Fish Eggs: A disturbing Saga

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
A disturbing, revolting short story, based on a real nightmare I had.

Submitted: August 15, 2013

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Submitted: August 15, 2013

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Fish eggs: A disturbing saga.

 

Buying the fish eggs seemed a good idea at the time.  I had read somewhere that fish these days is laden with more heavy metal than a Slayer concert, and decided to grow my own at home, for personal consumption.  Buying them was easy, they were selling 1kg blocks of dried eggs on a site called “Make a fish”, so I bought one block of haddock and one of cod.  Procuring fish tanks of a large capacity was more difficult, but I managed to find two huge ones at a pittance.  A local pet store was closing down and they sold me two huge tanks for £10 each.

The eggs arrived the next day.I was impressed with the speedy delivery and left the site a glowing review of 5 stars.  The packaging instructions said to soak the eggs overnight in water.  It did not specify if I should use the whole block or to break it up, so I just chucked both blocks whole into two disused cat litter trays filled with tap water.

I came downstairs the next morning, and to my surprise, most of the eggs had separated and rehydrated into plump globules, with little black things inside.  It closely resembled frogspawn.  Some had already hatched and were swimming around the tray frantically like tiny minnows.  My appetite for fish was diminishing fast.  Nevertheless, I thought I had better get them into the tanks before they all hatched and started leaping out of the trays.  I put the tanks in the utility room and filled them almost to the brim and tipped the gelatinous living matter into them.  I thought it best to keep the cod and haddock separate as I had no knowledge of how the two species would interact.  I was a bit worried.  There seemed to be hundreds of eggs.  My grey Persian cat (Professor fluff) sat staring up at the little swimmers, and batted the glass with his paw several times before he realised he could not get at them, lost interest, and walked away.  I then went to work and left them to their own devices.

I returned home at 11.30pm and was flabbergasted to find that not only had all the eggs hatched, the fish had now grown to around two centimetres long and the tanks were dark and seething with life.  Surely this wasn’t normal?  There was no way the tanks would accommodate them if they grew any bigger.  I didn’t know what to do.  I was tired, so I went to bed and decided I would figure it out in the morning.

I came downstairs after a terrible night’s sleep and went straight to the kitchen to make tea and toast.  I wasn’t ready to face the fish right away.  As I munched on my toast I realised I would either have to tip some of the fish down the toilet or go and buy another tank.  I didn’t have room for another tank, but I hated killing things.  There was no choice in the matter.  I went and got a bucket from the shed and was preparing to scoop some of the poor buggers out and send them on a trip down the porcelain express.

When I walked into the utility room (where I had the tanks) I stopped dead.  The bucket dropped to the floor as quickly as my jaw.  No.  This wasn’t right.  The fish were now full sized.  Most of the water was on the floor, and they were writhing their bodies against each other in frenzy.  Fish were on the floor too, some lying still, gills rising and falling as they gasped.  Some were lying completely still, presumably dead.  I heard a sloshing flop as another two ended up on the floor, they were spilling out over the top of the tank.  I wiped beads of sweat off my brow with a shaking hand.  I was petrified.  How could this happen after only two days?  What genetic engineering could produce such disturbing results?

I dared to lean closer to one of the tanks, and could see bits of raw flesh, de-socketed eyeballs, pieces of fin, all floating around like sushi soup.  They were eating each other.  My stomach was churning.  The only thing that day to ride the porcelain express that morning, was my regurgitated breakfast.

In sheer panic, I left my house.  I did not know what I was dealing with, or how the situation would progress, and quite frankly, I wanted nothing more to do with it.  I stayed at a friend’s house for two weeks in the hope that when I came back they would all be dead.

Those two weeks went all too quickly.  I now stood at my front door, afraid to turn the key in the lock.I opened the door a crack, only to be greeted by the pungent smell of rotting flesh.  I covered my nose and mouth with the sleeve of my jumper, and bravely entered.  My heart beat loudly, and I could hear in the exaggerated way a heartbeat sound is sometimes played at a crucial moment in horror movies, the moment before something terrible happens.  I made my way slowly to the utility room.  The stench grew stronger, and the jumper was no longer helping to keep it from invading my nostrils.

