by Hal Bodner
He sat within the bow of his boat, paralyzed. His heart pounded against his ribcage at eighty miles per hour. Before George could settle on his next course of action, the fish moaned.
“Dear Lord in heaven,” George exclaimed.
The fish’s eyes flew open. George thought his voice had alerted the fish, but sometime later he would wonder if mentioning the Lord had startled the fish awake. George never learned what caused the fish to emerge from unconsciousness, but there it lay, staring at him with serpentine pupils.
George trembled as he slowly stood to his feet. The two mile swim back to shore was impossible to manage, but he intended on attempting the feat anyway. What alternative did he have? Stay in the boat with that monstrosity? No way. George quickly faced the water and prepared to dive in, but the huge fish spoke at the last moment. “Wait!” it commanded.
George halted, mid-spring. Astonishment had him frozen in place.
“Leave me here and I’ll surely die,” the fish stated in a baritone voice. Its gills opened and closed weakly as if to prove its point. “You saved my life by pulling me from the water while I was unconscious, but if you go off and leave me in this boat, your kindness would have been for naught.”
George slowly turned to face the fish. “You can talk?”
The fish chuckled, and in doing so, it flashed two rows of razor sharp teeth. “No time to explain such a thing now. You must get me back into the water as soon as possible.”
“How do I know this isn’t a trick?” George asked as he gaped at those outrageous teeth in the fish mouth. “How do I know you won’t eat me when I get too close?”
“A fisherman afraid the fish might consume him—ironies of ironies. If the possibility of such an outcome bothers you then I make you this promise: I will not eat you. On my word.”
George considered those words. Was it wise to trust the wicked looking thing?
“Please,” the fish pleaded in its booming voice.
George groaned while carefully making his way over to the fish. “Don’t eat me, I beg of you.”
“I won’t.”
George scrutinized the fish, trying to discern the best way to grip the devilish creature without being stabbed by either horns or spikes. Thankfully I didn’t grab onto any of those sharp diddlybobs when I pulled it from the water. In the end, he placed his hands on the fish’s soft underbelly—which proved sickening to the touch and caused the man to cringe inside. The boat sunk a bit as George rolled the fish onto the stern, then bobbed up once the fish had been pushed over into the water. The creature produced a tremendous splash upon its return to the sea.
While the fish swam laps through the water, George noticed a substance the color of ink seeping from its head. The thing is bleeding, he realized. Must’ve received a gash when I hit it with my oar.
Once the fish had acclimated to the water, it returned to the boat’s side. The creature’s fearsome face emerged from the sea. “Thank you for your kindness,” it said while the whiskers on its face waved through the air. “My name is Faugder. I am a child of the Prince.”
“Hi there … Faugder is it? My name is George Anderman.”
“Well George, if there is anything I can do to repay you for what you’ve done, don’t hesitate to ask. I’m sure my father will reward you handsomely for saving one of his.”
George quickly shook his head. “Oh, no. I don’t think I’ll—”
“Maybe you don’t have anything you desire right now,” Faugder said, “but if anything comes to mind, return to this spot and repeat the following phrase: Faugder, Faugder in the sea, come, I pray thee, here to me. For my life, as good as it is, wills not as I’d have it will.”
“Okay, simple enough,” George said with no intentions of ever repeating those words.
Faugder bade the man a good day before making its way to the darkest depths. A trail of blood followed.
***
Sometime later, long after the sun had set along the western horizon, George entered his wretched little shanty. His grimy faced children peered from where they sat at the table—a piece of plywood balanced atop four stones—and the four of them groaned collectively when they realized he had no fish … again.
“Surprise, surprise,” Matthew—the oldest—said sarcastically.
Mark plopped back into his homemade chair. “I’m tired of eating cabbage soup every night,” he cried. “Can’t we move back to our old home in the city? At least we had scraps of meat every once in a while.”
“You children show your father some respect,” Isabell said as she walked over to the table with a large, wooden bowl of soup in one hand, and six smaller bowls in the other. “He does his best to put food on this table. Others would kill for a bowl of cabbage soup.”
“No, they’re right. We’d have been better off if we stayed in the city,” George grumbled. He walked over to the table and claimed his seat. “I did discover the reason why I’ve never seen a fish in those waters, however. While preparing to come home, I accidentally struck this massive fish atop its head with my oar. I don’t know what I was thinking, but I pulled the thing into the boat only to come face to face with a monster of some sort. Wife, the thing was huge! Rows of razor sharp teeth filled the fish’s mouth, and it spoke in a deep, booming voice.”
“The fish spoke?”
“Yes! Took me by surprise, too, but the thing spoke—eloquently even. Wife, I have never seen the likes of such a creature. The monstrosity must’ve fed until it emptied the sea of fish.”
“How frightening!” Isabell exclaimed.
“Father, I’ve read about such a fish in my storybooks,” Rachael stated. “Talking fish are known to grant the desires of one’s heart. Maybe you should have asked for an abundance of riches.”
“Actually, it offered to repay me for my kindness—”
The children gasped from premature joy.
