GRF-A01

Content warning: Aquaphobia, Thalassophobia, Ichthyophobia

The Anglerfish

Original notation by Doctor Richard Golde, November 16^th 1986.

Revised by Maximilian Golde, head of the Golde Research Foundation, April 20^th 2024.

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File: A01
Class: Salt
Location: Balder

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[R]
The dreamscape is something truly fascinating. Have you ever had the feeling your dreams were more than just that? That some parts of them predict future events? Well, this particular dream could be seen as a prime example of that idea. It is the first anomaly I encountered in my research, though this encounter makes me think I’ll find many more soon.
As far as I’m currently aware, the dreamscape is an entirely separate dimension from our own. It is possibly inhabited by all things imaginable by the human consciousness, good and bad. These pieces of ideas float around until they can be given a suitable setup and location to allow for a “dream” to occur. The dreamscape seems to be generally a safe space. Deaths which occur during sleep are not supposed to carry over into the material world and vice versa.
The dream in question was different.
When I first arrived in town a week or so ago, I was still looking for a place to settle. I fully expected to be sleeping in my car for the first few weeks while I looked for someone willing enough to let me rent a room. As I expected, every person I spoke to turned me away, talking to me as if I was crazy. I did end up having to spend the first few nights in the car although it only took four days until I found a place.
I entered the local fishmonger, located in Balder’s centre and began to explain myself to the proprietor. John Hawthrope he was called. A large man, balding. When I examined his face however I noticed something peculiar. The bags. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. When I noticed that I began to focus more and realised his overall unhealthy look. Pale skin, wrinkles, bloodshot eyes and constant blinking.
Anyway, when I gave him my explanation, he didn’t turn me away… In fact, his eyes almost lit up and he asked me if we could talk. I said yes, at this point, anything that would grant me friendly acquaintances in town, people who might help me find a roof to sleep under, seemed ideal. Then he did something I had not anticipated. He asked the waiting customers to leave. They did, some with less complaining than others, and he flipped the closed sign.
He took me to the back of the shop, through a door, up some stairs and into a surprisingly comfy living space. It seemed almost a completely different building. He offered me a chair and a cup of tea and made himself a large cup of coffee. As he sat down and put his hands on the table, I noticed he was missing his left index finger. Then he began speaking. I transcribed the interview for later reference, I’ll add it to my notes for future reference.

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INTERVIEWED: John Hawthrope, Balder Fishmonger.
CONCERNING: Strange, persistent, restless dreams.
DATE: November 8^th 1986

It’s hard to explain… I’ve never remembered my dreams. To me, sleep almost seemed like it didn’t exist. I would simply close my eyes, open them and it would be daylight. I know that seems like a childish perception of sleep but it’s the best way for me to explain the contrast.

