From the Deep

The First Mermaid

The first mermaid was discovered by a young boy who'd snuck away from his parents' boring picnic. They were up on the sand, under an umbrella, well removed from the rough crashing of the waves. They hadn't come to the seaside to get wet. But he had. 

He'd been wanting to climb the rocks that lined the water just a ways away, and this was his opportunity. Bucket in hand, he clambered over the rough black rocks in search of pirate's gold. Or seashells. Or, honestly, bits of washed-up kelp would fine if they were exciting enough. 

He thought he saw an interesting piece of seaweed lodged in a crack between two rocks. It looked like quite a large bundle. He hopped over the ridge and drew closer, noticing that it seemed to be attached to something else. A pale gray stone, perhaps. Just larger than his head, and slightly rounded like his head too. And with eyes. 

That was when the smell hit him, suddenly far stronger than the salt air that he'd been breathing all day. It reeked of rotten fish. He slapped a hand over his nose and stumbled back away from the body. Now he saw that there were flies buzzing around it, small pale things squirming between exbosed ribs. His empty stomach lurched unpleasantly. 

He screamed. 

Dr Ian Woon was in his backyard burying his Dear Aunt Betty when he got the call. The funeral was attended by him, his dog, a few wild pidgeons hanging around the birdfeeder, and his cat--who was watching Dear Aunt Betty lowering into the ground with a rather hungry eye. 

"And may she rest in peace now forever," Dr Woon finished. "Amen."

He poured a trowelfull of dirt on top of the pale shining body and patted it down. At the top of the grave he placed a flattish stone, on which he'd marked Dear Aunty Betty's name and lifespan with Sharpie marker, and stood up with a sigh. 

He regretted the loss; he truly did. Dear Aunt Betty had earned her name by being the oldest and wisest of the many goldfish Ian owned. Considering the fact that he'd gotten her from a carnival--rescued her, in fact, from a carnival, when a young child indifferent to their prize at the bottle-throwing booth had left her intentionally on a bench--it wasn't all that surprising that her life had ended in sickness. But it had been a good life. A life truly worth living, Ian thought. 

He made a disapproving noise at the dog, who looked curious enough to dig up whatever fascinating smell had just disappeared into the ground, and ushered his pets inside. 

He headed first to his fishtanks, where he cast a critical eye on the health of his remaining fish, then went around the house filling bowls with kibble and water. Dr Ian Woon was an unabashed animal lover. Aside from the cat, the dog, and the fish, he owned a hamster, three rats, five birds of various species, a turtle, and four very young kittens (courtesy of the cat). This was a bit of a quiet time in the house. Ian was well known for taking in all strays that wandered into his yard, no matter how flea bitten and unsanitary they might be. It was simply fortunate that he didn't have a very large yard. If he did, he would surely have tried to keep horses as well. 

It took some time to make his rounds, check on all the food and water bowls, note all the new messes made, and clean them up. Only then did he get to checking his cell phone, which he'd left on a chair inside during the funeral out of respect for Dear Aunt Betty. There was a missed call. 

He listened to it. It wasn't very long, but it was rather unusually loud. He frowned a bit as it went on, and scratched his head. When it was over, he blinked thoughtfully once or twice, then called back. 

"Hey, Nigel," he said when the phone picked up. "What was that all about?"

"You have to come down here," Nigel repeated; it was more or less the only thing he'd said in the message he'd left, too. "Right now."

"Why?" asked Ian, not bothering to point out that it was his month off. Nigel knew. Ian had spent the month before making sure everyone knew. 

"I can't explain. It's something that you'd have to see with your own eyes. Basically, we've got something here--some kid found something down on the beach--and we're having a heck of a time trying to identify it."

"I still don't see why you need me--"

"Nah, we don't need you," Nigel interrupted. "But seriously, this is something you'll want to see."

"Well... what is it?"

"It's a freaking mermaid."