Behemoth

by Michael Cole

  “Hello, gentlemen,” he said in a very deep voice.

  “Hello, Mr. Gary,” Napier said. Each day was like a set schedule; they went to each netting location, brought in their catch, sprung out fresh nets, drove the boat into East Bay, greeted Mr. Gary, gave him the recorded number of catch, took their check, and went home.

  “How has the day been treating you guys so far?” Mr. Gary asked. Napier bit his lip, not wanting to admit that the day’s catch wasn’t quite as good as it normally was.

  “Hate to say it,” he began, “but one of our nets was short today. We’ll be receiving a smaller check today, unfortunately.” He pulled a folded sheet of yellow paper from his back pocket, which revealed the day’s catch numbers, and handed it to his buyer.

  “I did notice that you guys were able to get your holding tank out by yourselves,” Gary said. Usually the load he received from Napier was so large that he brought assistants to help unload the vessel and load the catch into large trucks.

  “Yeah, our east net was short. It only had about a fourth of what we normally catch. And hell, that’s the one that we get most of our fish from,” Napier said. “The one set near the cove I live in did as well as it normally does, but that net is only a third of the size of our other ones.”

  “Is there anything in that other tank?” Gary asked.

  “No,” Napier said, shaking his head. “Like I said, it’ll be a small paycheck today.” Wayne walked to the back rail of the boat, whistling to his partner. Napier turned to face him and realized he was standing by the mysterious chunk of metal that they had found. “Oh, yeah!” he exclaimed. “Hey, Mr. Gary, would it be too much trouble for you to get a hold of Chief Bondy? We found a big chunk of metal near our eastern net, and we don’t know what it’s from.” Mr. Gary looked over the vessel’s railing at the shiny chunk of metal that rested on the deck.

  “Oh, wow,” he said. “Sure, that won’t be any problem. I’ll have my guys bring it into the shop along with the rest of the stuff.

  “I appreciate that, sir,” Napier said, politely. Suddenly, the peace was disturbed as the yelling of an old, unhappy man permeated the air. The three men looked towards the other dock, seeing Old Hooper, a man with an unshaven face, worn clothing worse than Wayne’s, and a beer gut that nearly prevented his shirt from staying tucked in. The fisherman was walking down the shoreline towards the Catcher, appearing to be holding what looked like a folded net. On his face was a fiery expression that showed no intention of making a friendly conversation.

  “Hey!” he called out. “Rick Napier! Get over here! I need to ask you something!” Napier knew of the short fuse that Hooper carried around with him, so the easiest choice of action was simply to see whatever it was he wanted. It wasn’t that he was following orders; rather he was just trying to prevent a conflict. He quickly walked down the dock onto the warm white-tan sand that made up the shore. Wayne and Gary followed him to help prevent any possible trouble.

  “What may I do for you, Hooper?” Napier said, trying to keep a polite tone of voice.

  “I want to know if you had anything to do with this, asshole,” Hooper snarled. He threw his net onto the sandy ground, partly unfolding it. Napier looked down at it, noticing massive rips and tears in the strings. The entire net was destroyed. He reached down and unfolded the rest of it. It was as if somebody had taken a massive pair of scissors to it. There was hardly a square foot of the net that was usable. On some portions of the shredded net were pieces of fish that looked as if they had been put through a grinder, creating a horrible stench. Napier stood up and looked Hooper in the eye.

  “I certainly had nothing to do with this,” he said. “Where did you set this net?”

  “Who gives a shit?!” Hooper snapped. “I just want to figure out who shredded my net and cost me most of my day’s earnings!” His breath carried the foul smell of whiskey, and his teeth were stained yellow.

  “Was that the net you had by Mako’s Edge?” Mr. Gary asked. Hooper felt his temper boil. He hated when another person would cut into his business.

  “Who cares if it was, hotshot?!” he growled. “You mean to tell me that you were the one who fucked my net up?” Gary rolled his eyes and shook his head.

  “No, Hooper,” he said. “I was at my store all day. However, you know it’s a bad idea to be having a net out in that location anyway. You’re lucky that it was only the net that got damaged.”

