Twisted All To Hell

by J E Moore

idea."

  "Probably a fishing trip," deadpanned Tom. Movement in the water caught his eye. Several massive, foreboding, shadowy images faded in and out, coming from the edge of the mist to the cleared circle around the boat. Two sharks now? More? "Look, over there!" A dorsal fin broke the surface, then another and another. They were everywhere! He swallowed hard; his throat had gone dry. Sweat trickled by his ear as he imagined the man-eaters were massing for an attack!

  Suddenly, another sparrow landed on the exact same spot of the railing then hopped down onto the horizontal seat. John grabbed an oar, "I've had enough of this bird stuff!"

  Terri stayed his motion, "Wait, it's the same bird. See its foot?" Again, she offered a bit of bait.

  John was astounded, "Are you out of your mind, woman? How many fingers do you want pecked?"

  The sparrow ignored the food. Instead it studied the three wary humans one at a time, as if trying to make some bizarre, unfathomable decision. Flapping his wings, he hissed at each person and dipped his beak into the drop of blood. Next, it tilted his head back, closed its eyes and touched his tongue to the sticky, red liquid. It appeared to be savoring the flavor. Then, as a final insult to his captive audience, it pooped on the seat and flew back into the impenetrable mist.

  Cold chills ran up their spines. Terri rested her head on her pulled up knees, "Oh, God. Fish and birds that hiss like snakes. I think we're in the Twilight Zone."

  "Worse! As I said before, it's the Devil's Triangle. It's the ocean's gateway to Hell," spouted her husband as he peeled the sweat-soaked shirt from his chest.

  They waited in muted, fearful silence. Each one imagining the probable upcoming onslaught. After long, long minutes or had it been an hour, they felt the boat rolling in gentle swells. Then the fog evaporated: vanishing like a fast-forward on a video. The apprehensive boaters cautiously scanned the immediate area. They searched the mystically returned-to-blue ocean and discovered the hammerheads and birds had departed. "Hey, my watch is running!" declared John.

  "Mine too," echoed Tom. "Hey, give the starter a shot, Buddy!" The motor roared to life on the first push of the ignition button.

  "I can't see land," fretted Terri.

  Tom checked his compass - it appeared to be working fine. "It's thatta way," pointing westward. "John, get it going... and haul ass!"

  Much, much later, at John and Terri's Miami Lakes townhouse:

  John had his nose buried in the Sunday sports while Terri was focused on a report in the Local section. She read aloud, "Canadian tourists feared lost at sea." Then in a hushed voice, "Oh, my gosh, Johnny. Listen to this."

  "Yes, dear," he replied routinely.

  "Two groups of four Canadians took a fishing trip Friday morning and one boat didn't return. They first anchored at buoy forty-three. Remember our trip to that marker?"

  His eyebrows shot up. "Remember? I'll never forget it. That was my last time fishing in the ocean. Tom's also."

  She resumed, "From there, they split up. The first group stayed at the buoy because one of the passengers felt a little seasick and didn't want to be stuck out too far if she worsened. Both parties agreed to meet back at the motel and all go to dinner at six p.m. The second group consisted of two men and women and each couple had a cell phone. They continued out to sea looking for a better fishing spot. They were in a twenty-one foot rental, an inboard Invincible, fueled by a fifty gallon tank and had a built-in Starmaster compass.

  "An Invincible?" he repeated. "Those boats are high-tech. Light-weight with air compartments in the sides and flooring. They are truely supposed to be unsinkable."

  Skipping a few background lines, she continued, "The first group said the weather was good except they thought it appeared hazy on the horizon and after thirty minutes of watching their friends in the distance they lost sight of them. The first boat remained at the buoy another two hours then came back in. The second party hadn't returned to the marina yet so they went back to their motel rooms. That evening, when they were ready to go to dinner, they found the other people didn't respond to knocks on their doors. And then, they noticed the car they had left in that morning still wasn't in the parking lot. They returned to the marina and also discovered the second party's boat had not been checked back in. The rental agency placed calls to the Marine Patrol and the U.S. Coast Guard. So far, there's been no word of their whereabouts or a trace to be found. It's been over three days now. Johnny, do you think...?" She sprung from the sofa; an idea had popped in her head. "I have to check something. Be right back," and raced to the den.

