The Fisherman

by John Langan

“What? I told you, Alf Evers’s book.” “Bullshit,” I said, not unkindly. “What do you—” “I’m guessing if we had a copy of that book, we wouldn’t find a single reference to Dutchman’s Creek in it.” I held up a hand to forestall his protest. “What is it you aren’t telling me?”

“Abe,” Dan said. “What?” “I—that isn’t a fish.” “Come again?” I glanced at Dan. His eyes big, he was staring past me at the fish. “That isn’t,” he said. “Look at it, Abe. Look at it.” “Okay,” I said, “okay.” I did, and what Dan had seen slipped into focus for me. “Jesus!” I shouted, jumping back and colliding with him. “What the hell?”

human skull had factored into my initial shock at its appearance. What I’d been too concerned with bringing the thing in to realize was that the face wasn’t shaped like a skull, it was shaped around a skull. Imagine a good-sized fish, something like a salmon, whose head has been cut away. In its place, someone has set a human skull, stretching the fish’s skin over the bone to hold it there.

“It was in my grandfather’s fishing journal,” Dan said.

Aunt Eileen would have wanted with the notebook. From what I understood, she’d always been focused on religion, to the point she’d flirted with converting to Catholicism, so she could become a nun.

As I go, I recognize some of the names he’s written. The Esopus. The Rondout. The Svartkil. I pause at some of the entries,

see an entry for Dutchman’s Creek.”

Saw Eva,’” Dan said. “That’s why we’re here. Underneath all the usual information, he’d written those two words. Eva was his wife—my

Anyway, the point is, the entry Grandpa made for Dutchman’s Creek was dated July 1953. My grandmother had been dead eight and a half years, which means she couldn’t have accompanied him on the trip.

The nutty thing was, I did. At least, I could recognize the train of wishful thinking Dan had boarded.

Naked, her hair and skin soaking, a young woman regarded me from eyes as golden as any fish’s. I want to say it took a moment for her face to register, but that isn’t true. Immediately, I knew her, as if I’d only just now watched her chest rise and fall for the last time. It was Marie.

simple column, four feet high or thereabouts, supported a statue carved in that idealized way that reminds you of classical Greece or Rome. More or less life-sized, the sculpture was of a woman wearing a plain, sleeveless dress that reached to her feet. The woman was pregnant, enormously so, on-the-verge-of-delivering-her-baby big. She cradled her belly in her hands, the way that expectant mothers

“The Mother,” Marie said. “What?” “The statue you’re staring at. It’s of the Mother.” “Who’s that?” “A very old goddess.”

“That takes you to a city.” “A city?” “A city by the sea,” she said. “I don’t think you’d care to visit it.” “By the sea?” “It’s different here.” “What does that mean?”

someone had forgotten to finish. He was younger than I was, but older than Dan, the stringy beard on his jaw a failed effort he hadn’t given up on. His eyes were brown and big, and they grew bigger still at the sight of Marie naked before

When the stranger was within ten or fifteen feet of her, the distortion blew away and she was transformed. Taller by a good six inches, her hair darker, curled, her pale form was covered by the most horrendous wounds. Great gashes peeled back the skin and

In answer, Marie shrieked at him in a language I didn’t recognize; though

“Something that happened a long time ago.” “Do you know who that man was?” “Yes,” she said, “I will.” “I don’t know what you mean.”

“One of the Oxen of the Sun,” she said. “I never knew cattle could grow so big.” “These are special—sacred, you could say.”

“Apep.”

beach. I descended the hill. Stones clattered under my boots. To my left, the surf

dangling from the rope that encircled the stone, swinging into one another as the rope shifted. There were hooks, I saw, strung along all the ropes.

Marie led me around to what I thought of as the front of the boulder, the man who was bound to it came into view, and any doubts that might have remained were swept away by the sight of the rope that crossed him

from right hip to left shoulder, secured to him by the fishhooks that dug through the leather apron and worn robes to his flesh.

The strangest thing was, I recognized this man. I’d met him in the woods on the way here, speaking a language I didn’t understand, until Marie chased him off.

