Dead Bait 3

by Cody Goodfellow

  With a sound like ropes twisting around each other, the giant, furry snake head rose to stare down at him with all four glittering eyes.

  Oh god, please don’t let this be real. Please let Kazuki have finally gotten tired of my stupid jokes and tossed something in my drink at the bar to teach me a lesson. Please? Are you listening, god?

  Something whispered in his mind, but he didn’t think it was god, not the one he’d been forced into Sunday school for, or any other.

  The head rose higher, snout pointed down, directly over his abdomen. He started to shake. It was studying him, trying to decide where the eggs should go in. Tears spilled from Tony’s eyes to pour down across his temples.

  No, no, no. Please, oh please, no. The Worm of Lagarfljót. There, he could pronounce it, in his head, at least. That had to count for something, right? Please let it count for something, anything. He didn’t want to host a bunch of little monster parasites. Please.

  Yes.

  The Worm opened its mouth and he felt a splash of saliva on his stomach. Cold, so cold through his t-shirt against its skin. The last little rational part of his mind told him that it lived in a glacier fed lake in Iceland, of course it had cold spit.

  It leaned forward, and seeing the number of teeth drove that last little rational bit away. Dozens of teeth, hundreds. Kazuki lied. It wasn’t going lay eggs in his guts. The Worm was going to eat him.

  The teeth began to undulate, wiggling like earthworms in the sun. Not teeth. The Worm had a mouth filled with hundreds of small tentacles. Tony sucked in air through his nose, building to one last attempt at pushing the glove out. If he could scream, if he could just scream out loud, someone would hear him. Egilsstathir wasn’t that far away.

  The head scooped forward, lower jaw sliding under him as the upper one clamped down. A hundred prehensile tongues tore away his underwear and started to lick and caress everything they touched. His scrotum tightened and his cock leapt to attention. The tentacles, the tongues wrapped around his cock and tickled his nuts. A few even probed his ass.

  DNA. She wanted DNA.

  She.

  Tony tried to scream, but only his lover was close enough to hear.

  The Demon in the Water

  By: Mark C. Scioneaux

  The demon glided effortlessly through the murky waters of the Congo River. Propelled by its powerful tail and streamlined, muscular body, it cut through the water with the ease of a scalpel parting through soft flesh. Small fish fled when the leviathan entered into their domain; it was unopposed. A flash of silver captured its attention and it struck forward. Its reward was an unfortunate fish that tempted fate and lost. Under the water, the prey that was being feasted on had no flavor. The dirty water eliminated all taste. Unsatisfied with its latest meal, the demon continued its journey. It came across a pod of large, fat animals bobbing in the water like corks. It considered making a run at one of the smaller, fat animals, but then it decided not to. The massive tusks inside the large creature’s mouth were enough to deter it. Annoyed and still hungry, the fish pressed on. Suddenly, it felt a change in the water. A new ripple sent a wave of information coursing through its body. Something was up ahead and appeared to be in distress. A wounded prey was an easy prey, so the demon pressed on, swishing its tail faster in anticipation.

  ***

  Asya was laughing and jumping as the cool water splashed around her. Her mother, Eshe, was watching from the shore as she scrubbed her dirty clothes in the river. It was a hot day; hotter than most days in Africa, and the half-mile trek from their village was a harrowing one. Six-year-old Eshe had run straight for the river the moment it was in sight.

  “Asya, slow down!” Eshe called, but it was to no avail, because her squealing daughter ran into the cool water.

  The Congo River was a deadly river, but one that also supported the life of Eshe and her tribe. The small Pygmy tribe lived primarily off the river; catching fish and using the water to cultivate their small plot of crops. Eshe had arrived at the tribe eight years ago, having escaped from slavery at the hands of the Bantu. Her husband Kosey, a former slave himself, had helped orchestrate the escape of her and several others.

