The Old Man and the Siege

thumb|330x330px|Narration by SpritVoices
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 was as rough as leather and littered with scars. His hands had become callous from struggling with large hauls, and manning the rigging of his ship. The wear upon his body had become great, but beneath that wrinkled skin was a strength you only get from working on the water.
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 them up a bit before they were pressed in place by his hat. A quick flash of his teeth revealed that little muck had accumulated. A shrug signified he would postpone brushing them until evening.
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 miserable shack and drew a breath of salty air deep into his nostrils. A weak smile played upon his lips as he savored the moment. He would set off early, knowing that if he planned to bring in the big catch, and possibly make any money for the day, he would need every minute.
He set off in a 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. Up until most recently, he had a younger partner to help him with his tasks but the lack of success upon the water had sent him looking elsewhere for employment. So, he prepared his lines and set his rigging on his own, placing his rod upon its cradle before setting off.
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 laid his wrinkled wrist on top of it, letting the weight do the steering. He sang a shanty or two along his trip and spoke to the sea as an old friend, sharing with it a swig or two of bourbon. The drinking became more often as of late, far more than he would like to admit.
A little over an hour later, the vessel crawled to a stop near a small reef about twelve miles out. Wallace made his way to the bow and waited for 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 and by the angle of the sun he could tell that noon drew near and figured it the best time 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, sighing in his relief before 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 small bits of fortune were all that 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 midday sun rested on him and the heat was unbearable. His vigor soon waned, and he felt the reminder of his age, the aching in his palms returning. Soon, his full 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 he could hold them open no longer and they slowly drifted shut.
When he awakened, several hours later, his eyes caught sight of a line drawn taut, the rod pulling toward the water in resistance. He haphazardly stumbled to the bow and quickly grabbed hold of the handle, steadying 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 what seemed 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 alluded 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 moved slightly, but Wallace shrugged that off assuming it was only 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 how late the hour was.
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 ahead. 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 to see, calling out to the heavens for aid. 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 lightning flashed and Wallace could barely believe his eyes. His constant grimace changed to a grin as the silhouette of the largest tuna 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 held 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 it a fish. For what he now had at the end of his line appeared almost human. He first assumed his mind was playing tricks on him but when the thing leapt again, and 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 pruned from long exposure to water and was covered with urchins of the sea. Her complexion almost matched the water and her pupils appeared wide, engulfing her entire irides.
A tremor began in the knees of the old man, unsure of what he now saw. It flowed up his torso and on through his hands, almost releasing his grip on the rod within them. 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 readied to defend himself from whatever demon he had pulled from these waters. His sweat beaded down his forehead, while he strained 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 grey eyes. A foul 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 him to listen. 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 body stopped shaking, her voice easing his nerves. The aches and pains he had suffered also faded as he drew closer to her. Once they touched, surprise washed over him at the thought of how soft her skin was. He could only think of being here with her forever. His eyes closed slowly as he embraced this feeling of ecstacy.
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 indeed 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, lined with hundreds of teeth with all manner of parasites slipping through them. Her tongue was as dark as the sky, wriggled about like a worm, and appeared more as a tentacle.
The sight broke his trance, and his euphoria was quickly replaced by fear.
He struggled to break free, but it was no use. She had wrapped him tightly against her. The arms he had wanted around him had grown 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 light-headed, 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 ship. 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 his world immediately started to go black. Before he fully lost his consciousness, he made out the silhouette of the beast struggling to keep balance. But the sea was too powerful, and the thing fell overboard, letting out a deafening shriek, before colliding with the tide and falling back into the depths from whence she came.
Then, the darkness took him in her embrace, and he knew no more.
Wallace awoke to the blinding daylight and three members of the Coast Guard hovering over him. It appeared as if they were trying to ask him something, but Wallace could not make out their words. In fact, he couldn’t seem to hear anything. The horrible realization washed over him: the strike of the lightning robbed him of his hearing. Forever. But at the same moment, he felt relief: he was still alive. And the loss of hearing seemed like a little price to pay for that.
When he returned home, he immediately poured every drop of liquor down the drain. He sold the Branwen to his young neighbour Santiago, and used the money to leave the country, to pursue what life he had left.
But he knew that he would never again return to the sea.
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