Whale Killer

By Huge Beluga

A collection of stories from the myth, lore, and urban legends of the Pacific Northwest coast.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Beluga
• Release date: Dec 17, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386838418

Book preview

FISH GUTS

I HEARD AN INTERESTING story while I was in one of those bars that don't close until it's empty so if there were still people sitting at the counter it never closed. I think whenever somebody went on break, they actually took a nap in one of the booths before resuming business. That was good because I didn't have money for a motel and it was the last day of my vacation.

The guy at the bar was talking about how his great, great grandfather's father went missing while at sea during a famine. It was a new settlement on the coast and the people were driven there by other people who they didn't get along with. The soil was thin and full of rocks. The air was salty.

...The fog was thick as cotton. Then his father came back. You know, like he suddenly appeared, without his boat. It had been an entire year since he was gone. They thought he was dead so they cried over it and cried over it some more when they saw him again. He wasn't the same man though.

The guy downed like two beers and had to take a piss so while I sat there I ordered a mug of black coffee. It tasted fine. I burnt my tongue on a sip. He came back but didn't say anything else so I turned to him.

What do you mean? How was he different?

Who?

Your great, great grandfather's father?

"He looked the same, maybe he was a little bit fatter. They didn't actually remember because it'd been so long. They were glad to have him back so they believed it was a miracle and that was the end of that.

He came back when they were about to call it quits and starve to death, or kill and eat each other for food, I don't know. He borrows his neighbor's boat and goes out onto the ocean again, by himself, and it's like he's gone again and this time he's never coming back. But he comes back with a shitload of fish and they're ecstatic because 'heck, nobody is going to eat little Jimmy now'."

The guy ordered a plate of spicy wings and some fries. His story was kind of weird and I guessed it was going to be about his ancestor being a founder of the town or something. But then it wasn't.

"They said he smelled like fish guts.

He smelled like straight fish guts all the time. He took a bath, they washed his clothes, they bought him new clothes, he would sit down at Sunday dinner, breakfast, lunch, go to bed still smelling like fresh fish guts. They could smell him before they saw him coming. The dog was afraid of him. It barked and growled whenever he was around. They thought it was the reason why he was such a great fisherman all of a sudden. I really don't know why they let this guy in the house.

Anyway, all the men in town want to know his fishing secrets. It's lame that one man gets to be the hero and savior of the town. They want to know how he gets so much fish. He tells them nothing though. He doesn't really talk to anybody anymore. He goes out alone, really early in the morning when it's dark and foggy. Then he comes home at night when it's dark and foggy again with a ginormous catch. He stinks of fish guts. He reeks. They live with him like this for a while until it creeps everybody out.

My great, great grandpa is just a small kid so when he hides on the boat in a barrel, the barrel still slides a bit on the deck like nobody's in it. He slept all night in there as a stowaway. He wakes up when he feels the boat leave the dock. There's a little hole he uses to see what's going on. The boat sails for hours with nothing going on. He realizes that's because there really isn't anything going on. He gets out of the barrel and doesn't see his father anywhere, but he can kind of smell him?

He looks around confused and sees this big, huge whale swimming right at him! The water swells and it picks the boat up real high. My grandpa's scared! He thinks he's going to capsize so he starts screaming."

I watched as the guy scrunched up a wad of napkins to soak the wing sauce off his fingers. It was late. It was about two in the morning and the bar still hadn't closed down. My third refill of coffee tasted burnt. No one else was listening, so he directs the rest of the story to me.