  Kosey had escaped several months before the rescue and discovered the small village of runaway slaves by sheer luck. After making a plea with the village leaders to rescue his wife and friends, he led a small group of Pygmies into a rescue mission that they performed flawlessly. He was regarded as a leader upon his return. For the first few months, life for Eshe had been good, but Kosey was starting to change from a man into a monster. The years of beatings and torture at the hands of the Bantu had hardened him. Now that he was in control, he ruled the villagers like the cruel Bantu had ruled him, but the majority of his rage was set upon Eshe. What had started as verbal abuse directed toward Eshe’s cooking and looks had quickly morphed into physical harm. It began as a push, then a slap, and then into brutal beatings that left Eshe bedridden and dazed. It was when she discovered that she was pregnant that she realized what must be done to ensure the survival of her child. She went out into the forest that night and obtained a few special ingredients for the next day’s meal.

  ***

  7 years ago…

  Eshe stirred the large pot of stew that was bubbling over the fire inside their small hut. She added okra, tomatoes, and peanut butter to make a rich concoction she knew Kosey would enjoy.

  “Hurry up woman, I am starving!” Kosey yelled, as he sat on the floor of the crude hut.

  “It’s almost ready, husband,” Eshe softly replied with her back to him, hiding the slight smile that was creeping across her swollen face.

  She added a bowl full of cubed meat to the iron pot.

  “What is that?” Kosey asked.

  “Some catfish I caught earlier today. I thought it might be nice to have something different.”

  “Well, you better hope I like it,” Kosey replied angrily.

  “I have a feeling you will.”

  She reached for a large bowl and spooned the stew into it. She walked over to where Kosey was sitting and handed him the rapidly warming bowl. He grabbed it from her hands quickly and began to eat with a spoon he had carved out of wood.

  “Why, this is delicious,” he said with a smile.

  Eshe was surprised to receive a compliment from him. Normally, he would just grunt and then toss the empty bowl aside. But tonight was different. Tonight he was gobbling down the food like a dog that hadn’t eaten in days. Then, he suddenly put the bowl down.

  “What did you put in here?” he asked her, staring straight ahead at the bare wall.

  “Just the usual stuff you like. Tomatoes, okra, a little peanut butter, some catfish…oh, and a few puff adders.”

  He stared at her and she thought he was going to make a run at her. She could see his muscles twitching and flexing under his tight skin. She knew the venom had taken affect.

  “I just wanted to let you know that I am pregnant. I also want you to know that there was no way I would let a monster like you near my child.”

  Kosey opened his mouth and tried to say something, but a weak choke was the only sound emitted. His dark face was starting to turn a shade of purple.

  “Goodbye, Kosey. I’ll always be grateful to you for saving me, but I will never forget the creature you turned into.”

  With those final words, Kosey pitched forward, spasmed lightly, and then fell still.

  Eshe stared at her dead husband. She shoved him in the side with her foot and he did not react. She tried again, this time kicking him in the ribs, but he didn’t move. She bent down and stared into his face. His mouth was open and slack, and his red tongue protruded from the corner. His dead eyes were open and staring into nothing.

  Eshe walked over to the pot and grabbed a hot pepper that was sitting in a bowl. She crushed it in her hands and lightly touched her eyes with the fiery oils. She couldn’t let the others know she had killed Kosey. If they knew, she would be stoned. Immediately, her eyes
burned red and tears began to form. Her nose transformed into a runny mess. She waited as the tears streamed down her face before running out of her hut, screaming the loss of her husband into the dark night.

  ***

  Eshe was kneeling into the soft dirt as she scrubbed her clothes clean. She could hear the playful yells and screams of Asya only a few feet from where she was. Her daughter had stripped down completely, so Eshe could wash her white dress.

  Asya jumped and bounced in the cool water, her silver bracelets flashing in the sun. The river supplied Asya a life. Unfortunately, though, it was also going to take it away.

  Asya saw a flash of silver in the water ahead of her. The sudden flash intrigued her and she began to wander further into the muddy river. Eshe could feel the slight waves slowly slap her hands as she looked up. Her daughter was quickly swimming away from her, the water now past her chest.

