Mr Herschell from downstairs has the weirdest friggin’ goldfish! Lucky for him, I have some pretty solid experience looking after peculiar pets. Here are some hard-earned pieces of wisdom I’d like to share with you:
1. Do NOT Feed It to Natural Predators
I made this mistake once before when I was petsitting a mutant chicken named Penguin. Penguin was born without a tailbone, so he could only waddle around like… a penguin. A troop of baboons swooped in and snatched him up like a Streetwise Meal that wasn’t streetwise enough. Lesson learned. Not going to happen again. I had chicken stress dreams for months after that. True story.
No baboons to worry about in Mr Herschell’s flat, though. Just his creepy-as-arse goldfish.
2. Give It Some Books to Read … Or Not
Actually, Mr Herschell’s whole flat is creepy, and I’m pretty sure the book laid open across his dusty writing desk is bound in human skin. He has a lot of books, old Mr Herschell. And he gave me very specific instructions to stay away from them.
But he didn’t say anything about letting his goldfish read them, and if I were to read over its shoulder, who would know?
There’s one here called “Commanding The Faceless Ones to Do Your Bidding”; another one called “Channeling the Power of The Pale Beast of the Labyrinth.” This is some pretty dark stuff. I don’t know if I want to let the creepy goldfish read any of these. He might actually learn something. Better to keep him ignorant.
3. Give It Plenty to Eat
You know what, I’m just going to feed this fish like I said I would and get the hell out of here. Especially since Mr Herschell and I are hardly on the best of terms as it is, seeing as I involuntarily banished him to the water world of Yaddith-Gho.
There’s just a pinch of fish food left in the little bottle. I think I might have to make this thing a sandwich or something.
He’s eyeing me hungrily. I don’t like it at all.
Enjoying my blog?
4. If It Starts to Grow Out of Control, Flush It Down the Toilet
There’s some polony in the fridge. Can’t think of anything that doesn’t eat polony. Polony and mayonnaise: the food of champions. I spread some mayo on a slice thick enough to feed a humanities student and hold it in the water. This damned goldfish just stares at me like I’m trying to steal its eggs or something.
That’s when I realise the goldfish is a lot bigger than I thought it was. Most of it is hidden in the little rocky cave it’s poking its head out of. It unfurls its serpentine body and strikes, grabbing the piece of polony and the tip of my finger in the same bite. I yank my hand out of the water but I fear it’s too late. It’s tasted blood now. I’m not sure what that means, but in the movies it’s never a good thing.
As I turn around, holding my hand against my chest, a neat little squirt of blood shoots out the tip of my finger and leaves a Jackson Pollock splatter across the open pages of the grimoire on the desk. Mr Herschell is definitely not going to be happy about this, but before I can do anything about his bloodstained book, I need to wrap up my finger so I don’t get my blood all over his carpet.
When I come back from Mr Herschell’s grubby bathroom with toilet paper wrapped around my hand, I notice that the fish looks even bigger. It’s hard to believe it could fit into the little rocky cave now. If I didn’t know better, I’d say the thing had been nourished by my life force.
I don’t know about you, but I’m getting a serious case of the nopes. I’m getting the fuck out of here. Will deal with Mr Herschell’s demonic fish some other time.
Maybe even creepier than Mr Herschell’s fish is that when I checked the word count of this blog, it came up to 666!
Save my soul. Buy my book. I need to move.
One thought on “How to Look After Someone Else’s Goldfish [The Evil Jellyfish Saga, Part 5]”
Oh Lordy! This fish has me totally creeped out! More more more!
Comments are closed.