The Siren
Kalliope
Mikros
If it had been any other night,
the drive to the quiet, St. Irene beach town would have been the perfect way to
end a beautiful day. With no light pollution, the sky is peppered with endless
twinkling stars that dance around the full, silver moon. Everyone’s either in
their homes or out in the bigger villages partying so the roads, curving around
mountains like a snake, are silent. The village at the top of the mountain
sparkles in the distance, with the scattered homes overlooking the beach below.
The Mediterranean air blows against my face and hair in my open-air Jeep,
and I just might almost feel free. I can see the beach below--- quiet as the
waves lap the sand, barren except for the five weary campers. The lights of my
car are enough to indicate that I’ve finally made it.
I
park as close to the beach as possible, at the small fishing port right next to
it. It’s quiet except for the sound of my sneakers against the concrete and the
crickets chirping in the distance. And, of course, the sound of my heart
beating out of my chest. I grab the black duffle bag from the trunk and check
its contents. Crossbow, gun, knife, harpoon gun, first aid kit, meat. Perfect.
It’s everything I need to kill the bastard.
This
isn’t me, I was never a fighter. I was always just Melina, a twenty-something
year old marketing student from Jersey who goes out, dresses up, bakes, and
falls asleep to royal history videos. I looked forward to coming back to the
island, ready for another unforgettable summer in paradise with all my friends
and family, especially after I had worked so hard during the school year. To
me, this vacation was well deserved. But this year changed everything. It all
started with the waves. Rough, unforgiving seas crashing on the shore, sinking
fishing boats. Too many times have I seen boats leave the harbor early in the
morning, only to find their space at the dock empty in the evening. Anything
but a calm, glass sea in the summer is an anomaly on the island. When the waves
rose high enough to reach the restaurants along the harbor, they attributed it
to changing wind patterns and the gravitational pull of the moon, but I knew
better.
It
wasn’t until I saw the attack late at night in the beginning of the summer. I
was with Johnny, laying on a sunlounger on the empty beach near my house. We’d
managed to escape our friend groups and lay together on the beach, watching the
stars. I’d run my hands through his jet black hair while he’d try to braid
mine, failing miserably. I’d laugh at his failure; I thought it was sweet. We’d
been so distracted by each other and what we could be, that I’d almost missed
the menacing green eyes staring at us. I heard a sharp shriek and nearly fell
off the sunlounger onto the cold sand. Johnny looked at me like I was insane. How
couldn’t he hear it? When I looked up at him, his eyes had gone dark, not
meeting my gaze, he rose from the sunlounger and with quick, even steps, he
moved to the water. I could see the silver scales wading through, the shriek
getting louder, practically stabbing my ears. I managed to get to my feet and
run after Johnny, who was now waist deep in the water. I tackled him and
dragged him to shore, knocking him on his back. I looked back and the figure
was gone.
Johnny snapped back to
reality, confused as to why he was laying in the water in his clothes. He
didn’t believe me when I told him what happened. Since that night, I had thrown
myself into researching what had happened, the signs, if it was some sort of Biblical
prophecy indicating the end times. None of it was the case. Johnny never
listened to me, though. He went around telling everyone I’ve lost it. He
stopped calling me, not wanting to be associated with a total lunatic. He’d
become a perfect stranger. And so have his friends and cousins. They used to
push us together, rooting for us to become a couple, but after Johnny’s
near-encounter with the figure, they’ve spread rumors that I need to be
institutionalized. Since then, I’ve avoided all of them and spent every day
training, researching, doing whatever I can to become the most lethal killing
machine on the island. In less than a month, I went from a fashionista to a
warrior, and although Johnny and I hadn’t spoken since, he knew exactly what I
was doing. He knew I’d been training to kill.
The crackle of rocks and pebbles below my feet is a sign of
hope to the campers. They look back at me with wild eyes. The group is
shivering, crying, whimpering. A trail of blood stretches from the shore to
their camp. They’re vulnerable and afraid like I’ve never seen them before.
One’s covered in blood, laying on a sunlounger, but I can’t tell who it is.
There’s so much blood I can’t make out his features. I approach the group and
force my attention on him.
It’s
Johnny. I can see the velvet blood staining his raven hair. It trickles across
his face creating a scarlet mask, hiding his deep brown eyes and perfect teeth.
His tattered white shirt is soaked in blood. Tears leave streaks against his
blood-soaked face.
“What
happened?” I ask him, my eyes flooding with tears while my throat fights a
sob.
He
looks me in the eyes for the first time in over a month. “The monster. You were
right. It’s out there.”
“Where
did it get you, Johnny?” I ask softly.
He
slowly extends his leg to show me the deep scratches and stab wounds, gushing
blood. I see him struggling to tug his tattered shirt, or what’s left of it and
I cut it off him. Another gash on his shoulder, rushing blood.
“How
bad is it?” he asks.
I
look at the concerned group around him. I dart my eyes away from their crying
faces. “I can fix it,” I respond. I look over at one of the crying girls, his
cousin, who’s huddling with her brother.
“Elena, open the duffle bag and
get the first-aid kit.”
She
does as I say. I clean the gash on his shoulder with rubbing alcohol and unloop
a spool of black stitches and cut a long piece with a scissor. I grab a syringe
of numbing formula from the first aid kit and prepare it.
