Come Away to the Water

Down by the quite lake Where the swelling surface glitters In between the lily pads Swims a group of twisted sisters They’ll come looking for you In the shadows of night The water nymphs of legends old Born of cruelty and ancient spite With midnight skin and rippling hair they’ll lure you to the water With open arms and deceptive smiles They’re eager for the slaughter Come away little lamb They’ll drag you down into the depths Come away to the water And walk into the ancient trap Her father knew this well when he made that bargain. As he drags her through the mud, her bare feet slipping – its bite feeling like that of an asp – Eleanor sobs and pleads with her father to stop. The moonlight shines a path through the foliage, unphased by the cloudless night, it guides her father like a beacon. The stars twinkle above, unbothered. He made her mother scrub her down, her hands bearing buckets of water. Eleanor tried to fight when she was stripped, but this woman was not her mother. Not with a face of stone and hands of iron. Not when she looked into those brown eyes and all she saw was a ravenous hunger in place of a usual, gentle, passion and love. When she was naked before her mother, she dumped the water on Eleanor and attacked her with brushes and soaps, not even hesitating as she washed her everywhere, even when she shrieked at her mother to stop. Shaking and weak from the effort of fighting, Eleanor barely had any strength to retaliate as her mother dragged a comb through her long, black hair, yanking hard enough that Eleanor’s eyes watered. Her mother left her hair unbound, and dressed her in a plain green robe. With nothing beneath. Eleanor begged her over and over. But her mother might as well have been a stranger. When she left, Eleanor tried to squeeze out of her bedroom door after her. Her father shoved her back in. You will be doing our family a service, they both kept repeating. More for themselves then for her. A sacrificial offering, a lamb to the slaughter. Now the bath seemed useless as her body is coated with sweat from the summer humidity, making the fabric of the robe cling to every hollow and curve, leaving little to the imagination. Muck is caked up to her ankles, and little scratches mar her ivory skin from the branches and twigs dragging against her like nails. Like claws, she imagined, trying to pull her back, pull her away from her father, from that lake, but they could not succeed. She tries to wrench her arm free, but her father’s grip is like that of a bear trap. She continues to plead and beg to him, but he just stomps through the mud and brush. She didn’t expect him to become so desperate, so pathetic. This winter had been rough, but instead of staying with the village’s usual hunting and fishing spots, he chose to raid the Nymph’s Lake. Swimming in this lake is forbidden due to the creatures inhabiting it. They would grab unsuspecting swimmers with their webbed fingers – their jagged nails digging in deep – and drag them beneath the surface before they could scream. Supposedly there are five who live amongst the reeds and lily pads. Eleanor rarely glimpsed more than their shining heads peeking through the glassy surface. They forbid anyone from fishing in their ponds, and attempts to drive them out had previously failed – miserably. In result, the lake had run dry: the water turned to mud, fish died by the hundreds, and eating them caused incurable sickness. However, they make an acceptation when there is something they can gain. They like to bargain; so, they ask for something in exchange for allowance to fish in their lake. As a result, the lake is now decorated in odd trinkets. In the trees, in the cattails and bushes, buried in the mud or left on rocks. Her father had apparently made such a bargain with the nymphs, and when her mother asked how he was going to pay it, his cold, grey eyes only looked to Eleanor. Her hair is still barely dry as thick strands cling to her back, permeating through her robe. The glittering surface of the water emerges over the small hills of grass, between the birch trees, and the curtains of weeping willows. Its calm façade is the first method of its trap. Eleanor can’t fight back against her father’s hands that move to grab under her arms and drag her towards that calm water. Her bare feet tear on the stones as she kicks and thrashes, trying to claw her way free. Closer and closer, he hauls her like a bucking horse towards the rippling water. Trinkets from other offerings dangle from branches or sit knotted to cattails, winking in the moonlight. The mud and sand are littered with more shiny things, others are too covered with mud to be recognizable. She can see two waiting heads peeking from the water, eyes on the flap of the robe that falls open as she kicks, revealing her thighs, her stomach, everything to them. Eleanor sobs, even as she knows the tears will do her no good. The heads submerge under the water, leaving little ripples behind. Oh, gods. Oh, gods. Eleanor yanks back one last time, falling to her knees. “Please,” she begs. “Please, father –” With a snap of his hand, pain ripples across her cheek, and she hears the loud crack as she topples into the mud. A backhanded blow to the face, so hard her teeth sing. She doesn’t have time to raise herself properly before her father grabs her by the hair, right at the roots, the grip so brutal tears sting her eyes, and continues to drag her to the edge of the water. As quickly as it happened, he pauses, but his hand still grips her hair. Biting back her cries, Eleanor angles herself to look at the lake. Standing at its center, is a slender, grey-skinned figure, staring with massive eyes that are wholly black. Like a stagnant pond. Even when her father releases her hair, Eleanor can’t find it in her muscles to run. Immobilized by