  “Hey! That’s none of your concern. It doesn’t make a difference to me that you morons are too scared to earn a few extra dollars!” He kicked up a bit of sand over the net as he vented his anger. Finally he took a deep, angry breath, and stuck his hands in his vest pockets. “Just stay the hell away from my shit!” He turned and walked back toward the Thunderhead, leaving the devastated net behind. Napier rolled his eyes as he thought of how ridiculous Hooper was. Wayne began to chuckle, finding Hooper’s behavior rather amusing.

  “What an unbelievable jerk,” Napier said.

  “Oh well,” Gary said. “Things like this come to pass. That moron deserves a no-profit day anyway.”

  “Yeah, I’d say so,” Napier said. He turned his attention to the Catcher. “Well, I’m in the mood to go home and eat. Let’s get this stuff unloaded. Maybe we’ll have better luck Monday.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you will,” Gary said. “And I’ll get that weird metal shard to the Chief and see if he’ll do anything with it.

  “Appreciate it, sir,” Napier said as the three men walked back to the Catcher.

  CHAPTER

  3

  The sun glowed dark orange as it slowly descended down into the horizon. A few isolated thunderhead clouds drifted in the atmosphere, glowing in a carroty color as the dying rays of the sun covered them like a never-ending sheet. The water surrounding the black, rocky shore of Mako’s Edge reflected the almost-horizontal rays of light. The rocks that peaked over the surface had shadows that stretched for several feet, providing extra darkness to the world below. With the exception of water splashing on the rocks, there was almost no noise. Seagulls flew around this area often to hunt around the nesting grounds near the rocky island, but tonight they sensed a presence that they didn’t find welcome. Fish would normally feed near the top edge of the water where insects would land on the rocks, but as the late evening sun sank into the horizon, no sudden splashes from feeding activity could be seen.

  A new presence moved into the deserted area floating on the surface of the water, its curved bottom submerged, allowing for buoyancy. The sound of a humming motor disturbed the peaceful silence and the calmness of the water was replaced by the splashing that resulted from the movement of a bow slicing the surface and the spinning of a razor sharp propeller. Watching the horizon from his small, enclosed cabin stood a man in his thirties, dressed in an army-colored vest, grey pants, and a worn fishing cap. An unlit cigarette dangled from his lips as his hand scrambled in his right vest pocket for his lighter. Pushing aside the worthless wrappers and pieces of paper, he gripped the metal object and pulled it from the pocket. Carved on the side of the lighter were the man’s initials, S.H.; Steve Hogan.

  “Are we almost there?” called a voice from the stern of the vessel. Hogan glanced back at his first mate; a scrawny gentleman who went by the name of Burke.

  “Yes, we’re close,” Hogan answered. He throttled the boat slowly to avoid crashing it on any of the rocks. When traveling along this island, a path had to be carefully memorized. Not all of the rocks were exposed over the surface; some of them would be just under, creating hidden death traps. Watching the water, Hogan couldn’t help but notice the silence and lifelessness of the area. The sky was empty of birds that normally patrolled the sky, and the south end of the island lacked the chirping of south island insects that took refuge throughout Mako’s Ridge. What Hogan found even more strange was the strange rippling in the water, despite the fact that there was no wind. The water began to glow with a mixture of dark orange and pink lights as the sun continued t
o set. Hogan knew that he better hurry up and find his buoy before darkness would destroy his vision. The net had been set earlier in the day, giving it just enough time to do sufficient catching. Under normal circumstances, he would wait until the next morning to bring the net in, but he had to catch a plane flight to visit his sister who lived in Florida. The vessel curved around the island, narrowly dodging a few rocks.

  “I see it,” Burke called out, pointing off the portside. Hogan took his eyes off the throttle for a moment and saw the yellow buoy floating peacefully near a rock that pointed towards the sky like a large spear. He steadily turned the steering wheel to the left, making sure he was very careful not to veer too hard and end up smashing on a rock. Finally, he was alongside the buoy, and Burke flipped a switch on the outside of the cabin, creating a cranking noise as the boat dropped its anchor into the water.

