A shark at the beach

A bright summer sun hung over SnoozyTown.

From their window, M and T watched light sparkle on the sea and warm the soft golden sands.

T sighed happily. “I love summertime—beach days, sandcastles, surf! Race you to the beach!”
M grinned. “Today’s perfect. Let’s invite Claude.”

They dashed down to Claude’s house nearby.

Claude opened the door, voice shaky. “I… I can’t. There’s a huge shark at the beach! Yesterday it knocked surfers right off their boards. No one’s gone back.”

M and T exchanged a look. Weird things happened here—but a giant aggressive shark was new.
Sharks help keep the ocean healthy, and most mind their own business.

“Claude, join us. Together, we’ll find out what’s really going on.”

Fixer T-shirts on, the three friends pedalled towards the ocean.

The shore was almost deserted. One daring toddler tapped the water, squealed at her own bravery, then sprinted away giggling.

Otherwise—silence.

T studied the glassy waves. “Let’s test it.”

Claude had a clever idea. They stuffed old newspapers from the café into M’s hoodie and pushed a pretend surfer on a bodyboard out to sea.

Seconds later a vast grey fin sliced the water, rammed the board, and their fake person flopped into the foam.

M whistled. “Convincing… but is it real? That fin looked almost… too perfect.”

The fin cruised toward the quiet far end of the cove. Time for a Fixer investigation.

Hidden in the dunes, they saw the “shark” rise halfway onto the sand—then hiss-clunk. A hatch popped open. Out scuttled a tiny crab wearing round glasses, a floppy hat, and a thin woollen red scarf.

Claude gasped. “That must be Arthur! Old stories say he’s the cleverest animal in all the ocean.”

Arthur vanished beneath a flat rock.

Deep beneath the stone lay Arthur’s secret workshop—a maze of tunnels lined with shelves made of driftwood. Scrap metal, sea-glass lenses, and lighthouse bulbs all rested in neat rows.

Blueprints labelled Mechanical Megashark (codename Henrietta) and Project: Foam tsunami – no stopping me now covered the walls.

A single periscope poked up through the sand: Arthur’s way to watch the bay unseen.

Moments later the rev of a noisy jet-ski echoed down-shore.

Sandro, the SnoozyTown show-off, was climbing aboard, making sure everyone was watching his bravery.
He tossed his long hair in the wind, saluted his imaginary fans, and adjusted his sunglasses.

Far beneath the sand, the tiny rock shifted; Arthur re-emerged, muttering.

He clambered back into the shark, sealed the hatch, and powered straight toward the jet-ski.

Bosh! Henrietta the shark bumped the craft from the side—just enough to send Sandro splashing, his hair now thoroughly wet.

The jet-ski sputtered in circles while its owner scrambled ashore.

“I’ve forgotten something at home,” he said. “I must run.”

Everyone watched as Sandro ran down the beach.

Moments later, Arthur parked the shark beside his rock again—this time with the smallest satisfied smile—and slipped back underground.

M tapped the rock. “Arthur? We’re Fixers. May we talk?”

Silence… then the rock lifted.

Arthur peered out. “Why should I?”

“Maybe we can help,” M said gently.

The crab shrugged and told his tale:

“For centuries this cove has been a crab nursery. Where baby crabs are born. Now jet-skis roar, engines blare, litter floats in on every wave. I tried asking for quiet. I’ve written letters. I’ve gone to council meetings. Nobody listens to a crab.

“So I thought—everyone will listen to a giant shark.

“So I built Henrietta from all the beach junk, and now she is making space so my grandchildren can lay their eggs for new baby crabs.”

T nodded. “A costume to buy peace.”

Claude, still nervous, found his courage. “I was scared of sharks… until I met you. Folks just need to understand.”

That evening M, T, and Claude gathered surfers, boaters, and families by the shore. They explained Arthur’s invention and why he’d built it.

Some wanted to chase him away; others argued, until a faint peep came from a shell-crate. Tiny crablets peeked out, trembling.

“They’re hungry, but the engines scare them,” Arthur muttered.

M raised a hand. “SnoozyTown is big enough for everyone—if we share. Let’s give the far cove back to the sea creatures. No motors, no shouting, just visiting quietly.”

People thought… then agreed.

Together they painted a wooden sign—Claude added a blue wave along the edge. It said: Crab Cove – Quiet Zone for Ocean Friends.

Jet-skiers steered elsewhere; paddleboards replaced engines. Weekly volunteer patrols kept the peace.

Arthur’s eyes glistened behind his glasses. “Thank you.”

Next morning Arthur lounged on his favourite stone, reading a book on how to build aeroplanes.

Kids tiptoed to the fence to watch hermit crabs dance; adults glided by in silent kayaks.

Claude beamed. Floating just beyond the cove, he said: “It turns out sharks—and crabs—aren’t so scary after all.”

M smiled. “And clever ideas beat loud engines any day.”

As the sun set over peaceful Crab Cove, SnoozyTown drifted toward bedtime—content, calm, and quietly shared with all its seaside neighbours.

The End.