The Fish Man by Zach Wilson

The Fish Man is back today.

He’s been gone for awhile, his visits sparse and quick but now, all of a sudden he comes sloping into my house. He entered through the window, tracking with him a trail of slime and bilgewater. The house is drenched in his reek, that rank odor of, well, fish. He leaves slimy piles of scales behind him as he raids my medicine cabinets for opium, his favorite treat.

I’ve only ever seen the fish fucker a couple of times, this time he was in the reflection of my refrigerator as I hid in the trash can, quivering in fear. He never checks the trash cans. I saw his lanky, hunched over frame, that sickly jaundiced blue scale clad skin that glistens with his slime and bile, his webbed feet tromping around and sloshing around and those webbed hands haphazardly rummaging through my property. I could also see his face, that stone cold visage, slime dripping from his inhuman fish lips, those beady fish eyes, his lack of a nose and those infernal gills on his neck. He was breathing heavily, I could hear him heave and suck air through his agape mouth, razor sharp crooked teeth clattering from the chill. I hid in the trash can all night until he left. With the rest of the garbage.

I always try my best to clean up the mess, repair the damage. I mop up the slime and bile, find all the scales, set up candles and air freshner to clear out the cannery aura. I try and make it as easy as possible for my wife. She says she's annoyed of the Fish Man’s presence, how it comes in uninvited and trashes her home. She doesn’t understand why it comes to bother us. I tried to tell her it’s just a fact of life, maybe he’s here for a reason. At least that’s how I think of it. She left me after that. So after that it was just me, myself and the eldritch fish monster that raids my house chronically, hungry for painkillers like a depressed teeneager. I don’t know where the hell he comes from, I’ve checked my backyard, the local sewer system, I can’t seem to find him anywhere. He only comes at night, out of nowhere. A sea of darkness.

My wife used to chase off the Fish Man. The Fish Man was scared of her. He would only crawl into the house if I was around, if she was home alone and I was gone he wouldn’t show up. She hated him, she made traps around the houses for him. Her favorite was a contraption made from her dad’s old shotgun, a bottle of painkillers and a wire, she put the wire inside the bottle, screwed the cap over it then tied the remaining wire to a lever that should pull the trigger if the wire is pulled. The Fish Man was one slippery bastard though. He managed to dodge the blast every single time, taking with him the opium as a prize. One day, she might’ve had enough and she ran to her room and cried. That’s probably why she left, she hated the Fish Man.

My wife was always the violent type, she would always lash out against the things that annoyed her or even inconvenienced slightly, say a rat. Rat comes in, clad in that midnight fur and gazing at her with those beady red eyes. I admit, I would be a little startled by its sudden appearance, but not her. She would take the nearest blunt object and commence bludgeoning it until it stops moving. She hated dogs and cats, pretty much everything that could be a pet including turtles, spiders, snakes, and yes, even fish. I could never put my finger on why but it’s not my place to judge her ways so she says. It’s no wonder why the Fish Man’s scared of her, she runs a pretty tight ship around here. My wife liked to keep a list of rules around, to keep me in check and the house in order, which is only fair, she’s my wife and I want to keep her happy.

But she’s gone now, chases off by the Fish Man. I made my peace real quick, no use crying over spilt marriage. He came and went, came and went, came and went. Sundown, sunset. I eventually just stopped trying to hide from that hideous gaze. The more he was around, the less I cared. It was like having a roommate. Or a pet fish. Or somewhere between the two.

But one day, something strange happened. The Fish Man came back to make his rounds, as he does, I saw him outta the corner of my eye. I was going to the fridge to grab a beer but instead of scampering away, he just kinda stood there, looking at me. I grabbed my beer, trying my best to ignore the anthropomorphic fish creature staring at me and made my way to the couch. As I sat watching my TV, drinking my beer, the fish person scampered over the back of the couch and sat on the end opposite of me, inspecting me with those large old eyes. I sat back on the couch, he did the same. I leaned forward, he did the same. I waved my arms around like a madman, he got scared and ran away, back over the couch. But he was back a minute later, still mimicking me. I put my beer down onto the coffee table in front of me and pushed it over closer to him, being careful not to startle him by making any sudden movements. He had trouble picking up the can with his webbed, slimy hands. He tried wiping his hands on the couch but to no avail, he just got slime over what little I had left from the divorce. Oh well. Eventually, the just grabbed the can with both his hands, clawing into the aluminum, bread water gushing from the gouged sides, tinted the slightest bit of red from his gums. He ate the can, chomping viciously at the thin metal, his dagger teeth grinding it into a fine pile of scraps, making a din akin to a wrench in a blender. He spat them out, bore his jagged teeth at me in what could be described as a smile, and scampered out of my home once more, leaving me.

