If you look out at the Pacific Ocean from the bluffs just north of the pier, you’ll see the rocks jutting out of the water. They stand just beyond the distance humans are willing to swim. It’s home to so many creatures.
A pregnant rat once made it to safety from the angry cleaver belonging to a restaurant chef on the pier. Her tiny litter created a colony. They run through the holes and crevices of rocks, avoiding the water, but grateful for the bounty of easy sustenance. They’ve developed a taste for the mussels that attach themselves to the jagged and slick rocks. But they’re not alone.
With the celestial pull on the ocean, raising and lowering the waterline, there is a spot of land that never dries beyond the damp heat trapped by desiccated kelp strands. Ripped from the ocean floor, they float and are captured on the rocks during high tide. As the tide comes in lower, tide pool life flourishes. It’s always there, but if you ride your boat close enough to explore without damaging the hull, you can see so much life just below the sea foam. This is where starfish, anemones and urchins sway, while hermit crabs scatter and crawl on the hunt for their next meal. Water cascades down the rock, filtering through open areas and pooling in others.
Sea lions bark angrily at the swooping birds that steal their fish, waddling side to side as their back flippers scoot forward. They perk their floppy little ears at the slightest sound of danger or dinner.
The seals wriggle quietly on the rocky land, like giant caterpillars. They sunbathe all day, playful like small children. Warming their bodies in the sun, they stay just long enough for their fur to dry before diving in the blue and green waters that shift with the tide. The ocean is their playground.
Just below the surface of the water, fish swim in and around the basalt mountain that spreads across the ocean floor. At the base of the mountain is a small opening. Even if you were to brave the currents that will force you into the wall of jagged rock, you might miss the small entrance. A bluefin tuna once tried to escape from a shark through that space, but crashed against the wall, stunning himself before being torn apart from his tail.
If you can slip into that tiny space, you’ll find yourself in a series of tunnels that lead to a cavernous space toward the surface. The inside of the cave opens up to a large pocket with smooth walls. It was an air bubble pushing through molten rock before the ocean cooled it into stone. The sloping sides flatten out so you could sit or lay in the quiet and calm. The ceiling is dotted with sunlight from the sky above the sea mountain. Scattered throughout the walls are tiny gemstones. Corundum, zircon, topaz and garnets sparkle like tiny dots of color from the reflected bits of sunlight. Some of these are faceted but most are rounded, formed imperfectly as the earth cooled in the salted water. The exchange of light is a dance upon the calm dampness inside the cavern.
Even if you could find this space, I would never recommend you do. Embracing the solitude of the cave is a solitary Siren. Deema appreciates her isolation.
There’s a small community of merfamilies that live in neat houses along the ocean floor. They grow kelp and coral as decorations around their homes and some even farm oysters for pearls. They bring them to the land dwellers and barter pearls for clothes and a glimpse of human life. Merfolk only need clothes on land, and generally no use for anything else.
Just before each spring, the young green sea turtles plead for pledges for their swim-a-thon to help clean the oceans because they want a healthy home for their children one day. When the adults return from laying their eggs, the turtles set off for their annual world tour.
The mermaid families always contribute. When the seals and otters come by, begging for food, they can say they’ve already donated to a cause they believe in. Mermatrons shut their doors, muttering about the noise level in the neighborhood.
The mermaids love the sun and they bask in it. When humans come around, they swim away, no longer allowed to engage when they have their tails. Too many bored Merteens lured too many horny sailors to their death. The humans carry cell phones to try to capture images. Conservative mermen believe it’s no longer safe, and the last human drowning competition opened the door to too many tourists from other seas. Even if the humans are too stupid to live, and think they’re on a reality show, there’s always some older merman that remembers the dark days. Mermaid tails were just as prized as a selkie’s pelt and we all know there are no more selkies to be found in cool waters.
It’s normal for mermaids to walk among the humans. The more they interact with the land, the easier it is to blend in. Some merfolk choose to live on land. They are usually near the ocean and make sure their bathtubs are deep enough to spread their tails. They keep water fountains in their homes to shield them from the painful call of the ocean. If they can tolerate a job indoors, the sound of running water is like a pacifier. It’s soothing and a temporary fix until they can again bathe in the deep.
If you listen quietly under a full moon, you can hear the call of the ocean. It’s not about luring you to your death as much as a love song to the waves, but it won’t bother a mermaid if you walk out to sea, never to return to land.
Deema never felt like she belonged with the other mermaids. She was curious about humans but she could never pretend to be one for long. They were so silly to her. They chose ignorance. She once exposed her tail to a woman intentionally. The woman began looking for cameras and convinced herself that Deema’s tail was Hollywood magic, designed to make her Instagram famous.
