People just call her Ursula, you know, like from the little mermaid? I wish I could have seen her, but she's only been witnessed by the men that go out fishing on the dock. One man thought she was a mermaid, until, of course, she lifted a tentacle the size of a tree trunk from the water. Of course, had he been any slower, Jim Alden from down the road wouldn't have lived to tell the tale. She had deep-set eyes, alluring and glistening. Her lips were pulled into a lopsided, mischievous smirk. She didn't say a word. She didn't speak. She just stared you down before lunging at you.
I used to wait down by the docks in hopes of seeing her. I sang to the murky water, hoping she'd at most lift her head from the depths to greet me. Maybe I'd get even luckier. Maybe she'd wrap her bony, grey fingers around my ankles and drag me in.
I'd never have to live on land again.
