Old Sea Right
It hadn’t been a conscious thing, the way he lost his mind. It slipped away slowly, like water draining through a crack in the hull. Somewhere along the way, he knew it was gone. Hunger consumed it. Hunger could do that, especially when you hadn’t eaten in days.
Maybe it began when he couldn’t tell whether he was dreaming or awake. Maybe it was when his thoughts stopped feeling like his own. Or maybe it was when the sun started to look like it was tilting, ready to fall from the sky and crush the ocean beneath it.
He had seen things. Leviathans. Krakens. Giant squids brushing against the boat with massive tentacles. But they always vanished when he reached for them. The boat never rocked. The water stayed still. He knew then they weren’t real.
But the mermaid was different.
She nearly knocked him and his wife out of the lifeboat the first time she appeared. Her red hair floated around her like seaweed, and her tail shimmered green and blue as she moved through the water effortlessly. She stared at his wife, who was limp in his arms, and frowned.
“Is she alright?” the mermaid asked in a high, sweet voice.
He nodded, pulling his wife’s grayish body closer to his chest.
“Seasick is all. The helicopters should be coming any day now.”
The mermaid reached up and poked his wife’s cheek. He recoiled, slapping her hand away. But when he felt the soft warmth of her skin, he knew she was real. And immediately, he regretted it.
The mermaid stared at him with hurt in her eyes, then dove beneath the water without a word. He stared at the waves, endless and blank. His heart clenched. He wished she would come back.
“I’m sorry,” he called out. “I thought my mind was playing tricks on me.”
For a long moment, nothing happened. Then the mermaid exploded from the sea, spraying him with cold water. He laughed, water dripping from his hair, as he held his wife tightly against him.
“I deserve that,” he said.
His wife’s back rested against his chest as he stretched across the narrow lifeboat. His hands lay gently on her stomach. He was keenly aware now of how thin he’d become, ribs pressing through skin. He looked at the mermaid again. She was well-fed, almost glowing.
She smiled and began performing tricks, gliding under the water like an otter. She spun in graceful arcs, flipped her hair, and twirled like a ballerina beneath the waves, singing a siren song. He clapped, laughing. At the end, she blew a heart-shaped bubble toward the boat. He reached for it, but it popped before he could touch it.
The mermaid frowned.
“Is she bored? She hasn’t said a word.”
He looked at his wife. Her bluish lips were still, unmoving.
“Seasick,” he repeated. “We’ll be fine when the helicopters come.”
The mermaid tilted her head.
“You said that already. How do I know she’s seasick and not… dead?”
He stroked his wife’s thinning hair and gave a soft shrug.
“I was a doctor. Studied at Johns Hopkins. Over twenty years in the field. I know the difference between death and seasickness.”
The mermaid swam a circle around the boat, her eyes narrowing as she looked up at the woman’s pale face.
“If she isn’t dead, why doesn’t she move? Or speak?”
He huffed, as if she were too young to understand.
“Seasickness can mimic death. Slowed breathing. No energy to speak. But she’s alive.”
The mermaid floated closer.
“Let me check her pulse.”
He stiffened. His eyes locked on hers.
“Don’t touch my wife,” he said.
They stared at each other. Neither blinked. Then, without a word, she reached out and took his hand. Gently but firmly, she guided it to his wife’s throat.
“You’re a doctor, aren’t you?” she asked.
His hand trembled. His fingertips pressed into the cold skin. There was no pulse. No breath. Just silence.
He began to shake.
“No,” he whispered. “No, no, no…”
Tears streamed down his face as he clutched her lifeless body tighter.
“My Tiffany… oh God, my Tiffany…”
The mermaid placed a soft hand on his back. And because there was no one else in the world, he let her comfort him.
“There is a way to bring her back,” she said.
He looked up, eyes wide, arms still wrapped around the body.
“Tell me. Please.”
The mermaid nodded, slow and solemn.
“You have to consume her.”
He recoiled.
“What the hell did you just say?”
“There is an old sea rite,” she explained. “Older than ships or sailors. You carry your soulmate in your blood and bones. If you want to bring her back, you must let her become part of you.”
He stared at her. She was serious. Completely still.
He looked down at Tiffany’s face. Her cheeks still full, soft, untouched by time or sun.
And he began.
He started with the cheek. Then the face. Then downward. The mermaid helped, showing him how to peel skin, where to tear, what to chew and what to swallow. He ate until there was nothing left but bone. His stomach stretched full. The sun began to lower on the horizon, casting gold over the endless water.
That’s when he saw her again. The mermaid. But now her eyes were darker. Hungrier.
He remembered the legends. Mermaids who sang, who played, who performed. All to lure sailors into a calm. Just to fatten them before the feast.
She swam closer. Her mouth opened.
He screamed and threw himself backward. The boat rocked, flipped, and spilled him into the water. His wife’s remains vanished beneath the waves. No evidence. No witness.
He dragged himself back onto the overturned boat, shivering and alone.
Then he heard it.
The distant whir of blades.
A helicopter.
The mermaid was gone. Vanished like mist.
As the chopper hovered above him, he waved wildly. A rope descended. Hands pulled him into safety. A towel wrapped around his shoulders. A bottle of water pressed into his hand.
“You alright, sir?” a rescuer asked.
He nodded, chest heaving.
“Did you see the mermaid?” he asked.
The three men glanced at one another, then laughed.
“We’ll get you home, sir.”
One of them patted him on the back and sat beside him as they lifted off into the sky.
It hadn’t been a conscious thing, the way he started to regain his mind. But fullness could do that, especially after a week with nothing.
He stared out the window, at the sea far below.
He didn’t know if the mermaid had ever really existed. But he knew one thing for sure.
When the police would question him, he would not tell them that the remains of his wife were inside his stomach.
About the Author
Daniel Cloyd is a sophomore at Howard University, majoring in English with a concentration in creative writing. His work has appeared in Freedom Fiction Journal and is forthcoming in Dark Harbor Magazine.