The Siren's Curse

One

Once a month, when the moon was full and the tides retreated to reveal the glistening sands of the shores that sparkled under the brightly illuminated night sky, Papa would take me down to our secret cove. Only when the water receded enough would a small beach appear, hidden on all sides by the rocky cliffs and tall sea grass, perfect for our little meetings with her, the woman called Marina. She was kind, tall and lovely, with a laugh that reminded me of the gulls that dove into the waters and a smile that lit up her deep blue eyes with mirth. Long, cascading waves of inky black hair spilled over her shoulders, and the sharpness of her cheekbones gave her a dangerous look. Still, Papa was enchanted by her, and despite the odd fear that often pulled at my stomach when she touched his hand, Marina was nice to me, always bringing pretty seashells for me to admire and showing me the wonderous little worlds contained within the tidepools.

Of course, Papa never told me about my mother, but even as a small child I was able to draw the conclusions for myself. I didn't quite understand why he never explicitly came out and said it, nor did I ever find out, so I could only silently keep that knowledge clutched to my chest along with all my other secrets. He was very protective of me, constantly keeping me close, never letting me out of his sight. In truth, I longed to explore the waters that surrounded the little port town in which we resided, but he refused, and any time Marina attempted to sway his mind Papa wouldn't hear any of it. That's why, when I was seven, I started to grow upset with the both of them. Papa and Marina had begun to fight when we would go to the cove, harsh whispers barely hidden by the sounds of waves, usually just out of earshot, so I couldn't make out the specifics. Either way, Papa would always seem to win, drawing a hard line in the sand that Marina couldn't negotiate, leaving her crossly glaring every time he walked away. It stayed this way for months, the two of them fighting in the background without resolution until, one night, Papa forgot to bring a blanket to wrap my tiny drenched form in when I was done playing in the seafoam.

"It's alright," Marina had assured him, "go get what you need, I'll watch Ria until you get back."

She and Papa were the only ones that used the petname Ria for me, since I'd been named Henrietta for my grandfather, Papa's dad, Henry Church. Marina didn't like that name in the slightest, so she never called me that if she could help it. I wasn't really paying attention to them, preferring to enjoy the company of the starfish Marina had given me a few hours earlier, though Papa was hesitant to leave me behind. He had glanced between us and the direction of the town, pondering.

"I don't know..."

"Don't be silly, we'll be fine until you get back. Go quickly before she catches her death in this cold air."

Worry for my wellbeing won out in the end, and he left, shooting a few wary glances my way until he was out of sight. Once he was fully gone, Marina sighed, coming to join me where I stood at the edge of the water.

"Ria, has your father taught you how to swim yet?"

"No," I frowned, meeting her eyes, "he says I'm not old enough."

She laughed, quick and light, easing the tension I felt without Papa.

"Well that's nonsense, you're already quite grown, and I don't see any reason why you shouldn't know how at your age. I'll tell you what," her hand took mine, conspiratorial smile across her lips, "I'll teach you myself right now, before he can come back."

"But Papa says-"

"I know, but don't you think he'd be so proud if you surprised him? What's wrong, is it because you don't trust me?"

The wounded look on her face and the allure of winning Papa's praise won me over, and I shook my head resolutely.

"I trust you! Let's do it!"

Marina smiled victoriously, leading me slowly by the hand further out into the pitch black waters than I had ever been allowed to go before. After a little while, with my feet no longer skimming the bottom, even on my toes, the warmth of her hand disappeared, and I began to frantically search for her to come to my aid. She was nowhere in sight, and I could barely make out the shore in the distance.

"Marina?!" I spat out water in a panic, the tides pulling me further out with every passing moment, "Marina, Please help me!"

Terror racked my chest every time my head dunked under the surface, no longer sure which direction to look, and arms splashing frantically to keep me afloat. I swallowed a big gulp of air just in time for a large wave to send me under again, only this time I kept my eyes open in the shock, amazed to find that I could see Marina's face not far off, dark hair swaying in sinister fashion around her form. My hand instinctively reached out, hoping she would come to my aid, but instead she only stared coldly, as if she was calculating, waiting for something to happen. My head breached the surface one last time, tears spilling down my cheeks and clouding my sight before strong arms hoisted me aloft, giving me time to cough out the liquid that had managed to enter my lungs. Papa pulled us both to shore, letting me collapse into his embrace, dripping wet, sobbing and shivering in the night air. Above the wailing lament of my fearful cries, he tried to comfortingly whisper soft assurances in my ears, holding me tightly and glaring out into the water. As we walked away that night, I could swear I briefly saw Marina's head above the waves, staring angrily our way before disappearing.

I wasn't allowed back to the cove after that, left in the care of our neighbours, the Tulley's, a childless couple in their sixties who ran an apothecary's shop in the wharf area, where most of the families of the sailors and dock worker's lived. Anne Tulley was a kind older woman, with a sharp wit and knowledge of countless home remedies, while Raymond Tulley, her husband, was a practicing physician despite his diminishing eyesight. Both of them were more than happy to have me around nearly every day while Papa worked down at the docks, teaching me the in's and out's of medicine and letting me work in the shop with them. Keeping me for one night out of the month while Papa disappeared to meet Marina didn't bother them in the slightest, since Anne would keep me on her lap while she sewed in front of a warm fire and Raymond would read to us from the medical journals he had sent to them from overseas.

This went on for well over a year, all of us living in a comfortable bubble of contentment until one night Papa went to the cove, but failed to return in the morning to get me. We waited for news for two days with nothing to go on. For the first time in my nine years of life, I attempted to go to the cove myself, in the daytime, only to find that I couldn't get close. The entire area was under water, filling my gut with intense dread that I couldn't explain. Every time I tried to step into the currents, ready to try and swim in the general direction of our meeting place, I just couldn't do it. The memory of the icy cold water surrounding me, resonating with fear and shock as my lungs filled with water... it left me petrified and unable to move.

Eventually I gave up, returning to Anne's arms to cry, not sure what to do with myself.

Then, a body was found washed up on shore near the docks.

I was walking through the marketplace with Raymond when I heard that a man had been found on the beach. Unable to contain my joy, I ran, relieved that someone had found Papa, and that we could go back home now. A crowd had been formed in the sand, surrounding the man, and I pushed my way through, excited to see him again. What I found once I'd finally reached the center stopped me cold in my tracks.

It was my Papa, but he was all wrong, bloated and grey, with chunks of flesh missing from his body. His eyes had become a clouded white colour, terrifying and horrible to see. Fish had eaten away at one side of his face, exposing the bones of his jaw and teeth while seaweed wrapped around his neck and legs. I fell to my knees, vomiting until long after there was nothing left in my stomach, desperate howls of pain intermingled with my tears as people who recognised me realised who this man was.

After that, for years, I couldn't ever look at the ocean without disgust, afraid and angry, the memory of my father's dead eyes haunting me each time I glanced at the now-sinister waves.

I never saw Marina again.