When and where did reader meet the mermaids again?
I’ve left the endings purposefully vague in case anybody wants to carry on with their own stories :) XX
War: You’re a watercolour artist of some renown, successful enough to have earned a break from your busy life at home by purchasing a holiday cottage overlooking the ocean. It’s a quiet little place that has sat abandoned for decades, alone on the top of a grassy hill. You work tirelessly to fix it up, give it a fresh coat of paint and refit the broken windows and in no time, it’s as good as new.
Outside, at the bottom of the garden, there are a set of stone steps that wind all the way down to a private beach.
It’s one fine, autumn evening that you find yourself standing there on the sand with an easel and paintbrush, simply content to fiddle with the silver shell you wear on a chain around your neck and stare out at the endless horizon stretched out before you. Nature’s own canvas that she paints over every night to show the world a sunset just as remarkable as the one that came before.
Filling your lungs with crisp, salty air, you smile and nod, at last ready to paint. Just as you put brush to paper though, a strong gust of wind howls across the cove and steals the paper out from beneath your hand.
You knew you should have taped it down.
Dropping your brush into a jar of water, you swiftly give chase, stumbling across the sand in pursuit of your lost canvas. It flutters and flits through the air as if kept out of reach by an invisible, playful hand until it eventually floats towards the cliff face, therewith stands a cave with its vast mouth stretched open like a cragged maw that points out towards the open sea. The tide has come in enough that the entrance is partially flooded and of course, your paper drifts helpfully inside, landing straight in the water.
Puffing and panting, you trail to a stop at the edge where sand meets sea with your hands on your hips and give the scrap of paper a harsh scowl. But, rather than trail all the way back up to the cottage to retrieve another, you decide that you won’t be beaten by a rogue wind and an elusive piece of watercolour material.
So, slipping off your shoes, you bend down and roll up the legs of your trousers. The stubborn cold immediately nips at your exposed calves but you simply pull the thick, wooly cardigan more snugly around your shoulders and wade out into the sea.
You stop directly in the mouth of the cave and fish your paper out of the salty water, triumphant, if not completely numb from the knee down.
Turning to leave, you’re stopped when a sound drifts into your ear, easily cutting above the crashing of waves and chattering seagulls. It isn’t dissimilar to a gentle sigh of wind. The only problem is, this sigh had come from inside the cave and it was strong enough to whip a strand of hair off your face for a few seconds as you stiffly swivel around to peer into the darkness. A moment later, the sound stops.
“Huh,” is all you can mutter, giving a shrug and starting to wade back towards the beach.
Before you can get very far though, that strange sigh returns and this time, it seems a lot louder. Something rumbles beneath your feet and you gasp, squinting once more into the dark cave.
You’re wholly unprepared to see another pair of eyes staring right back.
A scream catches in your throat and you can only stand there, slack-jawed and staring up at the colossal monster that emerges from the cave. Up and up you crane your neck back, past the body of a gigantic, red crab with claws that look like they could tear the steel off a battleship’s hull, past a thick torso that protrudes up out of the shell, past an arm that’s been severed at the elbow until at last, your eyes reach its face. It’s the face of a man, a man who’s upper body blends seamlessly into the lower body of a goddamn, giant crab.
Two, curious eyes blink down at you, solid white and lacking any kind of pupil or iris. They glow in the fading light and widen noticeably, almost as though the monster is as surprised to see you as you are to see it.
All at once, your head begins to spin and before you know it, you’re tipping backwards, overcome by such a horrific sight. With a splash, your spine hits the icy water, which serves as such a shock to the system. The impact snaps you from your daze and you finally let out the scream that had become trapped in your throat. Unfortunately, your head is submerged, and when your mouth opens, it promptly fills with salt water. Coughing and spluttering, you twist yourself around frantically and try to get your feet underneath you again so that you might better flee back onto dry land, a task that seems relatively simple in concept. In reality however, another, strong quake knocks you onto your stomach as the beast steps closer and you fall face first into the sea, once more receiving an unpleasant rush of water straight up your nostrils.
All of a sudden, just as you break into a mad doggy paddle for shore, something pinches the back of your waterlogged cardigan and a second later, you’re hoisted up and out of the sea and dangled in front of a face so large, you couldn’t cover it’s height if you stretched your arms overhead and stood on the tips of your toes.
