Man in the Sea

This week's story from the archive is a short SFW story that was inspired by this phenomenal work by dogvomitco on Twitter. Because this is short and SFW, this post will eventually become available publicly, but for the first week at least it will be locked to patrons only. Thank you all as always for your support!

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There are legends that speak of the man in the sea, larger than a thousand leagues, eyes as bright as lighthouses and monumental as ships. Where he goes, fish are plentiful, the ocean’s depths thriving with life and activity as he traverses through them. He lingers in the deep, far beyond the sight of mortals, and cannot be sought out.

They warn that his face appears when we take too much.

Fishermen boast about successful expeditions, but only when they are back on land, as to boast of a catch greater than one of necessity risks drawing his ire. The legends state that as the number of fish dwindle in a place at sea, he is drawn to their absence, his attention and beacon-like eyes pointed upward toward the surface, toward fishing boats floating on the waves.

They warn that wherever his face appears, so too does foul weather.

Maelstroms drag fishing boats down to the depths when he opens his mouth, storm clouds manifesting in the sky wherever he rises. The stark white light of his eyes can be seen from above the surface, as he beckons those fishing boats to their final resting place.

Legends say to avoid the sea because escaping his ire means making a dangerous deal.

I know this because my mother managed it. Because my mother survived. Because the legends were borne from my mother’s story, from the night he appeared beneath the ship she worked on—eyes bright, mouth open—and then, after she called out to him to make a deal, the storms settled and he let her go, as though her ship was a fish he caught for fun.

They say that when the waves settled, he could be seen smiling, teeth as bright as his eyes.

I never met my mother, and she never told anyone the deal she made with the man in the sea, but when I travel alone, he appears beneath my small fishing ship, eyes bright, mouth smiling, teeth as bright as his eyes. And yet, he does nothing to me. He lets me row out, and then back, as though he knows something that I do not. I have not ventured far in the past, for fear of what may lie ahead, but tonight, on this clear night, I will row my small fishing boat out to the ocean and let him watch me until the time is right, until I find my voice and call out to him.

I will speak to the man in the sea to learn the truth.