The Sea returns everything (Halloween Special) - Klaus Fernández

 

THE SEA RETURNS EVERYTHING

🇪🇦 spanish version 

    My name is Allison Johnson. I'm English, from Manchester, I'm 19 years old and I have a Yorkshire dog called Hugh. I love woolly hats; I love photography and I came alone to this isolated little village to escape the hustle and bustle of the world.

    This fishing village in the north of Portugal, whose name I will omit as anyone can find it on Google Maps, has only one matter.

    It is cursed.

    The locals know it's cursed, you don't. To you it looks like a typical seaside village with rough men of the sea who go out to fish in the morning while the women stay in port singing and mending the nets. In the evenings, when they return to their boats, their wives lovingly welcome them back with their cargo. Life seems fair and simple. Everything is as it should be: simple habits, simple lives.

    The main wealth of this village comes from cod fishing. Although it is rumoured that in the 19th century it had another source of wealth sporadically. In seasons with lower catches, they resorted to smuggling, and it is even said that they caused the occasional shipwreck to get their hands on their merchandise. Today it has barely 200 inhabitants in winter, a number that doubles in the summer when a few tourists armed with mobile phones and tacky clothes arrive. The most unique thing about the village is an old church, built entirely from the wood of the shipwrecks off its shores and dedicated to a nondescript, purple-robed, hooded saint with fish-like hands.

    All the apparent tranquillity of the village changed the day that young Vitor, among the nets of his boat, returned with a strange chest. He had fished it o mar proibido. Leandro, a blind, grey-haired fisherman, warned, terrified, of the danger that surrounded that stretch of water. It was forbidden to fish there, the few fish tasted bad or floated dead, the sea temperature was always a few degrees warmer than in other areas and there was a tacit agreement not to disturb the dark shadows that moved and lived on the bottom. He himself in his youth, going to this forbidden area with his father, had suffered the wrath of the sea. His father never returned, and Leandro returned blinded by the horrors he witnessed.

    Blinded and warned. You cannot disturb the creatures that dwell there, the price for transgressing that rule would be terrible. Leandro would finish the story, to whoever would listen, always with a squeeze of his bottle of ribeiro and a cryptic phrase: "O mar devolve tudo". Vitor, with the insolence and courage that comes with age, laughed at these dark superstitions. Coisas de pescadores velhos e tolos. And that fateful afternoon, bored with having had no luck in his cod fishing, he headed for the cursed area in his small boat. The sky was overcast, and the waters were rough. No wonder the sea was warm and reddish in colour. "With a little luck, that unexploited area will have shoals of fish that would fall into my strong nets," thought the young man. He cast the main net and waited. A sharp tug came from the mesh. Vitor, smiling, picked it up. There was nothing in it, but a rotting wooden chest adorned with shells and embraced by three chains. A bolt crowned the main chain. The young man grabbed a crowbar and prepared to burst the bolt but, at that moment, it began to rain heavily, so he decided to return to port and do it on dry land. As he left the area, he thought he heard a wailing and splashing behind him but put it down to the noise of the strong wind and the rattling of the engine.

    In the harbour, once his boat was moored, Vitor descended with the heavy chest and deposited it on dry land. Suddenly the seagulls stopped screaming and fled from the harbour. The people fell silent, the young man had not yet opened his mouth, but everyone knew instantly that he had accessed the forbidden sea. He had broken the pact. Vitor, with the crowbar he pulled from his boat, burst the padlock. The chains fell with an unreal noise. He opened the lid to close it instantly. He smiled at the other fishermen and fell dead on the wooden planks of the jetty.

