Since I was born, I’ve lived in the coastal city of Camden. For those of you who don’t know what this place is, which would be most likely all of you, it is a small coastal village on the coast of Maine. Picturesque mountains dot the outside rim of the town, and it is flanked on the other side by an often misty ocean, the sea spray a constant humidity on the skin, the smell of the water ever-present, wherever you go. Camden, however, shares the same problem as most low-population, beautiful towns- there is a sharp divide in class, with the natives setting up low-paying establishments, primarily tourist-oriented, and on the other side, rich folk from all over the world converging to buy retirement or vacation homes. One family in particular rules above all the rest- but I will get to that later.

Personally, I identify with the prior of the two identification markers. It was my great grandfather who was once one of the first rich men moving in to the city, and it was in the city that he met my great grandmother. Several generations of stagnating in the ocean city didn’t do well for us, and we slowly deteriorated, until here I am now, the lowest on the chain, living with my parents and another family in a 2-bedroom 1-bathroom house. My mother works behind a counter at a practically deserted gift shop, while my father works as a chef for The Happy Lobster, oppressed by the mocking smile and wave of the large comical lobster sign outside. It is his dream to get to a higher place in life, and to end the family degradation that first started with moving to the village, by one day moving with us to Portland. How would he, a low-income side chef, get the money for us to move out to the biggest city in Maine? Simple- by becoming a fisherman for the Schlones family. (plus b/c they are a company their name is public anyways, I’m not changing it for the reddit post)

Though it truly isn’t that simple. The Schlones family is, out of all the rich families in town, by far the richest. They were who I mentioned earlier as the leading in the high class; however, unlike most other well-to-do groups, the Schlones were native to Camden. In fact, even Fotogi B. (fake name b/c posting an individual) and others, those with the deepest roots in the village always remember the family’s existence. As they hold such a mysterious and strange presence in the lives of the city, their name is a household item, and rumors and stories often spread about them. Their highly reclusive behavior only heightens the mythology enveloping the family and their large mansion, looming like a cliff over the town. Some say their power comes from some strange source within the solitary mansion, some say they just died in there and never come out- in a small town, superstition sparks at every corner. However, everyone spreading these rumors and I deep down know the truth behind their success- it is because of their influence in the biggest moneymaker in the city, and what my father dreams of working in, the Schlones Fish Factory. Thus, when I say my father wants to be a fisherman for the Schlones Fish Factory, I don’t mean he wants to be continuing a mediocre line of work, I mean he wants to get to the top of the top, a true underdog story. So it isn’t as simple as he might dream of.

Now, I promise this all comes to a point. For the town that we have, our schooling system is incredible- big shout out to Camden-Rockport High- because they understand the financial issues that we face, and actively try to give us as many opportunities as possible to fix it. At the end of Junior year, a legendary event occurs, where each student gets the opportunity to apply to any workplace they want to, as long as they are old enough. Now, of course, you can do this anyway, you don’t need a school to allow you to apply for a job, but the Junior year applications are so legendary because businesses typically are quite generous in hiring students. One kid even got accepted into a city planning project, and was ultimately partially responsible for putting in a now-iconic statue in the center of our town. I decided I’d test my luck, and applied to several places, one of which was, of course, Schlones.

When I got accepted, I nearly lost it. My father had dreamed of this moment for years, but instead of it being for him, it ended up being for me. Of course, there was some awkward near-jealousy from him, but he was really supportive about it and was excited for me to be getting paid. Of course, my mother was supportive too, but this was my dad’s dream, so I think it hit especially close to his heart. We practiced proper fishing methods to make sure I had it down, and together, we got me the Schlones Fishing Uniform, a demarcation for respect wherever it is worn in the city. By the time my first day rolled around, I was a lean mean fishing machine, ready for whatever was thrown at me. Or so I thought, at least.

No problems rolled around with my fishing. In fact, from what I had seen in tours and just walking around, I was actually more proficient than most people at the skill- a sign of my intentional practice. I ended up catching 20 fish, averaging out to just over 3 fish per hour, an impressive feat. I marked them up on my work sheet for the day, the paper slightly damp from the wet breeze. After leaving the sheet by the basket, I started my walk back to my home. I was giddy- this was the beginning of a better time for me, for my family. I was able to finally partake in an experience that I was truly good at, that I had almost mastered, in fact. Ready to share my success with my family and friends, I reached for my phone, only to have a sinking feeling rise up in my stomach. I knew something would have gone wrong.

The Factory was closed by the time I got back, and I ended up having to sneak back to the pier that I was fishing at to get it. I don’t know why I had to sneak back, it was stupid, but I felt really self conscious about goofing up, and I was also really pumped with adrenaline at this point. I saw exactly where my phone was, where I left it so that it wouldn’t fall in the water by accident, right next to the basket. As I picked it up, something else caught my eye. I swore I had caught 20 fish that day- I had counted it, and moreover, I had marked it up on my work sheet. However, what I saw now was the same sheet, but instead of 20 circled, it was 18. Now, this doesn’t really mean much, but it’s still an odd thing to see, especially when my phone was on this pier to prove that it was mine, and nobody else came out to fish after I was done. I looked in the basket, too, and to my surprise, only 18 fish remained. If anyone stole the fish, they would have taken it all, and wouldn’t have been able to get hold of a work sheet anyways. Maybe it was a nearby worker, wanting to get a better pay, swapping their load with mine, but that seemed a little too petty. I ended up going home with a story of success, my phone, and a private mystery. What had happened to those two fish?

