Siren Song

“Please,” he begs, shivering in the corner of the cold, damp cave. His only source of light is his own lantern, flickering defiantly against the dark and glimmering the minerals burrowed within the rocky walls.

They all shine brighter than the dark eyes of the woman before him. Her lower half is invisible under the pitch-black water, and her drenched, fiery red hair covers her bare torso.

Her smile shines with wicked energy, stretching wider and wider with each second.

He tries to cry, or perhaps his body does, forcing a compulsory sob out of his mouth. But he does not allow tears to flow. Somehow, the sob provokes a gleam of her dark eyes, as if the prospect of fresh human tears excites her.

“Why am I here?” he asks, his voice trembling. He glances at the lantern, praying, begging God to keep it alight. If the blasted thing goes out, what will this creature do to him, he wonders.  For a moment, he almost adds, ‘Witch. Creature. Affront to the Lord.’ But he cannot bring himself to speak aloud any of these addendums, not when she shifts in the water, just an inch closer.

He backs up more against the cave wall, the rocks digging into his spine.

“You are here,” she says, her voice like a snakes hiss, “to assist me with a matter most urgent, fleshling.”

His voice catches, and he blinks rapidly. “What matter would that be?”

She inches further out from the water, exposing the scales on her hips. “You… you are a priest, are you not?”

He shakes his head violently. “No, no madam. My father was… before he died, you see.”

She tilts her head to the side.

“B-but I am a believer. Have been since I was a lad.”

She narrows her obsidian eyes, then glances down at the lantern. Then she smiles. “I suppose that will suffice.”

The creature slides further out of the water, exposing her fish-like tail, disturbing the water, her scales scratching against the rocky floor.

He chokes out a gasp, a croak of fear.

Her teeth are so sharp-looking; her arms were so strong dragging him under the water. He couldn’t escape if he tried, not without knowing how deep she had taken him to bring him in this cave.

“What can I do for you?”

She scoots close to him, her malicious features withering for something less sinister and more innocent. A trap, he presumes. It must be. It was how she had lured him to the edge of the docks.

At first, he had thought her in danger. The moonlight shining off her dark figure in the water had hidden the tail, the eyes, the teeth. She had simply been a woman in need. And then she had sung, her voice luring him closer and closer, a tune he hadn’t heard since he was a boy. Then, the next thing he knew, he was under the icy cold waters, struggling against arms stronger than his grandfather in his prime, when he’d grabbed him by the legs and dragged him to the basement to lock him away when he’d failed to complete his studies for the night.

“I need you to pray for me, man of God.”

“I-” he almost forgets his fear as he considers her words. “You… I beg your pardon?”

“Pray with me.” She extends her hands, so deceivingly human, save for the fingernails, which appear as nothing more than large scales themselves. “Pray with me, and I shall spare you.”

He cannot deny the temptation to ask his questions. “What about? I cannot simply pray for nothing. A request must be made.” He gulps when her eyes flicker. “Madam,” he adds, clearing his throat.

She stares down at her hands, then withdraws them. “’Tis my father I request prayer for, man of God. He is sick, and I fear I have done all I can to sustain him.” Her lip quivers. “I… I fear I will lose him soon. I have no other to turn to except your creator. I reckon He would refuse my audience, so I require the services of a man such as you. A man with a great connection to Him. Can you do this?”

He blinks. “Of course…”

Her smile is just as her face, removed of malicious content. “Excellent.” She extends her hands.

He places his palm against her, trying to resist a flinch when her scaled nails dig into the back of his hand. “Let us bow our heads and close our eyes.”

Her face twists as if she smells something rotten. “It was to my understanding that your Lord resides in the clouds.”

“He does, madam. We bow our heads to show respect, to humble ourselves before Him.”

Her expression softens. “Odd. But I shall follow your word, man of God.”

He bows his head, hesitating until he notices she gives into the action herself. He sends a silent prayer to God before beginning, pleading with Him to save him from this monster, in any way possible. “Oh, Lord,” he mutters. “I come before you, as your humble servant—”

“Forgive my interruption, but… should you not speak louder for him to hear?”

“He can hear all, down to the quietest whisper.”

