A Coastal Horror Story – “He Emerged from the Water… and Never Left”

At first, I thought they were messing around, maybe just watching us. I laughed and yelled something stupid like, “What’s up, fellas?” thinking they’d shout back or do something. But nothing.

“They’re just standing there,” Emerson said, sounding weirdly serious.

The longer we looked, the more it started to feel… off. They weren’t talking. They weren’t even shifting around like normal people would. They were completely still. Like they were waiting for something.

I got spooked when one of them let out a low, raspy laugh. It didn’t sound natural. Almost like someone faking a laugh badly—or like they were struggling to breathe.

That was enough for Emerson. He started pulling the anchor up. “Let’s get out of here, man. This is too weird.”

I was slower to react, still trying to figure out if it was just some local kids being creepy. But then we heard two splashes near their boat. When we looked back, only one figure was left standing.

And then… silence.

The bay was pitch-black now, and the water was dead calm. No waves. No wind. Just the occasional creak of our boat.

Then I heard something—water moving behind us.

I turned and saw a hand grip the edge of the boat.

It was pale. Wet. And it wasn’t from anyone I recognized.

Another arm came up near Emerson. He yelled, raising the anchor like a weapon. I scrambled to the ignition and started the engine just as something bumped the side of our boat.

I gunned it forward out of pure panic and ran us right into a shallow sandbar. The boat jolted, and I quickly reversed, backing us out into open water.

Neither of us said a word. We just stared ahead, breathing hard.

That’s when Emerson looked back. “They’re following us.”

A boat, dark and unlit, was behind us. We couldn’t see anyone onboard, but we could hear the engine. It was closing in fast.

I pushed our old boat as hard as it could go. It wasn’t fast, but we gained enough distance that we finally saw the docks. I swung the boat hard toward the shore, close enough to beach it if needed, but instead of following, the other boat peeled off—no sound, no lights—just disappearing into the dark.

We docked and sat there in silence for a long time, trying to explain it. Maybe it was a prank. Maybe some guys trying to scare us. But deep down, we both knew something wasn’t right.

A week later, Emerson texted me:

“I keep dreaming about that guy. He’s in my room. Just standing there. Wet. Not moving.”

I didn’t reply. Because I was having the same dream.

Every night since, I wake up thinking I hear wet footsteps outside my door. I check. Nothing’s there. But the hallway smells like saltwater.

Nearly a year went by. I tried to forget.

Then I saw a post in a local Ocean City Facebook group. A blurry picture of a figure standing at the edge of the water.

“Anyone know who this guy is? He’s always there.”

Same posture. Same pale skin. Just standing, staring down at the waves.

Others commented.

“Saw him last summer.”
“Walked into the water. Never came back.”
“Found wet footprints on my back porch.”

No prints leading to or from them.

I don’t know what we saw that night. Maybe it was just someone trying to scare us.

But I know this much—ever since that night, the water doesn’t feel the same.

It’s like something’s still out there.

And it knows who we are.