I can’t resist a good puzzle. Therefore, when this happened, even though I knew it would be stupid to look any further into it, I also knew that nothing could stop me from finding out why fish disappeared out of the basket. Asking the other fishermen ended up doing nothing, as none of them knew anything about it. Checking in on how many I caught at the desk didn’t help either, because they didn’t want to make the fishing amount public. Plus, why would someone in their right mind want to see how many fish they caught, when they were the ones marking how many they caught themselves? I ended up resorting to repeating my original process, scaling the gate and checking out how many fish it updated my load as. And every time, two fish went missing, in the basket and on the note.

It was two weeks after the phone incident that the answer finally started to become clear. It was a darker night than usual, and the wind was particularly harsh. I nearly jumped off the pier when I saw a silhouette on the pier, staring out at the sea.

“The two fish, right? You’re wondering why.” It was Fotogi B., waiting for me. Out of everyone who I had ever met, Fotogi was the most connected to the city. Once a fisherman himself for the Schlones, he had apparently once gotten so skilled he even met with them at their mansion. Something happened there, something dangerous, that much people knew, but nobody ever talked about it, least of all him.

“Y-yes?”

“It’s the name. It’s in the name.”

“What’s in the name? What name?” Ironic, looking back on it, that he would be speaking on names, given his strange requirement for the “B” after his own, and, of course, simply how strange “Fotogi” is for a name.

He paused for a moment, before continuing on as if I hadn’t said anything at all.

“You’ve been careful coming here. I’m impressed. But if I can notice you sneaking in to the property of Schlones, they most certainly can. You know this area is under camera watch, right? I imagine you know that.”

“Of course- I’ve seen the security cams, and I’ve been careful to avoid them.”

He laughed in response, which turned quickly into a hoarse wheeze. “You think they tell you where all the cameras are? What if an employee wanted to steal from the business? They could just plan a time, avoid the cams, and get the loot. Of course they keep the piers under watch, and of course they don’t tell you. The only reason they haven’t stopped your nightly incursions yet is that you still haven’t figured out their secret.”

I was angry at him now. “So by giving me this information, you could be putting me in harm’s way? What the fuck? I’m new here, for God’s sake!”

He ushered for me to be quieter. I hadn’t realized it, but I had been yelling slightly. When we were silent again, save for the rush of the water, he answered.

“I can tell you are determined to get to the bottom of this, whether I helped or not. You’re a boulder rolling down a mountain, doomed to crash. All I’m doing is giving you a little push, and maybe, just maybe, I could be pushing you to the side, up, say, a ramp… What I’m saying is, you are going to end up in danger anyhow, so at least now you know that, and can try to avoid it.” He bowed slightly, and started off back towards the city. Before he left, my sympathy arose somewhat, and I asked him what was on my mind.

“Fotogi?” I called out.

“It’s Fotogi B,” he replied, but he stopped and turned his head.

“Fotogi B, if they really are recording all of this, how do you know that they won’t find you too?”

His eyes glittered playfully, and a smile crept upon his face. “I’m good at avoiding cameras. Some even say I leave no trace.” With that, he disappeared into the mists.

I rushed back home with the new information I had, heart pounding in my chest. *It’s in the name*, I remembered. In what name? I knew of one obvious place to start- Schlones. I grabbed a scrabble box from where it lay on the shelf, and put out the letters. Schlones, Schlones, Schlones. What could it be? I plugged it into the calculator, and with 8 letters and one repetition, there were 20160 different possible combinations from the one word. Not all would be words, but they were different configurations nonetheless.

A knock came at the door.

L

Another knock.

O

My heart started racing.

C

Pounding on the door, harder this time.

H

I realized why the fish disappeared. They were eaten.

N

I realized why the family was so solitary. They weren’t human.

E

I realized why they needed a mansion. Nothing else could hold them.

S

I realized why Fotogi B had been hurt at the meeting. He had realized their secret.

S

My father got up out of his seat, ready to deal with the loud knocker at the door. As he opened it up, a small, pallid man stood there, eyes glinting as they passed over me. His voice was soft and nasal, otherworldly, almost.

“This is Laine, representing the Schlones family. Your son has done exceptionally well so far in his line of work. It would be our pleasure to invite him to hear a proposition at our manor.”

My heart stopped. I looked at my father, speechless, hoping all the terror in my eyes would somehow get to him, somehow pass into him. For a moment, a shadow fell across his face. However, the promise of potential wealth, of ending the slow degradation of the family was simply too much for him to resist. Smiling wide, he responded.

“He’s all yours!”