Free Turtle Terror by Ali Sparkes

Above the churning sea, a boy clung to the rocks, the breeze blowing his spiky blond hair across his face. Above him was glory. Below him was death. Possibly.
    â€œJOSH!” he yelled to his brother. “JOSH! Look at MEEEE!”
    A short walk along the beach, Josh was keeping very still, watching shrimps and tiny crabs skittering about in a rock pool. Nearby, Piddle was licking an orange lump stuck to a rock, his tail wagging wildly. Neither of them looked up at Danny.
    â€œJOOO-OOOSH!” Danny yelled. “LOOK! I’m right up at the top now! I’m like . . . Spiderman!”
    Josh sighed and looked up at his twin. Danny had been scrabbling up and down the rocky Cornish beach all morning. He didn’t try to scale the actual cliffs—Mom and Dad had made him promise not to, especially while they were up in the cottage perched on the clifftop above—but the craggy rocks that rose out of the sand were just right for his Spiderman impressions.
    â€œYeah—great,” Josh yelled back. “Piddle!” he scolded, as their terrier (named after a certain habit he had when he got excited) flopped his long pink tongue over the orange lump again. “Leave that poor defenseless anemone alone!” Above the tide the sea creature looked like a half-sucked fruit gum, instead of the marigold-like flower it would be underwater, but Josh was pretty sure it didn’t taste like one. Piddle started digging in the sand instead.

    Josh was about to go back to his rock pool gazing when he felt a twinge of nerves and glanced back up again. Danny was very high up this time. The rocky outcrop he had climbed was tall and jutted away from the beach and out into the sea, like a long stony finger. Danny had clambered all the way to the end, where the sea below was lively and deep, and was trying to climb over an awkward ledge and stand up on the top.
    But this wasn’t what worried Josh. Danny was an excellent climber, and it would take a lot to make him fall. No . . . it was something else. Something that was making its way along the top of the same ledge that Danny was about to get up onto. Something about the size of a rugby ball. Something . . . with eight legs.
    Josh jumped to his feet, his heart thumping. He nervously rubbed his sandy hands through his short blond hair and squinted hard at the eight-legged thing. Yep. Even from this distance he was sure what it was . . . and that it was on a collision course.
    â€œDANNY!” Josh yelled, running across the warm sand toward his brother’s outcrop. “DANNY! Come down now! Come down!”
    â€œWhy? I’m nearly at the top!” Danny yelled back.
    â€œCOME DOWN!” Josh bellowed. The eight-legged thing was just inches away from Danny’s scrabbling fingers, as he sought a good handhold for the final pull up. “COME DOWN THE WAY YOU WENT UP! DANNY! NOOOOOW!”
    But at that point Danny pulled himself up over the ledge and came face to face with one of the things he feared most.
    He saw eight legs and a fearsome brown face grimacing at him.
    And he screamed.
    And fell backward off the rock.
    And hit the sea.
    Danny went under like a stone. One second he was scrabbling in the air and the next his world was a blur of roaring, rushing water. Instinct told him to lock up his throat and not try to breathe. At any second a jagged lump of granite could crack open the back of his head or snap his leg. But he was lucky—the area of water he’d fallen into was a churning, whirling cauldron, just deep enough. It broke his fall and stopped him from hitting the rocks at the bottom.

    Blue-green water, particles of sand, bits of weed, and his own hair swirled around him. Danny began to struggle back up to the surface, pulling himself free of the strong undertow tugging at his legs. Ten seconds after he’d fallen in, he burst back onto the surface, gasping desperately for air.

    The first thing he saw was a long wooden