The Minotaur Medallion

By the time I got to the boat it was after 1:00 a.m. The boat, as Caroline had said it would be, was fine. The small waves had rocked it free where I’d beached it, but the anchor jammed into the clump of sea grass held it firm. I grabbed the painter and drew the boat close enough to get on board without getting wet. I made up a bed of floatation cushions across the stern and crawled into my sleeping bag.

I was just drifting off when a small sound woke me. What could that be, I wondered. Sounded like a car, but cars went by on the road beyond the beach every few minutes and I had tuned them out.

That noise was the squeal of a car's brakes. I decided I’d better investigate. I climbed out of the sleeping bag. I was reaching for my shirt when I saw, arcing through the air, a bright spot of flame, heading right for the boat.

It hit the bow, shattered, and the boat became an inferno.