Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-36393004-20180912183148

Wallace McGuire rose from his meager cot, rubbing the sleep from his stormy grey eyes. His fingers passed across several folds that served to show his age. After fifty-five years at sea it had taken its toll, his skin rough as leather and littered with scars. His hands had become callous from struggling with large hauls and manning the riggings of his ship. The wear upon his body had become great, but if he intended to eat he would have to bring in a catch.

He rose, shakily, his bones crackling at the motion. He rubbed at his fingers, warding off his arthritis and shuffled his way to the bathroom. A quick comb through his silver locks dressed it up a bit before it was pressed in place by his hat. A quick flash of his teeth revealed that little muck had accumulated and a shrug signified he would postpone brushing them until that night.

By the time the sun began to kiss the sky he had donned the same olive green waders that had accompanied him the previous day and gathered his gear. He stepped out from his meager shack and drew in a deep breath of the salty air into his nostrils. A weak smiled played upon his lips as he savored the moment for a few seconds. The descent to the dock had become more challenging, despite there only being four steps. With equipment in tow his body lumbered onto his tiny ship.

The Branwen had been purchased during his first marriage and, in a strange course of fate, caused the end of it. He had named it after the Celtic goddess of love and beauty, this fact causing a sense of jealousy with the little misses. She always chided him over his trips to sea and swore he loved that boat and the water more than anyone. He would be remiss to say it was not partially true and the day she left him, it was made evident by her goodbye.

Her anger had long past her boiling point when he had spent three days away, and she could not stand another. When he arrived home her bags had been packed and she handed him her wedding ring. His stubborn ways had kept him from chasing her, assuming she would be back. If only he had known that it would be the last time he would ever see her again, he might have made the effort.

In her despair her vehicle departed the highway and collided with a concrete pylon. The paramedics had tried their best but Sheila McGuire had been pronounced dead upon arrival at the hospital. Her memory haunted him and drew out his deepest sorrow. It found him in times of trouble and it usually required a medicine of spirits to relieve it. The habit had become more frequent in the twilight of his years and some would say a problem. He simply drank away the memory of the love he lost, unable to bring himself to find another.

He set off in the dim daybreak, his tiny boat making good time. The Branwen was little more than a skiff, but for a single-man crew, it was more than enough. He prepared his lines and set his riggings, placing his rod upon its cradle. His craft departed Perdido Key, the heading aiming south into the Gulf of Mexico. He set a course for his favorite spot and took a seat at the controls. He lazily manned the wheel, his wrinkled wrist laid over top. He sang a shanty or two along his trip and speak to the sea as an old friend, sharing with it a swig or two of bourbon.

A little over an hour later the vessel crawled to a stop near a small reef. Wallace made his way to the bow and awaited the wake to settle before taking his seat. He sat there listening to the calming waters around him for a moment, his ears perked, as if waiting to be told a secret. When he felt he knew the answer, he would rise from his place and head for his home-made live well. It was little more than a cooler and manual pump, with plastic tubing affixed. He filled the container with fresh sea water and returned to his mantle.

It had not taken long to seize his live bait, his Sabiki rigs doing their job. With a well full of Herring, he took to his reel. He knew it would be a long wait if he wanted the coveted yellowfin or marlin, but he was willing to put in the work. He had not brought in a decent catch in almost three months, his luck ever dwindling. This never deterred Wallace from his task though and each morning he eagerly cast his line. So, just like every day before, he gave his reel a flick.

After four hours of little action he felt a rumble within his stomach. By the angle of the sun he could tell that noon drew near and figured it the best time, if any, to break for lunch. When he rose, his legs faltered slightly and in the fumble his reel came free from his hands. A quickness his body had not experienced in ages came over him, rushing to save his tool. He knew that if it were lost his day would be ruined. His fingers clasped the handle before it disappeared over the bow and in a sigh of relief he returned it to the cradle.

A chuckle erupted into the silence at his tiny victory and he thought for a moment his luck had turned for the better. Such tiny bits of fortune was all Wallace needed to carry on and it showed by the grin on his face. He smiled through each bite of his sandwich and grew larger with every drink of his liquor. The world was his oyster and something told him that today would be his day, today he would land his big catch.

He finished his meal, still beaming with pride and took a seat at the bow, but now the evening sun rested on him and his vigor slowly waned. He felt the reminder of his age, the aching in his palms returning. Soon his fully belly and the gentle rocking of the waves caused his eyes to become heavy. They fluttered as he stared out into the open sea until eventually they finally shut out the light.

