Leviathan Bloom
I recall my life of sanity and blessed ignorance, but no longer can I understand. The mouths of madness slurp away the blood of memory, leaving incomprehensible mime. My name was Jacob Drake, though a new name grows within me. Perhaps you are stronger than I. . .
"It's perfect, I tell ya," asserted the young researcher, adjusting his Cabana Club ball cap. He leaned over the rail. "They got no place else to go here." His wave included barren tidal flats and clumps of stunted trees around the stretch of Skull Creek.
"You really think the water's brackish enough?" Scratching his greying beard, Sid squinted into the early afternoon sky. "And they won't sunburn?"
"That's right," Jake said. "You see the net over that main pool for shade. I put chicken wire in the tidal channels. Even when the tide's up they have to cross all that open space." Pride colored his voice. "It's a regular maximum security prison for octopus."
"Awright," Sid said. He slapped the boat's rail and turned to Jake. "Here's the deal. This is on your own time. I cut you in on the grant from North Carolina, you get the pick of the pots to stock your project. Work for you?"
Work was the operative word. Up at 6:00 a.m., Jake would put in a full day at sea aboard Sid's boat 'Henrietta' harvesting octopus pots for the State Fishery's research study, then motor the pontoon boat up Skull Inlet to his own project. There he spent the afternoon and most evenings struggling to master aquaculturing the octopus.
And it was a struggle. Natural escape artists, the creatures would take every opportunity to climb, swim, or squeeze out of the ponds. Chicken wire barriers kept adults from swimming to freedom during the daily brief tidal innundation, and slowed attempts to cross open ground. Every day the first chore was to rescue escapees from dehydration.
Still, each night found Jake kicked back on the deck enjoying Coors and takeout from Docksiders while entering the day's notes into the project journal. He was weary, but satisfied and happy with what he was accomplishing.
Dozens of octopuses occupied the connected pools, mostly thriving. Weeks passed, filled with Jake's daydreams of a master's thesis and fame domesticating the octopus. Then it changed.
Late September came with lingering Summer warmth. That day started beautiful and clear. Distant thunderheads rose in the unseasonable heat as Jake and Sid ran the pots.
"Yeah, we'll go 'til the weather breaks, maybe mid-October," Sid pontificated as they pulled up the last pot of the day. "Damn. Heavy, isn't it?" Jake just grunted as they heaved the line. They were the last words Jake heard from Sid.
The squall blindsided them, sudden gale winds whipping the sea to a frenzy. They managed to get the pot aboard before driving rain turned everything grey and cold. Jake tossed pot and all into the live well, turned back to see Sid smiling with a thumb up.
Something grey rolled up over the side, a wetly gleaming mass. For an instant Jake thought a shark had landed on-deck somehow. 'Henrietta' pitched as a large wave swept in; Jake dimly heard the other crewmen yell warnings.
Jake didn't listen, watching in growing horror as the mass slithered over the deck behind Sid. Revealed were large sucker pads, each with jagged, toothy mouths at the center and red eyes beside.
In the space of those seconds before the wave hit, Jake could only hold on and witness. The tentacle flopped about, feeling around until it touched Sid. The man had just enough time to look down, then wide-eyed back at Jake before it twisted around Sid's body and snatched him into the Atlantic.
The search went on until dawn, but Sid was gone. Jake told the rest of 'Henrietta's crew what he'd seen, but they just shook their heads and made him stay below deck. Another wave of search craft came with first light and the "Henrietta" retired to refuel. They left Jake on the dock with yesterday's catch and returned to the search.
Robotically he worked through the chore of documenting the catch, weighing and recording measurements of each octopus, then into the ice for later market pick up. Jake felt disconnected from the world, unsure if what he'd seen was real or a dream. Maybe it had all been a hallucination, making him insane. But if it was real. . . Either way he was terrified.
The last one was a gravid female from the final trap. She was big, one of the largest they'd ever caught. Out of habit he placed her in a 5-gal plastic bucket for his project and pointed the pontoon boat toward Skull Creek.
