Algae Blooms
A Short Story
Cape Cod in the summer is magic, like a sea shanty come to life with the swaying of docks on the water lit up from a lighthouse. Tourists in linen blouses draped over denim shorts wander past white shingled houses devouring lobster rolls and staring out at the sea, speckled with distant crabbing ships and yachts of the upper crust of the East Coast.
Tall and lanky on the porch of the Wayside Inn, Lizzie is resting in an adirondack. With each turn, the pages of a tattered paperback romance novel brush her fingers–worn from cleaning supplies, scrubbing sandy shower tiles, and swaddling beds tightly like a newborn. A small moon shell she found that first day back on the peninsula in June is strung on a golden chain around her neck, leaving a shadow on the book's pages as it swings in the breeze. She’s never longed more to be near the water, finding joy in the salty breeze when she opens the patio doors while cleaning the rooms where nautical prints, anchors, and bits of rope twisted into knots line the walls.
She leans to the side table and pokes her phone screen, noting the time, then shutting the book she took from the lost and found bin. She wiggles up from the chair and lifts the polo above her shoulders, making her hair frizzy as it falls from the cotton that reveals her seaweed-colored swimsuit. The shirt hits the white-painted wood on the adirondack, and she slides off her shorts and shoes.
Her toes tap down the steps onto the soft sand and to a hut where she rests her hands on the counter. A cheeky grin, like that of a small child up to no good, plastered across her face.
“Hey, Teddy,” she almost sings.
Teddy, in an identical outfit to the one Lizzie just pulled from her body, stands in the shack. Behind him are umbrellas, beach chairs, and stacks of towels folded neatly on shelves. On the counter next to Lizzie’s freckled hands, large pumps of sunscreen.
Teddy smirks at her knowingly, “One or two?”
“Just one, please. I only have like fifteen until I’m back on the clock.”
She looks into his blue eyes, getting lost until he turns and grabs a plush towel. He turns back and places it on the counter—–one of the nice ones that Lizzie has pondered stealing at the end of the summer.
“Alright, one towel for you.”
“You’re the best,” she says, sliding the towel off the counter.
“See you after work?”
“Absolutely.” She says, thinking back to when they first met and she knew she was hopeless for him.
Her form slinks around patrons and down to the shore for one of the final times she’ll be able to before college. The towel falls from her hands delicately onto the sand, and she taps her toes into the water, the icy current sending a prickling chill through her body. The surge of cool, salty water crawls up her legs as she walks deeper. She holds her arms high above the surface until the water is at her chest and her body has adjusted to the cold. She wonders if Teddy is watching her, looking like a puppy padding through the water. Embarrassed but curious, she turns—he’s handing a child a towel. A wave ripples toward her and she dives into the water, drowning her thoughts.
She sinks to the bottom, the water enveloping her. Slimy seaweed brushes against her like a fish, but she could sit for hours if her lungs would allow it. The tranquility of the space beneath the waves, hovering above the sand, is where she belongs. Darkness is rapidly replaced with white, hot sun as she breaks through the surface, feeling the heat trying to dry her wet hair. She bobs like a buoy, her head in the world of the sky, her body in that of the sea.
𓇼
A fitted sheet tears from the corner of a bed. Lizzie slides the laundry cart out of her way and steps into the bathroom, grabbing a stack of dirty towels on the floor. As she turns to toss them into the cart, she catches a glimpse of something green on the back of her arm. She tosses the towels into the cart and returns to the bathroom, spinning to the side to look at the back of her arm in the mirror, a piece of algae. It must have been a hitchhiker from her swim in the ocean. She twists her arm to see the small piece of slimy green algae stuck to her skin just above her elbow, like one of those tiny pom poms kids use for crafts. She attempts to wipe it off, but it remains. She plucks it from her skin, wincing in pain.
Cool, red blood streams down her arm. She grabs a fresh towel from the cleaning cart and holds it to her arm as she examines the algae, rubbing it between her fingers and turning it over to see a small chunk of her skin attached to it, no bigger than half a centimeter. Lizzie pulls the bloodied towel from her arm. The bleeding has stopped, so she places that with the other dirty laundry and throws the algae-coated skin in the trash.
Lizzie finishes making up the room, wrapping the bed in fluffy linens then trots down the creaky wooden staircase, smiling and saying hello to guests in their large sun hats and sunglasses as they to and from the beach and town.
Teddy sits in a cozy blue and beige striped chair. He’s changed into a t-shirt, shorts, and ratty old sneakers. Lizzie gives him a poke on the arm, floating back and forth on her toes.
“You ready?”
“Yep. I got your sweatshirt too.” He hands her a crew neck which she unfurls to put on. “Oh wait, you’ve got a little fuzz or something.” He reaches over to grab at something on her arm. Pain sears as he tries to flick it off.
“Ow.”
“Oh sorry.”
Lizzie flips her arm to look, the algae is back, fused to her skin. Is it bigger? Can’t be. “Strange.”
“What?”
