Stygian Cetus

          The low pulse of an intruder echoes like a wave inside my chest…shivering up my spine to reverberate in my skull… dragging my long dormant body into alertness. I shudder, tuning my whiskers and spines in the direction of disturbed currents. My eyes, unnecessary in this stygian black, roll open in their long disused sockets. With increasing awareness I feel myself ratcheting up in anticipation. My blood begins to pump with vigor. My muscles twitch and my chest heaves with a great draw of water and newly agitated sediment. Gripping the fissure wall I wedged into so many years ago, I slide one great webbed claw forward. I pull.

          Rocks and coral dislodge from my great weight, sending creatures and bones skittering away on the seafloor. I slither soundlessly out of my crevasse, grazing the edges. My sensory stalks search and report. Much has changed over the many years. Much has not. My garden of bones and carcasses and wreckage has grown over with plant life. It is nothing to me. I will simply add a new layer.

          Joints crack within my body, my weight suddenly shifting. New stresses are placed on old bones and cartilage as I initially struggle to swim in what I remember to be a sleek predatory fashion. I am, simply, heavier now. Such a long dormancy I must’ve had, feeding automatically, gulping in anything that ventured within range like some great whiskered catfish of the deeps.

          Again, I feel the vibration in my chest like the tolling of a bell, and I know where I must go. My body responds, shaking off the temporary awkwardness. I am renewed with my purpose. My summons has become feverish and I must obey. I pause only briefly to get my bearings and home in on the interlopers. The sound of many oars whipping the surface makes its way into my head. It is all I can think of now.

          Hatred and malevolence bubble up inside me. They don’t belong here…don’t belong. I can feel the seething anger of my siblings as they too begin to rise in the cold depths. All senses tuned to the dip and drag of oars disturbing our territory. These invaders never learn. Always prowling, always questing, and always defying our master.

          The tolling summons in our chests guides us. As we ascend, the waters begin to lighten and our primitive eyes are suddenly useful again. Yes, there are the feeble hulls. So slowly they row, so unaware and careless. Don’t they know only the dead belong here?

          I see a sister casually rip a hole through the hull of a ship she brought down an age ago. As she emerges, her grey body bloated on the carcasses of every dead thing that fell within her reach, I see the water run red with ribbons of her blood. She has become huge in her dormancy and the jagged timbers draw gashes along her flanks. A deafening scream vibrates through the water and agony fuels her frenzy to reach the invasive boats. I snap up a fallen sensory stalk with an audible click of my jaw, relishing the taste of her flesh.

          They don’t belong here…don’t belong. Only the Boatman has our pardon. He is not among the disruptive intruders. They trespass, they defile…Only destruction can mollify us now.

          Quickly now, we shoot upward. We circle the boats once, twice, relishing the panic we know we are causing. A few of these underworld mariners raise fragile brittle weapons. As quickly as they pierce the hide of one of my brothers we ram the flimsy boats. A few travelers have been knocked loose. A feeding frenzy begins and the surface churns pink and frothy. A few of us, older and wiser, begin to pluck the trespassers from the struggling boats. Some hapless victims even throw coins at us, as if we could be bought or bargained with.

          It has been far too late for these sailors for some time. As soon as they set out upon this mighty river between realms their fate was sealed. I register the pitiful cries of fear as they recognize the doom that has befallen them. There is no escape, our purpose will be served.