Fishmonger - The Three-Eyed Aberration

Hospital

The hospital corridors were empty; no sounds of nurses or telephones echoed in the halls. Wagner walked to room 7 and opened the door. Inside, there was a bed with a very sick woman and a chair where her son sat.

The fishmonger and the boy exchanged brief, painful glances. Then the boy said goodbye to his mother, stood up, and left the room, leaving the two alone.

Wagner walked over to her, holding her frail hand wrapped in bandages and wires.

He apologized.

He wasn't quite sure why.

"He got your temper." she said, smiling with difficulty.

Wagner leaned down and kissed her hand. That's when he felt a drop of water fall on his face. He looked up, and another fell on his forehead.

Between the rectangular ceiling panels, water was dripping, first slowly, then in thin jets.

He looked back at his wife, who smiled, unaware. Then he pressed the emergency button repeatedly, with no response — no nurse answered.

The water rose quickly to his ankles as he walked toward the door.

"Help! I need help here!"

The corridor was completely flooded. Water ran down the walls, knocking down pictures, seeping from the ceiling, and short-circuiting the lights, leaving everything in darkness.

No one responded, except for a disturbance in the water.

First, in the form of timid waves that escalated into a submerged slithering. Something big was coming; it bumped into and overturned chairs and gurneys, barely fitting in the hallway. It was humming, too.

It was Wagner's wife's favorite song.

The fishmonger ran back to his wife and started tearing off the wires connecting her to the machines.

"We need to get out of here!"

"You need to talk to your son."

Wagner lifted her up and faced the water, now up to his knees. It was dense, making it nearly impossible to see the hospital floor. It was like walking over an abyss, and the vertigo made him stagger. He decided to go without looking down. He walked through the door to the corridor and was hit by a blast of air carrying rot and death. His eyes watered as something cold and scaly brushed against his leg.

He didn't look down, there was no time to react. All he saw next was turbulent water. In desperation, he flailed his arms, filled his lungs, and tried to float. His shirt, pants, and boots seemed to drag him down. But he managed to lift his head above water just in time to see his wife's ignorant smile dissolve into the deep terror of awareness.

"Wagner!"

That was all she said before being pulled beneath the water.

"No! No! I'm sorry! Please!"

The thing crashed into the hospital walls, creating massive cracks, then finally turned a corner, vanishing from sight. Without a second thought, Wagner tore off his shirt and boots to follow her.

In the next hallway, the waters finally calmed. Absolute darkness reigned, with no lights or windows. Amid the sounds of the sea, only the distant humming guided the fishmonger. Before long, his feet found solid ground, and as he walked on, the water level lowered to his knees. Feeling around in the dark, he felt things floating nearby, picked one up, and strained his eyes to see. They were photos of his family; in them, his son was still a child, his mustache was still fashionable, and his wife wasn't yet sick. Among the photos, he also found overdue hospital bills. And ahead, a yellow light.

With each step, the humming grew louder, until he found an opening in the hospital wall—a low passage carved in stone. Wagner kneeled to pass through it. Beyond, he saw his desk and his bed. The sterile walls gave way to the familiar brick of his old, humble room.

He entered his house, wading through the streams of water dripping from the ceiling without a care, heading straight for the small window facing the street, where the music came from—where his wife was.

Streetlights illuminated the submerged night in the city, barnacles and algae spread over all the houses, and his wife floated in the middle of the road, singing, with her dress drifting and her eyes closed in a deep dream. Just then, a giant shadow passed over his house, obscuring the stars, scraping the roof, and dislodging bricks and dust.

A massive whale traversed the sky, spreading that dark, cursed sludge from several holes in its belly. It rounded the corner, opened its mouth filled with rotten teeth, and swallowed the singer.

The man felt his blood pressure drop, cold sweat running down his temple, and faintness creeping in. His trembling hand reached for anything to keep himself steady and found a wooden bat. He gripped it and felt rage ferment in his core—a strange confidence in his ignorance.

Through the window, he saw the whale's shadow turning a corner and heading toward his front door. Wagner ran and raised the bat high. He could already see a light shining through the gap under the door when he kicked it open, ready to attack. Then a man shouted.

Wagner opened his eyes.

Outside stood a young man in a hat and suit, holding a black briefcase. It was night, but there was no flood, no whale, and no wife.

She was already dead.

"Sorry to come at this hour. I was just evaluating the property."

"It's not for sale."

"Of course... my apologies. My name is Lucius. I work for the bank." He opened the briefcase and handed over some papers. "They sent me to verify the property."

"What?"

"Your payments are overdue..."

"Yes, but..."

"The bank is preparing to evict you."

The man smiled with a cruel satisfaction; the trash would soon be evicted.

Inflation was horrible; every day, Wagner's money was worth less, and now the bank wanted his home. He didn't sleep a wink that night.