I stood outside the utility room door for about 10 minutes.  During which time I had smoked two cigarettes, in the hope that the nicotine would somehow give me courage.  It did not.  Procrastination over, I opened the door slightly.  Something bolted out and swished past my legs, it almost gave me a heart attack..Then I realised I had forgotten about poor Professor Fluff and must have accidentally locked him in the utility room with the fish!  At least he has had plenty of fish to eat over the two weeks.  I opened the door fully, and switched on the light.  The floor was carpeted in rotting, dead fish.  There was no movement in the tanks, they were clearly all dead, but there was something very strange about the way they were arranged.  They were perfectly lined up, horizontally in rows, like little aqueous soldiers standing to attention.  Even the ones at the top were in perfect formation, but with dried up eyes and wizened skin.  This must have been their last attempt to stay alive, I thought.  They must have learned to work together, so they could utilise all the possible space in the tank.  I really felt sick at this point.The smell, the disturbing pattern inside the tank..  My stomach could not hold my lunch in any longer and I vomited into the utility room sink, walking on slippery dead fish to get to it.  I could feel their bones crunch, and things popping and bursting under my feet.  After I regained some composure, I made to leave, kicking fish out of the way as I went, when I spotted something.  Something bright blue with diamante stones.  It was Professor Fluff’s collar.  It lay amongst a mass of grey fur and gore.  I broke down into floods of tears and fell to my knees in the putrid room, this was all my fault.  I must have been crying for about half an hour before I realised this couldn’t be him, he ran past me when I opened the door!  This could just be hairballs and bits of dead fish!  I called his name relentlessly, searched the kitchen, living room, why wasn’t he coming?  He must be freaked out as he was locked in there so long, understandably.  I went into my bedroom;

“Professor Fluff, it’s ok boy, you’re okay now.”

I could hear a rustling noise under the bed.  So that’s where he was!  I crouched down and peered into the darkness under the bed.  I could see his dark shape moving further away from me.  Poor thing, I thought, must be petrified.

“It’s okay boy, here.”

I stretched out my hand to try and coax him out, but he started hissing at me.  I gently pulled the bed out from the wall, and lay on it, so I could put my head down the other side and get a proper look at him.  Maybe he was hurt.  As soon as I put my head down, he leapt onto my face, biting hard, digging his claws into the sides of my head.  I screamed aloud in pain.  I grabbed his body to pull him away and to my shock, instead of fur, what I felt was a scaly, dry surface.  I panicked even more and started beating it and my face off the wall, but it would not budge, and its teeth were sinking deeper into my nose.  I tried prizing the claws out of my skull, and my fingers were met not with paws, but with gnarly, scaly feet.  I managed to prize it off my face, but half of my nose went with it.  Blood spurted from my face all over the bed sheets, and as it scurried out of the room I saw the creature’s full form.  It had the body shape of a fish with fins and fish tail, but with a lizard-like head and legs.  I had to kill it.  I should really have called for reinforcements, but I found the entire saga a bit embarrassing, so opted to deal with it myself.  Plus it had killed Professor Fluff.  This bastard was going to pay.

I patched up my nose with some toilet paper and duct tape, grabbed a lighter and a spray deodorant, and headed back upstairs.  I had seen it run into the spare bedroom so I immediately turned the bed on its side, and there it was, hissing away at me.  I held the lighter in front of the can and sprayed a lovely plume of flame shot out and engulfed the genetic oddity.  It let out a high pitched squeal and ran out of the room, still on fire.  What I hadn’t bet on, was the carpet catching fire, which it did.  Then the bed.Then the curtains.  I had newer, greater concerns now.  I ran downstairs and called the fire brigade.  I went out into the street for fresh air as the smoke was now billowing down the stairs.  I was still on the phone to the fire brigade when I realised I shouldn’t have left the front door open.  Too late, as I turned towards my house I saw the creature was outside, and very much alive.  It was trying to squeeze its fat body down a drain grating.  I ran to grab it, but I was too late.  I heard it plop down into the sewer water, and for all I know it could still be down there, and I only hope it doesn’t rear its ugly head again or mutate into something even more dangerous.  If such a thing were to happen, I would feel partially responsible.  However, I would mostly blame the “Make a Fish” website, and I have since changed my rating for them to two stars.

 

 

 

 

 

 


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