Once at the project ponds he went through the motions, but paid little attention until it was time to introduce the new octopus into the pond. When he popped the lid off the bucket she was glaring up at him, tentacles coiled under her mantle, waves of black and red pulsing over her skin.
Chills raced through him at the strange behavior. Octopods were rarely aggressive, much less this enraged. He tried to tip her from the bucket, but she clung to the bottom even when Jake upended the bucket and roughly shook it.
Jake's calm boiled away, replaced by anger - at Sid's loss, at whatever Jake had seen on the boat, at this contrary octopus. He flipped the bucket back over and grabbed her mantle in a harsh grip.
As he tugged, she released her hold inside the bucket and wrapped around his arm. He saw the black rock she held just before it thudded against his temple. Stunned, he dropped to his knees. He felt a sharp, burning pain on his forearm before blacking out.
Jake awoke to more pain, this time from his stomach. He tried to double up in reflex, but couldn't move. He could hardly believe what he saw holding him - what must have been every octopus in the pond was coiled around his arms and legs.
Pain tore at him again. He could move his head just enough to see the large female octopus clutched to his torso, using her beak to rip through into his abdominal cavity.
At the ragged edge of sanity, Jake struggled uselessly. He realized she'd stung him, leaving him partially paralyzed and weak. She tangled a tentacle in his hair and made him watch as she shoved strings of amber beads in his guts - tens of thousands of eggs destined to hatch, eat, and destroy.
And each one fathered by the thing that took Sid.
Jake didn't know when the octopuses released him and slithered back into the water. He didn't hear himself babbling, taste the blood from chewing his own tongue, feel his limbs shudder in convulsions. Madness protected him, shielded him. . .
Soon her children will blossom forth; they squirm along my bones, slide through my veins, peek out of my pores. Soon they will worm behind my eyes and I will have no voice but Leviathan.
I recall my life of sanity and blessed ignorance, but no longer can I understand. The mouths of madness slurp away the blood of memory, leaving incomprehensible mime. My name was Jacob Drake, though a new name grows within me. Perhaps you are stronger than I. . .
"It's perfect, I tell ya," asserted the young researcher, adjusting his Cabana Club ball cap. He leaned over the rail. "They got no place else to go here." His wave included barren tidal flats and clumps of stunted trees around the stretch of Skull Creek.
"You really think the water's brackish enough?" Scratching his greying beard, Sid squinted into the early afternoon sky. "And they won't sunburn?"
"That's right," Jake said. "You see the net over that main pool for shade. I put chicken wire in the tidal channels. Even when the tide's up they have to cross all that open space." Pride colored his voice. "It's a regular maximum security prison for octopus."
"Awright," Sid said. He slapped the boat's rail and turned to Jake. "Here's the deal. This is on your own time. I cut you in on the grant from North Carolina, you get the pick of the pots to stock your project. Work for you?"
Work was the operative word. Up at 6:00 a.m., Jake would put in a full day at sea aboard Sid's boat 'Henrietta' harvesting octopus pots for the State Fishery's research study, then motor the pontoon boat up Skull Inlet to his own project. There he spent the afternoon and most evenings struggling to master aquaculturing the octopus.
And it was a struggle. Natural escape artists, the creatures would take every opportunity to climb, swim, or squeeze out of the ponds. Chicken wire barriers kept adults from swimming to freedom during the daily brief tidal innundation, and slowed attempts to cross open ground. Every day the first chore was to rescue escapees from dehydration.
Still, each night found Jake kicked back on the deck enjoying Coors and takeout from Docksiders while entering the day's notes into the project journal. He was weary, but satisfied and happy with what he was accomplishing.
Dozens of octopuses occupied the connected pools, mostly thriving. Weeks passed, filled with Jake's daydreams of a master's thesis and fame domesticating the octopus. Then it changed.
