The Jaws of Filmouth

5

It had been three days.

Thom had not slept soundly for a while. Each night in Filmouth he had been captured by nightmares - visions of perverse sea life, horrific dreams that found him in the dark. It ate at him, sleep was not an escape from the dire and unaccountable situation he found himself in - it was a further descent into madness. Thom refused to eat anything given to him. The meal quality hadn't improved since the first night and he fought off his growling stomach until he felt nothing. He was heavily dehydrated - unsurprisingly the liquids he had been offered were of the same nature as everything else on the island. His isolation was total. Halloway, who Thom could only assume was the mayor or someone of importance to the town, had rarely been seen since his introduction. His only social interaction was with the contorted man he turned his nets of fish to. He was not as much shunned, or even ignored by the villagers, but rather silently observed. They refused to speak to or near him, and yet every one of them stopped to stare.

The initial fear was replaced with a deep disgust and yearning for home. He had investigated the shiphouse twice, and both times was unable to see the state of his boat. There was a woman who stationed herself outside the building, and he often saw her cutting various shapes of timber, or sharpening a blade. The person in charge of repairing his ship, he assumed. He asked her directly the second time about his ship and was cut short by a curt 'I'm workin' on it.' Both days after the first, Thom spent far longer out at sea. It was not out of love for the black ocean he rowed through or an effort to catch greater numbers - it was an escape from the repugnant swamp of Filmouth and its filth.

Thom had asked Halloway about the church on the hill. On his walk to the docks one morning he stopped by the old manor and waited for him. He had forgotten about the stench, like his brain was trying to protect him. Halloway looked surprised to see Thom, but his face quickly shifted to its placid mask. He had little to say about the church. It was antiquated and had been out of use for some time - the people of Filmouth hadn't much use for religion nowadays. He was evasive on the topic of the smell - in truth, he seemed hesitant in giving much detail at all. Thom was strongly advised to stay away from the building. Halloway didn't have an explanation for the stench of death that emanated from it, but posited that perhaps an animal had inhabited it and died. 'Whatever the case may be, there is nothing of interest for you in there.' Thom wasn't convinced.

'I don't want to keep you from your work. Best be on your way.'

Evidently finished with this line of inquiry, Halloway stepped off the porch and disappeared down the muddy street.

On the night of the third day Thom was again possessed by terror. He was onboard The Fortuitous, during a lightless night. He heard the sound of wood being ripped apart behind him. Standing on the deck was Halloway, standing at almost ten feet tall; he tore a plank from the wall of the cabin and tossed it into the sea. Thom moved toward him, and Halloway used both hands to punch two holes in the deck. Thom looked up at him and tried to restrain his arms. Halloway spoke without looking at him.

'I wonder where a man like you came from, Thomas.'

He ripped more holes into the ship, water started spilling in and the boat creaked. Halloway was immovable - Thom fruitlessly banged his arms against his body which deflected the blows like a wall.

'You sailed quite far, didn't you? Further than before.'

More and more of The Fortuitous was effortlessly torn away and thrown into the abyss. Thom could only stand and watch the water slowly take over the floor and wet his boots, his attacks on the man in the green suit faltering in his exhaustion.

'We can't have you leave now, can we? There's so much more that must be done - and you have been such a boon...'

Thom struggled under the weight of his fatigued limbs to try and cover some of the holes with his hands while water continued to pour through. Halloway was a towering monolith rending The Fortuitous apart - a giant of destruction. Thom ran into the cabin, where the dangling light bulb smacked his head. An ocean's worth of dark sea flowed through the damaged hull and swirled around his legs, reaching his knees. He could hear Halloway outside over the thrashing water, wordlessly tearing his ship apart. The light bulb flickered, then turned off. In total darkness the water rose quickly and was soon at his waist. A giant hole appeared in the wall, and a sudden gush of salty brine knocked him out.

Reluctance grew swiftly in Thom's heart that morning. He had been wary; hesitant and cautious in his dealings with Filmouth so far - in almost all metrics, every aspect of the mysterious island signalled a dire corruption. Something was severely wrong with Filmouth and its residents. Despite this, Thom had given a level of charity and trust to Halloway, and to a lesser extent the rest of the rabble. His nightmarish visions however, the illusions in the dark had slowly planted a tiny seed of doubt. Taken alone they would be nothing more than delusions of a sleeping mind scrambling to fill a blank space, but they had been consistent - every night without fail he was met with hallucinations that were more real than any regular dream; and unlike regular dreams, they stuck with him through the next day.

It was decided after short rumination that conflict would best be avoided. To inquire directly, to show any sort of dissent in his current state of seclusion would surely end poorly. He thought instead to observe quietly. Answers were needed.

After Thom had dropped off his net of loathsome marine creatures, he walked back to the docks and looked toward the shiphouse. The sturdy looking woman out front was heavily muscled. Her skin was as sickly and marked as the rest of Filmouth, but several shades darker than their normal pale grey. She too was tall, not as tall as Halloway but enough to clear Thom by about half a head. Her large head turned to Thom as he approached.

'Told you, I'm workin' on it. What do you want?'

Thom remained calm and spoke plainly:

'I know. How long do you expect it should take?'

The boat warden sighed heavily and looked away. 'I dunno. It's a big job. You wrecked it well.'

'I understand. Is it okay if I see it?'

'No. I'm busy and can't babysit you. It's a mess in there, don't want you hurting yourself.'

'It's my ship, I'm sure I'll be okay.'

''Said no.'

She turned again and continued cutting away at a piece of wood. Thom watched her for a moment. She lopped a huge chunk off the right side; it was far from clean and decidedly not straight. She repositioned it and cut it in half with an air of carelessness. With one last chop, she broke a small splinter of material off of it, then threw what remained on a pile. She picked another one up from her left and started haphazardly cutting once more.

'Do you mind if I ask a bit more about it?'

'Fine.'

'Have you found the rear grater? It's fairly important for balance-'

'Yes, we recovered everything.'

'Great, and is the main shear board in place?'

'Yes. Do you think I'm an idiot?'

'No, no, that's good, I'm just checking. And the mercury heading? Did you remember that?'

'Of course.'

'Good, good. Just one more thing, is the burdner intact? It might be difficult to repair...'

She stopped chopping and stared at him impatiently. She growled 'No, it was broken. I fixed it,' and went back to cutting.

Thom held up his hands and departed. In his display of good-enough sounding gibberish, he had discovered two things: Filmouth's ship warden knew nothing about boats, and he was being lied to.