Bogleech.com's 2018 Horror Write-off:
The Man Who Fed Eels
Submitted by The Bee Keeper
The Man Who Fed Eels
(Contains explicit nudity.)
A perfectly handsome grin was plastered to his face, if by handsome you judged from the eyes of a goat. You see, goats are born without front teeth attached to their skulls. So, a surly buck would grin like Mr.Tacknee. However, Mr.Tacknee was born with a full set o' choppers; he lost many with his habit of attending the tavern gatherings like a nun attends prayer. To be fair, many a cider sipper still had their teeth, well, enough to count with the fingers on both hands, at least. Mr.Tacknee, lost his pearly whites, er... autumn browns, from his absolute lack of tact.
Mr.Tacknee had been unceremoniously dragged out and plopped atop a foul midden, a compost heap of nut shells, putrid eel bones, and sawdust mixed up with the saliva of patrons which didn't bother to spit into a jar and just left their filth on the floor (that's what the sawdust on the floor was for after all). Of course, the spat jars were emptied here too. So why was he so chipper?
Well, he'd just asked a lovely daughter of a fishmonger to have a swing with him. In reply, her left hook made a right job of finally jimming loose the last stub of a tooth left in his upper gums. Mr.Tacknee's vision swum in spots and he found himself making acquaintance with the floor. But, in the end, he was an irrepressible optimist. A glass half full, sort o' fellow. Or glass half full of whiskey. In any case, a beautiful woman had touched him and that's all he could have ever have asked for.
***
Now, in all his years of experience of courting, not a single lady ever gave him another glance. In fact, it seemed as though most must have left the county permanently. Molly was a different kind of lady.
She wasn't different because she was a fisher. It wasn't her deadly well muscled arms which she used to haul up entire lengths of crab traps all on her own. It wasn't her cute freckles. Or her shining eyes. There was definitely something different about her, but what exactly was this invisible element that made dear lovely Molly, Molly?
For starters, it was something of a ferocity. Like seeing a lion walking on two legs and staring you straight inda eyes. You'd almost expect to see a tail lashing and curling, as she sized you up, and decided whether or not it was even worth the effort to maul you.
She radiated confidence. It was something untamable, unafraid, and most of all...
Vengeful.
As Molly pulled a cart full of oaken barrels up the street, Mr.Tacknee briefly pondered what greeting he should spout at her.
He gingerly stepped out of the overhang of the bakery and into the center of the street. He was about to say his howdy dos, but was cut off before a single plagued word could slip out his lips. "OUT ME WAY!" Molly bellowed at him.
It shocked him, but he wasn't about to give up that easily. "Busy mornin' aye me deary?" He said with as much charisma as he could muster. Which unfortunately was prob'ly the same amount of charisma as a fat seal bull with a big floppy schnoz. Though, even this comparison could be interpreted as an insult to seal bulls.
"AIN'T NO ONES DEARY!!!" Ooooh now she was really boiling with rage. Any man with even the slightest bit o' sense would have let the fishmonger's daughter go on with her chores. Mr.Tacknee was no such man. Instead he implored that he should help the "wee gel" with her cart and began pushing the back of the cart without her permission.
The latch on the cart's loading door jangled loose. The wood flap swung down and gravity did the rest, pulling all four barrels out of the cart. They bounced and rolled down the hill.
CRACK!!! GUG, GUG, Gug, gug, gug, gug! The barrels exploded against the rock wall at the wharf below. Sea water gushed out and live eels wriggled free of the wreckage, startling two passing carriage horses.
The horses neighed in dissatisfaction and bounded recklessly up the hill trampling the boxes of apples, oranges, and other produce of the outdoor market. The fruits rolled down the grade to join the slimy eels.
And then as luck would have it, the boy carrying a gross of eggs came around the corner, slipped on a slime coated apple and all the eggs went flying up into the air. And as the laws of our universe dictate, they all came to greet the earth. Egg yolks, writhing eels, and fruit pulp, there was never a bigger mess in the market, than this.
Everyone pitched in to clean up the slop, except Mr.Tacknee who had practically vanished into thin air. No one was cheerful, but the hogs that got an extra special meal that day.
