We decided to go out to a beach called Rocky Point. It's just a few days away from autumn, but that doesn't stop Californians. Neither does the fact that the sun went down hours ago. We roll up in the van and get our party started. Fred and Daphne dance to something heavy on the moonlit beach. Shaggy gets a fire going in a sand pit. He's going to be cooking something soon, I just know it.
I bust out my surf board and hit the water. I catch a wave and feel the wind on my face. Everyone is having a great time. I doggy paddle out to do it again, and end up touching something in the water. Out from the murky depths comes a glowing, moaning, ghost-of-a-man in a diving suit, covered in slime and seaweed. I about-face, hit the shore, and don't stop until I've practically tackled Shaggy. They all think I'm damaged, as usual, until they turn around. The disgusting diver continues to plod along the shallow waters. We hide behind some rocks, unsure of what really just happened. Everyone (except Shaggy) was either brave enough or curious enough to peek out and check. The diver is gone. We're still all scared as shit. No beach party tonight.
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