ON A BLACK MOON SEA ~A Halloween Anthology~

Catch and Release

The fog rolls in with the tide, and in the early morning gloom it's impossible to see the barriers between earth, sky and sea. The stony beach reveals itself to me one footstep at a time, and there's something comforting about it; it feels nice, against the backdrop of life's uncertainty, to know that I only have to worry about the next step.

This is not a popular beach for visitors. It's too cold and stony, and not at all picturesque. There are other parts of the shoreline, beaches just a few miles north or south, that attract more tourists and vacationing locals. But the emptiness of this particular shore is its greatest appeal to me. I did not come here to soak up the atmosphere; I came to be by myself so I could think clearly. Or, maybe, so I wouldn't have to think anymore because for days now all I've been able to think about is how everything is in ruins. The investor's meeting where I have to explain to our most prominent shareholders how everything has gone to shit since I inherited the business from my father, but it wasn't my fault, he gave me this mess and the roots trace back for decades and it's all only now starting to come to a head, and of course I'm the person who --

-- Just thinking about trying to explain it makes me feel sick.

Up ahead, a pier thrusts out into the foggy water, and I decide to turn, bearing left so I can climb out onto it and feel the salt air and the rhythmic, weightless thrum of waves tumbling in underfoot. The ocean and its mist can swallow me up, I think, and I welcome that thought. Being part of the ocean means not having to think about my own struggles for a little while.

A large sign at the entrance to the pier reads, "NOTICE: Catch and Release Area."

It's an odd place for sports fishing, I think. But it doesn't mean much to me. I'm not here with a fishing pole and a bait bucket, after all; just a head full of troubles and a few free hours to try and forget them.

Despite the early morning chill, I shrug out of my suit jacket and fold it carefully, setting it down on the pier safely away from the edges. I step out of my dress shoes and roll up my pants, peeling off my socks so I can pad barefoot out to the very end and sit with my feet dangling over the edge like a little kid. Mist tickles the soles of my feet, and I brace my hands behind me and tilt my face up into the sky and allow my mind to wander. For a little while, all I can hear is the rhythmic pulse of the waves, and I let it drown out everything else.

Then I feel the hand curl around my ankle.

The rough, sandpapery palm abrades my pale bare skin as long webbed fingers curl around it. Tighten. Pull.

The world tilts up under me, and I flail for purchase on the slick, damp surface of the pier. I feel my shirt come untucked from my pants, my bared skin sliding against the wood. I twist, grasping desperately for something to hold onto, but it's too late. There is no time to grab anything, and nothing to grab if there were.

For a moment, I am weightless, suspended in midair.

Then I hit the water and am pulled under its rolling surface.

I twist in the grasp of the thing that has me, trying to get a clear look. The salt in the water burns my eyes, and as the pale morning light grows farther and farther away, shimmering above the surface, I struggle to make out much at all. But I can see her outline clearly enough: The body of a shark, sleek and dark, the curve of a dorsal fin. But instead of the shark's face and mouth, a human torso, naked and slender, the weightless drift of long hair forming the edges of her silhouetted profile.

A mermaid.

I am being dragged deep beneath the ocean's surface by a mermaid.

The thought of it is enough to send a giddy thrill of surprise and absurdity through me. For a moment, I am too shocked to be afraid.