On the third morning, an elderly woman vanished. Her front door was locked from the inside, and strands of strange, dark brown seaweed clung to her window.
The villagers showed no shock, just an eerie silence. As if this wasn't the first time.
I sneaked into her home and found an old, moldy journal. Inside, a crude sketch: a face without features, and a body made of writhing tentacles.
On the last page, she had written:
> "I dreamed the sea opened its eye in the night.
It asked me: 'Why do you still remember me?'
I was supposed to forget…"