Harry (Potter?) The Fisherman

It was a chilly day. Ominous heavy clouds painted the sky, their greyness too deep for sunlight to penetrate. The smell of the ocean, as sticky as it was salty, hung in the air, a strange swirling of humidity and chilliness. On the rickety wooden pier, Harry sat with his legs dangling off, gripping tightly to his brown coat with one hand and clawing his fishing rod with the other. He squinted through the sharp wind and set his eyes on the restless ocean. The wind and the waters were quarrelling – for every slap the wind gave the ocean would rise up in apoplectic anger and smother it in a Herculean wave. Shades of green and deep blue dyed the ocean surface, concealing that which lay beneath.
It half occurred to Harry that the fish would have probably been scared off by now – he wasn't feeling much brave himself. It also half occurred to Harry that a cozy flame would be awaiting him back home, one where he could bask in its warm flickers and he inhaled deeply from a cigarette and feel each and all of his muscles loosen up as he fell headfirst into the adventures of Tolkien. It would be lovely. Perhaps his cat Princess might join him too, after it grew bored of clawing at the nasty looking white geckos on the window panes. And then, when his lungs felt like they were but soft, nerveless clouds, and his skin felt numb with warmness, he would crawl up to bed and give his daughter a call on his telephone before drifting off into a content slumber.
He shook his head to remove the greying strands of hair from his eyes. His hair had always been a tad too long. Understandably though – it was quite hard to hold a shaving machine steady with his arthritic hands and he wouldn't dare trust his beloved locks in the hands of the whippersnappers over at the local barbershop. It was a point of pride. Perhaps more than anything, the reason why he stayed was because he was enchanted by the ocean. A beast so great that no one man could trek it all. Its depths unfathomable, holding more secrets than one could ever imagine. It would live on, unlike him, as mighty as it was now, never ageing, just existing in its epic state as the land around it erodes. Even the skies as vast as they are keep a safe distance from the fearsome ocean. The clouds weep at its grand sight and the waves slurp its tears. So mesmerising the waves were, it was easy for him to let his mind go and simply be.
Harry's fingertips were wrinkled, despite having never entered the waters. The splashing of the waves had done a good enough job at soaking his crooked pale hands. It was hard to tell how late it was, how close to night time they were, when the clouds refused him but a little peak at the sun. His fishing bucket was empty. Harry gave a wheezy sigh. He knew Princess would have to make do with scraps of bread and leftovers for supper. Obvious it was that he'd be curling at the fireplace alone that night. A skin-cutting breeze blew and suddenly there was a sharp tug at his fishing rod. Harry tensed up. A tug that strong, it must have been from a great big fish. He had never felt anything like it. And again it came. The rod almost slipped away from his fingers. He released his dusty brown coat, letting it dance in the breeze and gripped tighter with both hands on the rod. When the tugging didn't come again he teased the line by spinning the reel. Again the tug came. Harry wished the pier he was sitting on wasn't so wet and creaky. He began spinning the reel as hard as it could. He wanted to rip this fish from its waters before it had a chance to realise its foolishness. His heart was beating faster, faster than it had in a while. His hair played wildly as the breeze grew to a gale. The waters went rougher, rising high above before they crashed down with a mighty roar. Harry squinted harder as excitement burned in his chest. His thin, dry lips were pursed hard as he spun his reel. He was at the event horizon, the place where exhilaration, anticipation and perhaps a little fear all colluded together in a ball within him. He was about to lay eyes on a magnificent catch, perhaps the catch of his life. And then it happened. Instead of a flopping fish mouth, the smell of burning rubber penetrated the air. Two ears broke the water surface. They were grey and curled up like the corners of a book. An evil face emerged from the waters – great big eyes the size of a fish shimmered blacker than marmite paste, wrinkled leathery skin with a visible layer of putrid slime, a small round mouth with no lips, just a slit. It looked like something just born, no, like something that shouldn't have been born. Harry picked his legs up and tucked them in, scurrying away from the edge of the pier as fast as he could. The creature got hold of the creaky old wood and lifted itself out of the water. Harry caught sight of its pulsating gills on the side of its ugly face. He could barely breathe. Harry's lungs had tightened up and his swollen varicose vein on his calf was acting up again. Harry got to his feet, the only thing keeping him from running away being the fact that his rod was still in the creature's grasp. It lifted itself up onto the pier, slimy from head to toe. Although the front of it hand crooked deformed arms like an anorexic cripple, its hind was more like that of a frog. Its legs were bent up, webbed flat feet. It stood hunched up on all fours, about as tall as Harry's knee. Its back moved up and down rhythmically with every breath. Its eyes glowed at it looked at Harry.
Kill it. That was the first though that came to his head. Kill this loathsome abomination. Harry knew he had a descaling knife tucked into his brown coat. It would a matter of seconds to do it all – just one swift motion he could have his knife out and buried in the monsters throat before it knew what was going on. As is always the case, there is a sweet spot for most things. Think too little on matters and you risk being impulsive and foolish. Overthink and you miss your opportunity to act. Harry had fallen victim to the latter. Frozen still in fear yet unwilling to admit it to himself the monster struck first. In flash, before Harry could even blink, the creature had pounced in a hopping motion like a frog and its slimy skin was upon Harry. He fell over and heard an ear-splitting crack that he was sure was his hip bone. Before he could even holler in pain the creature's mouth was upon his own, stretching wide and exposing millions of skew yet sharp teeth. They dug into his face all at once. Its mouth seemed to have become its whole face, having stretched so wide that one could not even see where the rest of its features had gone to. It clamped its jaw shut, ripping flesh and bone apart. A gush of punctured eyes, nose cartilage and crushed teeth rushed into the creature's mouth. Harry was still alive. Harry still felt everything. Harry could do nothing.
It was amazing how quickly the creature had moved, faster than the lighting cutting through the air, quicker than a boom of thunder. In less than a second the creature had swallowed its meal. It retracted its head, looking down upon the mow faceless Harry. His broad shoulders, thick body still intact. Blocking the spangled mess of blood and bone above his neck, one wouldn't falter to think that he was quite handsome for his age, a rugged kind of handsomeness. Before it left the creature moved its little hands down Harry's body and unravelled his shirt to reveal his belly button. Fresh and pale it was. Intact. With a flinch there were claws unsheathed from its tiny hand. Delicately it drew a circle around the belly button and cut it out. One could hear the mangled moans of pain coming from Harry, the sound distorted as he gargled and chocked from the thick blood flowing down his throat and flooding his lungs. He couldn't scream through – without any mouth where was the scream to come out of? After removing the naval, the monster ate it and hopped back into the safety of the deep waters, leaving a trail of blood in its wake. The clouds erupted and deluge fell upon the land below. The blood washed away. The fishing rod slipped into the ocean. Princess paced the empty house in hunger.
Harry was still alive.
GMP's Note: Originally from /r/wtfdidijustread.
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