Through the fog they came, ghostly figures emerging from the greyness which had engulfed their world. They walked in silence, no words passed between them, the only sounds the crunching of their footsteps on shingle and the lapping of waves against the unseen shore. Another hour would pass before the sun rose above the eastern horizon to burn away the fog and let light back into the world. Or just perhaps - as many had claimed through the preceding night - this was no ordinary fog but a supernatural event, a harbinger of doom, over which even the sun would have no power. Perhaps this really would be an eternal twilight in which the dead would once more walk amongst the living.

The storm which had preceded the arrival of the fog had seemed like the end of the world. Night had become day - such was the frequency and intensity of the lightning that rent the sky. The world had been filled with the deafening roar of thunderclap and crashing wave.

And so they had gathered on the cliffs to watch and wait in anticipation of the ships thrown against the rocks below to spill their contents into the sea - and into their waiting hands.

For two hours the storm had raged before passing over them, inland to wreak further havoc. The silence that followed was unearthly, a dead calm that unsettled all those who had gathered on the cliffs. The full moon was once again revealed to cast eerie light over the becalmed sea. And then a shout - a beckon call for all to look to the horizon, across which a wall of grey had now been built.

In silent awe they watched as the fogbank made its inexorable way towards them. And there - at the head of the swirling grey (the movement of which was surely too fast for any natural phenomenon) - the silhouette of a ship, a three-master, forging across the sea towards them, dragging the swirling fog behind it like the shroud of a grave-risen corpse.

Fear and superstition had caused many of them to turn tail and run. This was surely a ghost ship - perhaps the Flying Dutchman herself. Nothing good would come out of this night, no amount of treasure trove could be enough to tempt these wreckers down to the shore. And so they ran, leaving those of a more sanguine attitude to any potential spoils.

Despite the passing of the storm, the ship had not changed course. As it neared the rocky outcrops upon which so many vessels before it had foundered, the fog overtook the doomed vessel, hiding its demise from view but unable to deaden the sound of the crash. A cheer went up at the noise of timber crashing against rock and, full of anticipation, those brave enough to wait began their journey down to the shingle beach.

Carrying his lantern before him in a vain attempt to illuminate a way through the dense fog, Tobias Morgan grew excited at the prospect of what could be claimed form the wreck. A good sized vessel like this would have a significant manifest. A significant crew too - the thought made him reach for the hatchet pushed through his belt. Experiencing another tingle of anticipation as he felt its reassuring presence, he smiled - half drowned sailors in shock at the abrupt loss of their vessel were rarely a match for the Gwyr y Bwelli Bach - the "Men With Little Hatchets".

In his reverie, he almost missed the dark shape on the ground in front of him. Catch his eye it did though and he stopped, turning his lantern to illuminate whatever had pitched up on the beach. As he paused, the footsteps around him slowly diminished - good, no-one else had seen the shape. Whatever it was would be his and his alone - no honour amongst thieves here, first come first served.

Shingle crunched and shifted beneath his feet as he made his way over to the shape - the body, he could now see. Holding the lantern in front of him with one hand he crouched to examine his find.

The body lay face up, sprawled on the stones. One leg lay at an unnatural angle, bent obscenely at the knee so much that foot lay alongside hip. The fall and subsequent passage through rock and riptide had brought about other damage and Tobias winced as he saw the wrecked head of the corpse, the left side crushed inwards, a red mess of jagged bone and pulped flesh. The eye a pale white orb attached by a stalk of nerve and tendon. Still, thought Tobias as he regained his composure, no time for sentiment. He had seen worse. At least this one was fresh, much worse were the corpses that washed up days, or even weeks after the wreck. Bloated beyond recognition, carrying the sea creatures that had made a meal of them. Hell, he'd made a mess of many a sailor himself with his hatchet.

The corpse was well dressed in fine clothes. Tobias' eyes lit up. "Rich man eh? Well, all your money didn't do you much good in the end did it now?"

He knelt to place the lantern next to the body. "Do me some good now though!" With both hands free, Tobias rummaged through the corpse's pockets, forcing his hands into the water-sodden material. His endeavours gave little return however, a few coins only - some of which were of a type he had never seen before. "Bloody foreigners" he spat, but pocketed the coins anyway.

The right arm was trapped under the body. Tobias grabbed the right shoulder of the corpse and rolled the dead weight over. "My, my! Look at that!" Lantern light reflected off the gemstone embedded in the ring on the corpse's right hand. "Come to Daddy!" Tobias grabbed the wrist and started to pull the ring from the dead white finger. Damn! Stuck tight. Wet dead flesh already bloating made it difficult to get the ring off. Not to worry, Tobias pulled the hatchet from his belt and, laying the dead man's hand on the shingles, swung it down once, twice till the fingers separated to lie next to the hand like fat worms. Tobias picked up a worm and slid the ring off.

"All mine now!" he said, rising to his feet. A good morning's work done, he placed the ring on his own finger and turned for home.

*

Nobody in the group noticed Tobias' absence or paid it much heed. Following the path across the rocks learned over generations they had come to the wreck. Hatchets drawn, ready for bloodletting, they made their careful way around the mist-shrouded hulk.

"It's too quiet" said one, "where is everyone?" asked another. Memories of those who had chosen to flee after the storm came unbidden to some, filling them with dread. Perhaps this truly was a ghost ship.

"Dear God!" - the cry came from above, from the ship. One of their number had climbed to the deck.

"What is it?" - it was Owen, the eldest among them who asked.

"The wheel!" Came the reply from above, "he's been tied to the wheel!"

Something bumped against Owen's legs before he had a chance to reply. He turned, holding his lantern before him then stumbled backwards, a fall prevented by the man next to him. His lantern smashed on the rocks but Owen could still see the coffin floating in the water.

*

Tobias stopped when he heard the growling. Even before he had time to extend his lantern arm the dog was on him, leaping from the grey ahead of him. He fell, the weight of the beast on him speeding his fall to the hard ground. His lantern tumbled away and his vision was filled with the red glow of the dog's eyes as it clamped its jaws around his throat. The bite intensified, stopping any breath but then, just as he was about to pass out, the dog released its death grip.

His relief was short lived however as the beast then lunged at his arm, teeth closing around his right wrist, snapping shut, tearing muscle and sinew, crushing bone. Tobias screamed as the dog bounded away, raising his stump to gaze uncomprehendingly at the blood that fountained from it.

And then a figure loomed before him - no dog this time, but a man. "For God's sake help me!" Tobias implored, reaching his good left arm towards his saviour.

The figure made no reply but stepped towards Tobias. Crouching before the mortally wounded wrecker he leant forward to speak. Tobias screamed again - screamed at the milk white left eye surrounded by pink, new flesh, screamed as the man reached out his right hand to place it on his shoulder, a hand on which the stubs of fingers made of that same pink flesh appeared to be budding.

The man smiled. "All mine now!" he said.