The Curious Mermaid

Author's Notes:

Each episode in the "An Inhuman Love" series will be a stand-alone novelette, meant to be read and enjoyed in a single sitting. Expect a monster/human pairing in each episode, with all the juicy details included.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You can only peel potatoes for so long before you want to die.

Eric groaned, finished a potato, and reached for another. From a barrel, into another barrel. From a barrel, into the cleaning bucket, and once they were cleaned, into the pot. Day after day, night after night, it was potatoes. He'd served aboard a ship a few years back that didn't do potatoes; they had salted meats, cheese, and biscuits. It'd been a delicious trip, but he'd come back to his family quite sick. A man needs potatoes!

But he doesn't need to peel a thousand of them.

"Captain, I don't like the waters. The sky is clear but the water churns like my wife when she's angry. Something's out there." The sailing master pulled the Captain to the port railing and pointed down at the water. He was a paranoid man, the sailing master, and it made Eric laugh each time the fat fellow argued for their safety. He was missing a few fingers, an eye, and one of his feet though, so maybe his paranoia was warranted, peg leg and all.

"Just a week out from Haiti, Jacob. Keep your head on straight before you—"

"Captain, I swear it! I've seen these waters before. Something churns, something... unnatural!" Jacob grabbed the captain by the shoulders, and shook him. "I lost my leg to such waters, Captain, and the last captain — bless his poor soul — sits at the bottom of the sea for ignoring my warning!"

The captain rolled his eyes. His back was to Eric, but the cabin boy could read the older man well enough to tell he was annoyed. The captain was tall, thin, and starting to wear down with his age. His fancy long coat, his well-cared-for captain's hat, his compass in his pocket by a chain, and his ever-calm demeanor all spoke of a true captain. The rest of the shipmates wore dirty trousers and dirtier shirts, but that only made the captain stand out more, like he should.

"Jacob," the captain said, and he put a hand on Jacob's shoulder before walking him back toward the center mast of the ship. "Breathe my boy, breathe. I've seen these waters myself, a thousand times. We're in for a small storm tonight, nothing more than a touch of rain and wind. Can you handle that?"

"Captain I—"

"Can you handle that?"

"Aye, I can Captain. But it's not the rain or the wind that I fear. It's beneath the waves my worries come from." Jacob looked over his shoulder back to the railing, to Eric, and then back to the captain. "It tore at the ship from beneath! And came at us with claws and teeth!"

"We'll keep an eye on the water then." The captain patted the man on the back, and escorted him up to the helm.

Eric watched after them. Jacob was a loud man, jolly when drunk, and superstitious. Half the crew was just like him. But, as much as Eric wanted to dismiss Jacob's worries like usual, something about his words stuck out to him. Claws? Teeth?

One of the crewman spotted him. A shorter fellow, with a big back from a lifetime of hauling god knows what. Eric was a normal-sized boy, average height, a strong body from his duties, and much younger than these men. He was only just old enough to be considered a man, so, he expected some teasing.

"Cabin boy," Marters said, and he sat down next to Eric and the barrel, butt on the step.

"Marters."

"How's it going Eric?"

"Same as always." He threw a potato into the pot, stuck out his hand, and Marters filled it with a fresh one.

"Jacob having fits again?"

"Says something's coming, something in the water."

Marters shivered. "Jacob's a strange man, but I trust him. Saved me from more than one drunken mistake."

"Has he ever saved you from demons or devils or ghosts though?" Eric said, and he scratched at his sandy hair.

"Ha, rightly he hasn't." The crewman sighed, got up, and stretched himself out a bit. "What's for supper?"

"Fish and potatoes."

Eric glared at Marters, but before long, the two of them were laughing.

"Anything else?"

"Nope."

"What if I told you I'd sneaked in some oranges?"

Tempting, but not likely. "That haven't started growing limbs?"

"Bah, just adds to the flavor!"

Eric rolled his eyes as the crewman walked off, laughing and hollering at the other men to get back to work. It was a fun ship, a good ship, with a good crew and a good captain. He could do without the potato peeling though; such was the life of a cabin boy. Laughing, he got up, walked over to the railing, and looked out over the sea.

The crystal blue of the Caribbean sea spread out before him for all directions. The air smelled of salt — just a pinch — and the water rocked against the vessel with a quiet, gentle groan. The breeze was calm but consistent, the sun was hot, and the sky was clear. A perfect day for sailing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jacob wasn't so crazy after all.