After centuries of terrifying sailors, most mermaids shifted from predator to prey. They became more beautiful than dangerous. This was an adaptation and Deema saw it as defeat. They learned to be docile and act coy around humans. Humans became cute and innocent to the families that forgot, but for Deema who had lived for hundreds of years, there was no forgetting who she was.
She chose exile and her isolation nurtured despondency. The laughter of the merfamilies made Deema wonder if they were laughing at her and her turmoil boiled into rage. She began to spend more time on land.
In the early years, she swam to distant lands and would lure villagers out of their homes. She would bait them with her song and wait for them to wade into the water. She was amused that they would call out to her. They begged the disembodied voice to keep singing.
Her body would undulate in the pale moonlight and her hair would gleam like black tourmaline, catching the light as she moved. They always came to her and she welcomed them into her arms before she pulled them under the waves. She loved the calm peace on their features just before they realized they couldn’t breathe under water the way she could. The look of surprise was amusing. They would try to communicate but could never open their mouths at this point. She always smiled at them as they tried to save her life, not realizing she was about to take theirs.
She liked watching them struggle for air as tiny blood vessels burst into pretty Browns in their eyes. The whites of their eyes seemed to get brighter like pearls. She liked killing in warm waters because they were more likely to struggle and she loved the feel of life leaving their bodies at her command. Sometimes she enjoyed beating them up with her tail, much like a cat plays with a small bird. Flipping her tail to hit them, felt like a twitch of her powerful muscles. It was as strenuous as a smile to Deema.
Tourists ruined small villages for her. There was always a curious couple on a honeymoon, or a ready camera, and the hunt was never worth the risk anymore. Her green and pink tail was unique, even by merpeople standards.
Predators adapt, and Deema was no exception.
She rations out death like it’s an allowance for her. Each summer, she goes ashore under the Waxing Gibbous Moon in August. The water is warmest at this time of year. Some human female is always losing a top or bottom to her bikini in the waves, and Deema makes use of them for her hunt. She felt bartering from her prey was beneath her.
Deema chose the cover of a new moon during a grunion run to come ashore. She loved swimming through their sexual frenzy and it always brought young couples to the beach. Fish porn always initiated human porn. They wouldn’t notice her.
She was moving away from the pier and noticed a couple having sex in the sand. She walked close enough to scoop up some clothes in the sand. She remembered the pleasure of a memory and hurried away from the moans and laughter.
They didn’t notice, and she slipped away with a summer dress and sandals, dressing as she walked toward the bridge that would take her to the bluffs and the waking beach city, above. She remembered a sushi restaurant she had been to, during one of the many visits when she wasn’t interested in killing. She headed that way, amused at the people she saw. There were small children that didn’t seem to anger their tired parents. There were couples walking, and experiencing the glow of new romance. There were older people, irritated with youth.
Years ago, Deema walked this same path. She met a man that almost made her want to give up her ocean life. He was kind and wise for his few years. He made her smile and with him, she didn’t even want to kill anything. It lasted until mid winter. She would come see him, then return home for a while. At first, he was intrigued by her mystery. He never knew where she ran off to, or anything about who she was. After a while, he grew irritated with her disappearances. Humans experience time differently. She meant to swim home so she could be herself in her skin. It was hard to wear clothes all of the time and being out of the ocean was taking a physical toll on her.
When she returned, he was no longer waiting for her. She found him at the restaurant he took her to. He was laughing with a red haired human. Deema went back to his apartment, letting herself in with the key he left under the potted jalapeno peppers. She prepared to kill two for the sins of one, but would have been fine with killing him alone. She hated killing on land, but she was willing to make an exception. She waited in the darkness of his office and sat still as she heard them enter his place. They fumbled around furniture and peeled off clothes in layers. She heard the soft thud of clothing, and the sound waves seemed to crash around her, dousing the flames of her anger in liquid rage. She loved the control she had in the ocean but she was just as capable on land. She enjoyed the rivers of blood she created from his femoral artery and her jugular vein. It didn’t disperse the way it sometimes did in the ocean when she was in the mood to taste the blood of her prey. The smell and taste of blood was like salt and copper. It was heavy, coating her mouth with pleasure. It made her feel like she was floating. It felt like love, sex, death and desire. The memory of that kill brought a smile to her lips and she hummed slowly and lowly to herself.
Deema’s thoughts were on the path ahead of her this night. She was happy about that memory and she was excited to indulge in her bloodlust. Her fish nature allowed her to forget the pain of that memory by embracing the cold. She was a Siren. She could walk both worlds. She could hold and love with her arms and her human half, but it was more fun to be cold and murderous. The sea and it’s creatures still answered her commands. She had the respect of the waves as a predator does. Not all mermaids could still wield their magic, silencing their urges, the way they did. She was powerful, and the seductive call of the ocean was woven into her hair, and it spiraled deeper within her, with every shift of her scales.
