By Keith Errington

Dan Crow worked a farm a short way inland, it was a meagre living, but with serious effort and a canny eye, he compelled the begrudging land and its crops to give up enough of their harvest to afford him his house and his living. This was an impressive endeavour, as there are very few plants or animals on the island of Hopeless, Maine that are not incredibly dangerous and probably out to kill you. But some could be handled if you knew how, and Dan’s family had been farming this land for generations now and had handed down a wealth of ancient knowledge and expertise. His craggy face, keen eyes, rough hands and ever-present straggly beard, marked him out as a worker of the land, along with the solid wooden staff he always carried. He was big man, not unkind, but tough, and if he spoke, which was a rare event, it was quietly and with dignity.

Nathanial Veldt, or Nathan to his friends, fished off the shore of Hopeless. There were few more hazardous professions on the island than fishing. The sea creatures in the waters were like no other anywhere in the known world, a mass of vicious, spikey, multi-mouthed, tentacled bundles of hate and spite with more teeth than a saw making factory. The range and number of aquatic killer beasts generally deterred any sane person from venturing onto the beach, let alone into the water. After all, the island’s inhabitants knew only too well the treacherous nature of the seas having arrived there by shipwreck. Nathan, however seemed to be immune to attack or harm, and fished the seas without undue trouble, although this was still a formidable task as the seas and rocks around the island were challenging to the inexperienced sailor. Inexperienced Nathan was not, he had an almost mystical relationship with the sea and which allowed him to catch enough fish to sell in the town. This provided him with a modest living and a reasonable sized shack on the shoreline. Many said of Nathan that he had a witch’s protection, others that he was a benign demon – if there were such a thing – whereas the more fanciful said he was made of the sea itself – whilst not stopping to explain exactly how that might work. Broad shouldered and always wearing his tough sailor’s jacket, he had a mass of hair upon his head, which was mostly hidden under a woolly cap – except for his bushy eyebrows and even bushier beard. He kept himself to himself and was never known to harm anyone.

One afternoon whilst Nathan was casting his net, he noticed a huge commotion on the sea in the distance. An enormous bird, the like of which he had never seen before, was diving down into the water again and again. It was a raptorial beast with sharp angled wings and a beak like a huge spear, it’s end serrated and slightly curved. Suddenly, something rose out of the water and snapped at the bird, clipping a wing and the bird flapped backwards out of range before going in one last time in a fast focussed dive. Nathan could just make out a spreading of red on the surface of the water and the sudden frenzy of a hundred smaller denizens of the sea feasting on fresh flesh. The bird emerged from the water in a great plume of water, clutching a huge chunk of… something, in its beak. Nathan watched transfixed as it flew inland passing directly over his boat.

The bird was struggling to fly and hold onto its prize at the same time. The faltering motion of the bird jarred something loose, which dropped from the sky and landed in the boat. Nathan stooped down to see what he had just gained. The bottom of the boat was a mix of water, fish guts, fish oil and bits of rope, so Nathan had to look hard and close to see. As he peered into the murk, something shot up, tugged at his beard, and seemed to crawl inside. Nathan reeled back, cursing himself for his foolishness. Likely he’d be dead in minutes he thought. But as he sat in his vessel pondering his fate, he realised that nothing seemed to be happening. Cautiously, he felt inside his beard, he could feel nothing untoward – it seemed like just his beard and nothing more. Perhaps he had imagined it? But then, there seemed to be something slightly strange about the texture of his beard hair now.

Dan was out in the fields when he spied a large bird flapping in from the coast. It appeared to be in some trouble, a damaged wing causing it to falter. It was getting lower and lower, and Dan realised it would be down in the next field before long. He kept his distance, but approached the bird carefully as it flapped gracelessly down. At that moment, the bird saw him, struggled a bit and falteringly took off and flew towards the trees on the edge of the farm. Where it had been, Dan could just make out something small lying on the ground. Being a cautious man, Dan took his staff and moved it towards the object. Suddenly there was a rapid movement, and something ran up the stick across his body and into his beard. Dan yelped and pulled at his beard, running his finger through to try and locate and lose the foreign creature. But there didn’t seem to be anything there, just a change in the texture of his beard. In response to such a troubling incident, Dan did the only reasonable thing – he headed for the pub.