"Captain!"

"Eric, get the cargo anchored! I'm not going to let one storm ruin this voyage!"

"Aye aye, captain!"

Eric pushed his way past the crew. Dozens of men were running back and forth with ropes in hand. They worked the sails, while the ship was steered into the waves. Better than capsizing, but it made each few seconds a dance with gravity. Up and down, up and down. Even Eric was starting to get a little sick, but he forced down his gut and got to work.

Rain poured over the deck, smacked against the skin with stinging water drops, washed everything away, and any man who didn't watch where he stepped fell onto his side with the snap of wind pushing him. Eric pushed through the crowd of struggling shoulders and pulling ropes, and slipped several times as he squirmed past the bigger men. He had a job to do.

The cargo hold, deep below deck. The stairs were waterfalls, and try as he might, an upward shove from the vessel knocked his footing down a stair too fast. He slid down the rest of the stairs with the water pulling him down, and landed on his ass against the wood. Boxes and barrels were teetering, rolling over, and sending provisions onto the floor. He had to move faster, or they'd have have nothing to deliver!

Barrels, heavy and rolling. He got them back up, one painful squat at a time, and jammed them into the corner before tying them off. Water dripped down over his head, and more crashed into his ankles in waves. More than once he found himself on his ass with feet flinging up into the air. As the ship rocked back and forth, it sent him into the pillar of the main mast like a bad habit, until his hands were sore from the collisions.

Wasn't like he could stop though. Through the groaning of wood and the rage of the sea, he could hear men screaming and wind screaming right along with them. The sea was angry, no doubt about that. But yesterday's sky had said nothing, the winds had said nothing, only Jacob and his crazy prediction had seen this coming. You can't predict a storm from bubbles in the water.

On his ass again. Water poured down the stairs, flooded over him until it was hard to breathe. He scampered for some hanging rope and hauled himself back up, but his breathing was racked and his body was shaking. He'd need help to get things secured. No chance of that. He just had to make do alone, even if it meant they lost their cargo. Better the cargo than the ship or their lives.

Of course, the moment he thought it, the wind softened, the howling of the sea, and the cry of the bulkhead waned. Water stopped pouring down the stairs, the ship stopped rocking like a wailing baby, and the hollering of the crew died down.

"Oh thank god, no more." He dragged himself through the ankle-deep water and started to climb the stairs.

And then he heard a different moan. At first, he thought it was the bulkhead, still bending under the pressure of waves and wind, but it was different. It was deeper. Vibrations filled the water around him, made it dance like it was still raining. The sound was coming from all around him as the wood trembled and the men upstairs went quiet.

He climbed the steps onto the deck. Everyone was standing at the railings and looking down.

"What's... going on?" he said.

Jacob motioned him over. Looking down over the railing and into the blue of the dark sea, lit only by what cracks of moonlight could get through the clouds, he could see nothing. At least at first. But in the blue of the Caribbean sea, something dark was moving. Something huge. Long, humongous trails of dark moved around in something of a circle, far beneath them where it was like watching an underwater, black cloud. And it was getting bigger.

Again, the moan poured out through the sea until the vibrations had the ship's deck, the mast itself, even the water of the sea around them quivering. The sound was deep, loud, and the men raised their hands to cover their ears. But no one moved from the railings. Not Jacob, not Marters. Even the captain, with water dripping from his hat and fancy coat, stepped down to join them, mouth agape and eyes wide.

Whatever it was beneath them, it had eyes. It had teeth. And it was coming up to them.

The world froze. And all at once, it came back in thunderstorm of pain, exploding water, and a breaking ship.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He awoke to the sound of seagulls, the rocking of gentle waves, and the salty air. For a moment, he thought he was on his fishing boat back home, and drifting around the bay with his line out. And then he remembered the ship.

He sat up, groaned with aching muscles, and looked around. The sun was up, the clouds were few and white, and any remnants of the storm were long gone.

"You ok boy?"

Eric almost jumped. "Marters! You're alive."

"Hell yes boy. Take more than some sea devil to kill me." The man winked at him.