Not everyone made Deema want to kill. Some humans made her long for the time when she was a little mermaid. Before her first kill, her taste for blood was about salmon and tuna. She loved the tender meat of lobsters and the way octopus tentacles felt when squirming and suctioning her mouth with each bite. She killed for hunger, not out of boredom. It wasn’t an itch that drove her to distraction. Her melancholy mood circled around a distant memory.
She remembered swimming around her mother, asking about the humans they saw. There was one pregnant with life. Deema could hear their heartbeats. One was slower and labored. The other was rapid and small. Deema asked her mother if she was carried around in her belly. Deema’s mother spat acid as she asked, “do I look like a fucking dolphin? We’re not mammals. I wanted you, and you appeared. We’re of seafoam and magic. Wipe that look off your face. I’m disappointed enough for both of us.” Shaking her head from the memory, she continued walking.
There was a specific scent she was after. It always made her bloodlust spike and the kill was much more rewarding. She was seeking jealousy. Not any bit of envy would feed her need. She wanted the scent of a jealous lover.
Deema walked from north, to south, one street at a time and away from the ocean. She hadn’t killed on land in years, but her bloodlust was simmering and not at all picky. She began singing her siren song softly.
A little girl ran through the street toward Deema from seemingly nowhere. She wrapped her little arms around Deema’s legs and held onto her. It was unexpected and the shock and annoyance ran off of Deema in waves.
The little girl looked up and when their eyes met, Deema stepped back in shock. How could she have missed the little mermaid on the same street? She began scanning the street for a mermaid to claim the child. Normally she could sense other mermaids from miles away. She didn’t move or smell like a mermaid. She was covered in the smells of humans.
“Where is your mother?” Deema asked. She was irritated with her own concern and wondered if her bloodlust was responsible for how distracted she was. She scanned the street, stepping back to try to dislodge herself from pudgy little hands.
Running gracelessly toward them was a human man. Deema shifted position slightly to make sure she was properly balanced to attack him before he attacked them. He didn’t look like he was ready to fight her. The lines of worry were etched all over his face. His hair was peppered gray. He was in fair shape and she could see he was used to running. The little girl buried her face deeper in Deema’s dress, but she didn’t smell like fear. She began laughing.
“Daddy! She smells like Mommy,” she breathed.
“Pearl, we don’t run up to strangers and grab them like that. I need you to stay with me. Miss, I’m so sorry. She never does this but it’s been hard on her, not knowing her Mom. I’m Harry,” he said with open arms.
Little Pearl ran into his arms and giggled. There was almost a glow or halo around them and Deema was curious about it. She was curious about them. How did a Siren end up with a human and how could she not understand what her Mother’s scent meant? It was one of Deema’s first lessons to learn scents, long before she began talking. It’s like human child proofing. Mermaids need to know scent to survive and the scents help Deema know what is prey, food, or not a satisfying kill.
“It’s fine. She didn’t harm me. How old is she?,” Deema was perplexed by the affection she saw between the two and the feeling of experiencing love without fear between the two, was counter to all she had known about humans.
Harry’s uncertainty made it clear he wasn’t lying when he said, “I’m not sure. Her mother and I dated briefly one summer. She came over with this toddler not even four months after we broke up and said she was mine. I said I’d keep an eye on her for a few hours, but Muriel never came back. Pearl has been so sweet, I can’t imagine giving her back. That was five years ago. It’s not possible to have a baby that quickly, but she’s been such a great kid. I can’t imagine not having her near me.”
Deema knew he wasn’t compelled by magic. Pearl didn’t know she was smelling a magical being, and probably didn’t know how to sing a lure. This human was genuinely experiencing love and protection. Her human side broke through the fish side and Deema was surprised by the longing she felt toward this little mermaid. For the first time, she experienced a feeling of safety around humans.
Deema imagined a life of teaching this little girl about the ocean. She wanted to show her how to control the currents and what it felt like to swim under a full moon. She wanted motherhood in a way that she had never experienced before. She looked toward Harry and the impulse to snap his neck and take Pearl was strong.
Pearl looked up at Deema and said, “ No. Please don’t. You can live with us too.”
Harry looked at Pearl with shock, surprise and embarrassment. Deema knew Pearl needed Harry as much as she needed him. She felt the shift from predator to protector. She wanted to protect this family with her life.
Deema understood her life was about to shift. She wouldn’t be living on land, but she knew she would never be alone again, and she was going to have to learn how to appreciate humans, in all of their boring glory. She knew she would learn how to trust humans as well. It was going to be a long summer, but the spark of longing in her chest when Pearl again felt safe, was worth it.