“I’m having deja vu. I swore I just pulled this off.”
“Weird. What is it?”
“I thought it was a little algae from the ocean. Must have dried on or something.”
She gives it a tug, biting her lip. Blood—more than earlier—spills down her arm.
“Fuck, Lizzie. Come here.”
Lizzie wipes the blood from her arm, trying to keep it from dappling the floor in speckles of red as they move through the lobby and into the bathroom. A few guests look at her and stear out of her way, gasping at the sight of the wound.
“Are you alright, dear?” a woman utters.
“Just a scratch. All good ma’am” Teddy responds, feigning a smile.
The woman watches as Lizzie and Teddy maneuver through the lobby.
Teddy pulls paper towels and wets them under the sink, wiping up her arm. The cool water instantly soothes the patch of torn skin, leaving only a slight itchiness.
“I’ll grab you a bandaid.”
Teddy throws the door open and quickly returns with a bandaid.
He pats her arm dry with a paper towel then unpeels and gently places the sticky surface to her skin.
“Thanks.”
She slides the sweatshirt over her work uniform.
“What an eventful end to the day. Now, let’s get the patient home.”
She laughs and they move through the lobby and down the front steps of the inn. She wonders why they still call it an inn when it’s as nice as it is. Probably for the charm of it for the Manhattonites to feel like they’re living in some pristine fantasy of Cape Cod’s charm.
They stroll down the picturesque main drag.
“A week! I thought you weren’t leaving until the 28th?”
Lizzie laughs, “It’s the 20th, you idiot.”
“Damn, that sucks. I mean–I’m sure it’ll be great, but–”
“I know what you mean.”
There’s a moment of silence before Teddy breaks it, “When do you start then?”
“We have orientation first, so not until the third.”
Their steps halt at a bus stop.
“I thought we had more time–we haven’t even eaten a single lobster roll yet.”
“Don’t bring it up, I’m devastated about it,” she jokes.
“I get it, I’ve been tempted to snag one from one of the guest’s hands.”
They laugh.
“Take good care of that arm. We can’t have you down for the count for our final week together.”
She brushes her hair out of her face and takes a seat on the bench as Teddy turns away, “I’ll try my best.”
He gives her a wave as he leaves her at the stop.
Lizzie sits, waiting. The itchiness of her arm intensifies. She probably needs to wash it better, put some neosporin on it—it’ll be better in the morning. The bus pulls up and she slides into a seat. The wound feels almost hot–scratchy and hot and burning. It’s a short drive, she’ll be home soon, but why is it getting worse? Shit. She closes her eyes, breathing deeply as sweat beads on her forehead and rolls down her face.
“Miss, are you alright,” someone across the aisle asks.
Her eyes flit open, “Yeah.”
“You sure?”
Before she answers, the bus stops and she practically throws herself from it. The pain in her arm is almost unbearable, it’s like the flesh is melting–no, burning, off.
She flails up the stairs and into her apartment where she tears off her clothes and gets in the shower. A wash of cold calms the wound, but not enough. Sweat is washed away and Lizzie can breathe again.
She gets out and examines the wound. It must be an infection. The raw skin is ringed in a pale green. She coats it in neosporin, wincing as she lathers it on. She covers it with a bandaid and climbs into bed, falling asleep the second her head touches the pillow dreaming only of the deep blue of the ocean. The whirling foam coating the ridges of waves she can almost feel on her skin and the hum of the world under the surface rings in her ears.
𓇼
Searing. Burning. Lizzie wakes with a start. It’s 4am. She hurries to the bathroom and flicks on the light, looking in the mirror. She gasps. What’s happening? How is this happening?
Her arm is almost entirely wrapped in green from her wrist to her shoulder.
She touches it, it feels like hay, dry and begging for water. So she gives it some, running her arm under the tap, calming it down, but it isn’t enough. Why isn’t it enough?
𓇼
She enters the inn, sweatshirt on, covering her arm as she walks straight through and out the back door, down the stairs and to the hut. To Teddy.
As she makes her way, she thinks of the moment she kissed him in that little beach hut in the dark. The doors closed and the window shuttered for the night. It was the Fourth of July–the fifth at that point in the night. They stacked up the towels then drank warm beer, cheers-ing to America, where they clean up after wealthy vacationers' for far-too-few an hour.
Teddy leaned close, and she kissed him. It was quick and immediately clear Teddy wasn’t going in for a kiss after all, but leaning close to see her in the dark.
Sloppily, Lizzie rubbed her face, began crying and apologizing in a fit of drunken regret. It was forgotten. Was it really? She wondered often if he remembered it. No matter how drunk she was, how could she forget? Right now she needs to be there: the sea–no–with Teddy.
But her skin is rotting away. Peeling off with each morsel of the slippery moss. She should see a doctor. What would they do? Maybe it would go away, pour something on it. Kill it. Get it to quit growing. Stay dry, let it wither like a weed.