Eric smiled, looked down, and felt his smile fade. They were sitting on a chunk of the deck, big enough for him and Marters but no more. Around them, he could see bits and pieces of the ship floating in the water, scattered far and wide, and some barrels. No bodies, as if something had taken them down to Davy Jones's Locker.

It was like God had come home drunk from a bad day at work, and decided he didn't like his toy boat anymore.

"Oh god... oh god oh god." Eric pulled his feet up, hugged his knees, and started to rock back and forth.

"Calm down boy. We'll live through this." Marters reached out and patted him on the shoulder.

Not likely. Not a ship to be seen, or land. No food. No water. The sun was getting higher and it was bringing scorching heat with it.

They'd be dead in three days.

Eric reached down and ran his fingers along the deck. It was sheer luck a chunk of it had managed to come off the ship that was flat enough, and wide enough for a couple of people. It was soaked with water, and it swayed softly on the sea's surface. When he glanced over the edge of the few planks of wood his life depended on, all that greeted him was the deep, endless blue below.

His shoes were gone. He laughed when he noticed, and he shook his head as he reached down to grab his toes. All he had left was his brown trousers, and his white shirt. And there were red blotches on his white shirt.

Blinking, he started to pat himself down. No pain, no growing blood stains. He looked over at Marters to ask, but stopped himself.

Marters was laying down on the planks, and he had one arm over his eyes while the other pressed its hand hard against his side. His fingers were clutching his shirt, blood soaked his waist, and his breathing was shallow. The blood wasn't just on his waist either, but had coated several feet of the wood beneath them until it was dripping into the blue.

"Shit! Marters, you're bleeding."

"Damn right I'm bleeding," he said, and he coughed on a harsh, cold laugh. "But it'll take more than that to kill me."

No, it wouldn't. The man was pale, shivering, and sweating all at once.

Eric wasted no time. He took off his shirt, tore it apart, and started to wrap it around Marter's waist. The crewman groaned, even screamed a little, but Eric pushed through it. He knew it was a waste of time, but he wasn't about to let the man bleed to death.

Took everything he had to not vomit. He wanted to curl into a ball and pretend none of this was happening. Maybe it was all some horrible nightmare and he'd wake up any moment.

Something moved in the water.

Eric fell back into the middle of the raft, got to a knee and foot, and watched out over the raft's edge. "Something's out there."

"Probably a shark, sniffing for blood," Marters said with another laugh.

Eric laughed too, a dead man's laugh of certainty. What else could he do? He'd never see his mom or dad again. Never see his brother again. Never see—

More movement. Something blue poked up over from behind one of the barrels. Eric stared at it, hand raised to block out the sun, and he waited.

The barrel started to drift closer. Eric tilted his head to the side, and watched the strange barrel ignore the drifting currents the rest of the wreckage followed. Something blue was behind it, something that shimmered, and looked an awful lot like hair.

Once it was about ten feet away, it came to a stop.

"...h-hello?" he said to the magical barrel with blue hair.

As slow as the tide, a face emerged from behind the curved wood.

Eric braced a hand against the planks underneath him, and fell to his remaining knee. A mermaid. An actual, real, living mermaid, and so close. So close he could see the long, beautiful waves of blue hair, her alabaster skin, her fin-like ears of see-through blue, her small, pink lips, and her sparkling green eyes.

"God... a mermaid..."

"A mermaid!" Marters sat up. The motion rocked the floating wood, and knocked Eric over hard enough he rolled off the planks and fell straight into the sea.

A moment later, he pulled himself back up onto the unstable raft, spat out some sea water, and looked around in a panic when Marters grabbed him by the shoulders.

"Don't let it get near!" the crewman said.

"Marters, calm down. She hasn't done anything yet." Eric looked over his shoulder toward the barrel. It was twenty feet away now, but he could see the blue hair and young face of the creature. Her green eyes were wide, like a startled kitten.

"Mermaids lure men to their deaths! Don't let her get near." Marters forced himself to his knees, leaned over the raft to grab a bit of debris from the water, and pointed the stick at the woman. "Back! Back foul creature!"

"Marters what in the hell? Sit down before you bleed to death! She hasn't done anything!"

"I won't be taken by demon! I won't! I—" Marters's right foot went out from under him, and he rolled forward over the collapsing leg until he smacked his head against the boards.

"Marters!"

The man went forward with his weight, and slipped half of his body into the ocean. The top half.

