The sun beat down hard on Marie's shoulders as she sorted through the day's catch. Parrotfish, snapper, some smaller things she didn't even have a name for in English, all gleaming wet on the wooden table.
Around her, the small fishing village was waking up slow. Roosters crowed, kids yelled playing in the distance, and the smell of frying plantains drifted from a nearby house.
But something felt off. Marie couldn't put her finger on it at first. Maybe it was the quiet. Not a peaceful quiet, but a heavy, expectant one.
The usual chatter of the market was muted, and even the waves seemed to hush as they rolled onto the sand, like they were holding their breath.
She glanced out at the ocean. Flat calm today, almost like glass, which wasn't normal. Usually, there was some kind of ripple, a breeze kicking up little whitecaps.
Today, nothing. Just a smooth, dark blue surface that stretched all the way to the horizon. It made her skin prickle. She turned back to her fish, trying to shake off the feeling. It was probably just the heat making her imagination run wild.
"Marie, you alright?" It was her neighbor, Samuel, his brow furrowed as he approached her table. He was a wiry old man, his face weathered and brown from years at sea. He knew these waters like the back of his hand. If anyone would notice something wrong, it would be him.
"Just… quiet, eh Samuel?" Marie said, gesturing towards the still ocean with a toss of her head.
He nodded slowly, his eyes narrowed as he scanned the horizon. "Too quiet. Like before a storm. But sky clear as day." He rubbed his chin, his gaze fixed on the water. "Don't like it."
Marie agreed. She didn't like it either. This feeling, this stillness, it was creeping under her skin, making the hairs on her arms stand up.
She tried to focus on her work, sorting the fish into piles, but her eyes kept drifting back to the unnaturally calm sea.
Later that day, the quiet got louder. The sun was still blazing hot, but the usual afternoon breeze didn't come. The air hung thick and still, making it hard to breathe. People started to notice it more, whispering amongst themselves in small groups outside their houses.
Children, usually running wild and screaming, were subdued, sticking close to their parents. Dogs whined and scratched at doors, acting restless and scared. Even the birds were silent. The usual chorus of island sounds had faded, replaced by this oppressive, heavy silence.
That night, Marie had trouble sleeping. The silence outside was broken only by the chirping of crickets, which sounded too loud, too frantic in the stillness. She tossed and turned in her bed, a strange unease growing in her chest. It wasn't a fear of anything specific, just a deep, primal sense that something was fundamentally wrong.
Then the dreams started. They weren't nightmares in the usual sense, no monsters or chases. Instead, they were vast, empty spaces. Darkness stretching on forever, cold and silent. But not a peaceful silence. It was a silence that pressed in on her, heavy and alive. And in the middle of this darkness, shapes. Not clear shapes, but shifting, swirling forms that hinted at something enormous, ancient, and utterly alien.
She woke up sweating, heart pounding, feeling like she'd run a marathon in her sleep. The silence outside her window was still there, thick and suffocating. The sky outside was dark, but not the usual comforting darkness of night.
This was a deeper, more profound dark, like something was blotting out the stars themselves.
The next day, things got stranger. The sea was still flat calm, but the color had changed. It was no longer the bright, clear blue she was used to. Now it was a murky, oily green, with strange shimmers beneath the surface.
And the smell. A faint, metallic smell that stung her nostrils, like old blood and something else she couldn't quite place.
People were getting scared now. The whispers turned into worried conversations, then into arguments. Some wanted to leave, to go to the mainland.
Others wanted to stay, to pray, to try and understand what was happening. Samuel, always calm and practical, was pacing back and forth, his brow deeply creased.
"I told you," he said to Marie, his voice low and urgent. "Something's wrong with the sea. Something… deep."
Marie nodded, feeling a cold dread creeping into her bones. She looked out at the green, shimmering water, a knot of fear tightening in her stomach. The dreams, the silence, the strange color and smell of the sea – it all pointed to something terrible. Something beyond understanding.
That night, the dreams came back, stronger this time. The vast darkness was closer, the shifting shapes more defined. She saw them now, glimpses of colossal forms, vaguely organic but utterly wrong, moving in the black void.
They were immense, beyond comprehension, and filled with a cold, ancient power that made her soul shudder.
She woke up screaming this time, her voice raw and hoarse. She sat bolt upright in bed, gasping for breath, her body shaking. The silence outside was gone.
Replaced by a low, rhythmic thrumming sound that vibrated through the ground, through her bones. It was a sound that resonated deep within her, ancient and terrifying.
She stumbled to the window, her legs weak and shaky. The sky was no longer dark. It was a sickly, pulsating purple, flickering with strange, unnatural lights. And the sea… the sea was glowing.
The murky green water shimmered with an inner light, a cold, eerie luminescence that pulsed in time with the thrumming sound.
People were pouring out of their houses, their faces pale and terrified in the unnatural light. They pointed towards the sea, their voices hushed and trembling. Marie followed their gaze, her heart hammering in her chest.
Out in the distance, where the sea met the purple sky, something was rising. Slowly at first, then faster, a colossal shape emerging from the glowing water. It wasn't a ship, or a whale, or anything she had ever seen or imagined. It was a vast, towering mass of darkness, vaguely organic but horribly twisted and alien.
It rose higher and higher, blotting out the unnatural sky, its surface shifting and crawling with unknown things. The thrumming sound grew louder, deeper, filling the air with a terrifying resonance. People began to scream, to run, but there was nowhere to run. The thing was too big, too vast, too… everything.