The giant’s broad nose twitches as it sniffs once, twice, and on the third, it gently presses the tip into your chest and nudges the tiny, silver shell sitting against your clavicle. Then to your utmost horror, the creature gives an approving grunt and twists itself about on its six, robust legs and makes its way carefully back into the cave, carrying you along for the ride pinched between its only remaining claw.
Strife: It had been your ex who suggested the boating trip, just the two of you, to try and clear the bad air that had been lingering between you both since the break up.
‘Bad air...’ The thought made you scoff.
Terrified of what might happen if you said ‘no,’ you reluctantly agreed.
Only when you’re both out on the boat, miles from any other living human does it quickly become apparent what their true intentions are; To pressure you back into that unhappy relationship. What they didn’t bet on though, is that you’re surer now, steady in your resolve and not so easy to lead on a guilt-trip.
They plead and beg, asking you to give them another chance, telling you that they’ve really changed this time, that they love you....
...But you’ve heard it all before. Nothing ever changes, not where they’re concerned. You’ll give them an inch, and they’ll always take a mile. Well, no longer.
With a stern scowl, you adamantly tell them that ‘no, they’ve had their chance,’ and then you demand that they drive you back to shore this instant.
You should have known something bad was going to happen when their face contorted with rage.
Without warning, they lash an arm out, knocking you down onto the boat’s hard floor and the impact pushes a pitiful cry from your lungs. Then, wolflike and predatory, they begin to circle you, ranting that you’re being unreasonable, that you’ve always been unreasonable, and you won’t be going anywhere until you agree to take them back.
“Never,” you hiss between clenched teeth.
Caught up in the throes of their own temper, they lift their boot back and aim a kick at your side, causing you to cry out in anticipation of pain. However, the blow never connects.
There’s a sudden, almighty ‘WHAM!’ and the whole boat tips sideways in the water, almost upending itself.
Your ex is thrown against the starboard side with a thud and they yelp, barely catching their feet before the boat is rocked again, this time tipping in the opposite direction as if it had been hit from the other side.
Helpless, you roll around on the deck, slipping and sliding about in the three inches of water that has splashed aboard. After a few moments, the boat blessedly falls still and only rocks with the gentle lapping of the ocean waves. Getting onto your hands and knees, you glance up just as a cloud passes over the sun and you find yourself cast cast in shadow.
You hear your name being called and the voice sounds frightened and alarmed. Shaking your head to clear it, you blink the beginnings of tears from your eyes and finally notice your ex on the opposite side of the boat, their neck tilted back to stare at a point above you. Strangely, the sun is shining down on their face, but you’re still standing in the shade.
Creeping dread turns your veins to ice. You really don’t want to see what’s casting that enormous shadow over the boat, nor do you want to face the thing that’s raining droplets of salty water down on you.
Steady, rhythmic gusts of warm air caress the hairs at the top of your head and at last, unable to bear the suspense any longer, you turn, shaking all the while as your eyes rove upwards and come to rest on the underside of a gargantuan, grey face. Two ovals of shimmering gold blink right back down at you and it takes a few instances to realise that you’re peering up into the eyes of a vast monster. Perhaps if you weren’t so transfixed on that hypnotic stare, you’d have had time to take in more of its features. The silver-armoured plating that covers its forehead, the gills that flare open and shut on either side of its thick neck and the unruly, ebony hair poking out of the back of its skull...
The beast makes a sound, and the adams apple in front of you quivers around the force of a low, albeit gentle warble. It’s enough to snap you out of a stupor.
Spinning on your heel, you make a mad dash for your ex because, in this moment, you’re far less afraid of them than you are of the monster.
However, before you can make it even halfway across the boat, a guttural trill blasts through the air and something snags the hem of your shirt, dragging you up and off the deck. Terrified, you let out a bleating cry for help, reaching both arms towards your ex who only remains frozen in place, jaw dropped. That’s the last you see of them before you’re turned around to face the ocean, swinging helplessly from a mouth filled with dozens of razor-sharp teeth.
Death: ‘The rig is haunted!’ is all you were told by your friends.
This warning came after they’d convinced you to go with them on a borrowed boat and check out the abandoned oil platform that sits alone and still in the ocean, some fifty nautical miles from shore.