Dan. Dan was sitting cross-legged at the man’s feet, his back to him and me. To his right, a slender naked woman, her skin pale as pearl, sat leaning against him. To his left, a pair of toddler boys, their bare bodies equally white, crawled in and out of his lap.

“And the thing is, Abe, he did it. He learned how to retrieve them.” “I take it that has something to do with what he’s got on the hook—hooks, I guess.” “He broke through the mask,” Dan said. “It’s like, what surrounds you is only a cover for what really is. This guy went through the cover—he punched a hole in the mask and came out here.”

“An hour?” Dan’s eyes narrowed. “Abe, I’ve been here for days.” “Days?”

Apophis.

“No offense,” I said, “but I don’t see how. You aren’t talking about bringing in anything we’ve ever fished for. Hell, I don’t know if you can call this fishing; I don’t know what the name for it is.” “He needs strength,” Dan said. “I can give that to him.”

“Are you saying they look different—changed?” he went on. “Isn’t that what we’ve always been told happens to you after you die? You gain a new form?” “I’m not sure this is what the religious folks had in mind.”

Dan disengaged himself from his family and approached me. “You could have Marie back, all the time. You could make up for those lost years.” “I could.” I considered her, still sitting with her back to me, facing the black ocean and its monstrous resident. “How, exactly, could I do that?” “Like I said, the Fisherman is weak.”

“And he could use my strength.” “Yes.” I thought about it; I’d be lying if I said I didn’t.

Most everyone, I suppose, has felt the gaze of someone whose burden of experience renders their regard a tangible thing.

Someone was talking—Dan, continuing to plead his case. Without another word to him, I turned and started back the way that had brought me here. I managed half a dozen steps before Dan caught my shoulder and spun me around.

What about her?” Behind him, Marie maintained her vigil of the beast.

don’t want to do this,” he said, “I really don’t. It’s—if he has your strength, then he won’t have to take them away from me.

That the man I counted my closest friend was about to inflict grievous harm on me, if not kill me outright, was the most monstrous thing I had encountered yet this strange, awful day.

stooped and scooped up a new, reddish rock with his right hand. Rising, he said, “It’s a shame, Abe. I always thought Sophie and you would have gotten along with one another, appreciated each other’s company.”

four figures surrounding me, I said, “This isn’t your wife, Dan. You have to know that.”

Crouched forward, his own breath coming in pants, Dan said, “You cut me. You son of a bitch.”

Beneath Dan, the rocks were slick and red. With a broad tongue the color of liver, the boy on Dan’s right licked his lips. His mouth opened, as if in a yawn, and kept opening, wider and wider, his notched teeth ringing a gullet studded with clusters of additional fangs.

went to speak, to call out a warning to him, but Sophie shoved me aside and strode past me. Her mouth was likewise open, the full set of her teeth on display.

What must Dan have thought, watching the creature he had called his late wife’s name advance towards him, the lower portion of her face a stark refutation of the identity he’d tried to confer on her? Something was happening to Sophie, to the boys, another change rippling over them.

through her burned flesh.

feet. The tremor concentrated at the fissure above the waves in which the end of the Fisherman’s line was embedded. The split trembled, and widened, top and bottom retracting to reveal a gold expanse whose center was bisected by a black ellipse. An eye the size of a stadium cast its gaze out over the scene in front of it.

I knew it must be one of the pale creatures, possibly Sophie, finishing what had begun on the beach. My knife was long gone, lost at some point during my flight. I kicked at the thing with my free foot, but even panicked, I had little strength left me. Releasing my leg, the creature caught my belt and hauled me down until we were floating face-to-face.

Marie regarded me with her shining eyes. My surprise was succeeded by resignation. Of course, I thought. Sophie takes care of Dan, and Marie sees to me.

A pair of high school kids, who claimed they were out on a hike, but who I suspect were searching for a secluded spot to experiment with illicit substances of one form or another, found me washed up on the south shore of Dutchman’s Creek, almost to the Hudson.

I began crafting a story that sounded like something they would, and could, accept. I sometimes wondered if they were aware of my ploy, but if so, they let slip no sign of it. Maybe they were grateful for what I was doing, fashioning them a story that would account for most of the details they had to reckon with.