Inky Creek
The dead, grey carp tumbled down a rock’s edge as I tossed him in. I am damn sure that wasn’t what you are supposed to do, but I also don’t know the right way. What I didn’t expect was for his scaly flesh to roll off.
My stomach sank as the carp’s poor abandoned, wounded body slid further into the muddy creek. This whole thing isn’t right. And what in God’s name am I expected to do with the second one?
A pool of viscous black jelly was forming about half of a foot away. Now a semi-solid shape, arrow-like, aimed itself at my first sad sacrifice (still floating between a pair of jagged stones). The inky blob cut through the murky water with ease, picking up considerable speed as its triangular head jutted toward the carp corpse.
What was I even supposed to do? This wasn’t at all like what I was told would happen. Was it meant to be this brutal?
I was on pause, an anxiety-ridden husk. Meanwhile, the inky blob was projecting prehensile appendages and wrapping them in circles around the carp’s body. The foul creature methodically devoured my fish by opening up its arrow-like head as an envelope, then pushing the carp down into what I can only imagine was a belly.
This was entirely too much for me. I hurled the second fish into the creek and shot back up the embankment, sinking into the slop and slipping on moss all the way. Upon reaching the treeline, I turned around briefly to see the creek rolling with glistening, gelatinous, hungry, inky blob creatures, tearing apart the second sacrifice.
Grandpa was going to have to do this himself next time. Old enough now or not, I don’t want this job.