Samuel grabbed Marie's arm, his face etched with terror. "The Old Ones," he whispered, his voice cracking. "The stories… they're true."
Marie stared at the colossal shape rising from the sea, her mind reeling. Old Ones? Stories from her grandmother, tales of ancient gods sleeping beneath the waves, of terrible powers and things that should not be awakened. She'd always dismissed them as just stories, folklore to scare children. But now…
"What do we do?" Marie whispered, her voice barely audible above the rising thrum.
Samuel shook his head, his eyes wide with fear. "Nothing. Nothing we can do. It's too late."
The colossal shape finished rising from the sea, its full form now visible against the purple sky. It was like a mountain of flesh and shadow, a living nightmare made real. And from it, smaller shapes began to emerge, like spores or seeds drifting on the wind.
But these weren't seeds of plants. They were… things. Horrible, writhing things that fell from the sky like rain, landing on the island, on the houses, on the screaming people.
Marie watched in frozen horror as one of the things landed near her. It was small, maybe the size of a dog, but its form was indescribable.
Twisted limbs, too many eyes, mouths that opened and closed revealing rows of needle-sharp teeth.
It turned towards her, its eyes fixing on her, and a high-pitched, screeching sound ripped from its throat, a sound that drilled into her brain and made her want to claw her ears off.
She stumbled back, tripping and falling, scrambling away from the creature. Around her, chaos erupted. People were screaming, running, being… changed. She saw her neighbor, old Mrs. Josephine, grabbed by one of the creatures.
It latched onto her face, its limbs wrapping around her head, and Mrs. Josephine's screams turned into gurgling, wet sounds. Her body twisted and contorted in unnatural ways, her skin stretching and changing color.
Marie crawled backwards, tears streaming down her face, her mind numb with terror. She looked up at the colossal shape in the sky, at the source of this horror.
It was not just a thing. It was a presence, a consciousness, ancient and vast beyond human understanding. And it was looking at Earth. Looking at them.
The creatures were everywhere now, swarming over the village, changing everything they touched. The houses, the trees, the people – all twisting, warping, becoming something alien and grotesque.
The purple sky pulsed, the glowing sea churned, and the thrumming sound grew into a deafening roar that seemed to tear at the fabric of reality itself.
Samuel was gone. She didn't know where, didn't care. She just wanted to hide, to disappear, to make it all stop. But there was nowhere to hide. The horror was all-encompassing, inescapable. The Old Gods had awakened, and they had chosen Earth. Chosen her home.
She found herself huddled against a wall, watching as her village, her island, her world was devoured.
The familiar shapes of houses and trees melted into grotesque, organic forms. The people she knew, her friends, her neighbors, transformed into monstrous parodies of themselves.
The air itself seemed to thicken, to become viscous and alien, filling her lungs with a burning, suffocating sensation.
And through it all, the thrumming, the pulsing, the sense of an ancient, colossal consciousness watching, judging. She closed her eyes, pressing her hands over her ears, trying to block out the sights and sounds of the end of everything. But it was no use. The horror was inside her now, a cold, creeping tendril that had burrowed into her soul.
She thought of her life, of the simple joys of fishing, of laughing with friends, of the warm sun on her skin. All gone. Erased. Replaced by this nightmare.
And she knew, with a chilling certainty, that this was not just the end of her village, or her island, or even her world. It was the end of everything she had ever known, ever loved, ever believed in. The Old Gods were not just waking up. They were breeding. And Earth was their new nest.
Slowly, she opened her eyes again. The purple sky pulsed overhead, the glowing sea stretched to the horizon, and the world around her was a swirling, grotesque tapestry of alien forms. But something was different now.
The thrumming sound had changed. It was still there, but fainter, overlaid by another sound. A new sound.
A wet, gurgling, sucking sound. A sound of… feeding.
She looked down at herself. Her skin was changing. Not twisting and contorting like the others, but… softening. Pulsing. The color was fading, turning a pale, translucent green. And something was growing on her arm. A small, soft protuberance, like a bud on a plant. But it wasn't a plant. It was… alive.
She touched it, her fingers sinking into the soft, yielding flesh. It pulsed again, and a faint warmth spread through her arm. She looked at it, her mind struggling to comprehend. She was changing. Being changed. Becoming… part of them.
A wave of despair washed over her, colder and more profound than any fear. It wasn't just the horror, the destruction, the end of the world. It was the loss of herself. The erasure of her identity. She wasn't just going to die. She was going to become something else. Something… useful.
Tears streamed down her face, but they were not tears of fear anymore. They were tears of utter, desolate sadness.
For her lost life, for her lost home, for her lost self. She was not going to be devoured, not in the way the others had been. She was going to be… used. Transformed. Made into something to nurture the new brood of the Old Gods. A living incubator, a fleshy vessel for their monstrous offspring.
She looked up at the pulsating purple sky, at the colossal shape looming above. And she understood. This wasn't just an invasion. It was a harvest. And she, Marie, from the small island village, was just another crop to be reaped.
Her purpose now, her final, agonizing purpose, was to become a breeding ground. And in that realization, in that ultimate, brutal understanding of her fate, the last spark of hope flickered and died.
The gurgling sounds grew louder around her, and the soft, pulsing bud on her arm grew larger, hungry for life. Her own.