Out on the weathered dock, where the sea lapped softly against the barnacled pilings and the salt wind tugged at the edges of coats and curls, old Granddad Tully sat cross-legged on an overturned lobster trap. The sun hung low in the sky, casting warm amber streaks across the rippling water. His hands, leathery and calloused from decades at sea, moved methodically as he threaded twine through a torn section of his fishing net. The rhythm of his work was like the ticking of an old clock, steady and sure, the thin fibers pulling tight with little snick-snicks.

Perched at his feet on a pair of faded cushions were his two grandchildren—Maisie, eight, with her wild auburn braids, and Jonah, six, whose freckles looked like the stars Granddad used to navigate by. They leaned forward, noses wrinkling with the scent of salt and fish and old rope, eyes wide as the breeze ruffled their sweaters.

“Tell us the one about the sea beast again, Granddad,” Maisie piped up, clutching a shell she’d found on the shore.

“Aye, the sea beast!” Jonah echoed, bouncing slightly on his cushion. “The big one with the glowing eyes!”

Granddad Tully’s mouth curled into a crooked smile, revealing a missing tooth or two. He squinted toward the horizon, where the sky blushed pink and orange. “Ah, the beast of Bramble Shoal, is it? You’ve got a taste for the spookier tales, eh?”

Maisie and Jonah nodded eagerly.

“Well then,” Granddad began, his voice gravelly and deep like the low rumble of waves against the rocks, “it were a night just like this. The water was calm, too calm, and the moon was hangin’ in the sky like a big silver coin. I was out there—just me and my boat, the Sea Spoon—pullin’ in nets when I saw it.”

He paused, threading another loop of netting, the fibers creaking as he pulled them tight.

“It rose up from the deep, slow and silent, like a ghost. Bigger than a whale, it was. Skin like kelp and barnacles, and eyes that glowed green like lantern glass.”

“What did it want?” Jonah whispered, eyes round.

Granddad chuckled, his laugh like gravel tumbling in a bucket. “Well, lad, that’s the question, isn’t it? No one knows for sure. Some say it’s guardin’ a treasure sunk in the reef. Others say it’s lookin’ for a lost sailor who made a promise he didn’t keep.”

Maisie’s brow furrowed. “Did it eat your boat?”

“Eat me boat?!” Granddad hooted, slapping his knee. “No, no! It swam round me, all slow and curious-like, and then… it sang.”

“Sang?” both children chorused, stunned.

“Aye. Not like people sing. More like a hum, deep and rumbly, like a thousand whales all at once. It filled the air, and the sea shimmered silver under the moon.”

The children sat in rapt silence for a moment, listening to the rustle of the breeze and the distant cry of gulls. From inside the weathered cottage at the end of the dock, the clatter of pots and the smell of baked fish and garlic wafted out through the open kitchen window.

Jonah leaned closer. “Did you sing back?”

Granddad Tully paused, his fingers knotting the net with a slow care. “I did. Didn’t know the words, of course. But I hummed the tune of an old sailor’s lullaby my own granddad taught me, and I reckon the sea beast understood. It dipped its great head, let out one last note… and vanished beneath the waves.”

Maisie’s eyes sparkled. “Did you ever see it again?”

Granddad leaned back, resting his hands on his knees, the finished portion of the net coiled beside him like a sleeping sea serpent. “Not since. But some nights, when the wind’s just right and the tide’s low, I swear I can hear it hummin’ back.”

The screen door creaked open behind them. “Dinner’s ready!” called their mother’s voice, warm and cheerful.

The children scrambled to their feet, brushing off their trousers, still full of the sea monster’s song and the hush of the waves.

As they ran toward the house, Granddad Tully looked out over the water, his eyes soft, the sea breeze tugging at the ends of his beard. “Don’t forget,” he called after them, “the sea remembers stories. Tell ’em often, and it might just tell you one back.”

And from far beyond the shoals, a low, distant hum rolled across the waves.