It Feasts

After parking in the driveway, Chris lingered in the alleyway between his tiny black sedan and his wife’s minivan to look up at the moon. He chewed mindlessly on a flavorless piece of gum and wondered how many people out there noticed the moon looked unusually big tonight – and he wondered how those people would feel if they found out it was true. That over the last three weeks, the moon expanded over ten percent and not a single person at NASA knew why. They had plenty of theories and plenty of degrees, but not a single believable reason for why, after all these years, the moon would begin to grow.

            Sighing, Chris forced his gaze away from the great white orb and down to his house. The house Chris lived in with his wife and daughter was shaped like a golf club, with the living room, kitchen, dining room, and office forming a square next to the garage before tapering off into a hallway leading to their bedrooms. Giant bay windows curved around the kitchen so he could see Jean, his wife, moving around the kitchen island, talking on the phone. She looked happy, bathed in the warm lights, and he didn’t want to ruin that by bringing in his negative energy from work.

            He tried to take a calming breath but found his head unconsciously tilting back up towards the moon. Seeing the moon so big, like a balloon ready to pop, made him uneasy. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was on the verge of piecing things together, like the lingering déjà vu hangover from a bad dream. Looking at it again, he could hear the thumping in his ears, even without the cumbersome company headphones. The steady “one-two” bum-bum beat that made up the second part of the moon mystery.

            Chris grunted, shaking his head to clear it, then squeezing the bridge of his nose. He wasn’t much of a drinker, but he wanted a beer. Something to make him relax.

            Still feeling tense around the neck and shoulders, he walked through the gate and up to the back door. Pushing inside, he let the warmth and familiar smell of Jean’s cooking wash over him as he kicked his shoes off. He could hear his wife speaking in Korean in the other room. He could never remember the time difference between here and Seoul, but knew an evening call meant Jean was talking to her sister.

            Chris walked into the kitchen. A boiling pot with red soup sat on the stove while Jean leaned against the sink, laughing into her phone. She held up a finger and Chris shook his head, indicating she shouldn’t hurry.

            Instead, he walked around to the trash can and popped the lid. The lid always sprang open quickly, but took its time closing, giving Chris plenty of time to toss his gum and catch sight of an empty packet of silken tofu. His stomach growled in anticipation. He had a pretty good feeling he knew exactly what was boiling in the pot and, hearing Jean’s conversation wind to a close, he looked up.

            “That was my sister. It’s the lunar new year, so they’re on holiday,” Jean said. Chris visibly winced at the mention of the lunar new year and Jean made a sympathetic face. “Sorry. Any good news from work?” 

            Chris shook his head. By any good news, he knew Jean meant any idea what was happening to the moon, but the truth was everyone at NASA was stumped.

            “Any more questions from Hana?” Chris asked.

            Last night before bed, their daughter, Hana, had burst into their room to announce her dad was on the news. Irritated if not surprised, Chris could only thumb through the news article until he found his name among many “high-level scientists stumped by the moon’s strange behavior” according to an anonymous source. Later that night, thanks to another anonymous source, the news sources began to speculate the moon was entering a rare, harvest orbit that made it look bigger.

            Chris suspected the second source to be one of his coworkers. While NASA’s official policy might be to ignore the plebeian media, most of the team members bristled at the idea of watching their names and reputations take a savage beating online, kicked like a can first between the newspapers and then down into the writhing pit of anger and frustration that are online message boards.

            Chris considered telling Jean about the sound they detected today, a steady one-two rhythm, almost like a heartbeat, but decided against it. Listening to the sound made him break out in gooseflesh, but several coworkers became nauseous and more than one had a nervous breakdown. No need to scare them unnecessarily.

            And besides, Chris thought, the moon was over four and a half billion years old. Who's to say it wasn’t going through a new phase of some kind?

            Chris realized Jean had said something and looked up. “What?”  

            “I said Hana has some good news,” Jean said. Turning away, she opened the fridge and took out a carton of brown eggs. “Where is she? Hana!” 

            “I’m right here. Why are you yelling?” Hana said, moving out of the living room and into the kitchen.

            Chris was pretty sure Hana hadn’t been standing there a moment before, but he had noticed that his daughter liked to come out swinging in conversations with her mom.

            Seeing Jean turn, eyes narrowing, Chris made a move to cut her off. “What’s the good news?”

            Hana might have her mother’s temper, but she had Chris’s smile. A wide, toothy grin that seemed to wrap around her entire face.

            “I got an ‘A’ on my science report,” Hana said.

            “An A+,” Jean added.

            For once Hana didn’t argue as she strutted through the kitchen, dropping the bound science report in front of him. Sure enough, a big red A+ marked the front. “Ask me about Reaper Eels. Ask me anything.”

            Chris didn’t know the slightest thing about Reaper Eels so he started with something basic. “Why do they call them Reaper Eels?”

