Massacre at Cannon Beach

The sun hung high in the cloudless sky over Cannon Beach, Oregon, casting a warm, golden hue on the serene scene below. Families lounged on blankets, children darted in and out of the surf, and surfers bobbed like contented seals waiting for the perfect wave. Seagulls cried above, scavenging for food scraps, while the rhythmic hum of the ocean created a sense of peace. It was the perfect summer day—until it wasn't.

Without warning, the ocean exploded in a maelstrom of thrashing fins and shimmering scales. A massive school of fishmen—monstrous hybrids of deep-sea horrors—charged out of the water, their bloated, translucent skin glistening like half-rotted jelly. Some had the needle-like teeth of anglerfish, others sported flailing tentacles like jellyfish, and all of them had bulging eyes filled with one thing: hunger. Their screeches pierced the air like rusty nails dragged across a chalkboard.

Panic spread through the crowd in an instant, but it was already too late.

The fishmen were fast—unnaturally fast—tearing through the fleeing crowd with razor-sharp claws and mouths filled with rotating, serrated teeth. Screams mixed with the sounds of crunching bones and ripping flesh as the creatures began their macabre feast. A surfer, who had been waiting for a wave, was lifted into the air and bitten clean in half at the waist. His lower half dropped into the sand, twitching, as his upper torso sailed through the air like a ragdoll, landing with a wet splat.

One fishman—whose face resembled a horrific mix between a pufferfish and a chainsaw—ripped a man's arm from his body and used it like a bat, repeatedly clubbing him with his own dismembered limb until the man's skull cracked open like a cantaloupe. Another victim, an elderly woman, was decapitated by a fishman with the jaws of a moray eel. Her headless body stumbled forward, propelled by pure adrenaline, before collapsing into a blood-soaked heap.

The fishmen's attack was brutal, but it was also disturbingly precise. They tore through flesh with the methodical efficiency of surgeons, severing arteries and shredding muscle with the expertise of a butcher. One woman, in a desperate attempt to flee, slipped and fell. A fishman towered over her, its elongated tongue darting out to lap at her tears before sinking its teeth into her abdomen, pulling her intestines out like they were tangled yarn. She could only watch in shock as her guts unraveled before her eyes.

A group of survivors scrambled toward Haystack Rock, hoping the towering monolith would offer salvation. But the fishmen followed with ease, their webbed hands gripping the rock's surface like geckos. One unlucky climber reached the top only to be caught by a fishman with octopus-like tentacles. The creature snatched him up, flung him into the air, and batted him like a beach ball into the surf, where he was promptly torn apart by the rest of the pack.

Elsewhere, a family of four cowered beneath a beach umbrella. A fishman loomed over them, drooling saltwater and bile. It bent down, opened its maw wide, and swallowed their entire cooler before deciding the father would make a better snack. In one clean bite, it snapped him in half. His head rolled comically into the sand, eyes still blinking as his son screamed, only to have a fishman snatch the boy by his ankle and whip him into a beach chair like a human tetherball.

Within minutes, the massacre was over. The beach was eerily quiet, save for the faint lapping of waves against the blood-soaked sand. Bones, shredded flesh, and mangled body parts littered the shoreline. The fishmen, their grotesque forms now silhouetted against the fading sun, retreated back into the ocean, dragging the remains of their victims with them. They slipped beneath the surface without a trace, vanishing as mysteriously as they had come.

No one could explain what had happened. The beach, once a place of joy and laughter, had been transformed into a slaughterhouse. Cannon Beach became a haunted site, whispered about in dark tones by those who had seen the carnage firsthand. Few survivors remained to tell the tale, and those who did could only stammer through their accounts, still in shock at the brutal absurdity of it all.

The massacre at Cannon Beach would never be forgotten. But the truth of what happened that day would remain forever shrouded in mystery, sinking deep into the ocean's cold, dark heart.