  ********

  Gravity pulled down hard, allowing for the creature to rest comfortably without any unnecessary floating. The tunnel was pitch black, impossible to see through. But it didn’t matter. It had little use for its eyes in its new habitat. Though it was certainly new, the creature had no memory of finding it. For all it knew, it had been there its whole life. In the bottom of this deep, dark tunnel, it rested… and waited. While it appeared lifeless, it was wide awake. There was no need for sleep; its small brain worked on a twenty-four hour cycle. Rather, it waited patiently as it rested on the sea bottom. Boredom didn’t exist to it. All there was in the world was the need to wait, slaughter, and devour.

  Sound traveled faster and further in water than in air. A mysterious hum echoed into its eardrums. Nerves on its shell detected a nearby presence, one that was not there moments before. The hum came to a stop, being replaced by a rattling noise alien to it. Its tentacles extended from the main body as blood pumped through the veins, energizing the enormous muscles. Inside the main body were large oil sacks, in which the creature would produce organic oil. Tube-like veins pumped oil into these sacks, helping to give it some buoyancy. The sacks that were lined along its sides swelled with water as the creature pointed its body towards the entrance. The sacks gently released water as it clutched the rocks on the sea floor, pulling it along towards the presence.

  The rattling came to a stop, but it was only a few dozen meters from where the creature was positioned. It continued to creep along the sea bottom through the forest of rocks. The dying rays of the sun provided a little light, but even without it, the creature would always find what it was looking for. Crawling a little further, it finally came across something. It was an object, smaller but very different from the rocks. It rested on the bottom, next to a few larger rocks. A tentacle slithered like an enormous python towards the object, slowly wrapping around the thin body. It was a heavy object, though the creature would have no trouble dragging it back to its hideout. However, it had no interest in this particular object alone. Attached to it was a long extension that reached up like a large, solid string. Its nerves lit up like Christmas trees, continuing to sense the presence of something; something that was in its range of sight. As its eyes followed the strange extension of the object, its eardrums absorbed the echoes of nearby prey. Directly above the creature was another body in the water, all the way up at the surface. The echoes continued, originating from this vulnerable presence.

  ********

  “Holy mother of God,” Hogan snapped as the two men reeled in the net. The strings that made up the drifting trap had been shredded, as if a lawnmower had run over it. Bloody pieces of fish hung from bits of the remains, creating a horrible stench that made Burke’s stomach churn.

  “What the hell is that smell?” he asked, plugging his nose. It didn’t do him any good; as he breathed in through his mouth, he tasted the horrible texture in the air, causing him to put his hand to his mouth and cough.

  “What I want to know is what the fuck happened to my net!” Hogan snapped. He turned and kicked the wall of the cabin, leaving a small brown mark where his boot had connected with the wood.

  “I have no clue what did this,” Burke said. “Hey, didn’t that guy, Old Hooper, have a similar issue today?” Hogan shrugged his shoulders.

  “I don’t talk to that jerk,” Hogan answered. “Why would I? He’s an angry guy who has nothing to do in his life except find a benefit for himself and make everyone else’s day miserable. I don’t care, anyway. This is my net that got destroyed, and I want to know why.” He inhaled a deep, horrible-smelling breath, relaxing himself. There was nothing else to do. Only the top half of the sun was peaking over the horizon, meaning they had very limited time to get clear of the rocks. “Alright, haul up the anchor, please. Let's get moving.” He opened the door to his cabin and walked in. Burke walked to the control panel, clicking a switch to bring the anchor in. The chain rattled and the mechanical hauling unit cranked loudly as the heavy anchor pulled upward. Suddenly, the cranking noise turned into a sharp, screeching noise as the hauling unit struggled to bring the anchor up. Hearing the commotion from his cabin, Hogan poked his head out to see what was happening.

  “What’s going on?” he called out. Burke stared at the chain and the round, metal unit, and glanced at Hogan with a very puzzled expression on his face.

  “I don’t know. I think it’s caught on something.” Burke replied. He flipped the switch off and reversed it, allowing it to lower back into the water. He stopped it again, and then flipped the switch the opposite direction. The metal gears tightened and screeched as the anchor failed to pull up. Hogan stepped out from his cabin and walked to the starboard side, where the anchor hung from the boat.

  “We better figure out what’s wrong pretty quick or we’re gonna be spending the night out here!” Hogan snapped.

  “Hey, dude,” Burke argued. “Don’t look at me! I was the one who agreed to come out here as a favor to you.”

