Crabs Please
During the change, most saw horror. One saw beauty.
By Jason Huls
• • •
“Crabs please,” said the man in the white polo over the top of his menu.
I thought nothing of it at first. After all, everyone was at the pier to feast on delicious New England seafood.
“Crabs please,” he repeated. The customer dropped the menu and looked at his own hands like he didn’t recognize them. His complexion turned ruddy, though he clearly wasn’t choking. He mumbled the phrase over and over, attempted to stand and toppled backward onto the ground. Concerned patrons rushed to assist and someone called 9-1-1. The tips of the man’s fingers were black and drawn together. The flesh fused before our eyes. He thrust his new pincers at the crowd, pleading for someone to take the problem away. I stuffed my hands deep into my pockets.
Screams erupted all over town. Several tourists fled a dress boutique, chased by a woman with a broad, flat head and tiny black eyes. Her body contorted as she scuttled across the street, collided with the railing, and toppled into the harbor.
A giant crab wearing shreds of a white polo and khaki shorts skittered around the table. When the first person threw a chair at it, I ran.
I crept back to the harbor after dark. My insides were still rearranging but my carapace was a beautiful rust color. By the time I hit the water I was overcome with the sublime understanding that I was always meant to be this, and everything was going to be okay.
• • •
Jason Huls was born… or some say conjured in central Illinois. He currently lives outside Chicago. Jason is a member of the Horror Writers Association. He was most recently published in Black Sheep Magazine and Pyre Magazine. Jason keeps himself busy with writing, filmmaking and running The Mythos Minute Podcast.