You’d been wondering what all those secretive smiles and hushed whispers had been about. They damn well knew you’d be less inclined to join them on this little excursion of theirs if you’d realised there was the potential for running into a ghost.
By this point, you’re already on the boat with all three of them and land has long since faded away behind you, leaving no room to argue a return trip. You wouldn’t be going back, not now that you’re more than halfway to the platform already. Irritated, you try to insist on turning around anyway, though your suggestion is quickly shot down. They go on to excitedly explain how a stranger in a bar had shared a drink with them. He ended up telling them of an old oil rig, one that has stood empty since the 1960′s, abandoned after the men working there had begun to complain of seeing a monstrous shadow moving through the waters below the platform.
The stranger told your friends that he’d been out there one night a few months prior, drawn in by the mystery that surrounds the platform, but although he didn’t see hide nor hair of any kind of gigantic sea monster, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had eyes watching him the whole time he was there.
Sensing that they seemed the adventuring sort, he’d given your friends the coordinates, finished his beer, and left without a trace.
The prospect of travelling - in the dark no less - to a remote location provided by a stranger from some seedy bar doesn’t fill you with the utmost confidence, but at least there are four of you together, should things go south.
Soon enough, standing dark and ominous against the light cast by a full moon, the oil rig looms into view. Your friends waste no time in pulling the boat next to the ladder and clambering up onto the first platform whilst you, a tad warier, follow behind them, ears straining to hear above a metallic creaking as the entire structure sways too and fro in the wind.
While you’re tentatively exploring the exterior, you make your way to the very edge and peer down over it, staring into the inky black waters far below. The moon sparkles on the ocean surface and you find yourself gazing dreamily at the mesmerising display.
Then, suddenly, you hear a screeching of metal and one of your friends cries your name. You turn too late, too slow to move out of the way as a gigantic, steel beam comes loose from the wall and topples towards you. All you can do is take an involuntary step back....
...And slip straight over the ledge, plunging down into the cold, gloomy ocean fifty feet beneath you.
The cold that hits you steals any air from your lungs and you sink for the first several moments, limbs stiff from the shock and your brain still attempting to process what’s happening to it. Horrified, you open your eyes and the sting of saltwater almost has you slamming them shut again, but a shadow moving swiftly towards you from above prompts you to keep them open just a little longer.
A muted splash reverberates in the water around you and before you know it, something slams into your thigh with the force of a freight train. It seems the steel beam has followed your descent. A sharp, metal edge tears through your trouser leg on its way past and leaves a searing cut behind as a reminder of the encounter. Unable to bear the sudden, overwhelming sting, you open your mouth and try to scream, only succeeding in swallowing sea water until you have the sense to stuff your lips together. Meanwhile, uncaring, unaware of the damage it has done to you, the beam continues on its way, sinking down into the murky depths until it too is lost to the sea.
The need to breathe soon becomes more prominent than the throbbing pain in your thigh, and so, focusing on the faint, white glow of the moon overhead, you kick out your one, good leg, clawing your way through the water with a mad sort of desperation. But with every stroke, the light only gets further and further away.
Just as you’re about to burst, when you’re certain your lungs can’t take another second of strain, your whole world is surrounded quite abruptly by total darkness and something presses in around you, suffocating. To begin with, you think it’s the ocean crushing you, but then, there’s the unmistakable sensation of being catapulted upwards and in seconds, a rush of sound floods back to you. Real sound, sharp and crisp, unlike the deadened and muffled noise of water in your ears. Finally, your reflexes kick in and you suck in what you’re sure will be your last breath, only to find your lungs filling with cool, salty air instead.
Barely a second after that, the shroud of utter darkness lifts and you can see the moon again, shining bright and round in the indigo sky and suddenly, you’re no longer floating, rather, you’re sitting on something soft and pliable as the water that had surrounded you moments earlier falls away and splashes back into the ocean where it belongs.
Greedily, you gulp down breath after breath, too relieved to question how you’ve suddenly come to be on the surface. It’s only when you hear a soft, wet gurgling from behind that you twist yourself about whilst rubbing the salt water from your stinging eyes.
Two spotlights of brilliant yellow shine down at you, winking in and out of existence every once in a while and you’re confused at first as to what you’re seeing until, with a few more blinks, your vision clears.
The night is chilly, the water is cold, but your blood freezes solid and creeping fingers of ice run up and down your spine.