  “Asya! Get back here now!” Eshe screamed as a large, silver body broke the water.

  Asya turned around, but it was too late. Before she could yell back to her mom that she was fine, she felt a fiery vise clamp around her small body. Seconds later, she was taken under, and carried quickly down the river. She was dead in moments.

  ***

  The demon snapped its powerful jaws up and down, stripping the tender flesh and guts from its prey. The river gave everything a muddy taste, but this was different. This meal was rich and sweet. The demon fed until it felt as if it would burst. Finished, it swam away as the remains slowly sunk to the bottom of the river.

  ***

  Eshe fell to the bank, her hands digging into the mud as tears ran down her face and her body shook with sobs.

  “Kosey…” she choked.

  She stared at the water and could see a faint red tint on the surface. The realization of what had happened was starting to set in.

  “Kosey!” she screamed at the sky.

  She leapt to her feet and grabbed handfuls of dirt, flinging them into the river.

  “Damn you, Kosey! Damn you!”

  ***

  Robert Whilde sat in the dim light of his dirty Los Angeles office. He was flipping through a magazine as he nursed another scotch, his third of the morning. The former fishing pro and TV show host stared at the pictures of the latest Professional Fisherman magazine and the happy looks of the proud fishermen with their impressive catches saddened him.

  His office was a museum to his achievements. On the walls hung various pictures of him in exotic countries; all of him smiling next to a large species of fish. In the corner of the office sat various trophies from fishing tournaments, he had not only won, but also dominated. A few mounted fish also adorned the walls. A framed poster sat in the far corner with the title “Whilde’s Xtreme Fishing” splashed across the top in large red, block letters. Robert was crouching in a boat, a winning smile smeared across his face and a piranha held tightly in his hand.

  His eyes had accidentally glanced at the poster and he regretted looking at it. With a sigh, he removed a cigarette from its pack and placed it in his mouth. Lighting it, he breathed in the sour smoke. He got up from his leather chair and walked to the mini bar across from his desk. He filled his glass with more scotch and a few ice cubes. He caught his reflection in the mirror and was glad the room was dimly lit. He was thin, but muscular. The same build that people would refer to as wiry. His skin was tan and leathery from the years of sun damage. His hair was a grayish white. Five years ago, it had been a light brown. It was amazing what stress did to the human body. His eyes were a piercing crystal blue, and his dark face really made them stand out. He stared back at the man in the poster, so healthy looking, so full of energy. He did not recognize that man anymore.

  Suddenly, the phone rang, snapping him out of the trance the poster had placed him in.

  Please not another bill collector, he thought as he contemplated letting it go to voicemail.

  He picked it up on the fourth ring and the thick Italian accent of his agent, Vince Babiola, filled his ears. He wished it were a bill collector.

  “Robert, how you doin’ my man?” Vince asked cheerfully.

  “Doing fine, Vinnie-Baby,” Robert replied. Vince insisted people called him Vinnie-Baby.

  “That’s good, that’s good,” Vince replied.

  “Yeah, what can I do for you, Vinnie-Baby?”

  “It’s more like what I can do for you.”

  “What do you mean?” Robert asked. It was rare for Vince to call with good news.

  “Well, I just spoke with a friend who was leaving Africa. He went on safari with his family. Real nice guy, you’d like him. Anyway, he was telling me a story he heard of a little girl getting killed by some huge fish in the Congo River.”

  “Gee, you are all full of good news,” Robert replied sarcastically.

  “That’s not the news. The news is that this tribe of people thinks it’s a demon sent to punish them for running away from their masters! Isn’t that classic!”

  “Yeah, real classic. Vince, what’s your fucking point?” Robert asked, as he brought the grimy glass of scotch to his lips. Vince was really starting to grate on his last nerve.

  “Well, I‘m glad you asked. My point is let’s film you catching it.”

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “You heard me. We could restore the image of the great Robert Whilde! Get you back on top where you belong. Robert, it’s been years since the accident. Shit, almost eight years now.”