Late September came with lingering Summer warmth. That day started beautiful and clear. Distant thunderheads rose in the unseasonable heat as Jake and Sid ran the pots.
"Yeah, we'll go 'til the weather breaks, maybe mid-October," Sid pontificated as they pulled up the last pot of the day. "Damn. Heavy, isn't it?" Jake just grunted as they heaved the line. They were the last words Jake heard from Sid.
The squall blindsided them, sudden gale winds whipping the sea to a frenzy. They managed to get the pot aboard before driving rain turned everything grey and cold. Jake tossed pot and all into the live well, turned back to see Sid smiling with a thumb up.
Something grey rolled up over the side, a wetly gleaming mass. For an instant Jake thought a shark had landed on-deck somehow. 'Henrietta' pitched as a large wave swept in; Jake dimly heard the other crewmen yell warnings.
Jake didn't listen, watching in growing horror as the mass slithered over the deck behind Sid. Revealed were large sucker pads, each with jagged, toothy mouths at the center and red eyes beside.
In the space of those seconds before the wave hit, Jake could only hold on and witness. The tentacle flopped about, feeling around until it touched Sid. The man had just enough time to look down, then wide-eyed back at Jake before it twisted around Sid's body and snatched him into the Atlantic.
The search went on until dawn, but Sid was gone. Jake told the rest of 'Henrietta's crew what he'd seen, but they just shook their heads and made him stay below deck. Another wave of search craft came with first light and the "Henrietta" retired to refuel. They left Jake on the dock with yesterday's catch and returned to the search.
Robotically he worked through the chore of documenting the catch, weighing and recording measurements of each octopus, then into the ice for later market pick up. Jake felt disconnected from the world, unsure if what he'd seen was real or a dream. Maybe it had all been a hallucination, making him insane. But if it was real. . . Either way he was terrified.
The last one was a gravid female from the final trap. She was big, one of the largest they'd ever caught. Out of habit he placed her in a 5-gal plastic bucket for his project and pointed the pontoon boat toward Skull Creek.
Once at the project ponds he went through the motions, but paid little attention until it was time to introduce the new octopus into the pond. When he popped the lid off the bucket she was glaring up at him, tentacles coiled under her mantle, waves of black and red pulsing over her skin.
Chills raced through him at the strange behavior. Octopods were rarely aggressive, much less this enraged. He tried to tip her from the bucket, but she clung to the bottom even when Jake upended the bucket and roughly shook it.
Jake's calm boiled away, replaced by anger - at Sid's loss, at whatever Jake had seen on the boat, at this contrary octopus. He flipped the bucket back over and grabbed her mantle in a harsh grip.
As he tugged, she released her hold inside the bucket and wrapped around his arm. He saw the black rock she held just before it thudded against his temple. Stunned, he dropped to his knees. He felt a sharp, burning pain on his forearm before blacking out.
Jake awoke to more pain, this time from his stomach. He tried to double up in reflex, but couldn't move. He could hardly believe what he saw holding him - what must have been every octopus in the pond was coiled around his arms and legs.
Pain tore at him again. He could move his head just enough to see the large female octopus clutched to his torso, using her beak to rip through into his abdominal cavity.
At the ragged edge of sanity, Jake struggled uselessly. He realized she'd stung him, leaving him partially paralyzed and weak. She tangled a tentacle in his hair and made him watch as she shoved strings of amber beads in his guts - tens of thousands of eggs destined to hatch, eat, and destroy.
And each one fathered by the thing that took Sid.
Jake didn't know when the octopuses released him and slithered back into the water. He didn't hear himself babbling, taste the blood from chewing his own tongue, feel his limbs shudder in convulsions. Madness protected him, shielded him. . .
Soon her children will blossom forth; they squirm along my bones, slide through my veins, peek out of my pores. Soon they will worm behind my eyes and I will have no voice but Leviathan.
The End.
Can you share the link with the photos? or are they randomly selected? Something I wouldn't mind joining in on.
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