"Marters you dumb bastard! Get back on the raft!" Eric reached over the man and grabbed his bloodied shirt. Pulling on him wasn't so easy with how it teetered the raft down, and he had to rock it back to keep it from flipping. "Get back on the damn—"

An array of jagged, serrated teeth broke through the water, splashing Eric's face. Wide-eyed, the water hit his eyes, and he fell back with a holler.

"Marters! Marters!" He scampered forward, but it was only a few feet to the edge of the worthless raft, and the blue. No Marters. "Marters!"

Further out, a fin cut through the water. The nose of a shark raised, thrashed, and created a pool of growing red before it dipped under the surface yet again.

And then were was silence. Only a seagull, and the gentle breath of the sea made any noise.

Alone. All alone. Surrounded by the broken pieces of his captain's vessel, their work, their livelihood, he sat and watched the pool of red sit on the water before fading away. Barrels, boxes, a potato or two, planks, and the shredded remains of the sails.

No matter how hard he tried to breathe, he couldn't get oxygen into his lungs. He was starting to see spots. It wasn't happening. It couldn't be happening. It wasn't it wasn't it wasn't. He hugged his knees close to his chest, and rocked back and forth. The salt of his tears joined the salt of the sea soaked into his trousers.

"... hello?"

Eric gasped, fell back, and braced himself against the bloody planks with both hands. The mermaid had swam up to him, though she still had the barrel between the two of them like a shield.

"Are you here to kill me? It... it would make sense. Everything in this damn sea wants us sailors dead. Gods, please, just... just get it over with." He closed his eyes, and waited.

"Kill you? But... I'm not..."

Eric opened one eye, then the other. Not kill him? "But.. you're a mermaid."

"I am." She swam closer, and she gave him a small smile from behind the barrel.

She really was beautiful. Her voice was enchanting too, just like the old tales said. Mermaids were sirens! They lured sailors with their charm, and then they dragged you to Davy Jones's Locker!

He wasn't in any position to argue it though. Dead anyway, with no ship in sight, no way to make a fire to signal for help, no land in sight, and no food or water.

"I thought mermaids killed men?"

"I never! I... that... that has happened. But not anymore! Not for a hundred years."

"Oh... oh..." He sighed relief, and sat down Indian style. "I, um... thank you then... for not killing me." But then, he looked down and found the blood stains on his legs and hands. Marters, you dumb bastard.

"I'm sorry," the mermaid said, "for what Jormun did to your ship."

"Jormun?"

"He is... he was nearby, and he hates men. He summoned the storm, and he attacked you."

"I thought I was seeing things!" Memories of the massive wall of flesh, barnacles and dark skin were blurs in his mind. "That thing summoned a storm?"

"He did. And... sorry about... Marters." She sighed and shook her head. "I can't stop Gaznollien. He's big, and mean, and old, and—"

"Gaznollien... the shark?"

She nodded.

Eric sighed, but returned the nod. "It's ok... I guess. We're dead anyway. Eaten by a shark is a better way to go than thirst and sun."

The mermaid blinked at him, pushed her barrel to the side before swimming close, put her hands on the planks, and looked up at him.

She was so damn beautiful. Her hair was really long, now that he could see her from so close, like a river of its own. Her fingers were human. She had gills on her neck though, tinted the same beautiful blue like her fin ears. Her fish half was blue too — he'd expected green — and it was shining radiant under the sun. Her lips were such a delicious pink, tiny and cute.

Sirens indeed. He couldn't help but stare, even when he realized how rude it was. Worse, with the creature so near, he could see her breasts through the water. She was a small woman, this mermaid, with a lean little frame and small, pert breasts.

He shook his head and forced himself to look up to her green, big, sparkling eyes.

"There's a small island nearby! Only a... uh... I think you call it... miles? Only five or six miles!"

She had such a sweet, lovely voice. It made his insides melt.

"Five or six miles? I could... I might be able to swim that. I'm a pretty good swimmer."

She laughed at him. "No no, it'll take you all day. Come on, I'll push you."

"You'll... push me? But you only just met me! And you're a mermaid, and I'm a human, and—"

"I'm Alandrial," she said.

Alandrial? It sounded... angelic.

"Um... Eric."

"Eric." She grinned her cute little smile at him. "Before sailors started thinking mermaids were bad luck, or mean, or killers, we helped them!"