“It’s the marsh grass,” the locals say if you ask. “Decomposing vegetation. Perfectly natural.”
Then she hears it. A soft, wet sound. Like a mouth opening. Like a long, patient breath. baysafe
The first thing you notice about Baysafe isn’t the water. It’s the silence. “It’s the marsh grass,” the locals say if you ask
In return, the town gives the bay what it asks for. Not often. Just enough. A lost kayaker here. A solo sailor there. Every few years, a stranger who doesn’t read the signs. And every single time, the bay takes them cleanly, without fuss, without evidence. The Coast Guard calls them “missing, presumed drowned.” The families grieve. The town holds a memorial. The water goes still. “It’s the marsh grass