  “Yeah, well tell that to the boy’s family. I’m sure they will just agree that it’s time to move on.”

  “Look, you had a bad drinking problem. Hell, I didn’t even know you liked to get hammered before each show. And I’m as close to a friend you got! It was just an accident.”

  “An accident? It’s more like a never ending bad dream.”

  ***

  8 years ago…

  “Welcome back to Whilde’s Xtreme Fishing! Today we are in the marshes of Louisiana hunting a monster garfish. People say they can get over fifteen feet long! I’m going to try to catch one bigger than that!” an exuberant Robert said to the young man holding the camera.

  “And we are good,” Brad Robertson said as he put down the camera. “Good intro, Mr. Whilde.”

  “Thanks Brad, and call me Robert.”

  Robert ducked his hand into the ice chest hidden from the lens of the camera and cracked open another beer. It was his sixth today. He had been an angler for years and was going on the third season of his popular show “Whilde’s Xtreme Fishing,” but he still got painfully nervous in front of the camera. Alcohol gave him the liquid courage he needed.

  Suddenly, something ran with the bait. The rod was almost jerked from the holder mounted on the side of the boat.

  “Brad! Start the camera!” Robert yelled, as he ran for the bent rod, unaware of him knocking into Brad as he rushed by. The guide ran with Robert to the front of the boat.

  “Man this one is huge!” Robert yanked back on the rod. “Brad, you better be getting this.”

  There was no response.

  “Brad, are we rolling?” Robert asked as he turned his head around.

  Brad wasn’t there.

  “Jesus Christ,” the guide whispered, as he pointed to the floating body in the marshy water.

  There was Brad, bobbing in the water like a piece of driftwood. A river of red ran from the side of his head. He was face down and not moving.

  The death had been ruled an accident. In a fit of excitement, Robert had knocked Brad over. His head struck the side of the aluminum flat boat and he fell into the water, already unconscious. The police gave Robert a sobriety test when they noticed his breath reeked of stale beer. By that night, all the news channels were running the story.

  Brad’s family sued the television station, the show, and Robert personally. They were awarded a lot of money. Robert had to perform years of public service and his license was suspended. With that, also went his fishing license. The show was promptly cancel
led. Robert had been living off of royalties from his line of outdoor supplies, but the checks weren’t coming as frequently, and when they did, they weren’t as big.

  Robert sunk into a deep depression. Every time he closed his eyes, he could still see Brad in the water. There was always so much blood…

  ***

  “Robert, are you listening?” Vince’s voice exploded.

  “Yeah, I’m listening,” Robert lied as he came fully out of his daydream.

  “It killed a child, Robert. And those idiots are feeding the damn thing, trying to appease it, like giving it gifts will make it leave. But we both know an animal won’t leave a place if food is being provided. It will never go away.”

  “Even if I wanted to do it, I don’t have the money to get there.”

  “I do. I’ll finance the entire trip. Just think of it as a friendly investment.”

  Robert had nothing to say. He could feel himself slowly getting roped in. The personal glory didn’t entice him; he just wanted to fish again.

  “Just imagine it!” Vince continued, “Robert Whilde! A picture of you next to the hanging monster; surrounded by smiling natives. You’d be back on top, my friend!”

  “I have to think about it, Vinnie-Baby. I’ll get back with you.”

  “I hope to hear from you soon, Robert. Take care.”

  “Yeah, you too.”

  He already knew he was in.

  ***

  The sudden debris floating on the surface of the muddy water confused the demon. On some of them, it could sense movement, and when it did, it made a rush for the small, poorly constructed rafts. If had just feasted on a chicken, and much to its dislike, found the thin bones painful when it crunched down and that the feathers were hard to swallow. Other rafts contained pieces of fruit and cooked dishes. It all tasted like mud under the water. The unique, sweet taste of flesh was fading fast from its limited memory. Soon it would forget the reason why it was hanging around this area and would leave to find other prey. It patrolled the banks silently, hoping for another chance to strike. A few days went by and nothing jogged the memory of its first meal.