***
For a couple of days Molly could enjoy her pie n' mash in peace. There was no sign of Mr.Tacknee. But everyone knew he couldn't be away from the taverns for more than a week. And, right on time, at the end o' the week he sauntered in with heirs unbefitting a troublemaker. Such swagger he had. It was utterly repulsive.
He plunked down onna stool right beside Molly. She gritted her teeth, but did her best to ignore him. Trying to ignore Mr.Tacknee, is like trying to ignore a steel needle that's been thoroughly heated up in a fire and is being repeatedly poked into that tender space between your finger and your nail.
"Why are you ignoring me so me whinsome elf? Why don't you talk to me? The sound of your voice is music! Well, a little hoarse, but music nonetheless! Music sweet music. You can't just sit there not talking to me, when I've taken the time to talk to you! You're being so inconsiderate! Look, I've even put on me good vest for you." He whinged on until Molly could stand it no longer.
"Talk? Is that what you want? How about we talk about those barrels? Yous plannin' on replacing them or givin' me somethin' fer all the trouble you've caused me?" Said Molly as calmly as she could.
"Me fair lady, I'm afraid I can only pay you with my company". This was not entirely true, as Mr.Tacknee in fact, owned four barrels. Though he surely couldn't part with them. Someday the tavern owners would come to their senses and purchase his barrels of pickled eggs. If he gave the barrels to Molly, he'd have to eat all his own pickled eggs. He could hardly stomach even one.
"Your company, aye? Perhaps then you'd like to meet me parents? I'm suuuurrreeee they'd approve of you keepin' me company." She said with equal parts sweetness and sarcasm.
Mr.Tacknee was oblivious to Molly's sarcasm, thus out they went in the little white boat to the island where Molly and her parents lived.
***
It wasn't a long trip. The island was merely a few great boulders held together by the numerous meandering roots of the ancient wind swept cypress trees. It was the kind of tiny island where the main feature was the equally tiny cabin sitting at its center. And the kind of island where rock crabs scuttled about the front porch.
A gull squawked its displeasure as it was shooed away from the door. Molly clacked the anchor shaped iron knocker three times. Mr.Tacknee smiled dumbly as they waited together on the creaky porch. It was an eternity for Molly. But really only ten minutes or so had passed before her mother finally unlocked the door and stepped out.
Mr.Tacknee was taken aback by what he beheld...
Molly was beautiful in the way emerald moss creeps over a cobblestone in a stream and the tiniest dainty flowers sprout up and bloom around it.
Her mother...
Well, her mother was beautiful in the way cut jewels in a crown sparkle with shear opulence. Not at all the dowdy fishmonger's wife you'd have expected to meet. She wore a flowing green silk dress with gold filigree stitching. Two hoops of bronze hung from her ears with sparkling blue abalone shell inlaid. Her golden hair was tied in an elegant braid that hung to her petite waist. Giant glowing blue pearls were strung about her neck. And her eyes were just like Molly's, full of fury and cleverness.
"Ah come now, sit down, sit down." Cicely insisted. Mr.Tacknee plopped himself down on the little dining chair and helped himself to the plate of biscuits without even asking Molly's mother.
"I've heard quite a lot about you Mr.Tacknee. Quite a lot... it's all me sweet daughter Molly has talked about these past few days. And I think it would be best if my husband had a wee chat with you."
Mr.Tacknee took all this as compliments o' course. But that was about to change. For instead of hollering for Molly's father, Cicely, Molly's gorgeous mother did something incredibly unexpected. After all, no lady had ever done this for him.
Right there. Right in front of him. She...
...
...
... she took her dress off.
...
...
Her string of pearls slid off her neck and glowed a deep unearthly cobalt blue, dangling from a tough cord that disappeared into her long silky hair. Her chest had several round flaps that ungulated calmly. At the last pair of flaps was of course her breasts. But one breast was significantly larger than the other and Mr.Tacknee's eyes were inevitably drawn to it.
He started to reach for it.
He wanted to touch it. The impulse was so strong, so overwhelming! His hand trembled as it slowly neared her breast...
He tried to resist...
His hand came slowly nearer...
He wasn't in control of it anymore...
...
...
...
He wanted to wretch...
It was repulsive!
His hand was now hovering just over her breast...
It was unsightly...
It was the most awful thing and it was about to get worse...
...
...