fear, she watches as the nymph slinks through the water towards them. She wears no clothes. Her long, dark hair hangs limp over her high, firm breasts. As she moves, the moonlight shimmers on her iridescent skin. When she stops just at the water’s edge, she lowers her delicate, pointed face towards Eleanor. Her nose is little more than two slits, and delicate gills flare beneath her ears. Just like childhood rhyme she had memorized when she was young. “I have brought my payment, as promised.” Her father says, his face like granite. The nymph c***s her head to the side, those unearthly features devouring Eleanor. She had been told that the water nymphs eat anything. Shaking uncontrollably, Eleanor can’t hold herself up as her father shoves her to the creature’s webbed, clawed foot. Its color a molten grey. “This should last me for some years. And I get to fish from here whenever I want.” He states. It was an effort to keep from gaping at the immovable face, at the pure command in the words. “You would give me one of your kin, in exchange for access to my lake?” Her voice is strange and hissing, her full, sensuous lips revealing teeth as sharp and jagged as a pike’s. The sharp angles of her face accentuate those coal-black eyes. “Your lake has the best fish in the land. You would be saving my family from another harsh winter.” “But you’d be losing one of your own.” She says, taking a step closer. A too-casual shrug of his shoulders. “One less mouth to feed. And we can always make more.” His words are icy. Eleanor sobs, huddling into her robe. If she didn’t feel enough betrayal, then this is what has broken her soul. Her fear has now turned numb, solidifying her like stone as she clasps her hand over her breasts. The mud has licked its way up to her knees, staining her robe and sending a chill up her spine where it has soaked her lower back. The nymph takes another step closer, lined with preternatural smoothness. She beholds the disheveled robe. Eleanor forces herself to look up at the creature. Her lip pathetically quivers as she begs through her haggard sobs, “Please . . . Please.” But the creature’s face is placid as the water’s surface. Perhaps even bored. Eleanor feels so exposed with this robe, and she bows forward, pressing her forehead to the ground. The nymph slowly extends her slender arm, a ripple of scales winking in the silver light. Her gills open and close with each steady breath. Then she swipes. Eleanor doesn’t scream, barely having the time, but ready to feel those claws tear at her throat. But instead, something drips onto the back of her neck. Eleanor opens her eyes to find that, she still has them, is still kneeling in the cold muck. A garbled choking from behind has Eleanor slowly looking over her shoulder. The nymph’s glittering hand has shoved through the throat of her father, puncturing it wholly. Her father still gives a garbled scream as the nymph slashes his eyes into ribbons with her other hand, his throat shredded seconds later. Her father collapses face-first into the mud. Blood runs down the nymph’s hands, her forearms. Even though her father hasn’t moved, the nymph snaps his neck with a brutal crunch. Eleanor scrambles out of the way as the creature plunges her hand into his back, into his body. Flesh tears, revealing a white column of bone – his spine – which she grips, her nails shredding deep, and breaks in two. Eleanor trembles as the nymph grabs her father’s body by one ankle, and in a smooth motion, lined with restricted power, lifts his body, throwing him into the lake like a pebble. His body crashes against the surface, and within seconds a heavy foam surrounds him, water lapping and splashing as the nymphs each take their bite out of him. A tainted puddle of red slowly blossoms in the water. The nymph who had saved her simply watches. Eleanor can only do the same. Once the way is cleared and the final bone of his body has been picked clean and pulled under, the nymph walks towards a group of cattails and cleans her hands in the mud. “Why?” Eleanor mumbles, her voice hoarse from her screaming. “Any man who betrays his kin in greed is unworthy to fish in my lake.” She hisses. She cleans under her clawed nails, sneering at the blood, as if it is impure. Eleanor doesn’t bother to stand. “You may go back to your home. We’re done here.” The nymph says, beginning her trek back towards the lake. “No,” Eleanor blurts before she can stop herself. The nymph pauses for a moment, the water having enveloped up to her calves. Eleanor folds her lips in as the creature stares at her with an unnatural stillness. Eleanor forces herself to her feet. “M-m-my mother, she’s the one who dressed me . . . like this. She didn’t stop him. And, and after what he said, I – I can’t go back. I don’t want to go back.” The nymph turns to face her and asks quietly. “Where will you go?” “Anywhere,” Eleanor says. “As far away as I can get.” “And what would you do?” Eleanor shrugs, and both of them realize that the creature is standing a near foot away from her. The creature takes a step back, seemingly surprised by her approach. “Live my life, I suppose. Live if the way I want to. Attempt to get back to normality after . . . this.” “How far would you like to go?” Eleanor’s eyes flicker. “I’d travel until I found a place where I won’t even think my parents. If such a place exists. And I will never come back.” Not since her parents had been so willing to send her to a slaughter like a simple farm animal. Eleanor huddles into her robe. She’ll have to go back to that cabin to fetch some of her better clothes – if her mother hasn’t already thrown them out. If so, she may just resort to stealing from their deposit box her mother keeps under the sink. Eleanor breathes, attempting to numb herself, distance herself from these people; to no longer make them her parents. Just