            Flipping open the report, Chris saw this was the first question answered on the inside of the first page. Allowing him to read along as his daughter spoke, moving her arms wide and low like a Roman orator.

            “Many people think it’s because of their distinctive coloring – black and gray with yellow eyes. Or the distinct scythe-like marks on their skin. But this is not the case!” Hana said.

            Out of the corner of his eye, Chris saw Jean nodding with approval and he smiled. He knew his wife took Hana’s grades personally and would be secretly just as proud of the good grade. 

            “The Reaper Eel gets its name because the Reaper Eel reaps what it sows,” Hana said.  

            Chris turned the page, happy for the distraction.

            “Reaps what it sows? What does that mean?” Chris said. “I mean, I’ve heard of fish farms but I’ve never heard of a fish that farms.” Chris couldn’t help laughing before he got the dad joke out.

            “Horrible,” Jean said. She took out an egg, then stepped up to the pot, tapped it twice against the rim, then broke it in one solid strike, splitting it apart and dumping the contents inside. She tossed the two halves of the shell into the trashcan.

            Seeing the egg crack, Chris shivered. His mouth suddenly felt hot and sticky, and he thought of his coworkers that morning listening to the moon’s heartbeat. The ones who broke down with complete panic attacks that required medical attention. He could feel the waves of panic lapping at the back of his brain, threatening to wash over him, but he didn’t know why. 

            Chris forced himself to look back up and focus on Hana, just in time to see her roll her eyes at his joke before continuing. “The pregnant Reaper Eel will find a cave and lay her eggs around the outer rim of the only exit. Then she will protect that cave from predators, letting it fill up with tiny fish, mussels, and sea urchins.”

            Chris saw Jean approach the bowl, holding another egg. Again she tapped the egg twice against the rim before splitting it with one deft strike.

            Now the shiver spread down his arms, across his lungs and into his stomach, twisting it into an icy knot. The waves of panic grew stronger, bringing with them an undertow that threatened to pull him under. Chris tried to keep his face impassive, but beads of sweat broke out on his face and palms. He leaned in, trying to hear his daughter over the rising sound of rushing water in his ears, so loud it threatened to wipe every sense from his brain if he didn’t mentally hold the line.

            “Then the eggs hatch – and suddenly the safe cave becomes a trap. The young Reapers Eels begin to feast.” Hana continued.

            Chris didn’t dare take a breath, afraid it would come in a ragged gasp. Instead, he looked down at the book, flipping through the glossy pictures. The tiny part of his brain that tried its best to make light of everything wondered how much this cost him, and when he was ready, he eased a slow breath in through his nose. Then he exhaled just as slowly, before taking another small breath.

            Chris turned another page in the report. He was fine. He just needed a glass of water, or maybe a beer, after a stressful day.

            “Very scientific. Just like your old man,” Chris said, relieved to hear his voice sounded normal.

            “Please,” Hana said.

Chris had his breathing under control. He felt the waves of panic receding, as if the tide had changed.

The tide, Chris thought, stumbling over the word. The moon controlled the tides. Everything came back to the moon. He felt like he was on the verge of solving a puzzle. He could see all the pieces and a part of his brain, somewhere deep in the back, knew how they fit together. If he could just tap into it everything would snap into focus.

Looking back up, Chris thought Hana was ready to say something else when he saw Jean approach the pot with another egg out of the corner of his eye. She reached out and tapped the egg twice against the pot, and Chris screamed.

“Please – Babe! Stop!” Chris rarely raised his voice above his soft, scientific mumble and the sound of him screaming hit the kitchen like a bomb, freezing everyone in place.

Jean recoiled in shock, dropping the egg so that it shattered on the ground. On the opposite side of the room Hana gasped, then pointed at Chris and shrieked.

“My report!” Hana cried, then sobbed.

Chris looked down and found his fist had crumpled around one of the glossy photos, mangling the page beyond repair. He heard footsteps vanishing down the hallway and looked up to find Hana gone and Jean glaring at him.

“Shit,” Chris said.

Jean muttered something in Korean, ripped a paper towel off the roll, and dropped effortlessly into a low squat. Despite being the smallest in the family, angry Jean could easily fill any room in the house.

            “I’ll go say something to her,” Chris said. He watched Jean’s back for a response, but she simply wiped away at the spilled yoke.   

            Pushing his stool back into the island, Chris felt his phone vibrate and reached for it. Seeing it was the office his heart sank.

            “This is Chris,” he said into the phone.

            He never heard what came next. A deafening roar like a thunderclap just inches above his head knocked him to the ground, his head bouncing like a pinball off the island counter and then the floor. The one, two punches knocked out his vision and then his hearing, leaving him alone with a blinding white light and high-pitched ringing before his senses snapped back into place.

            “Jesus,” Chris said, slowly looking around.

            All the lights and all the windows Chris could see had shattered, covering the ground in broken glass that glinted like a fresh layer of snow. Outside, he could hear car alarms going off up and down the street and distant sirens.