Stuck to the bottom of her breast was a grotesque little thing, like the desiccated remains of a naked rat. Suddenly the breast split apart to reveal a grinning set of massive yellowed and cracked teeth, like that of a putrid dead old horse.
In turn the jaws opened and slid back into Cicely's flesh. Out came a gigantic flattened shellfish! A great louse of some sort which bobbed up and down from her chest, as it carefully inspected Mr.Tacknee.
Its beady black eyes glistening in the awkward silent minutes to pass. Then it spoke very clearly and loudly in the gruff tones of an old fishermen.
"MISTER TACKNEE LOVE IS FAR MORE THAN PASSION. ME ONE AND ONLY DAUGHTER IS MORE PRECIOUS TO ME THAN ALL THE TREASURES OF MAN AND FAIRIES!"
"YOU"
"DO NOT LOVE"
"MY MOLLY!!!"
"YOU ARE THEREFORE UNFIT."
"UNFIT TO COURT HER!!!"
The louse reached out further and its face nearly touched Mr.Tacknee's nose as its tiny black eyes bore into him with a stare that radiated malice.
...
...
...
"YOU!"
"YOU ARE FIT TO..."
The louse went silent as it seemed to ponder the end to this sentence.
...
...
...
"... FEED EELS."
***
Now you may be thinking that the tramp Mr.Tacknee got what was comin' to 'im. Well, he certainly got a fright, yes. However, he wasn't entirely the fool he seemed to be. If anything he could still muster enough wit to wriggle out of a sticky situation.
He didn't win over Molly, no, that definitely wasn't going to happen in this millennia. However, he did escape her loving parents.
On one condition...
If you went to the little town where Molly lived, everyday you could see a man walking out with a barrel. Rain or shine. Sleet or knee high mud. Howling wind or baking heat.
He'd eat his brunch and then toss the crumbs into the frothy waves. Then he'd tip over his barrel and out would pour a stinky few dozen pickled eggs.
The water would soon boil with the sleek bodies of ravenous eels, the size of which were never seen anywhere else.
Sometimes in their excitement an eel would launch itself straight into the sky and beach itself on the planks.
"You bloody fool, back in there with you!" The man would yell as he gently pushed the eel off the wood with his boots.
"We're all bloody fools, aren't we?" He'd say as the eel rippled slowly back to the depths.
(Contains explicit nudity.)
A perfectly handsome grin was plastered to his face, if by handsome you judged from the eyes of a goat. You see, goats are born without front teeth attached to their skulls. So, a surly buck would grin like Mr.Tacknee. However, Mr.Tacknee was born with a full set o' choppers; he lost many with his habit of attending the tavern gatherings like a nun attends prayer. To be fair, many a cider sipper still had their teeth, well, enough to count with the fingers on both hands, at least. Mr.Tacknee, lost his pearly whites, er... autumn browns, from his absolute lack of tact.
Mr.Tacknee had been unceremoniously dragged out and plopped atop a foul midden, a compost heap of nut shells, putrid eel bones, and sawdust mixed up with the saliva of patrons which didn't bother to spit into a jar and just left their filth on the floor (that's what the sawdust on the floor was for after all). Of course, the spat jars were emptied here too. So why was he so chipper?
Well, he'd just asked a lovely daughter of a fishmonger to have a swing with him. In reply, her left hook made a right job of finally jimming loose the last stub of a tooth left in his upper gums. Mr.Tacknee's vision swum in spots and he found himself making acquaintance with the floor. But, in the end, he was an irrepressible optimist. A glass half full, sort o' fellow. Or glass half full of whiskey. In any case, a beautiful woman had touched him and that's all he could have ever have asked for.
***
Now, in all his years of experience of courting, not a single lady ever gave him another glance. In fact, it seemed as though most must have left the county permanently. Molly was a different kind of lady.
She wasn't different because she was a fisher. It wasn't her deadly well muscled arms which she used to haul up entire lengths of crab traps all on her own. It wasn't her cute freckles. Or her shining eyes. There was definitely something different about her, but what exactly was this invisible element that made dear lovely Molly, Molly?
For starters, it was something of a ferocity. Like seeing a lion walking on two legs and staring you straight inda eyes. You'd almost expect to see a tail lashing and curling, as she sized you up, and decided whether or not it was even worth the effort to maul you.
She radiated confidence. It was something untamable, unafraid, and most of all...
Vengeful.
