The Jaws of Filmouth

4

By the time Thom left Halloway's home the sun was beginning to set over the black sea. Outside, a few paces to the left of the larger building sat a squalid old fishing hut. The walls were rusted corrugated iron, as was the roof, and dark, twisting plant roots of unknown origin snaked their way up and encompassed the building. Thom's fears were validated when he was lead by the ancient woman he had been introduced to earlier into the cramped interior, and - having to bend over slightly to fit under the doorway - he was met with a dreary facade. A small cot of bare iron frame was shoved into the corner, a dirty, chipped porcelain sink sat under a murky mirror on the far wall and a single stool wobbled precariously beneath an equally unsteady wooden table.

Fernie, which Thom learned was the old woman's name, was a slow walker. She shuffled her heavy feet as if time would wait for her: as if it would patiently stand by for Fernie of Filmouth, as if she commanded it herself. Or perhaps it was deliberate, an attempt to bore others to death waiting. Either way, her dawdling nature allowed Thom to study her closer than when they first met. While they had trudged towards the fishing cabin, Thom searched her intently, and found her even more ghoulish than he had originally thought. Her skin was so pale it seemed almost see-through, and was stretched thin over her bony form; a grey sheen in eerie similarity to a corpse. The whites of her eyes were visible all around her dull green pupils, giving her a look of constant shock. Fernie's eyes were the feature that upset Thom the most. They were a consistent characteristic among the dwellers of Filmouth: ghastly, sunken eyes that darkened the skin around them, wide open and unblinking. Hair colours were varied, body and face shapes - although most were just as gaunt as Fernie - but the eyes were a constant similarity.

Fernie pointed her bony finger once again, this time towards the small table in the room. A thin metal plate holding a sickly looking piece of bread and what Thom observed to be a pile of pinkish horrifying flesh.

'Eat up. More t'morrow. Rest now.'

Thom watched the elderly woman shuffle leisurely out of the hut and turned to face the items on the table he was expected to put in his mouth. The rotting floorboards were soft under his feet, and when he had reached the table he'd already managed to punch a hole through the ground with his foot.

While the gruesome looking meal was far from inviting, Thom pulled out the wobbly stool and sat at the table all the same. His stomach was burning a hole inside him, it was a hunger more intense than he'd ever felt. Despite the more logical side of his brain, Thom looked at the bread and the inscrutable vile lump of meat with the face of a starving lion glaring at its prey.

It was upon closer inspection that the full weirdness of Thom's dinner became apparent. The bread had, from a distance, looked dark and vaguely edible; but now under the small light the loaf was unmistakably crimson in colour. A nasty liquid emanated from the bottom and pooled around it. Thom poked at the bread and his finger sank into the soft, wet flesh, leaving a dent where his fingertip had been. Turning his attention to the sorry mass of meat, the bottomless pit in Thom's stomach grew shallower. Entirely different to the bread, and unlike any animal meat Thom had ever seen, the squishy mound was a deep, sickening green. It pulsated slightly, and still bled a thick, viscous substance. Ravenous hunger was quickly replaced with a profound disgust at the repulsive abomination that sat before him, which increased two-fold when the meat squirmed under his touch.

Thom was unsure the exact amount of the nauseating bread-stuff he digested. Having disregarded the meat thing entirely, he wolfed down piece after piece of the soggy red loaf. Between dry heaves spitting a substantial amount on the floor, the strange taste of the claggy bread lingered on his tongue. It was salty, extremely salty, like it had been soaked in the sea, with a similar texture. The taste reminded him, quite horribly, of the smell of a week old boot. When he was finished, the plate laid bare save for the pale blob of meat, Thom hobbled toward the murky glass mirror on the opposite wall. A thick coating of dust covered his reflection and took a number of swipes to clean off. A dishevelled man with hair of metal looked back at him. He hadn't given thought to how long he had lain unconscious on that obsidian beach, in truth Thom hadn't given himself much time to reflect at all since he woke. The red marks over his face that crept down his neck towards his shirt indicated his rest had been more than a few hours. His beard was dirty and matted, his skin burnt and pock-marked and his clothes were in tatters. For the first time since the sun filled his eyes on that beach, Thom was able to think. His ship was in pieces, but repairable, if he was to believe Halloway. Whether his impression of the people of this isle were accurate or a side effect of his violent shipwrecking was still unclear; their deep, hollow eyes and ghastly features however clung firmly onto Thom's brain like a parasite. If he hadn't known better, or indeed if he believed in such supernatural things, Thom would have the full impression of having walked through a town of the deceased. Even Halloway, the most charismatic and vocal of them, shared their physiognomy. Thom was not a learned man; he had read at most five books in his entire life. He prided himself however on his geographical knowledge, a simple consequence of spending most of his time at sea. He had never heard of Filmouth: not on a map, not once even in passing at any of the many taverns frequented by seamen he used to patronise. The town was clearly forgotten, their buildings were in ruins and they hadn't even electric light. He was convinced in the slightest by Halloway's answer about the fishermen. How had they survived this long without a solid source of food? Dread bubbled up in his throat at the thought of eating that horrid meal every day, it didn't seem feasible. Everything about this town, its people, the island itself, left Thom feeling uneasy.