            “Jean? Babe?” Chris pushed to his feet, peering up over the island.

            Looking over the island, he saw Jean sitting with her back to the kitchen sink. She clutched her left arm to her chest, one laced with upraised lines of freshly cooked skin. Chris saw the overturned pot nearby, its steaming contents dripping down the cabinet and onto the floor.

            “Babe, don’t move,” Chris said, looking at her bare feet and then the broken glass. “I’m coming to you.”

            Chris looked around. The ground was covered in glass, so instead he hopped up on the kitchen island, crawling across to drop next to his wife.

            “I’m okay, just. What happened?” Jean said.

            Chris looked around. His first thought was a bomb of some kind, but instead of saying this, he reached for his wife, wrapping an arm around her. Despite her feigned strength, Jean sank into him, a violent sob wracking her body.

            Chris tightened his grip, fighting the urge to cry himself. Looking through the broken windows at the street, he saw a few cars turned on their sides, their lights flashing while their horns blared.

            “Mom? Dad?” Hana screamed, and Chris felt his head jerk up, as if yanked by some primordial string.

            “Hana? Hana!” Jean screamed back, her nails digging into Chris’s arm. “Go to her!”

            Chris didn’t hesitate. Driven by the instinctive urge to protect his offspring. An urge that kicked into overdrive when he heard Hana scream again.  

            He stumbled through the kitchen, ignoring the way the glass frayed and then cut through his socks, before grinding its way into the flesh underneath. By the time he reached the wood panel of the hallway, his feet smacked wetly with each step. He paused only once to toss aside a piece of furniture, then ran down the hallway to where Hana sat staring up out the window. She held her hands on either side of her face, her lips twitching through every emotion, before her jaw fell slack and her eyes rolled back.

            “Hana,” Chris screamed, running to catch her before he fell.

            After a few shakes, Hana’s eyes snapped open, but there was none of the feisty anger she always directed at her mom, or the overdramatic annoyance with which she treated his jokes. Her eyes were blank. She could only turn her head away, whimpering as she looked past him out the window.

            Following her gaze, Chris looked up and out at the moon. Only he couldn’t see it. Or, to be more precise, his brain wouldn’t let him see it at first. It was like staring at one of those old two-dimensional visual illusions where, if you found the right angle, a three-dimensional shape would appear. Only he couldn’t find the right angle. His eyes kept tracing around the moon’s circumference, until with an effort forced his eyes to look towards the center, focusing on the large black crack now running down the middle, dividing the moon into two halves until it widened, unraveling like a zipper and revealing a single giant, unblinking eye.

            The moon now filled the sky, and as Chris watched, it broke apart in chunks, held together by strings of red yoke that stretched to thin fibers before snapping. The scene played out in complete silence, as if the night sky were just a giant screen and the sound had been cut. Only Chris knew, as any young scientist knew, that whatever sound the moon might make was too far away. Thirteen days away, to be exact. 

            Something in the air shifted. Unable to turn off the analytical part of his brain, or perhaps retreating into it, Chris realized that the thunderclap he heard earlier was some sort of gravity storm, the earth’s axial tilt going haywire without its stabilizing force.

            The moon blossomed outwards, temporarily held together by the red yoke inside and reminding Chris of the molecular models they used to make in college, before the chunks of the moon hurled off in different directions, some spinning off into space and others crashing down towards earth like shooting stars. Above the eye, two long crescents unfolded like giant rabbit's ears above the eye, holding onto their shape as they straightened up and out. A matching pair of crescents emerged from bottom and, for a moment, it resembled a giant propeller, with the blades slowly turning around the unblinking eye. Then all at once, the blades broke apart into a mass of writhing tentacles, as if the moon were replaced with a giant red sea anemone.

            Behind him he heard Jean’s footsteps, and looking back, he saw her make it halfway through the living room before she caught sight of the thing in the sky and stopped. Her eyes widened as her mouth bobbed open twice, then hung slack. She fell slowly to her knees, ignoring the shards of glass that cut into her smooth tan legs.

            Turning back, Chris saw the tentacles arc up and out, diving towards the earth. He couldn’t be sure how long he watched. It might have been a minute, or it could have been an hour. He watched two of the tentacles stream through the atmosphere like shooting stars, before swirling through the clouds and crashing down towards the earth. As the three nearest to him drew closer, Chris saw the area tips, charred black by their entry through the atmosphere, break apart. The tip of each tentacle blossomed a halo of blood red pedals, blooming out like a giant sunflower around an obsidian colored center.

            Seeing it happen, a strange thought came to Chris.

“It brought flowers,” he said out loud, still holding his daughter and watching the obsidian center of the flower grow larger as it drew closer. “Maybe it came in peace.”

            Then, Chris saw the first of the tentacles touch down on the ground and it began to feast.  

***

Harold Hoss likes reading and watching movies - often while drinking coffee. When he isn't reading or writing he enjoys taking his dog Margot for walks.