“Be still your excitement! You did not bear witness to this monster. To get away from there with my life was all I desired.”
Delight quickly turned to audible disappointment. Isabell intervened by saying, “Enough. Eat your soup.”
The grumblings eventually gave way to slurping and the sound of wooden spoons clopping against bowls. Amidst his dining, George scanned their home—a place not fit to serve as the king’s doghouse. Cracked walls allowed wind to enter leisurely; sometimes whistling as it came and went. The floor was nothing more than swept soil, and the establishment consisted of one room.
“The fish did proclaim to be a son of a prince,” George thought aloud. “Perhaps it meant to repay me with gold.”
The kids’ excitement reemerged.
Isabell, on the other hand, shook her head. “We have everything we need right here.”
“Aw, Mother!” the children cried.
“I understand what you mean,” George said. “Nevertheless, we have had to do without much our entire lives. What’s the harm in seeing what kind of reward the fish has to offer? Yes!” He pushed away from the table and stood to his feet. “I’m going to see if the fish is what it claims to be.”
The children erupted into cheering while their father made his way to the front door. Mark and the youngest child, Catherine, jumped to their feet and began to do a little jig.
“Husband, do be careful,” Isabell yelled over the ruckus.
***
George examined the water as he rowed out to where he unintentionally bludgeoned the fish. Something was wrong. The sea, which had been crystal clear and reflective hours ago, was now a murky yellow-green color. George recalled seeing black blood pouring from the devilish fish’s head. He wondered if the incident had somehow altered the water’s color.
I’m sure things will be back to normal soon enough.
After George deemed he had rowed far enough, the oars were put away. He took a deep, steadying breath before calling out, “Faugder, Faugder in the sea, come, I pray thee, here to me. For my life, as good as it is, wills not as I’d have it will.”
For a long time, nothing happened. The wind blew and the boat rocked amid the waves, but no magical fish appeared. George was beginning to believe he had been fooled—by a talking fish, no less—and was getting ready to return home. Then came a tremendous splash in the discolored water. George shrieked and fell back into the boat when Faugder’s scaly face emerged from the water, whiskers waving wildly in the air. The thing snapped its teeth hungrily. “How may I be of service to you?” the horned fish asked in its still booming voice.
George took a moment to gather his wits before crawling over to the side of the boat on which Faugder swam. “Uh, well, great fish … you said if there was anything you could do to repay me for my kindness I was to come here and let you know.”
“That I did,” Faugder said.
“Well, my family and I live in this filthy shack, not really a home as far as homes go. Is there some way you could provide us with a cottage? Nothing fancy. Maybe three bedrooms, a kitchen, and I’ve heard they have this thing called a living room—a place dedicated for socializing. If there is any way—”
“Go home,” Faugder said. “Your desire has been granted.”
A baffled expression overcame George’s face. “Already done? How?”
“I am a son of the Prince, and he has much power at his disposal. I must warn you though. I did you this favor in return for you showing me kindness, but if you ever return asking for another blessing, a soul is the price.”
“A soul?” George asked, now feeling uneasy.
“Yes, a soul,” Faugder replied. “In return for his services, my father requires a soul. You sit in your boat balking, but does not this God you pray to require the promise of your soul in exchange for His services? My father is simply asking for what you already give away freely. Why not make a profit?”
Of course, George thought fearfully. This is some sort of devil fish. It claims that its father is a prince. Sure he is—the Prince of Darkness!
George did his best not to let his emotions show. “What you say is fair.”
“Very well. If you need me again, you know where to find me.” And with that being said, Faugder dived beneath the putrid water.
***
An hour later, George—his mouth agape from surprise—stood in front of what appeared to be his home. “Did I get turned around when walking through the woods?” he asked as he stared at the manicured lawn with its cobblestone walkway leading up to a fine looking cottage. Chickens strutted about the front yard. He heard ducks quacking from a pond located in the back. On the left hand side of the house sat a decent size vegetable garden from which many delicacies sprouted—none of which were cabbages.
Go home. It is done. How? George wondered as he strolled dreamily up the walkway.
His new home consisted of beautiful stone and mortar—which meant no more unscheduled visits from the wind. His roof had been professionally thatched with fine straw, and planters filled with lovely flowers hung from the window sills. George took hold of the brass doorknob connected to his sturdy door and twisted. He barely got a foot across the threshold before Isabell ran over and wrapped him in a constricting embrace. His children cried out, “Father!”
“Look at what you’ve done, you wonderful man you!” Isabell cried into his blouse. “We were seated around our old table, and all of a sudden this beauty sprang up from nowhere. I don’t know what you did, or how, but thank you so much!”
“You’re welcome,” George managed to utter.
For two weeks, the Anderman’s enjoyed their new home with its three bedrooms and fancy furnishings. They relished meals—now provided several times a day—which included a meat and two sides, and they all partook of the living room dedicated to socializing. By the third week, however, grumblings began.