  John was reading the article for himself when she returned with a calculator in hand. "Terri, do you remember when we came ashore and realized we were sixty miles north of Haulover? No way we could have drifted or driven so far off course with half a tank of gas. Something must have moved us while we were in the fog. Perhaps the Canadians were moved and landed further..."

  Terri butted in, "No, I can't buy that. I'm sure they would have used their cellulars or flagged down a car to get to a public telephone, like we did. It's been three days"

  He frowned, "Yeah that makes sense... three days."

  "Uh, oh," she whispered while reading the digital display. His eyes were riveted on her, wary to ask. "You're not going to believe this. We went on Thursday, May sixteenth, almost two years ago. This past Friday was March fifteenth."

  "Ides of March," he remarked. "Spooky-bad, yeah. And, it was a real bad day for Julius Caesar, as I recall."

  An unsettling shrillness permeated her voice, "Worse than spooky and Roman history bad, Johnny. It's more like scary as in Jack the Ripper. It's exactly six hundred and sixty-six days between our trip and theirs. Think of it! The same buoy, the mist, the Devil's Triangle. Six, six, six! Get it?"

  He grabbed the calculator and punched the numbers for himself. He exclaimed, "Oh, my god... you're right! Six, six, six: the mark of the Devil. No wonder all those creatures acted so strange. Could they have been possessed? Satan's monsters from the deep!"

  At that point I had to break into their far-fetched yarn. Sporting a crooked grin, I said, "C'mon, people. You really don't expect anyone to believe this baloney do you? Monsters, ha. Sorry, folks, the six, six, six, pushed it over the edge. I have to admit though; you had me going pretty good."

  However, they all remained adamant and swore it was one hundred percent true. Terri even added she had saved the dated newspaper clipping to prove it. I felt still somewhat skeptical until Josie, the brothers' mother, who had been standing nearby and listening, joined us. She attested she was the one who went and picked them up where they had come ashore - sixty miles off course and got to hear their complete story firsthand on the way back. And, Aunt Josie would never lie about anything.

  "Wow." I finally conceded the truth of their frightening exploit and momentarily slipped away into a macabre daydream as they kept recapping certain parts of their story to themselves. I envisioned a most gruesome scene - but instead of the Canadians being the victims, it was my cousins. Brown dorsal fins sliced through the smooth surface; vicious, giant sharks rammed the hull again and again - shattering the fiberglass. Dull, dead-black eyes leered from the ends of ugly, bony hammerheads. Swarms of blood-thirsty sparrows dove from the swirling mist - ripping away chunks of exposed flesh as the doomed boat slowly sank into a murky, agitated sea. Spurting, bloody stumps flailed in the air while red-eyed sailfish leaped in glee - relishing the helpless, human carnage. Snapping, vise-like jaws filled with daggers crushed their chests - stilling their anguished screams. Stark, abject terror consumed each lost soul in their final moment as they were being pulled down into a watery grave. Their last conscious thought, "I'm being eaten alive!"

  I shuddered, breaking the ghastly spell. I said to all, "That's the most incredible story I've ever heard. I'm sure glad I wasn't there." To Terri, I said, "It seems quite apparent to me it was a damn good thing you showed kindness to that sparrow a second time... and didn't let John screw it up. I think you've got your hubby by
the short hairs for the rest of his life." And to the brothers, "Nice to see you're still alive, boys." Then, I thought about my future fishing for a moment. "Say, guys, if you don't mind. Do you think you have room for one more in your everglades boat? I've just decided to give up ocean fishing too."

  Based on a true story

  Code name: Pandora

  May, 2136

  "Link and telemetry tests, A-okay. We're ready to transfer comm-net control to you Houston. Do you read?" queried the Starfinder technician located within the American/British moon base, Beta Two.

  "I read you moon base. Sync and net are ready to slide. On three, two, one, lock-in. Beginning download data check... check complete. Looks good. The Big Eye is ours. Thanks a lot. Give my love to the prairie dogs. See you in two-four."

  "Roger that Houston. Make sure it's a clean machine when she comes back. I don't want to have to fly up there and pull another brick (flying space debris) out of a panel. That's what the deflector shields are for. Hint, hint"

  "Will try, buddy. But in my heart, I know how much you Moonies love walking on the Eye in your mag boots checking for cracks and impact damage in those puffy compression suits. You look so cute. Say guys, while you're scooting around out there next time how'd you like to re-ionized the silicon injectors a little bit