Chapter 4

Half an hour later, I clung to a ladder outside the lighthouse.

With a little rag in my hand, I imagined the glass was the octopus’s face and scrubbed hard from left to right.

“Hmph. Once I get out of here, I’m getting a baby octopus!”

“You can watch your descendants become my pets!”

The thought cheered me up a little.

The lighthouse’s outer wall was cold.

The distant ruins lay in gloom, like the surface of a desolate planet.

A huge billboard hung among them: “Deep-Sea Sightseeing: A Once-in-a-Lifetime Must.”

Sadly, once humans lost interest in deep-sea tourism, this place had gradually been abandoned.

I’d been cleaning for less than five minutes when I felt something swim past behind me.

Something enormous. So enormous that its passage made the water shudder.

I froze.

The octopus’s voice came through the communicator.

“Don’t turn around.”

“Why?” My voice shook.

“It can only see things that move.”

I pressed myself against the glass, not daring to move a muscle.

Behind me, the creature drew closer.

Its shadow covered me, then the whole expanse of lighthouse glass.

In the reflection, I saw an enormous face.

The thing looked like a whale, and yet it didn’t.

Its body was translucent, the bones inside shining white, its fish skeleton stretching away into the darkness.

Its mouth opened, revealing rows upon rows of slender teeth.

My hands began to tremble. I could barely hold on to the window frame.

“Octopus…”

No answer came through the communicator.

Suddenly, the monster’s mouth drew up against the back of my neck, as though about to bite.

“AAAH!”

The pain I expected never came.

The strange fish was nuzzling the back of my neck like a puppy.

It spat out a dark clump.

The thing drifted in front of me and slapped against the glass.

After peering at it, I realized it was a wad of discarded fishing net.

Only then did the octopus speak.

“It’s not here to eat you. It’s asking for help.”

I turned around.

The strange fish floated behind me, hope appearing in its blue eyes.

More fishing net was wrapped around its body.

Every time it moved, a faint stream of blue fluid seeped out.

“Does it want me to take the net off?” I asked.

“That’s your decision,” the octopus said.

I thought for a moment, then took a pair of cutters from the toolbox.

For the next hour or more, I carefully snipped away the net wrapped around the fish.

As the last strand broke, its enormous tail gave a gentle flick.

It seemed to move freely at last, relieved and at ease.

Instead of leaving immediately, it swam once around the lighthouse.

Countless blue plankton stirred in its wake, forming a river of stars around the tower.

Finally, the monster came close to the glass and touched its forehead to the window.

Thump.

It was saying thank you.

By the time I got back inside, I was exhausted to the point of collapse.

The octopus sat in the middle of the hall, leafing through an old book, with a plate of chocolates beside it.

I walked straight over and ate one.

Strictly speaking, this wasn’t ordinary chocolate. It was deep-sea chocolate.

A thin outer film kept out the seawater, enclosing a soft, molten chocolate center.

It tasted like seaweed.

“Hey, child. Make yourself at home, why don’t you?”

The octopus gave me a cold look.

I polished off the chocolates and said offhandedly:

“You’re already three thousand years old. Cut down on the sweets. They’re bad for you.”

Its page-turning arm stopped. Its pupils contracted sharply.

It reached out an arm, caught the back of my neck, and examined me with cold eyes.

“Who are you?

“How do you know I’m three thousand years old?”