What stares back at you, what holds you in one, cupped palm, is nothing short of a nightmare.
A man’s head and shoulders rise out of the water like a gigantic monolith, skin a sickly, pale grey, and the upper half of his face obscured by a protruding skull that looks to have been added as decoration, or perhaps defence. The yellow spotlights that had turned out to be eyes blink again from their place set back in the dark sockets of the skull mask. He’s utterly massive, too massive for you to see the rest of him, though you aren’t sure you want to when you notice the gills flaring on the side of his neck as he inhales and exhales, a soft wheezing that you’re sure you’ll be hearing in your worst dreams from this night on.
Without warning, the monstrosity looms in close, and you catch a glimpse of what lays behind his parted lips. Teeth, sharp and jagged, and a tongue that slides out from between them, black like the night sky with a pointed tip.
Too afraid to scream, too shocked to move, you can only tremble as that tongue slithers over the wound on your thigh, lapping gently at the blood seeping out through the fabric of your trousers. Instantly, the action causes you to wince and yank your leg away from it, earning a low, rumbling growl from the creature.
Somewhere high above, your friends are calling your name, sounding about as terrified as you feel, though you can’t be sure they’ve seen the creature yet. Summoning all your courage, you suck in a breath to cry for help. The moment you do however, the monster’s yellow eyes grow wide and it shakes its head, clamping a hand over the one holding you and effectively trapping you inside the space left by its palms.
Then, you’re moving, at speed, the sound of water rushing by as you fruitlessly yell and smack your fists against the solid wall of flesh, petrified and, for the second time tonight, convinced you’re about to die.
Fury: You were out fishing on your father’s old boat when another vessel came shooting by, the men on board screaming at you to turn back and head for shore. From what you can decipher between the incoherency, they’d just been harpooning tuna when something big swam to the surface and in a panic, they ended up harpooning it.
Having grown up around fishermen, you meet their warning with a healthy level of skepticism and continue to search around for a school of fish. Suddenly, you’re passing over an open stretch of water when your boat’s scanner picks up something massive. It could be a school, but the fishermen’s warning rings in your ears and so, overcome with curiosity, you drop the boat’s anchor and don one of the scuba suits your father kept when he used to take tourists out on dives.
Equipped with an oxygen tank, wetsuit and goggles, you dive into the water and immediately, you can tell something is wrong. A viscous blanket of black water stretches out below you, a cloud of darkness that contrasts with the ocean’s natural blue haze that looks like someone dropped ink into a water jug, but on a massive scale. And then, there’s a sound. Some howling, yowling animal. You’d think it a whale if it weren’t so guttural.
Cautious, you swim down, down and down and further down still, through the midnight sea until at last, you burst out into clear water again.
There below you, writhing on the ocean floor, is a monstrous creature, a mass of twisting tentacles that stretch out in eight, different directions for what seems to be miles and sticking out from one of them, about halfway down and jammed right into a suction cup bigger than your head, is the end of a harpoon. Blood oozes from the wound, turning the water all around it a murky shade of red.
For a second, you become convinced that you’ve stumbled upon some undiscovered species of colossal squid, although that theory is soon abandoned when you roll your awestruck eyes up from the tentacles and land upon....an impossibility.
It’s a woman, from what you can tell. An enormous, vicious woman with pale skin and a head of long, magenta hair that has about as much life in it as her tentacles do as it whips about with every thrash of her neck.
You can hardly comprehend what you’re seeing. All you know is that you’re suddenly filled with an awful flood of terror that turns your blood cold and clamps your heart in a vice. Panic sets in then, and in a dizzying flurry of bubbles, you scream into your breather and spin about, bringing your legs up, ready to push yourself into a powerful upwards thrust and shoot on out of there.
But....something gives you pause.
Driven by a burning need to look, to see, you paddle yourself around again and face the creature, half expecting it to be gone, just a hallucination brought on by swimming through that cloud of dark water. But no, it’s still there, and the rebreather almost drops from your mouth as you find its pale, blank eyes have locked onto you.
One of the beast’s hands is hovering tentatively over the harpoon and its wounded tentacle gives a sporadic twitch as its fingers brush against the offending projectile, prompting it to scrunch its face up and wince. The expression is so strangely human, you recoil slightly, blanching under your scuba suit.
God, you can’t just leave it like that....