He came back a few times after that, each time eating a beer can and smiling at me. After a while I started to think we were friends, brothers from other animal kingdoms. My barracuda brother. My carp compatriot. My marlin main man. He came in and sat on my couch like a dog would awaiting a treat and was he thirsty that day. He ate three cans of the stuff. I turned to walk away when he began to look satisfied but as I did, I heard the clack of some plastic on my nice wooden coffee table. I turned back.

It was a pill bottle, one of the ones he stole from us but filled to the brim in this vile liquid. It secreted a stench comparable to a combination of dirt, saliva, semen musk and seawater. The Fish Man’s eyes locked onto me. Well I didn’t want to be rude, he is my guest after all. I carefully reached for the concoction, taking it into both my shaking hands. Mazel Tov. In one swig, I gargled down the vile philter, which used every single drop of my resolve in the process. I faded in and out of consciousness for what felt like weeks.

When I finally came to for good, something was different.

I looked at myself in the mirror. My once robust and youthful demeanor has deteriorated into a hunched over, jaundiced and boney figure. I found my arms and legs lankier than usual, my rich brown hair falling out, and my eyes a little larger, my lips a little more elastic. I saw three seams on each side of my neck too, like gills. I almost jumped back when I heard my voice, it was lower and more guttural. I would be more torn up about it but really I wasn’t being torn away from much. I flopped my way back to the couch, tracking scales with me into the living room, and waited for my finned friend. He came in a few hours later, another snarl across his face. That means he’s smiling. He looked at me with his hands on his hips and gurgled:

“MRLGLGLLGLGLLLLGLL???”

What the fuck do I say to that?

Wait, I know

“Mrlglgl. Muuuurrglglll.”

I think I said that right.

I feel great.

Another snarl-smile erupted across his rubbery lips, those once horrifying vacant eyes now possessed something warmer, kinship maybe? He came over and slapped me on the back before sitting next to me:

“MRGGLGLLLLLGLLLGL? MURRRRRRLGL?”

He wants to know if I’m alright

“Murglll. Mur mur murllllg?”

I want to know if I’ll be okay, he smiles again, almost earnestly now

“MUUUUURLG! MLLLLRLRLL? GGGGURLLL!”

He produces another bottle from somewhere, I don’t even want to know. He wants me to drink it again. I’m already halfway there so I might as well. This time he gives me some painkillers to make the process easier for me.

The next couple of days were the same thing, everyday I would check my progress in the mirror, each time I would be more and more evolved.

I have become a Fish Man now, we are one in the same.

He named me Murflttl, which means ‘He Who Slays the Enemies of His Brothers’ in his tounge.

Now we have business to do.

The Fish Man, whose name is Flrgt, this whole time was trying to help me, to make me better. He came when I was lonely in my house, to comfort me the best he could. But he was a Fish Man and I was a human, it never would have worked. But now we are both Fish Men. He told me about the woman who hurt him, the woman who lived in my house. The woman who set up mean traps. The woman that tried to stop me from achieving apotheosis. But now we are on top of the food chain, I am one with nature and nature has made itself part of me. Me and Flrgt are going to repay the woman who hurt me. The woman who left me because she was afraid of Flrgt. The woman who left because she wanted to hurt me. The woman who took my things. The woman who hurt me and Flrgt.

In the dead of night we found her new house, we crashed through the windows our slime and bile now one sludge, our stench and reek now a singular miasma that makes her gag between her screams. We start with the soft parts, taking chunks of them off and filling our gouts with the lukewarm flesh. We cackle and revel in our meal, we are one with nature, she had this coming. Only bones and hair are left when we’re done, we slip out through the window again and go sloping into the night. Our journey ends at the pier, we look up at the full moon, our bellies full, our natural duty satisfied. Flrgt looks at me with those eyes, which I once feared and reviled, now are my only source of comfort. He pats my back, wipes a bit of the woman’s juices off my face.

When I look into his bulbous, wide eyes, I see what might be tears pooling at the sides.

“Murrgllllrllg, murglgllllg, gulllrgg” He croaks in a joking manner.

Right you are, my friend.

She was a bit chewy.

We dive into the water, never to return to town again.