  “No,” Hogan yelled. “You came out here because I employ you. Now I want you to help me figure out what the hell is wrong with this thing.”

  “Well, I’m not the one who got this thing snagged. It was stupid to put a net out here anyway!”

  “Hey! Don’t argue with me, you got it?! Now shut up and work on this thing!” A massive crushing noise roared from underneath them, creating a massive sound wave that rushed through the water. Both men suddenly stood silent as their hearts became flooded with an unexpected fear. After a few brief seconds of silence, the boat jerked upward, following a gigantic unknown force that generated a crashing noise of splintering wood. Both men collapsed to the deck as the boat bobbed violently before coming to a stop. Hogan and Burke pushed themselves to their hands and knees, looking up at each other in sheer awe and terror.

  “What… the hell… was… that?” Burke said, shaking with intense dismay. The sound of screeching metal caught their attention, and both of them slowly turned their heads to the starboard side. The anchor chain was moving, slowly swaying towards the bow. The vessel began to rock left to right like a cradle, kicking up water on both sides. Each sway became more violent, and both of the fishermen felt their stomachs tighten as another horrifying thud crashed from underneath. Metal and wood from under the boat came apart like warm bread, and Hogan’s muscles tensed as he could hear the dreadful sound of seawater rushing into the boat from underneath.

  “What the hell is going on?!” Burke yelled in a panic. Another bizarre noise hummed underneath them, almost sounding like a gurgling of fluids. The vessel suddenly started tipping towards the left. Burke began to hyperventilate, believing that the boat was about to overturn. The starboard side rail rose higher into the air while the port side edge nearly touched the surface of the sea. As water was just beginning to creep under the rail, the tipping came to a dead stop. It remained in that tilted position for only a single brief second as the vessel was suddenly pulled viciously to the left. Both men screamed for their lives as the bow crashed with intense force into one of the deadly rocks surrounding the island, causing a shock wave that threw both men onto
their backs. Seawater poured rapidly into the engine, generating smoke as the mechanics and water did not get along.

  Hogan and Burke huddled in the middle of the stern. Burke continued to hyperventilate while Hogan simply knelt in a frozen position. Over the crackling noises from the exploding engine, they both heard a strange splashing from the back of the boat. They slowly looked back, beholding a sight that brought a terror they thought only the devil could offer. Like the numerous heads of a hydra rose three enormous tentacles, slithering over the metal stern railing. The rubbery skin of these monstrous limbs generated a disgusting odor that smelled like rotting flesh. On the bottom of each tentacle were rows of donut shaped suction cups that contracted each time they touched something. As if each one had a mind of its own, they slowly slid over the rail, curling upward like a group of cobras. Helplessness and fright struck together as both men screamed for dear life as the tentacles sprung with a snapping motion, shredding deck as they reached for their prey. Burke, on his hands and knees, desperately attempted a fast crawl towards the cabin. He only got about two steps in when one of the mysterious organisms wrapped around his waist up to his lower back. His eyes bulged as pointed barbs in the middle of each suction cup slowly plunged into his flesh, rupturing his kidneys and bladder. The slimy flexible arm dragged him towards the edge of the stern, his arms flailing wildly as his nerves burned with pain. Hogan sat paralyzed with fear, unable to move as he watched his friend getting pulled across the splintering deck, leaving a thick trail of blood that oozed from his waist. Blood began to bubble out of Burke’s mouth as he reached out frenziedly, grabbing the metal bar of the rail. His arms became fully extended as the slithery arm tugged against his waist, tearing the musculature in the lumbar section of his back. His teeth clenched tightly as he felt his pain sensors pulsing through his entire body. The tissue in his arm began to stretch, but he refused to let go. He wheezed as he attempted to breath, but his lungs had become nearly paralyzed from the hyperventilating and screaming. The carnivorous tentacle made another vicious tug downward. Burke’s elbows made a loud, popping sound as the joints disconnected. The blood vessels in his arms burst, and the biceps and triceps tore. He watched, horror-struck as the skin just above his elbow joints pulled apart. His mouth opened to make one final scream, but before he could puff the remaining air from his tensed up lungs, water flooded into his mouth as the tentacle took him underneath the surface, leaving his severed forearms hanging at the stern, with the hands still tightly gripping the rail.