As Molly pulled a cart full of oaken barrels up the street, Mr.Tacknee briefly pondered what greeting he should spout at her.
He gingerly stepped out of the overhang of the bakery and into the center of the street. He was about to say his howdy dos, but was cut off before a single plagued word could slip out his lips. "OUT ME WAY!" Molly bellowed at him.
It shocked him, but he wasn't about to give up that easily. "Busy mornin' aye me deary?" He said with as much charisma as he could muster. Which unfortunately was prob'ly the same amount of charisma as a fat seal bull with a big floppy schnoz. Though, even this comparison could be interpreted as an insult to seal bulls.
"AIN'T NO ONES DEARY!!!" Ooooh now she was really boiling with rage. Any man with even the slightest bit o' sense would have let the fishmonger's daughter go on with her chores. Mr.Tacknee was no such man. Instead he implored that he should help the "wee gel" with her cart and began pushing the back of the cart without her permission.
The latch on the cart's loading door jangled loose. The wood flap swung down and gravity did the rest, pulling all four barrels out of the cart. They bounced and rolled down the hill.
CRACK!!! GUG, GUG, Gug, gug, gug, gug! The barrels exploded against the rock wall at the wharf below. Sea water gushed out and live eels wriggled free of the wreckage, startling two passing carriage horses.
The horses neighed in dissatisfaction and bounded recklessly up the hill trampling the boxes of apples, oranges, and other produce of the outdoor market. The fruits rolled down the grade to join the slimy eels.
And then as luck would have it, the boy carrying a gross of eggs came around the corner, slipped on a slime coated apple and all the eggs went flying up into the air. And as the laws of our universe dictate, they all came to greet the earth. Egg yolks, writhing eels, and fruit pulp, there was never a bigger mess in the market, than this.
Everyone pitched in to clean up the slop, except Mr.Tacknee who had practically vanished into thin air. No one was cheerful, but the hogs that got an extra special meal that day.
***
For a couple of days Molly could enjoy her pie n' mash in peace. There was no sign of Mr.Tacknee. But everyone knew he couldn't be away from the taverns for more than a week. And, right on time, at the end o' the week he sauntered in with heirs unbefitting a troublemaker. Such swagger he had. It was utterly repulsive.
He plunked down onna stool right beside Molly. She gritted her teeth, but did her best to ignore him. Trying to ignore Mr.Tacknee, is like trying to ignore a steel needle that's been thoroughly heated up in a fire and is being repeatedly poked into that tender space between your finger and your nail.
"Why are you ignoring me so me whinsome elf? Why don't you talk to me? The sound of your voice is music! Well, a little hoarse, but music nonetheless! Music sweet music. You can't just sit there not talking to me, when I've taken the time to talk to you! You're being so inconsiderate! Look, I've even put on me good vest for you." He whinged on until Molly could stand it no longer.
"Talk? Is that what you want? How about we talk about those barrels? Yous plannin' on replacing them or givin' me somethin' fer all the trouble you've caused me?" Said Molly as calmly as she could.
"Me fair lady, I'm afraid I can only pay you with my company". This was not entirely true, as Mr.Tacknee in fact, owned four barrels. Though he surely couldn't part with them. Someday the tavern owners would come to their senses and purchase his barrels of pickled eggs. If he gave the barrels to Molly, he'd have to eat all his own pickled eggs. He could hardly stomach even one.
"Your company, aye? Perhaps then you'd like to meet me parents? I'm suuuurrreeee they'd approve of you keepin' me company." She said with equal parts sweetness and sarcasm.
Mr.Tacknee was oblivious to Molly's sarcasm, thus out they went in the little white boat to the island where Molly and her parents lived.
***
It wasn't a long trip. The island was merely a few great boulders held together by the numerous meandering roots of the ancient wind swept cypress trees. It was the kind of tiny island where the main feature was the equally tiny cabin sitting at its center. And the kind of island where rock crabs scuttled about the front porch.
A gull squawked its displeasure as it was shooed away from the door. Molly clacked the anchor shaped iron knocker three times. Mr.Tacknee smiled dumbly as they waited together on the creaky porch. It was an eternity for Molly. But really only ten minutes or so had passed before her mother finally unlocked the door and stepped out.
Mr.Tacknee was taken aback by what he beheld...