She walks down the stairs toward the hut, listening to the rush of the water fill her head. Wait, where was she going again? She pauses, then her eyes catch the hut. Yes, Teddy. She was going to Teddy.
She opens the back door to the hut.
“Teddy. It’s worse,” Lizzie says, slipping her arm from the sweatshirt.
He opens his mouth to speak as he turns, stacking towels, but something in him shifts as he sees her arm and he fumbles with the towel in his hands. His face goes pearlescent in paleness.
Her arm is completely covered in it.
“Lizzie…” he can barely speak, “What? I don’t–you have to see a doctor.”
“I know.”
“I’ll take you. I’ll get someone to cover for me, give me an hour.”
Lizzie nods.
𓇼
She can feel it inching its way up the side of her neck as she scrubs the shower tiles. She yelps in agony. Maybe she can stop it from growing and peel it away. She continues scrubbing the ground until her arm refuses to cooperate, seizing in pain. She won’t turn on the water, she won’t. She has to get rid of it.
She sits on the shower tiles, wailing. The once plush green has shifted into hay-like brown.
There’s a knock on the door but she’s unable to stand.
A keycard slides and beeps. The door opens.
“Lizzie?”
Footsteps rush toward her.
“Lizzie, hey. What’s wrong?”
Teddy sits down next to her.
She can’t respond. Her arm is shaking and sweat pours down her forehead.
She gives in and lifts her right arm up and turns on the shower. It sprays cold water onto both of them. Teddy backs out of the shower, sitting just outside. He grabs Lizzie’s hand and holds it as the water washes over her. Teddy watches as the dry surface shifts back into slimy seagreen.
𓇼
Hair wet, in Teddy’s spare change of clothes, Lizzie sits in a waiting room chair.
A nurse walks out, “Elizabeth?”
Teddy looks over at her, “want me to come with?”
Lizzie hesitates, “No, it’s okay.”
Lizzie stands, the belt on the shorts cinched tightly to fit on her waist, and the nurse takes her to a room and checks her vitals. All normal.
She sits in the room alone waiting for the doctor, playing with the hem of the blue hospital gown.
The doctor tries to stifle a gasp as she enters the room.
“How long has this been going on?” The doctor’s eyes bounce from Lizzie’s face to her arm.
“Just a day.”
He nods, typing something on the desktop, but Lizzie can see his eyes widen as she says it. She sits on the thin seat of tissue on the exam table. The gown leaving her arm exposed, it’s itching again. The deep green muted to the color of grass in the fall.
The doctor grabs a pair of gloves from a drawer and slides the chair toward Lizzie, holding her arm and examining it.
“Hmmm.”
“That sounds promising,” Lizzie jokes but the doctor remains stoic.
“I’m going to be honest with you, Lizze. Go to the ER. With the speed that this is spreading…” The doctor slides his chair back and tears off the blue gloves.
Lizzie can’t go to the hospital, she isn’t sure why but she’s sure she can’t go. Why is she even at this office now? Her mouth feels dry, she needs to leave.
“Let’s get you out of here,” the doctor stands and opens the door.
Lizzie walks back out to Teddy who sits under a pixelated photo of the cape. He stands.
“What’d they say?”
“He isn’t too worried.” Why lie? She doesn’t lie to Teddy. She has to tell him the truth but something is stopping her. Besides, he doesn’t look like he believes her anyway–he looks scared, and she doesn’t say anything more.
𓇼
Lizzie unlocks her apartment door.
“I’ll bring you your clothes tomorrow. Thanks for loaning them,” Lizzie turns to Teddy.
“Of course. Let me know if you need anything, alright.” He grabs her hand on her good arm and squeezes it.
Lizzie nods, “Thanks for coming all this way.”
He wraps her into a hug. She wishes he wouldn’t leave.
“See you tomorrow,” he says, unwrapping his arms from her frame.
“See you.”
She closes the door and pours water onto her skin before she dozes off.
That night she dreams of waves crashing, of cool blue water swirling marine life around, the sounds call her deeper into the blue.
Lizzie wakes with a jolt and checks her clock, it’s only 4 am but she’s craving water like she never has before. Her body is itching, burning. She’s almost entirely covered from head to toe. She lingers in the mirror, unable to move, shocked by the sheer volume of the substance covering her skin.
She stands under the rushing shower head but no matter how much water absorbs into the algae, but it needs more. She closes her eyes and hears the sounds of waves crashing, sees the foamy liquid surface of the sea.
𓇼
Lizzie stands at the surface of the ocean, the necklace swinging from her neck. She stares at the vastness as the sun begins to rise, shining beams of pink and orange against the surface.
She takes a step forward, the water crawling up her legs, soaking into her skin.
Teddy walks on the shore, placing towels on chairs and setting up umbrellas. Something sparkles in the sand under a pile of seaweed, foam, and algae. He moves the seaweed and lifts the object–a single shell dangling from a golden chain.
This piece is featured in the Fall 2025 issue of Calliope magazine.
our fave little spooky cutie queen!
Love this!