That expression returns. “I fail to understand how He could comprehend so many voices at once.”

“If He created them, he can understand them. His comprehending exceeds ours, to an extent that we cannot even fathom.” A flash of frustration nestles in his chest, and he releases it in a moment of weakness. “If you doubt Him so, why do you ask for His help?”

She furrows her brows. “I am sorry… continue.”

He clears his throat again and lowers his head. “Oh, Lord. I come before you as your humble servant, and I thank You for the blessings you have bestowed upon me.” He struggles for a moment to consider his next words. “With me today, oh Lord, is a—” he paused. A woman? A creature? “I—”

“I have eaten many a sailor in my days, foolish man, but I am still a woman.”

He grits his teeth, scared for a moment that a row of pointed teeth will sink into his flesh, then continues “—a woman who is on the verge of losing a man most important to her. We come before you, Lord, and we ask you to heal her father of his affliction, whatever it may be. Should he recover, Lord, we will rejoice in your name, we will sing your praises—”

“And I will starve myself of human flesh for every year my father survives,” she adds, desperation in her voice.

Usually, in this part of the prayer, with friends, family, even strangers, he would add that should his prayer be unanswered or outright refused, that he entrusted the Lord with such a decision. But with the scaled nails digging into his hand, and the cold of the cave biting harder into his soaked body, he decides to leave out the opportunity for God to refuse. “Amen.”

He lifts his head and opens his eyes to meet hers. Something like relief shines in them, and she nods. “Thank you, man of God. When shall I expect an answer?”

“God does not answer in the way that you or I do. He answers with action or—” he chokes on the next word. It was too late. He’d already let it slip. She cocks her head to the side again, and he realizes it is too late. He’s already let it slip. “Or inaction.”

The creature stiffens. “Inaction?”

His breath quickens. “Sometimes.”

“Your God may not save my father.”

“He will.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I feel it.”

A flash of anger sets her dark eyes alight and she grabs him. He screams and shuts his eyes as fiercely strong hands grab his shoulders and he is shoved back into the dark waters. He continues to scream, the sound muffled and useless in the sea, bubbles of air firing out of his mouth in repeated trills.

He does not think to conserve his breath, only screams and screams until his body breaks water, and he lands roughly on familiar cobblestone. He freezes, too frightened to move, to continue his screams. But he does gasp, his lungs sucking precious, salty air.

When his mind catches up with itself, he looks around. A grin spreads across his face. He is alive—alive, by God. “Thank you,” he mutters to the Lord.

Before he can take in the comfort of his port town, a voice rings out from his left. He whirls his head to see a silhouette bobbing in the water.

“Should my father die, I will return for you, man of God. His life for yours. Perhaps your Lord will take action then.”

He cannot respond before she disappears into the water, her tail splashing water in his face.

He stares at the water, too frozen to move. He doesn’t know why it takes him so long to recover his courage, but he finally moves, and when he does, he sprints. The night air bites through his clothes, his skin, down to his bones. He sprints until he reaches his home and shuts the door tight and bolted behind him. He lights every candle in his house, chucks an extra block of firewood into his fireplace, and warms himself near its flames, his clothes discarded on the floor.

He stares into the flames, grateful for their light, their warmth, the way they dry the air around them. The antithesis of water, of the place where dreaded creatures like that reside.

He can never return to the docks, for any reason, he promises himself. No matter what, he shall never set foot on another ship, never take another evening walk by the water, never fish on the pier. He shall remain in his home, near the fire, for the rest of his limited existence.

He has read his Bible, has studied the scriptures, has listened to his father’s sermons. Always, Hell has been a place of fire and brimstone, a place of eternal burning. For his entire life, he has always accepted this without question. But now, as that bloody creature’s singing voice still rings in his head like the hollow wail of a cracked church bell, he realizes that Hell is not a place of fire. It is a place under the water, deep under the waves, trapped in a never-ending darkness, unable to breath, unable to tell which direction is up, unable to protect oneself from the creatures waiting to feast on his flesh.

That was Hell, he decides. No matter what his father had said.

He falls asleep next to the fire, curled into a ball and praying more and more that the creature’s father survives.