Sun Kissed Inssmouth
Part 132
The awful, intrusive voice didn’t yell, it didn’t beg either. Felecia considered the tone the monster out in the waves used and recognized it for what it was. Concern. At the time, that tone seemed cruel more than anything else. How dare the monster suddenly feign interest, how dare it assume that Felecia was so naïve, or so desperate as to cling onto such a convincing lie. The mind prying mollusk wanted to worm its way in, make Felecia do awful things, just like always. The horrible nightmare still hung high in her memories, the smell of cooking flesh, the howls from inside the Big House, even little Kat. No, she wouldn’t hollow herself out and become a vessel for the monsters brand of telekinetic evil. Not even if it did manage to avenge the old witch, the only member of Felecia’s family, save for her father and brother Bartholomew, who ever showed her a genuine scrap of kindness or genuine love. Felecia would come to lament not giving into the monster that night.
Felecia braced herself as best she could, aiming from the hip while holding her off hand over the top of the barrel to keep it from jumping so that the barrel of the harpoon rifle was roughly meeting Ganly at the waist. She pulled her finger tight over the trigger and felt the hammer hit home, she heard the cap snap…and nothing happened.
The berry bush was thick and tall but spindly, the broken fence post was hidden well enough by the thing but Felecia was broader and taller and she had to nearly stand to fire the rifle the way she decided to. The hammer driving into the pan was loud, louder than she had planned and loud enough to be heard over the distant ocean waves and the constant hum of the meadow and swamp insects. The hammer also managed to fall just as the posse had fallen into a lull of otherwise pointless and incessant words.
Phillip’s boy was the first one to turn and even then, there was a moment, a consideration of what is natural sounds and what isn’t. The villager, Merl, he stopped and squinted as best he could. He was the first to see something that wasn’t just green/brown vegetation or pin holed stary night.
Merl shouted, “It’s the archer!”
Merl died right after that exclamation but it wasn’t because Felecia turned her aim in anyway at him, nor was it due to Merl having a sudden change of heart and diving in front of the bullet to save his boss. All Merl did was shout and point dead ahead at Felecia but he should have done something more, or different, maybe planted his feet, or tried to drop out of the way, instead he stood and was easily yanked forward into the way of the harpoon.
The old harpoon rifle ignited, moments after Felecia expected it to, some seconds after she had given up on her mad idea. Felecia was only barely still bracing the rifle either at the stock or over the barrel when it hissed and finally erupted. The nearly three-foot harpoon erupted form the barrel and drove through with such speed that poor Merl was yanked off his feet and landed nearly into the burning remains of the ruin beyond. He must have launched a good twenty feet before he landed with a cruel snap. It was likely the fall that killed him just as much as the initial shock of taking nearly three feet of metal right through the chest.
Felecia didn’t immediately understand what had happened, the harpoon rifle was supposed to be an earth-shattering force, it should have kicked like a draft horse. Phillip’s rifle was painful to shoot in every sense, the force against the shoulder was immense, the thing would try and kick you away from the sights as you fired, it tried to climb in your grip and always threatened to leap out of your hands. The harpoon gun, when it finally decided to ignite was nothing more than a low thump, the mass of the thing kept it stable as it bounced back a little and pushed up on Felecia’s off hand even less. The harpoon fired slow enough so that you could nearly watch its whole trajectory as it launched, skewered the puny creature on its way and finally landed home over near the still burning fire of the old packing crate house.
Ganly had quickly and deftly, noticed the threat, assumed what would happen, and acted accordingly. He grabbed one of the disposable villagers left to use and pulled him into harm’s way while dropping to the ground. At the time, Felecia wasn’t sure if the harpoon had knocked the fiend down, or out. She stopped being worried with the rifle and became suddenly concerned with her bow and arrows, letting go of the harpoon rifle so that it slid off the fence post so as to land on the ground with a mighty thud.
Phillip’s boy became a shadow and that was concerning but so was the idea of Ganly splayed out in the woods, unconscious but not declared dead. Felecia knew she needed him dead for this all to finally stop. The other villager, the one Felecia never did remember the name of after hearing it the once, he was the only not ducking after Merl’s ugly, limited flight. He was busy throwing his hands over his face and cowering. Felecia got her bow ready and nocked an arrow and held it taught while watching him begin to beg for his life. Should she move too, duck maybe? Or should she try and better blend with the bushes that still held her in shadow against the burning pyre of Jacqueline’s only known home after her adolescence save for some ridiculous cave.