Molly was beautiful in the way emerald moss creeps over a cobblestone in a stream and the tiniest dainty flowers sprout up and bloom around it.
Her mother...
Well, her mother was beautiful in the way cut jewels in a crown sparkle with shear opulence. Not at all the dowdy fishmonger's wife you'd have expected to meet. She wore a flowing green silk dress with gold filigree stitching. Two hoops of bronze hung from her ears with sparkling blue abalone shell inlaid. Her golden hair was tied in an elegant braid that hung to her petite waist. Giant glowing blue pearls were strung about her neck. And her eyes were just like Molly's, full of fury and cleverness.
"Ah come now, sit down, sit down." Cicely insisted. Mr.Tacknee plopped himself down on the little dining chair and helped himself to the plate of biscuits without even asking Molly's mother.
"I've heard quite a lot about you Mr.Tacknee. Quite a lot... it's all me sweet daughter Molly has talked about these past few days. And I think it would be best if my husband had a wee chat with you."
Mr.Tacknee took all this as compliments o' course. But that was about to change. For instead of hollering for Molly's father, Cicely, Molly's gorgeous mother did something incredibly unexpected. After all, no lady had ever done this for him.
Right there. Right in front of him. She...
...
...
... she took her dress off.
...
...
Her string of pearls slid off her neck and glowed a deep unearthly cobalt blue, dangling from a tough cord that disappeared into her long silky hair. Her chest had several round flaps that ungulated calmly. At the last pair of flaps was of course her breasts. But one breast was significantly larger than the other and Mr.Tacknee's eyes were inevitably drawn to it.
He started to reach for it.
He wanted to touch it. The impulse was so strong, so overwhelming! His hand trembled as it slowly neared her breast...
He tried to resist...
His hand came slowly nearer...
He wasn't in control of it anymore...
...
...
...
He wanted to wretch...
It was repulsive!
His hand was now hovering just over her breast...
It was unsightly...
It was the most awful thing and it was about to get worse...
...
...
Stuck to the bottom of her breast was a grotesque little thing, like the desiccated remains of a naked rat. Suddenly the breast split apart to reveal a grinning set of massive yellowed and cracked teeth, like that of a putrid dead old horse.
In turn the jaws opened and slid back into Cicely's flesh. Out came a gigantic flattened shellfish! A great louse of some sort which bobbed up and down from her chest, as it carefully inspected Mr.Tacknee.
Its beady black eyes glistening in the awkward silent minutes to pass. Then it spoke very clearly and loudly in the gruff tones of an old fishermen.
"MISTER TACKNEE LOVE IS FAR MORE THAN PASSION. ME ONE AND ONLY DAUGHTER IS MORE PRECIOUS TO ME THAN ALL THE TREASURES OF MAN AND FAIRIES!"
"YOU"
"DO NOT LOVE"
"MY MOLLY!!!"
"YOU ARE THEREFORE UNFIT."
"UNFIT TO COURT HER!!!"
The louse reached out further and its face nearly touched Mr.Tacknee's nose as its tiny black eyes bore into him with a stare that radiated malice.
...
...
...
"YOU!"
"YOU ARE FIT TO..."
The louse went silent as it seemed to ponder the end to this sentence.
...
...
...
"... FEED EELS."
***
Now you may be thinking that the tramp Mr.Tacknee got what was comin' to 'im. Well, he certainly got a fright, yes. However, he wasn't entirely the fool he seemed to be. If anything he could still muster enough wit to wriggle out of a sticky situation.
He didn't win over Molly, no, that definitely wasn't going to happen in this millennia. However, he did escape her loving parents.
On one condition...
If you went to the little town where Molly lived, everyday you could see a man walking out with a barrel. Rain or shine. Sleet or knee high mud. Howling wind or baking heat.
He'd eat his brunch and then toss the crumbs into the frothy waves. Then he'd tip over his barrel and out would pour a stinky few dozen pickled eggs.
The water would soon boil with the sleek bodies of ravenous eels, the size of which were never seen anywhere else.
Sometimes in their excitement an eel would launch itself straight into the sky and beach itself on the planks.
"You bloody fool, back in there with you!" The man would yell as he gently pushed the eel off the wood with his boots.
"We're all bloody fools, aren't we?" He'd say as the eel rippled slowly back to the depths.