“Father, why do I have to share a room with Mark?” Matthew asked, ignoring how all six of them had been sharing one room not long ago. At dinner, Rachael groaned, “Chicken, again?” Catherine tired of helping her mother tend the garden, and Mark had already thrown a stone through one of the living room windows. Even George displayed ungrateful behavior. In the beginning, he was content to live in such comfort for the rest of his life, and Isabell agreed wholeheartedly, but George began to doubt his choice.
Why didn’t I ask for something bigger? Everyone could have had their own room. And Rachael is right about us eating nothing but chicken and duck every day. Damn. I should’ve thought more about my request. I finally get a chance to change our lives and the best I can think to ask for is a cottage.
George stewed in his regret and questioned his intelligence until he decided something had to be done. His solution? Visit devilish Faugder. The only foreseeable problem happened to be paying the fish’s price of a soul; an obstacle George did not know if he could overcome.
Do I dare hand over my soul in exchange for material gain? he wondered.
Selling his soul. George feared the notion, but no alternative had been presented to him. While grappling with the terrible choice before him, Mark cried out, “Father! Matthew locked the door to our room and won’t let me in!” George opened his mouth to shout a response, but his words were halted by a startling notion.
Faugder never said my soul had to be offered up, and why should it? I’ve been providing for this family for years and not once have those kids showed any gratitude. Why lose my soul only to have them still be unappreciative? If we’re to have more, they should pay the price.
The more George pondered the situation, the more justified his reasoning seemed.
Okay, the children should pay, George thought, but which child will it be?
***
“Father, what’s wrong with the water?” Matthew asked as he and George rowed out into the sea.
George replied, “I don’t know.” But he had some idea. He imagined somewhere in the vast body of water, a hellish fish swam around with a bloody wound on its head. Nothing else could account for the dark blue—somewhat purplish—and gray water they rowed along on. George did not even think what they traveled on constituted as water anymore. The sea had become thick like molasses. Rowing had nearly become impossible. Nevertheless, after a ridiculous amount of time, the two arrived at the designated rendezvous spot.
“Is this where you met the fish?” Matthew asked when his father retracted the oars.
“Yes.”
“Think you might ask for a horse and carriage? It’d be swell if we had a means of traveling on land. Maybe I could even drive sometime.”
“Maybe.”
George rose to his feet in the unsteady boat and scrutinized the water. “Faugder, Faugder in the sea,” he called out, “come, I pray thee, here to me. For my life, as good as it is, wills not as I’d have it will.”
For quite some time, the two men waited. “Maybe you recited the spell wrong,” Matthew stated.
George shook his head. “Patience.”
The two of them waited a bit more. Matthew opened his mouth to suggest his father try summoning the fish again, but his words fell dead on his tongue for the water made a nauseating sucking sound as the devil fish emerged from the water. “Oh, shit!” Matthew exclaimed as he proceeded to cower in the boat.
A smirk appeared on George’s face. He delighted in witnessing someone besides himself sport a yellow spine when faced with the horrifying Faugder, son of the Prince (of Darkness).
Faugder gave Matthew a passing glance with those serpentine eyes of its and eventually let its sights settle on George. “I expected another visit from you, but not so soon. Am I to assume the cottage and everything accompanying it no longer satisfies you?”
“Don’t misunderstand me. Everything is lovely, more than I expected, but apparently there’s still more we need.”
“Declare your desire.”
“My family and I desire to live in a palace.”
“And a horse and carriage,” Matthew said under his breath.
George shushed his son.
“Very well.” Faugder
’s sights swept over Matthew before returning to George. “I assume you’ve brought payment.”
The man nodded.
“Throw it in then.”
“Throw it in?” George asked, obviously confused. “Into the water? I thought we might make a vow and be on our way.”
Faugder laughed heartily, causing both men to flinch. “Your credit is no good here!” the fish bellowed in the midst of its laughter. “My father desires his payment up front.”
“How much is the payment?” Matthew whispered to his father.
George shook his head. “Nothing we can’t afford,” he said while pondering his options. He chose his oldest son, Matthew, because the boy would have seen sixteen summers come June. Even at the age of fifteen Matthew thought too much of himself. In another year or two, the boy would be a man, challenging his father’s authority even more than he had been. While he, George, grew old and frail, his son became big and strong. George would not remain head of the household if Matthew ever decided to exude his dominance.
I never thought I would be responsible for the loss of my child’s life, he lamented. I figured by selling his soul, he would come to a tragic end in another two or three years. To have him taken from me now …. Do I dare?
“Well, what do you say?” the fish asked.
George gulped loudly, swallowing his fear and guilt. “You have a deal.” He pretended to reach for their belongings laying at the bottom of the boat, wanting to convince Matthew the purse was his goal. Instead of retrieving the small sack containing no money, George grabbed the oar’s handle and took a deep breath before bringing the makeshift weapon up with tremendous force. WHACK! The flat side of the oar impacted with Matthew’s skull, creating a reverberation that traveled up the stick and into George’s arms. He immediately dropped the instrument in hopes to stop the revolting feeling.