Redd Church and the Flash Bang Octopus

Redd Church stood inside his bathroom. His left hand gripped the small towel rack as he relieved himself in the early morning quiet.

His mind was blank — until the migraine began.

The pressure bloomed behind his eyes, familiar and sharp, and with it came the vision.

A massive ship drifted past a port city. Its hull was scarred and blackened, evidence of a battle not yet finished. The sails hung torn and heavy as a thick tentacle wrapped around the mast, pulling it sideways. The vessel listed hard as it limped away from shore. Men ran across the deck in blind panic. The tentacle suddenly disappeared and the ship lurched upright, throwing sailors across the deck.

The vision dissolved.

A heavy thump shook the hallway.

Then the crash.

Redd’s chest throbbed as his heartbeat increased.

“Redd!” he heard as the manifestation woke Sherrie.

“Containment— don’t hurt it!” he shouted, though he knew that wouldn’t steady him. Redd was trapped. Fear and instinct took over.

Something smacked the door, forcing it open. Several fleshy tentacles grabbed the frame.

Redd attempted to pull it closed, but the creature was stronger. It tore the door from its hinges and flung it behind itself.

Redd reached for his knife — but he wasn’t wearing pants. He was knifeless. He grabbed a roll of toilet paper and threw it at the monster. Its tentacles retracted briefly. It retrieved the roll and tossed it aside.

The cephalopod reached forward with long, oil-slick tentacles, batting at the door frame wildly. Behind them loomed a six-foot gelatinous frame. A triangular beak sat in its center beneath a large, round, bright green eye.

The creature searched the room until it found Redd.

Redd stepped back. His heel struck the bathtub. He lost his balance, knocking the shower curtain and rod down with him. Half the creature slid into the small square bathroom.

The sturdy sink stopped it from advancing further, but it swung wildly, missing Redd’s head by inches. Redd searched for a weapon — anything. The plunger was missing, sitting in the kitchen sink. The toilet brush was less than a foot long.

“That won’t work,” he muttered.

Above him hung the detachable shower head. He grabbed it and swung, striking a few tentacles. The creature recoiled, but only for a moment. He swung again, but the hose — still attached to the wall — shortened his reach, making the attempt nearly useless.

The creature had its own disadvantage. It was too large for the bathroom, wedged between the toilet and the sink. Its boneless appendages could not extend fully—

It grabbed the shower head from Redd’s hand and ripped it free from the wall. The metal coupling struck Redd in the shoulder, sending him against the nearest wall. A tentacle wrapped around his wrist and pulled.

Redd tore his hand free, stepped into the bathtub, and threw a bottle of shampoo.

It missed.

The creature’s gelatinous head shook. Its beak clicked sharply. Redd threw whatever he could reach — conditioner, a razor, toothbrushes. The smaller items bounced off its gelatinous frame without effect.

Redd snatched up the fallen curtain rod. He thrust it forward, catching it against the sink faucet before wrenching it free and driving it into the creature’s body.

The large green eye lifted. Its sharp gaze made the hair on his arms stand.

Redd planted his feet and shoved. The creature slid backward through the doorway.

It wrapped tentacles around the rod but had no leverage. Its slime-covered body dragged across the tile like a refrigerator skidding on plastic.

Redd forced it into the hallway and then into the dining room.

There, with space around it, the creature steadied. The eye narrowed. The tentacles pulled inward, coiling with intention.

It struck.

The shower rod jerked from Redd’s grip and swung back into his chin. He fell against the closet wall, blood running down his jaw.

He scrambled upright just as the dining table flipped and shattered against the far wall.

“Redd?”

Sherrie’s voice cut through the chaos.

Redd saw panic flicker through the creature’s eye. For a moment, he recognized something almost human in it.

Sherrie stepped into the dining room holding a containment net.

“Dangerous?” she asked.

“I don’t think so,” Redd replied, steadying himself. “Just scared.”

She nodded once. “Then let’s be quick.”

Redd prodded the creature to draw its attention. The tentacles tightened around the rod, but the eye fixed on Sherrie.

“It’s going for you,” Redd warned.

He shoved the rod forward again to pull its focus back.

“Throw it,” he said.

The creature lifted itself, preparing to charge.

“I don’t have room,” Sherrie said.

“The net will compensate.”

She threw it.

The green iris collapsed to a pin.

White exploded through the room.

Redd woke moments later. The world was washed pale, color bleeding back slowly at the edges.

“Sherrie! Are you okay?”

“Did you throw a flash-bang?” she asked.

“No. You?”

He steadied himself against the wall. His knees felt paper thin.

The cephalopod lay motionless beneath the net, its body dim and slack.

Redd stepped toward Sherrie. Blood dripped from his chin.

“You’re bleeding,” she said. “Med kit.”

She disappeared into the bedroom.

Redd looked at the unconscious creature.

“Flash-bang Octopus,” he said.

“What?”

“That’s what it’ll be called.”

“You think the light came from it?”

“I know it did.”

Sherrie returned with gauze.

“Check on the children,” she said. “Then we’ll start processing this one for containment.”