    An old woman hastily threw a blanket over the chest, but not over the body of the wretched boy. Other old women shouted for Leandro. He would know what to do with the chest. But they were unable to find it. They were about to give up their search when some children found him asleep drunk under a granary. Three burly men carried him to the harbour. The chest was surrounded by a small, improvised circle of lit candles and crucifixes. Strangely enough, several baskets of fish had also been deposited. Under the blanket the chest seemed to beat rhythmically. When Leandro was released in front of the spontaneous altar, he opened his blind eyes exaggeratedly and regained his sobriety. In some strange way he recognised the chest. It had to be returned to its owner the next morning without further delay, otherwise the village would suffer terrible evils. For the time being, that night, the chest guarded by Leandro would sleep in the old church of R'lyehothop. It was erected in a single night, under the directions of a strange sea creature, to soothe "restless sleepers" after the town's latest affront - Leandro and his father's journey to the forbidden zone. Its construction allowed for abundant fishing, generated wealth, and the town enjoyed a period of relative peace.

    The next morning, Leandro himself deposited the chest on one of the ships with precise instructions whispered to the ship's captain. The old blind man had had an epiphany during the night. The saint had spoken to him; all boats and men were to go out to sea. The morning was splendid, and the sky was clear, and the fishermen smilingly said goodbye to their families. Leandro watched the scene taciturnly from the church. The weather lasted only a few hours with the sky turning dark in seconds and black rain pouring down on the town and the sea. Strong winds lashed the harbour. Women, wives, and daughters began to fear the worst. No boat was returning at the usual time. They asked the blind old man for help. Surely, he too would now know what to do. "We will all go and pray to R'lyehothop in the church for the return of the men, the sea returns all," he said enigmatically. And so, they did for days but the storm did not abate, and the husbands, fathers and sons did not return.

    That night, Leandro had another epiphany. In a dream, R'lyehothop had spoken to him again. All the fishermen would return but a high price had to be paid. All the women agreed, there was no price they would not pay to see their loved ones return. As day fell on the sixth day, all the fishermen returned? but not as they left. They were different. They were dead. They appeared, little by little, walking awkwardly from the sea to the shore. Inflated like balloons. With empty stares and open mouths. Covered in seaweed, scratches, and bites.

    The women fell to their knees in horror. Leandro explained that they had been allowed to return for one night only and the next morning they would all have to return to their watery graves. To the embrace of "the restless sleepers". They had returned so that their families could say goodbye to them. 86 people were to return to the depths, not one more and not one less. An elderly and sick woman offered to take the place of her returned son. In this way, the deceased could be given a Christian burial in the cemetery and not live eternally cursed in this simulacrum of life. Leandro replied that he would have to consult with the inhabitants of the sea and went into the church alone. A boy, overcome by curiosity, followed him, and leaned out of a window. From there he thought he saw Leandro enter a trance and speak to the statue of the saint. He also thought he saw that the statue was not a statue, it was moving and making fish-like gestures with its hands to the old man. After a few minutes, Leandro left the church, the pact was accepted and tolerated for R'lyehothop. In successive years, on this day, all the dead would return, and their place could be taken by one of the people. One per year and a returnee for a living one.

    And so, it went on for years. At first, they were volunteers. People who were willing to sacrifice their lives for those who left, who had no family, who were sick, weak or fed up with life. But these volunteers were exhausted, and then they were selected by lottery, and after a few years they were forced to leave. After a few years, the cursed village was running out of inhabitants. One dark night in the church, they agreed to offer people from outside the village. Neighbours from other villages. That option was dangerous, they could attract unwanted attention. Tourists were the best option. Expendable people who could easily be fooled by the beauty of the village and made to disappear.

    My name is Allison Johnson. I was captured years ago in the village. They've been doing it for years even though no one remembers why they started. It's like the monkey experiment, the banana bunch and the cold-water jets. In that test, at a certain point, the monkeys no longer know why they are spinning a wheel and are malnourished, they only know that they will receive cold water jets if one of them happens to go for the banana bunch. The villagers had become the monkeys.

    They tied me to an altar in the church and, at night, "restless sleepers" came for me to take the place of a returnee. 

    Today, after five years, I return to the village with an awkward gait, blue and swollen like a balloon. Empty shell of a former life, I come from the bottom of the sea, hoping for luck and that someone will take my place so that I can rest at last.

    Because the sea returns everything.

This story is a humble homage to H.P. Lovecraft and The Myths of Cthulhu

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