I could feel its breath on my neck. It was cold. It was wet. It smelled of the deep.

"Thomas?" I asked.

The voice that answered was mine.

"Stay," it said.

I turned. The thing wore my face. It wore my uniform. It held my rifle. It looked at me with my eyes.

It raised the gun.

I did not move. I did not flinch. I closed my eyes. I accepted it. The cycle required a sacrifice. The cycle required a blood. I was the blood. I was the sacrifice.

The shot rang out. It was a small sound. A dry crack. Like a twig breaking.

I felt the impact. I felt the heat. I felt the end.

I fell.

The fog swallowed the pier. It swallowed the body. It swallowed the soul.

The line held.

The watch continued.

The cycle turned.