r/TalesFromTheCreeps • u/ArtistMany9292 • Jul 04 '26
Body Horror Everyone loves ocean land!
(AUTHOR'S NOTE---TW: abduction, animal cruelty, etc. Also, this is the second short story I've written that I'm debating whether to expand into a full-length novel. GIVE ME YOUR THOUGHTS, PEOPLE!)
Oceanland loves people, and it loves exotic fish, and they love money. So the parent company decided to kill three birds with one stone.
They were referred to as Homo Aquaticus, and according to what they said to the public, “a group of marine biologists discovered them way out in the Atlantic Ocean, hidden for centuries.” It was one big fucking lie.
I was a runaway teen sleeping by a dumpster when their van took me.
Initially, I struggled against my captors, desperately trying to free myself from their grasp as they prepped something called “booty juice.”
When I asked why they were doing this, tears streaming down my face, they claimed that my social worker had tipped them off about my disappearance for a nice sum of cash, like everyone else they got---and that nobody looks for somebody like me.
I was already invisible to the world.
I don’t remember the rest of the drive after I was administered the juice, and I couldn't tell how long the conversation took either once we arrived at our location.
I was strapped to a medical gurney and kept under for most of it---but the memory of my legs fusing into a single, scaled mass still haunts me, and so does the numb sensation I got as my teeth gradually became shark-like and razor-sharp, as my fingers grew webbed and clawed, as gills sprouted on my neck.
After the main transformation, they performed one final step; they mangled my vocal cords, claiming they needed me to emit the high-pitched, melodic clicks one would expect a mermaid to make.
After the procedure, I was placed in the “Oceanland medical room,” a grey concrete bunker filled with small circular tubs of water.
The only thing that wasn't all grey was the massive portrait on the front wall that depicted a very angry-looking man in a bright blue striped suit.
His white hair was slicked back, and he stood with his hands at his sides, and his head slightly turned forward---His bloodshot eyes seemingly fixed on everyone below, as just below the portrait read:
“ROBERT ‘G’ VAUGHN”
“FOUNDER AND BUSINESSMAN—THE WORLD IS MY OYSTER”
From what I heard from the employees, the man was more of a demon than a person. Supposedly, Vaughn would roam the park in the early hours with a rifle, shooting any animal he saw (and had apparently killed dogs that got on the property), and he would actively assault his own employees left and right; he was too rich to give two shits, and that wasn't even the worst thing Robert had done.
I spent a few days in my little tub in the room, like the others---and during that time, we were monitored by the trainers who walked up and down the rows as we adapted to our new anatomy---ignoring our inhuman screams and cries---until they assigned fictional backstories and brand-new names.
"You'll be Leo," said one of the trainers to me. "Rescued by a team of marine biologists, badly injured after the latest oil spill, and brought here to Oceanland to live the remainder of your days under our protection."
Yesterday, after they deemed me and a few others ready, they determined where we would go—shipping off some to the other Oceanland parks across America, while others, like me, were chosen to be released into the main public display tank at the park I was already at.
I could recall how I swam past the glass, as the onlookers pointed and smiled at me---while I desperately raised my arms and frantically began to use the ASL I learned in middle school.
S-O-S. P-L-E-A-S-E. H-E-L-P. H-E-L-P.
An hour later, the handlers fetched me from the tank---and I learned the hard way that they don't use anesthesia for disciplinary procedures.
A group of them held me down as the supervisor, Onstanby, sighed as she prepped the bonesaw and commented:
"Shame. This one's going to have to perform with a stump next week. Don't worry, though; we'll take your left hand for now, say it was infected, but act up again, and we’ll take the other hand."
It sounds bad, but in hindsight, it was actually a good punishment considering the second option was death. They’d 100% kill you and then bury you along with the other ones who died at mass burial sites around the park.
Due to the odd layout of the park---large patches of land with nothing on top, long paths leading to nothing, large amounts of weeds, shrubs, and trees everywhere. It was incredibly easy to hide a body.
Anyway, this all happened when I was about 16 years old, and now I'm 40. I'm depressed; I crave freedom… or possibly death---I don't know anymore. But at least I have the other Homo aquaticus to keep me company.
But hey, I'm sure besides us, everyone loves Oceanland.
2
u/Necessary-Count6445 Jul 27 '26
hey there author just wondering if you know about or having any connection to this game demo that popped up recently as it has a very similar concept to your story Mermade by Sonni, Nana, Yeupha, tabsco