The frayed camping chair digs into Daniel's legs as the sun sets on the horizon, casting Amare Lake into the shade from the surrounding woods. His fishing line has sat unmolested since before sunrise, the bait not switched out even once. Daniel sips his water bottle, glancing at the water with its bowing cattails, dragonflies zipping around, water gliders moving about, a horde of nats converging on some random part of the water. The cooler barely holds any more ice, cubes bobbing.
Guess it's time to pack it in. He pulls himself to his feet by the armrests. Not a G-damn nibble.
The line twitches, his reel whirling. Stumbling, he quickly snatches it from its holder stuck into the mud, and reels it in. Whatever it is doesn't put up much of a fight, and in the manner of minutes, the fish flops out of the water. Pale white with beads sprinkling its skin, splotches of bright colors everywhere; eyes a deep blue. When he has it on the shore, it's unmoving, as though it has already died. He prods it with his boot, and it doesn't move, nor does its gills or mouth.
Oh well--a fish's a fish.
It doesn't smell rotten, so he figures it's fine to take. Tossing it in the cooler, he closes the lid and gathers up his things. It's a mile hike back to his truck parked on the shoulder of Isorok Road.
Daniel's exhausted when he parks in the gravel driveway in front of his garage, sitting in pitch black now the headlights are gone. He decides he'll gut and skin it tomorrow, so he transfers the fish to the small refrigerator in the garage. After putting away his fishing gear, he goes inside his one-floor house.
He does his nightly routine before slipping into bed, and despite his body wanting nothing more to sleep, his mind doesn't want to, not yet. It's been a recurrence every night, ever since his wife, Melody, passed a year ago from bowel cancer. She kept the fight going as long as she could, but in the end, the cancer won.
Tears run down his suntanned, wrinkled face, as he sighs. He loved her for fifty years, but there was always something missing in their marriage. A hole he couldn't fill--a scratch she couldn't itch. They never had kids, not for the lack of trying, but he never would admit it was because of him. He could never get his soldier 'at attention' long enough to finish, and on his cheap insurance, going to the doctor was out of the question. But, she loved him all the same, and him, her; and he was beside her all the while the disease caused havoc inside her until the very end.
She resides in a plot of land out at Brownrose Cemetery, next to a vacant plot meant for him when the time comes. Yet, he wishes more than anything to be there, or her, here, to fill the empty space next to him. Daniel closes his eyes, pushes the painful memories away, and finally, slowly, sleep takes him.
*
After breakfast, Daniel trudges down to the garage. He plans on prepping the fish for lunch, maybe freeze the rest for later or eat it for supper. Regardless, when he opens the refrigerator, the fish is gone.
What the heck?
He's certain he put it on the top rack, but he moves aside the tiny cans of soda on the bottom to make sure he didn't put it back there while he was tired last night. But, there's nothing there, not even in the tiny compartment at the top where things need to stay frozen. Scratching his head, he closes the door, and looks down at the ground to find footprints in the dust.
Wincing as he crouches, he touches one with his finger to find it damp. And, there's eight toes, not five, to each print. What coulda' left these? No raccoon or skunk--maybe a groundhog, but don't think they have eight toes or look anything like that. Looks more human. It doesn't matter. His knees pop when he straightens. Someone or something is trespassing on his property and stole the food he worked so hard to get. Didn't people know what's on a man's land his own? Daniel pulls down the hunting rifle hanging on the wall, loads it, then slowly follows the footprints.
They go from the garage to the backyard, stopping at the screen door leading to his room in the basement. He keeps his odds-and-ends in there: jackets, boots, mementos, and so on. The handle's cold to the touch, but he opens it and the door after, and cautiously enters.
Wetter on the cement than they were outside, beaded with water, heading to the closed bathroom door. Daniel hears something inside.
Did someone break into my house just to take a bath? What is this world coming to?
Rapping on the door, he shouts: "Whoever's in there better git. I have a rifle and I'll put a bullet in any person stealing from me."
No reply, only splashing water hitting the concrete.
"I'm coming in!" Daniel turns the knob and shoulders the door open. He raises the rifle quickly, aiming at the yellowed white tub in the corner. His fingers go numb, the barrel drops to the floor. What's in his tub is a nude man with pale, sleek skin; beads like rows of tastebuds line his back and chest; a blooming opening down his spine, layer upon layer giving way to beautiful, lush iridescent colors in its center, like a blossoming, bottomless flower; seaweed green hair, and eyes deep, deep, blue.
Daniel doesn't budge, his mouth agape, eyes wide. The man watches him, thin lips unmoving.
"Wh--what are you?" Daniel says, frustration gone.
"I could ask you the same," he says, voice like a tranquil pond.
"How'd you get in here?" he glances at the open door, back to the bath.
"Same way as you--walked."
His sight wanders to his broad chest, rounded smooth shoulders, the abdomen vanishing underwater, then snaps his gaze to the floor. "Where'd you come from?"
"Somewhere nicer than here." The man slides deeper into the bathwater, his head perching against the back.
"Hey!"
"What?" He turns, looking back at him. "Isn't the place you were born always better than anywhere you end up later in life?"
Daniel wants to retort, but the man's right. He fondly remembers his childhood days without care or responsibility, when life seemed to be less serious, the world with less strife, back... He shakes his head. "What's your name?"
"It'll be easier for you to call me, 'Socium'. And yours?"
Daniel sets the rifle down, knowing in his gut this man isn't dangerous. Heck, he's naked in my bathroom. Doubt he could do anything even if he wanted to. "Daniel," he says, closing the toilet and sitting.
"Nice to meet you, Daniel."
He perches his fingers against his mouth. I don't wanna admit it, but... No, that's crazy. Fish aren't human. They can't just become humans, grow legs, walk into a man's house to take a bath... But, his colors, the bead-things, those eyes... Despite himself, he refuses to utter such nonsense.
"Do you have a place to go?" he asks. Socium's hair splayed over the tub's rim.
"No."
Can't let him sleep outside--I'm not that upset.
"I can let you stay--for just one night--then tomorrow you'll have to find somewhere to go."
"That's generous of you, Daniel." The man sits up, and stands. Water trickles down his toned torso; his hairless body lithe but well built. The colors weave around his hips and down his thighs, petering out at the knees. Daniel's vision moves to his groin, but he faces away before registering what hangs there.
"Can you get a G-damn towel and cover up, please? Can't have you walking around naked while you stay here."
