The Unknown Predator

Stanley Teller
Mar 17
2 min read

The sea was calm that morning, a vast shimmering mirror reflecting the endless sky. Beneath the surface, the world hummed with life. Fish darted through the kelp forests, the tide whispered against the sand, and the seals—graceful, sleek, and free—moved as they always had.

Then he came.

A shape upon the shore, tall and alien. A thing of dry skin and strange limbs. He moved with a slow, deliberate intent, scanning the shoreline with his small, land-bound eyes. The young one did not see him at first, too focused on the rhythm of the waves. But then—movement. The two locked eyes.

Panic set in.

The young one twisted, flippers slapping against the wet sand. The predator lunged. A chase began. Terror surged through the young one’s body as it wriggled toward the safety of the water. But the thing was fast—faster than any land-creature had a right to be. The sand betrayed the seal, soft and shifting beneath its weight.

A heavy grip.

Screams—raw, desperate cries for help. The others in the sea turned, watching in frozen horror. But none dared intervene.

He was being stolen. Taken from the water, dragged away from everything safe, from the pull of the tide and the watchful eyes of his kin. Flippers thrashed, teeth snapped at the air. It was useless. The creature was relentless.

Then—stillness.

The predator held him firm, pinning him in the dry world. The young one trembled, heart hammering, waiting for the sharp pain of claws, the inevitable fate of prey.

But it never came.

Instead—something else.

The creature moved with precision, its strange appendages grasping at the tight wire that had been suffocating him for so long. A flash of something cold and metallic. A single, sharp motion.

And then, suddenly, the tightness was gone.

The young one gasped, lungs expanding fully for the first time in what felt like an eternity. The predator stepped back. No bite, no blood.

The thing did not take him further into the unknown. It did not feast upon him. Instead, it let go.

The young one hesitated. A moment of disbelief. Then, instinct took over. He bolted, flippers slapping against the sand once more—only this time, he did not feel the suffocating pull around his neck. He felt light. He felt whole.

He hit the water, disappearing beneath the waves. The others surrounded him, sniffing, circling.

"You live," they murmured, eyes wide with confusion.

"I live," he answered.

From the shore, the predator stood, watching. It did not chase. It did not follow.

It had come with purpose. And now, it simply… left.

The sea took the young one back into its embrace, but he would never forget that moment.

The moment the predator came.

And healed him.