strangers. The nymph is simply watching her. “Here.” Eleanor pulls the silver band from her middle finger. It was a gift her parents had given her four winters ago. They had saved up their earnings and gave to her since she had turned sixteen that following summer. She offers it to the nymph. “Take this.” The nymph’s eyes widen, frowning at the ring shining in Eleanor’s palm. “For what?” “For saving my life. It is nothing compared to what I should give you, but it is all that I have.” With a final assessing look, the nymph’s cold, clammy fingers brush against Eleanor’s, gathering up the ring. It glimmers like light on water in her webbed hands. “Why?” She asks, her voice slithering over the words, and Eleanor shivers again as the nymph’s black eyes threaten to swallow her whole. “This could’ve brought you some form of profit if bargained right. Most likely enough to leave town, or to buy a new dress.” “There was no guarantee, anyway. Besides, that’s the deal. You helped me, and I give you something in return.” Her voice is so small, so broken. A cold breeze has Eleanor trembling and huddling into herself, trying to secure any kernel of warmth. It’ll be close to a mile walk back to the cabin. It will be a miracle if she can make it. Her feet are throbbing from the cuts of hidden stones in the mud, and if they get infected . . . Then she has to worry about any poisonous plants that her bare skin brushes up against, possibly having to find some place to settle for the night. Then she may be able to sneak into the house while her mother is gone. “Perhaps I could interest you in another method of payment.” The nymph suddenly says, stepping close to gently grasp Eleanor’s elbow. She pauses, quite stunned at the soft touch. Slimy, yes, but gentle as if she’s grasping an egg. Eleanor’s shaking begins anew as she takes a deep breath, and wordlessly begins to open her robe, the folds falling off her shoulders. The nymph stops her with a webbed hand on her wrists. “Not that. Something else.” Eleanor could’ve sworn there was a smile on the nymph’s lips. Eleanor’s cheeks warm with embarrassment. “Then what do you ask of me?” “The currents of the water hear all, speak all. They whispered to me of your father’s interest in this lake.” Eleanor’s blinks back the sting in her eyes. “What of it?” “I had asked for company, as payment for his bargain.” Eleanor opens her mouth, but then says, “To – eat?” A laugh that makes Eleanor’s skin crawl. “To tell me of the surface life. I was curious about it.” “Why didn’t you say anything?” A shrug of those slim, gleaming shoulders. “He didn’t ask. So I was interested to see where his choices would lead him. And well, we can see how that ended.” For a moment, her anger is solid and boiling, but she also, understands. Her father could’ve taken her words in any way, and immediately it went to greed. “What does this have to do with me?” “I would still like the company. This lake is big enough for another, affiliate.” Eleanor’s eyes look to the water, then to the nymph. It is her turn to ask, “Why?” “You have a strong heart. Compassionate and kind. Gentle and sweet. You look at the hardness of the world and decide to love and to be kind. You gave me your last possession, instead of using it for your advantage. It is a different form of strength that is underappreciated.” “And, how, exactly will this be able to happen?” The nymph smiles. “Have you heard of the legends stating that a nymph’s kiss can save sailors from drowning?” Heat stains Eleanor’s cheeks. “No, I have not.” “Because it is something we only share with people we like.” She steps closer, her webbed feet buried in sand. “The choice is yours.” Eleanor looks back towards the trees and foliage; as if she can see all the way back to that small cabin just at the edge of town. She looks back to the water nymph. “Will it hurt?” The nymph smiles widely, and Eleanor must resist the urge to take a step back, as she steps forward. She lifts her hand to caress Eleanor’s cheek, catching a stray tear she didn’t feel. She has all but a quick inhale as the nymph places her wet lips on hers. She smells of fish but mingles with fresh lilacs and roses. The kiss sends a zinging current snapping against her skin, and as it crawls with goose bumps, it feels like a ripple that is slowly washing away her human blood until it is smooth like sand, molding her brittle bones into fresh steel. Her lips are hot and soft against hers – tentative. Her clawed hand traces along her cheek before resting at the nape of her neck. There’s a tickling sensation at her neck, and it’s enough to make Eleanor gasp, breaking the kiss. The nymph takes a step back, smiling softly. Eleanor’s hands fumble to her neck, and she hisses when her nails scratch against an open flap of skin. When she inhales, the air tickles, and she can smell everything. The wet mud surrounding the pond, the fresh water lilies in bloom, the shift in the salty wind as a storm is coming. She can also smell her father’s blood, still mingling somewhere at the center of the water. When she looks to the nymph, she is only smiling with joy. Unfiltered joy. She extends her webbed hand. When Eleanor looks to her hands, she hadn’t realized she’d stiffened her fingers together. When she slowly opens them, the webbed skin between them stretches. Strong, and taut. In the moonlight, she can see patches of scales already pressing through her skin, as if in an attempt to shed it. “It will take your body some time to, process the change. There will be growing, and shedding, and adapting.” The nymph says softly. Eleanor looks to the outstretched hand. Slowly, she discards her robe. After another moment, she takes the nymph’s hand. She follows her hip-deep into the water, and the nymph says, “Welcome home, sister.” With one final exhale, Eleanor dives headfirst into the water.