RandomShortStories

Shut Up

  If this is what pirate ships normally smell like, I'm never stowing away on one again. I wasn't even planning on boarding this one, but now I'm on it and I have to deal with these brainless pillocks called pirates.
  As a girl, it might be assumed I would have certain problems on a pirate ship, but as it turns out pirates are slightly blind. I put on some baggy clothes, put my hair up in a hat, and they're none the wiser. The idiots.
  Although I have to admit, they lumber around the ship like they actually know what they're doing. I certainly hope they do because, though I loathe to admit it, my life is in their hands. Their very grubby, sun-cracked hands. I shudder at the thought of my hands becoming like that; I would never be able to pickpocket again.
  That's the only way I know to stay alive. My rather small, slender hands are perfect for it. The rest of me is slender too, which is very helpful in squeezing past gates and through windows, though I don't think it's fair to say that I'm small. I'm 5'9", which is the only way I blend in with these blundering louts.
  Unfortunately, I got scolded for 'standing around' even though I was obviously planning a very intricate escape plan should it be necessary. I somehow ended up scrubbing the deck, which in my opinion seems stupid. It's not like slippery slime and seaweed is going to grow while being baked under the sun.
  The lucky bonehead in the crow's nest shouts something that I'm unable to hear over the sound of my halfhearted scrubbing. I sit back on my haunches and listen to what the First Mate is shouting. "Stay clear of those rocks! Death lurks in these waters." I can't resist an eye roll as I start scrubbing again.
  What a superstitious wanker. Everyone knows that magic and everything near to it died out long ago. Of course, I've heard the odd tale of a ship being attacked by a sea monster, or evil tree nymphs jumping unsuspecting travelers. But I also know that magical beings never left survivors, and dead men tell no tales.
  I feel the ship give a slight jolt beneath me, yet when I look up none of the men are reacting. 'Perhaps that's normal' I think as I roll my shoulders. I must have been scrubbing for an hour already and I'm only halfway across the deck. My groan of annoyance is cut off by another jolt of the ship, bigger this time.
  I stand, seeing the crew perk up from their slouching. When the next jolt almost knocks me off my inexperienced feet, I grab the rail to steady myself. As I do, I see a shimmer under the water below me.
  I lean over the railing to get a better look, squinting my eyes. It's hard to see anything through the glare, but there's definitely something glinting under the water, all along the port side. I vaguely see the First Mate looking over the rail as well, probably to see what I'm staring at so hard.
  He realizes it before I do. The glinting is scales reflecting the sun. The shimmer is hair waving in the current. The jolting is a result of the ship being pushed.
"SIRENS!" He screams, practically throwing himself away from the rail. "Pushing us toward the rocks!"
  Every single blockheaded pirate on the ship starts running around trying to stop our advance toward the jagged spires of rock that rise out of the ocean like a warning. Sirens have a bad habit of not just stealing a ship's sailors, but sinking the whole thing out of pure spite.
  I look back to the water in time to see some of the savage fish-women swim underneath the ship, toward the rocks. Sirens can't leave the water for very long, and they prefer to sing on rocks so that their voices carry better. Some will sit on the rocks and sing for the unlucky pirates or sailors while the rest wait in the ocean, ready to drag their victims to a watery grave in Davy Jones' locker.
  I'm snapped out of my horrified trance when one of the sirens looks up at me and I see its face. I gasp and stumble away from the railing just as another bump throws me to the deck. In the stories, sirens are always told as beautiful like the mermaids. Apparently, that's far from the truth.
  This one's eyes were too large for its deathly pale face; probably to be able to see in the deep, dark ocean waters. Its nose was just a slight bump on its face, with two small holes for nostrils. And its mouth... there were no lips, just a thin flat line until it opened wider than seems possible and revealed jagged, broken teeth.
  I scramble to my feet again and look towards the rocks in time to see the first webbed, clawed hand stretch out of the water and grasp the slippery rock.
  How can I stop this? I'm not ready to die, least of all with a group of filthy pirates. The sirens won't sink the ship until they've gotten everyone off of it, I know that much. They like watching unsuspecting men leap overboard, straight into the arms of death. As soon as they're underwater the singing is blocked out and they realize what's happening. They can scream as they're dragged down, but their cries will never be heard.
  If I save the crew somehow, they can steer the ship away from danger while the sirens are distracted and not pushing us toward the rocks.
  Clay. If I stuff clay in my ears it will block out the sound. But where on this bloody ship could I find clay?
  I suddenly remember something I heard in passing and my feet carry me, stumbling and lurching, toward the Captain's cabin. I burst through the doorway, seeing the Captain startle awake. I guess no one thought to alert him to the imminent danger.
  I thank whatever god gave me a good memory as I pry a piece of clay off a big table that's bolted to the wall. There's a big map spread over the table; I heard that clay is often used to hold down the corners and keep it stuck in place. I rip the clay into multiple pieces, unceremoniously chucking two of them at the Captain before prying the other three pieces off of the table.
  "Sirens!" I bark at him. "Plug your ears!" With that I run out of the Captain's cabin and toward the other pirates. I punch one on the arm to get his attention, then hand him two clay balls as I stuff some in my own ears to demonstrate. He quickly follows my example, and I give him some more to hand out. He quickly heads below decks to hand them out to the men there.