His dreams had been filled with many things, mostly freshly caught fish, but then it turned to darkness. He found himself amidst a torrent of waves and rain that either could have drown him. The sky rolled black and random streaks of lightening his only means of sight. Then through the night he laid eyes upon another source of light. It began as a speck of dim blue on the horizon but quickly engulfed his vessel. It burned brighter than the sun and brought pain to his eyes.

The light slowly dimmed and a figure could be seen amidst it, a female form with little details visible through the aura surrounding. He could make out eyes, a nose, and mouth upon the face but little else to identify the entity. The being allowed its lips to part and when it came to a stop, the crashing waves and roaring storm was eclipsed by a sound ungodly.

The noise began low as a whisper but when it reached its climax it was as if every siren ever created had been doubled and played at once. Wallace clasped his hands over his ears but it was of little help. He stumbled to the deck and begged for it all to end. His ears rang at the noise at first but soon they filled with blood. His head spun with the agony and tears streamed down his wrinkled face. The prayed for salvation but none came and after the noise came to a close he could no longer hear anything.

He leapt from his seat, heart beating at his chest and gasping for air. Wet remnants of fear still rested on his cheeks as he tried to make sense of his nightmare. He pondered the scene for a moment before his thoughts where disrupted by the sound of his reel catching. The line pulled taught and the rod arched toward the water attempting to restrain it.

He haphazardly stumbled to the bow and quickly grabbed hold of the handle, steading it in his hands. He released the spool, the line flying from the cage and along the guides furiously. Whatever was at the end of his hook must have held some weight. He adjusted the drag and his line fought back against the resistance. His knuckles turned white as he bore back slightly, the creature below not giving an inch.

The sun was falling but Wallace would not let his first big catch in so long get away. He fought with the beast for hours, his body crying for him to rest. His hands ached and though he had already strapped himself in at his chair, his back wailed in agony. All the while his foe sloshed just deep enough that Wallace could not tell what he had landed just yet. Shadows eluded to something huge, but he would not be certain unless it broke the surface.

By the time the sun had set, the old man was almost spent. It seemed every time he would draw back on the line his catch would pull back more. At moments it even felt as if the boat was moved just slightly, but Wallace should that off as an illusion from his exhaustion. He cursed to the sky, down below, and every space between. He spit, he sputtered, and sweat profusely but none of this aided his mission. It only served to remind him of how tired he was and the late hour.

When he thought his luck could not be worse clouds rolled in overhead. The sky grew darker and wind picked up, which signified rough water. His boat began to slosh a bit, droplets sprinkling his clothes both from above and below. He groaned against his constant fight with a fish he had yet seen, calling out to the heavens for some kind of assistance. The rising wind howled and his rod pulled down in a negative response.

Then, as the rain became a torrent, Wallace heard a splash. The beast had reared its ugly head but darkness blinded it. His eyes squinted into the night and begged to see his prize. The lightening flashed and Wallace could barely believe his eyes. His constant grimace changed to a grin as the silhouette of the largest Yellowfin he had ever laid eyes on appeared just below the surface. Laughter bellowed from deep within, the hope returning to his fragile form.

He set to the task of ending this fight and drew back more upon the handle. The line pulled back and for the first time the fish gave in. The head rose from the water abruptly, followed right after by the body, the hook lodged deep in its gullet. It flipped and flailed mid-air before returning to the water with a crash. The whole scene only lasted a few seconds but the event left Wallace wide-eyed.

After a moment, he realized he had been holding his breath. The sight being more than he could fathom, for what emerged was not a yellowfin. The creature he had hooked no one would even call a fish. For what he now had at the end of his line appeared almost human. He first assumed his mind had to be playing tricks on him but when the thing leapt again, there was no mistaking the features.

Writhing upon his hook was the body of a female with no clothing to speak of. Her jet black hair extending all the way to her toes and stuck to her wet body at almost every inch, forming a wrapping about her curves. Her skin was pruned from long exposure to water and was littered with urchins of the sea. Her complexion almost matched the water and her pupils appeared wide, engulfing her entire iris.

A tremor began in the knees of the old man, unsure of what he now witnessed. It flowed up his torso and on through his hands, almost releasing his grip on the rod within it. The creature drew closer, leaping into the air again and again, its eyes intent on the old man. In seconds it cleared at least fifteen feet before stopping just below the bow, the line falling limp into the depths just below it.