Nathan had sat in his old armchair for a while just considering his experience. Finally, he shrugged his shoulders, grabbed his coat and headed out. He needed a drink. As he stepped through the threshold and into sight of the bar he was warmly greeted by the barman – always glad of a customer, “Hello, Mr Veldt.” This was an affectation, the barman knew his first name, but always addressed them by surnames as in a traditional manner. “Pint of Green Heron’s Legs please” requested Nathan. Beer in hand he made his way to a booth near the back of the establishment – not his normal habit, he usually sat at the bar – but he felt like brooding, and that was going to be difficult surrounded by the pub’s custom.

“Hello Mr Crow” the barkeep cheerily shouted across as Dan entered the pub. “Will it be the usual sir?” “Yes, thank you” responded Dan. “Pint of Tine’n’turp, coming up”. Dan picked up his glass and looked around the bar – he felt a strange tingle in his beard and a slight tug, seemingly directing him to the back of the pub. He tried to ignore it, but nevertheless found himself walking back and sitting down at the very same booth as Nathan, taking a chair across the small table. “May I join you?” Dan asked, and received a nod in reply. “Evening”, they both said, almost simultaneously. “Dan Crow isn’t it?’ Asked Nathan. “Yes, and you’re the fisherman – Nathan…” Dan struggled to find the surname. “Veldt” offered Nathan helpfully, and they shook hands.

They sat for a while, two hard-working loners, who seldom said much and for whom small talk was a foreign language. They both sensed they should say something to start a conversation but struggled to find the means. Eventually Nathan spoke, “I, er, had a rather strange experience today…” he offered. Dan looked up, “Oh, so did I actually. Most strange. What happened to you?”

Nathan looked around conspiratorially, he didn’t want too many people thinking he was going mad after all, “Well, I was fishing off the coast this morning…” he said quietly. Rather too quietly, “What?” queried Dan and leaned in closer to hear. At that moment as the two men faced each other, a couple of inches away at most, something emerged from each of their beards and met in the middle, like fine filaments from a spider’s web. They spun around each other and pulled tight. “Weargh!” exclaimed Nathan as his head bumped against Dan’s. “Sorry,” Dan automatically replied without thinking, although the sudden closeness was no more his fault that Nathan’s. The threads pulled tighter bringing the two beards together and then intertwining them. By this point Dan and Nathan were beard to beard, mouth to mouth, nose to nose, and terrified eye to terrified eye. The beards stretched tighter and then, seemingly reaching an equilibrium, they relaxed slightly, but not quite enough to separate the two men’s faces. Some of the other customers were looking over at them, and from the other side of the room, the flamboyant Jason Tredagaire threw them a knowing wink. But then, after a while, it became obvious to the other customers that something wasn’t right. Perhaps it was the awkward body language, or the untouched beer, or maybe it was the muffled noises coming from the mouths of the entrapped pair.

Doc Willoughby was summoned and spent what he felt was a suitably appropriate amount of time scratching his head before pronouncing that he had never seen anything like it, and as they were not dying he would be off to see to some patients who might be.

The two men’s beards could not be separated no matter how hard people tried, or what they tried. And they had to go back to Dan’s farmhouse together.

Over time Nathanial Veldt and Dan Crow became used to their weird Siamese life. They fished together and farmed together, the extra pair of hands making the work easier. Somehow their sentient beard dwellers knew to allow them some respite and loosened their grip enough to let the pair eat and drink when they needed. But sleeping and other activities were always awkward and strained.

At some point they both realised they had a lot in common, that they shared many experiences, and living so close together they developed a relationship and eventually a gentle love began to blossom between them. In the fullness of time, they saw their affliction as a blessing, for never would they have found true companionship without it, and would forever have lived alone.

They became a byword on the island for true love, after all, the two men were literally inseparable, so much so, they became known by just the one name, VeldtCrow.