  Then, to my horror, I hear the singing start. It's a faint, muffled wailing noise that doesn't sound at all melodic, but I chalk it up to my ear plugs distorting it. I have two pairs of plugs left and six pirates with blissed out expressions wandering toward the starboard rail.
  Crap.
  I run toward the nearest pirate, hurriedly stuffing the clay into his ears before he can jump. He blinks and touches his ears, then seems to snap out of his song-induced trance. I leap toward the next man, hauling him off the rail and pushing my last two pieces of clay into his large ears.
  I flinch as I move toward the next closest pirate, only to see him tip and roll over the rail. I see a splash as he hits the water, but don't bother to look as he's dragged away. I slam into the fourth man as hard as I can, causing him to fall to the deck. He hits his head hard and goes still; it gives me an idea.
  I pick up somebody's discarded knife that's rolling toward the edge if the ship, but before I can stand up one of my clay earplugs betrays me. It falls out. Before the sound can register in my ears I drop to the deck, grasping for the bit of clay. Unfortunately, I don't get it back into my ear before the song of the Sirens slams into me.
  The stories were as wrong about their song as they were about their looks. It's a wailing, keening, atrocious sound that makes my ears want to bleed. The only reason I could possibly see for anyone to be lured into the water by this so called 'song' is so that it would end, no matter the means. I would be tempted to jump overboard if I didn't know the fate that awaits those who do. The poor oaf who was in the crow's nest falls into the waiting arms of the Sirens, his splash sprinkling me with cold water.
  My senses return enough for me to jam the earplug back in, and while it doesn't block out the noise as well as before it's enough to allow me to climb back to my feet. I move determinedly toward the two remaining men, one of which is tipping over the rail.
  I grab his shirt and pull him back, then hit the butt of the knife against his temple. My grip is weak due to the flood of noise hammering against my skull, but I must have hit him hard enough because he goes limp and crumples to the deck.
  We're very close to the rocks now, so close that I can feel vibrations from the Siren's voices. I glance at the rocks and see at least ten of the atrocious creatures with their mouths agape. They look as though they're screaming rather than even trying to sing.
  I'm so close to the last pirate, so close that my fingers graze his arm as he plummets to the water below, leaving me hanging over the rail. This time I can't avoid watching as his eyes look up from the water, as his face turns from bliss to confusion to terror, or as five of the vile sirens grab him and drag him down, his mouth open in a silent scream.
  I scream with him, though it sounds distorted to my covered ears. I eventually step back from the rail and swallow the urge to puke. The pirates remaining on the ship are frantically trying to steer it away from the rocks and shrieking sirens. I wonder if their voices really do sound beautiful to men.
  I whirl to look at the sirens again, grabbing the starboard rail in a white knuckled grip. "Shut up you screeching ninnies!" I scream as loud as I can. My eyes widen when they seem to flinch at my outburst, the dull keening of their song lessening for just a moment before resuming at full volume.
  "Yeah you heard me!" I continue screaming, hoping for the same reaction as before. "Shut up! Nobody like you, you stupid brainless beasts!" There's a definite waver in their song, and I see one's hands clutch its head, like it's in pain.
  The First Mate must notice the same thing I did, because when I hear an indistinct shout and look to my right, I see him. I grin slightly and look back to the now obviously disturbed sirens. "You aren't even singing you cursed swine!"
  I scream a few more unsavory words before looking around and seeing most of the pirates also shouting and screaming at the creatures. More of the sirens emerge from the water and try desperately to lure us into the depths, but soon they're writhing in agony like the rest. Funny how they can make such horrid noises themselves and be fine, but a little shouting is too much for them to handle. I suppose they're used to their victims coming to them willingly and without complaint, not screaming insults at them.
  "Did I hurt your feelings, you insufferable wenches?!" My question is answered by all of them simultaneously raising their faces to the sky and screaming. Not what they had been doing, a shrieking, wailing sound, but a true bloody murder type of scream. They all leap off the jagged spires of rock, diving head first into the water so smoothly that not one makes a splash.
  I squint at the water, letting out an excited whoop when I see them swimming quickly away from the ship.
  Things on the pirate ship quickly go back to how they were, after we're steered clear of the rocks and back into open water. Only then did we take out the earplugs, figuring that the sirens wouldn't want to come this far out.
  Three days of grueling labor and sun later, the ship docks at a small port where we unload some cargo that is definitely not legal. I'm walking down the dock toward land when the First Mate runs up to me and grabs my arm. I glare ferociously at him and yank my arm away from his grip.
  "I'm done! I never want to see creatures like that again!" I spit at him. If he thinks I'm only quitting because of the Sirens he won't question it. Two of the crew already quit because of them, one more won't seem odd.
  "Fine." He growls, but stops me again when I try to leave. "Tell me how you resisted the sirens. None of the crew stopped you from jumping overboard when you heard them, and no man ever hears the song of the sirens and lives to tell the tail."
  I smirk at him and chuckle. "Well then, I guess it's a good thing I'm not a man." I reach up and take off my hat, my hair tumbling out onto my shoulders in the dramatic way I had hoped for.
  He just stares as I saunter toward dry land, probably thinking about how it's bad luck to have a woman on board.
  What a superstitious wanker.