“This might hurt,
Johnny,” I
say. I inject the area around the open wound. He flinches in pain.
“This is the worst part of it,
don't worry,” I say, trying to comfort him. When the syringes are empty, I poke
the skin around the wounds with the scissor.
“Do you feel that?” I ask.
“No,” he responds.
I do it a few more times,
asking
him the same question. Then, when I know he can’t feel anything, I begin
stitching the wound back together, slowly and carefully. When the wound is
finally closed, I wipe it clean then turn my attention to the wound on his leg.
Part of being a monster hunter is being a medic. I used to faint at the sight
of blood and wounds. I could barely sit still when I got my stitches after a
kitchen accident. But now, I could practically do this in my sleep. I’m the
only one on this damn island that’s taking this monster shit seriously. Who
knows if they will in the future. In any case, Johnny’s lucky he got away with
just that. No bite marks.
“Thank
you, Melina,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s
okay, you’re okay,” I say, before walking towards the sea.
Johnny
tries to get up to protest my actions, but I urge him to sleep. He can’t put
pressure on his stitches. I give Elena a bottle of sleep medicine to use on him
to calm him down--- and the rest of them if necessary. I tell them to go home
and not come down to the beach until morning.
“Wait,
before I go, I need some help,” I announce.
“What
do you need?” asks Nick, Elena’s brother.
“If
it’s not too much trouble, one of those boats,” I say, nodding to the fishing
boats gently bobbing in the glassy sea. I knew he had one. The least he could
do for me in return for saving his cousin is give me his damn boat.
“Okay,
okay, let me show you how to work it,” he says, guiding me towards the
boat.
Once
I get the engine running, I climb in and Nick points in the direction of
Johnny’s attack. I say goodbye to the group who insist on staying for me. With
my duffle bag loaded, I speed out to sea, waiting for the siren to notice my
scent and attack. It knows the difference between man and woman: a man is food,
a woman is a threat. I circle around the area, dropping chunks of raw meat into
the sea. It’s not long before I notice strange ripples in the black water. It’s
here. I grab the harpoon from the duffle, and position myself at the bow. The
ripples get closer and closer, indicating the monster is nearer than ever.
Finally, it emerges from the sea.
The
sea becomes rowdy and violent. The siren manipulates it at its will. Monstrous
waves crash against the boat, thrusting me in different directions. I manage to
hold on and remain in position. The siren is ready. It has the face and torso
of a woman with metallic silver, scaly skin, sharp black teeth, and glowing
green eyes. Its hair falls down to its sides in long black strings. Its slimy green
tail shines in the moonlight. It’s hideous.
The
siren circles the boat amidst chaotic waves. With one hand, I hold on to the
boat, with the other, I aim the harpoon at its heart as it moves, waiting for
the perfect shot. I avoid looking at its eyes. One look and blood rushes from
your eyes, your ears, your nose, your mouth. It eats your heart from out of
your chest and drinks the draining blood. I blindly make the shot and harpoon
the bitch right in its heart. It makes a shrieking, evil sound as the spear
pierces its flesh and organs. Wasting no time, I reach for the gun and shoot it
repeatedly to paralyze it and disfigure its haunting face. But the bitch won’t
be dead until its head is clean off.
Using
the harpoon gun, I drag the monster to the boat, avoiding eye contact. I hold
it by its neck. I turn quickly to grab the knife when I hear another shriek.
The monster begins clawing at me. At my shoulder, my arms, my face. I feel warm
blood trickling down my body. The only thing keeping it from drinking it is my
tightening grip on its neck, choking it. Suddenly, I feel a sharp pain on my
forearm. It bit me! Shit! I scream from the pain but tighten my grip on its
neck. I stab it over and over and over again until the shrieking stops. Like a
skilled executioner, I slice its head clean off. Green blood sprays all over
myself and the boat. The body sinks while I hold the head by its slimy hair. I
throw it in the stern of the boat before going back to shore.
The
group is still there, anxiously waiting for me to come back. I hear their
voices as they realize the boat’s returning. I get as close to the shore as
possible and throw the duffle bag towards them. I stumble out of the boat,
holding the head of the monster in my right hand. I say nothing. They say nothing.
Then, I collapse face-first on the rocky beach.
When
I wake up, the sky is a deep velvet blue. Distant golden rays of sunlight paint
the sky in delicate, heavenly streaks. I’m on a sunlounger. I try to sit up,
but the pain from the siren’s attack on me stings my chest and arms. Suddenly,
Johnny appears above me. He sits with me and strokes my hair.
“I told you
I’d do good in
medical school,” he says, motioning to the black stitches holding my skin
together.
“Thanks,
Dr. Johnny,” I mutter
with a laugh.
He joins me on the sunlounger,
playing with my hair like he did before. And it’s in this moment, after facing
death in a bizarre supernatural, Percy Jackson-like war, that I can finally
feel at peace. It’s over. Things can go back to how they were before. My
Johnny’s back. He continues stroking my hair and kissing my forehead and
telling me how he’ll never hurt me again. He’s careful to avoid my stitches, as
well as putting pressure on his own. And maybe this time, it could all be true.
Maybe we can finally be together for good. And maybe things would be alright
for the two of us ---if it weren’t for the silver scales already forming on my
skin.