Wallace lost grip of the reel and strength in his knees and came down to the deck with a thud. His eyes trained steadily on the edge of the boat, unsure of what to expect. His hand slowly crept to his tool box, searching for his knife and just before he grasped it he felt a shudder from the hull. The sound was muffled by the storm and sea but Wallace clearly felt the vibration.

In an instant his reel curled over the bow and disappeared from sight. His heart found against his ribs as another shudder came from the hull. He quickly grabbed his only weapon, rose to his feet, and prepared to defend himself from whatever demon he had pulled from these waters. His sweat beaded down his forehead, while he trained his ears for evidence. He stood listening for what felt like hours to him, but only could have been mere minutes. He gave a sigh of relief as he realized the attack had ceased.

He stood for a moment attempting to catch his breath and noticed the rain had finally subsided. He dropped his knife back in its box, turned, and made way for the controls. He had lost his good rod and nearly his life, so naturally he was ready to leave this horror behind him. He had almost sat down and started the engine when a light from the stern caught his eye.

It grew with intensity, illuminating the water below his vessel before rising from the water. Light permeated the wrinkled skin of the creature, so bright it burned to see it. Wallace shielded his eyes, slowly backing away. The thing curled over the edge and placed its feet on the deck, still dripping from where it had come and inching its way toward the old man with an unnaturally large smile.

Wallace retreated until he felt his legs brush the bow and knew he had nowhere else to run. Within moments she was upon him, inches from his face and peering into his gray eyes. An odor permeated the old man’s nose, unlike he had ever experienced. It was like warm death mixed with fermented fish and sea water. It was so powerful that he actively fought back the urge to vomit. His eyes trailed her form, noticing that every creature upon it skittered about and tried desperately to remain attached.

With no movement of her mouth he heard the sound of a voice. It was gentle and calming like that of a mother to her babe. Its words seemed sing-song and begged to be heard. It echoed within the old man’s mind and for a moment he felt at ease.

“You…are….mine, yes you…are mine,” the voice rang within his ears. His fear slipped away, he no longer shook, and all of his pain seemed to slip away. He felt his body leaning forward slightly, wanting to be even closer and when their foreheads met her skin felt far softer than he had imagined. Her hand rose to his cheek, brushing against it and Wallace couldn’t fight the urge to nuzzle against it, eyes closed.

He noticed that the smell had changed drastically and reminded him of his early days at sea. It brought memories of happier times, when he was still strong and could bring in the big catch. A smile grew on his lips as he listened to her constant song. He surely wanted to be hers’, her touch warming his cold and dripping wet body as she slowly wrapped her arms around him.

She turned him slowly and bent to rest upon the edge of the bow, bringing him down into her lap. He curled there upon her knees like an infant, resting his head upon her shoulder. He felt complete bliss there in her arms and would not want to be anywhere else. His arms slid around her waist and embraced this goddess of the sea.

In his elation his eyes opened quickly, wanting another glimpse at his muse. When his face met hers, his eyes jerked open wide. Her mouth was now open and within sat thousands of teeth with all manner of parasites slipping through them. Her tongue was as dark as the sky, wriggled about like a worm, and all the appearance of a tentacle. This sight broke his trance and fear quickly replaced his euphoria.

He struggled to get free but it was no use. She had wrapped him tightly against her. The arms he had wanted around him had grew three times in size and constricted him like a boa. He wiggled and squirmed, while begging and pleading against the tight grip of his captor. She simply continued her song, her mouth growing wider with eagerness in her eyes.

“You…are mine…yes, you are…mine, Just like the water…and everything in it. You are mine,” the voice echoed again within Wallace’s mind.

He screamed out in pain as the arms drew tighter around him. He began to feel lightheaded, the lack of oxygen becoming more than he could fight. His eyes darted from side-to-side hoping to find some means of escape but all of his tools and his knife had been left at the other side of the live well. The song continued to permeate every thought and he tried his best to ignore it. He knew if she were able to subdue him again he might never be free.

Then from the clouds came a flash of light, the bolt firing toward the water below. The surge of electricity pulsed through the natural conductor and passed into The Branwen. Within the time it took Wallace to blink, the force of the lightning strike pushed him from the demon and forced him against the controls. His head crashed against the deck and was instantly knocked unconscious. Simultaneously, the beast let out a shriek and was slung backward, colliding with the tide and falling back into the depths where she came.

When Wallace awoke it was daylight and three members of the Coast Guard hovered over him. They appeared to be attempting to give him assistance but Wallace could not make out their words. In fact, he couldn’t seem to hear anything. The strike had left him deaf, but alive and that was all he could hope for. When he returned home, he sold off his boat and never again returned to the sea. 