About eight months ago, I hired a student by the name of Margarett Wilson. I had been looking for extra help around the shop for a few months by then, and students always seemed more enthusiastic about work, so she seemed the perfect fit. She would work the counter as I did my work in the back. She was around 16 years old, tall for her age. Long black hair and brown eyes, the most normal teenager you could imagine.
In the end, she got paid and I got a bit more free time, a perfect arrangement. Then, about a month later, she asked me if I would show her what I did in the back. It had been so long and I hadn’t even realised she had never come into the actual butchery. I told her yes. Seeing as I had not prepared the salmon for that day yet, I decided to show her the process. Needless to say, she threw up immediately and she did not set foot in the back again afterwards.
It took a few days, but eventually, she did complain. She called my work “disgusting” and “inhumane” and I politely told her that the fish was already dead and that she should not have applied to work in a fishmonger’s shop if she didn’t like dead animals. I mean that I told her politely, by the way. I had no intention of firing her. I’m well aware that some people are not up to the job, but I was, and I would never force someone else to do it. However, the next day I came into work, she did not show up. I assumed she was just late and started work.
She never did show up in the end.
The first fish I grabbed that day was a trout, with yellowish-grey scales and a yellow, glassy eye which stared into nothing. I describe this to you, because the moment I grabbed my knife and prepared to cut it, it moved… Looked directly at me. Not with that same yellow eye, but with a human eye. A brown iris, darkened whites and veins running through them. I recognised that eye. It was the same as hers. I dropped my knife and rubbed my eyes and when I looked back, the fish was back to normal. As if nothing had happened.
I put it out of my mind and continued work, though the encounter never did fully leave my thoughts. That night came the first dream. I remember it so vividly, even now. I’m drowning, in a sea of dirty, salty… strangely warm water. Have you ever drowned before? I know it’s a strange question to ask but I don’t truly know what sorts of things you experience in your line of work. Allow me to describe it.
It’s dark and I cannot find where up is. I’m spinning around, flailing my arms trying to find any sign of the water’s surface. When the air in my lungs runs out, I gasp for air but find nothing but salty broth. Even though I’m moving my arms violently, I only feel like I’m sinking deeper and deeper. I could never properly explain to you the feeling of panic that comes over you while you’re dying like that.
Then, finally, I see a light. Desperate for air I flail my arms front and back, trying to get there as fast as possible. My vision starts to blur… as much as it can underwater, and everything begins to become black. I desperately try one last time to reach the surface.
And I do…
I can only explain it by saying “It was just a dream,” but I am able to simply “climb” out of and on top of the water. I’m able to walk on top of its surface as if I weigh nothing and then I see it. A lamp. A bulb giving off light, hanging by a long black cable which reaches up into the black of a starless night sky. Then I notice a fish swimming around it. The trout. The same trout I chopped up that day and put on display out front. It’s looking at me with her eyes again. Then I wake up.
I never saw Margarett again. I’m ashamed to admit that I never filed any police report. I assumed her parents would do it, that the police would come to me eventually and I honestly did not want to see those eyes again. The police never came. I heard nothing of it. Her eyes never left me, though.
Every night another fish is added to the school. I’m drowning, I swim towards the light and stare at the lightbulb until I wake up about two hours after I fell asleep and I cannot sleep for the rest of the night.
I’m so tired. It’s hard to focus, and hard to breathe sometimes. I think my body can’t find the energy to work correctly anymore. See this? I cut the finger clean off while working and I didn’t even notice until the cod parts I’d been cutting up looked more like salmon from the blood. I’m afraid… It’s been seven months since the dreams started, and there are hundreds of fish surrounding the lamp. When I’m drowning, I can almost not find the light anymore.
[END OF INTERVIEW]

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[R]
John asked me to look into the dreams and if I was able to, quote, “fix him,” he would rent me his upstairs, which he hadn’t had any use for since his family moved out. I agreed and began my investigation.
Following the lead of salt water, I began looking for the closest coast to the town. Unfortunately, the nearest coast was many kilometres away. Balder and the greater Lear area are located in a valley, so the nearest sea was more than a few hours drive out. I decided to stick to local waters so as to not waste too much time driving away from the problem.
I then began following the various rivers flowing throughout the Balder area. At a small bank of the area’s biggest river, the one called “the Knot,” I found her. I could smell something in the air. Salt. The small piece of the river where I discovered the body was salt water. Just this small section of the stream, about 25 meters in length. Further investigation is needed at a later date, for now, I’m labelling it as File GRF-A02. I’ll think of a clever nickname later.
I got the police involved and dragged the body out of the water. She was still wearing her uniform from the shop, though the body looked… Well, how you would expect a body to look that’s been floating in a river for six to seven months. It wasn’t the first body I’ve ever seen, though I don’t think I’ll forget the sight of it soon.
When I came back to John the next morning he almost kissed me. The dream had not appeared that night, and I got an apartment above a fishmonger’s shop. A good ending. I’ll add more to this in case anything comes up but for now, consider it case closed.
This has been Richard Golde, head of the Golde Research Foundation, now with a base of operations located above the fishmonger in Balder centre.
I’ll have to get used to the smell.
[END OF GRF-A01]

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[M]
Richard ended up nicknaming file GRF-A02, “The Salt Must Flow,” which seems like a reference to something I’m not familiar with. It seems my uncle did not do too much further research into this case. He was most likely too busy moving. Still, reading this out loud, could this really be true? It all sounds like fairytales to me. Some guy having bad dreams, a teen having an accident and tumbling into the river. It might just be one big coincidence.
Still…
Was it Margarett who made the dream? The dream did seem to be tied to her body, so maybe some other thing bound them together. In any case, besides confirmation that Margarett’s body was found on November 13^th 1986, there is not much research I can do here. John Hawthrope passed away from a stroke four months after the interview was made.
I’m unsure how or why Richard came into the possession of the entire building. John Hawthrope must have really liked him. This file did have a few more documents added later. One was a single symbol attached with a stapler to the original file. The paper was much newer than the file itself. On it was a circle with a line running through the middle, the alchemical symbol for Salt if I'm not mistaken. An autopsy report of Mr. Hawthorpe’s corpse. It seems to show all the expected notations and documents, except one part. At the bottom, in a little “addenda” column, was a single sentence, scrawled with a pencil.
“The body leaked salt water.”

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