Siren Calls and Waterfalls (Pt.2)

(Additional Tags: Narration Allowed, creature feature, Lovecraftian, ghost story, supernatural)

Lasair had smoked through an entire pipe before he spoke again, having displayed a great talent for blowing smoke rings. By now the light from the oil lamps had faded; our main illumination came from the fireplace. The moon was peeking out of the clouds and granted its support through the window. I could see the beam from the lighthouse illuminating outside every few seconds like a clock made from light.
 
I pull out my notebook, I should have brought a tape recorded but this would have to do. I had to make a mental note not to believe everything he’ll say. Just because I had an experience I can't explain doesn’t mean I’ll believe anything hook-line-and-sinker. I want to believe, so I had to proceed carefully.
 
The sound of the surf could still be heard all around us, a trick of the shoreline's echoes. Its intensity waxed and waned; the odor it brought followed suit. Being inside helped, but our proximity to the water made the smell everpresent. My guess is it was the wind. I could feel it more than hear it. Every strong gust off the water made the house rumble, sometimes gently, sometimes roughly. With a cough and a freshly packed pipe, Lasair began.
 
“This town is old, very old.” He said leaning closer to me. “Its people… its families are even older. The original settlers of this place came mostly from Ireland and a few from Wales. Must’ve been the early eighteen hundreds. Not sure if they landed somewhere else and came here or if they landed on these shores. Either way they ended up here. Alone. There wasn’t another village or port for miles around. I suppose that made it easier.”
 
“Ya see, no one wanted this place.” Lasair said waving his hand around his head, “No colony, no company, not even the natives before ’em. They called the land “Um’tgi a’t Nutqwa’latl” —The Land that Gives Nothing. Which, if ye ask me, is a fittin’ name. This land was rough an’ dry; little grew. Summers were hot; winters were bitter cold. So for a group o’ people fleein’ their homes, wantin’ to be left alone, an’ already used to hard times. This place was perfect.”
 
“I know what yer thinkin’. Why would they stay in a place like this, barren an’ cold? Ye could understand arrivin’ here, but why not just move inland or up or down the coast?” Lasair asked, then answered himself. “I’ll tell ye why: because for a people who’d never had anythin’, just the chance to make somethin’ for themselves was worth the risk. An’ risk it they did.”
 
“The first few years were hard, aye, but not as hard as what was to come.” A wash of sadness covered Lasirs grizzled face, “It was only after the ground had been broken, after the last roof was pitched, that they realized their mistake. Ye see, the good folk o’ the newly christened Fahring Bay… they only worried ‘bout the land.”
 
Lasair shifted in his chair, unable to get comfortable all of a sudden. He finished off the rest of his beer. It seemed to help.
 
“The forest yielded little game and the soil little crop. But the sea… the sea was bountiful.” He continued finding his nerves, “The villagers turned to that bounty for their livin’. For their lives. She had given so much to them, the sea — fish to eat, fish to trade, security for yer livelihood, an’ all the wealth that comes with it. She even carried me across her back to live here. But she fooled them. Sometimes she can be cruel. Sometimes she takes too much.”
 
“The natives had a name for these waters too, ye know? ‘Apaqt a’t Jigpatl’ — The Sea That Takes. That’s right, an’ she did. Needed to feed her bastards.” Lasair dropped his voice as if he only wanted me to hear him, “Deep in her womb are cold, dark, envious things. Beasts o’ scale, slime, an’ fin. Wicked fry that creep up to the shore an’ slither across the land, seekin’ whatever ye loved the most. For that's the sea’s price. That’s what they missed. They looked to the land for their misfortune, but it was from the sea ‘came their curse.”
 
He leaned back in his chair, finding comfort in his pipe. I realized I had scooted so far forward in my chair that I was about to slip off. I readjusted and propped my notebook on my leg. Lasair eyes, which up until this point were locked on me, lost a note of their intensity. His gaze trailed to the window, melancholy on his voice.
 
“What does a man love most? Gold? His name? No, sonny. A man loves his family.” He spoke. I could hear the pain in his voice, “They fed from her, an’ so she fed from them. Every full moon the beasts would rise up and scour the land, seekin’ to fill their esurient maws. The villagers quickly learned to lock their doors and bar their windows. Worked for a while to. But every few years there is a blue moon. They never learned why but when that second full moon would rise us, somethin’ changes. Them devils o’ the water, like bloodhounds, they would worm their way through the village an’ steal someone. An’ it didn’t matter how many locks you had or who many guards you employed, they would come for whatever, or whoever, was loved the most. Can ye imagine? Knowin’ that it was yer love that doomed them? That the peace they brought ye was killin’ them?”
 
“They thought it was random at first. But they never lost the tax collector, the street urchins, or the town drunk. No… they only lost the ones who knew love. Children the most.” The tone of defeat Lasair had twisted to black sarcasm, “But they all had large clans back then, an’ what was a lost child compared to the prosperity they could pull from the sea? To trade one life for the life o’ their family? So that’s how it went. For a long, long, long time.”
 
“Ye see it all through history, even in the Good Book.” Lasiar said almost shouting, his eyes finding me again. The switch to dead seriousness made me almost jump, “Just like the chosen people fallin’ into sin over an’ over. The book makes it seem like it happened overnight — a good king dies an’ then boom! Debauchery. But no. It always takes a few generations, each one fallin’ a little at a time, until that way o’ life is all they’ve ever known. An’ so it was for Fahring Bay.”
 
“By the time I came here they were choosin’ by lots. The village elders would gather the names o’ the children. The winner was tied to the dock an’ left overnight. They were always gone by mornin’. Ye’d think the parents would just act like they didn’t love their children when the elders were around, try an’ fool them. But that’s not human nature. An’ this way was all they’d ever known. So why stop?” Lasair asked rhetorically. Cleaning out his pipe he went quite again.
 
“God, I wish I knew then what I know now. I need a drink," he said after the task. Heaving himself up, he walked to the kitchen. I didn’t mind so much; this gave me a chance to go over the notes I've written down. I wondered if all this was orally handed down or if Lasair had to do any research of his own. Either way, his pronunciation of the native Mi’gmaq language was impressive.
 
He returned a minute later with four beers. Without offering me any, he popped one open and downed the whole thing. He saw me eyeing the others' bottles and reluctantly handed one to me. I thanked him.
 
“Now, where was I?" he asked himself. Running his fingers through his beard pulling on the tangles he answered, “Ah yes… One day, right around the time I showed up, a new family came to life in the village. Not sure how they came to know about this place — I think they had kinfolk here. Just some imports like me, from the old country. A man an’ his wife. He was tall an’ strong, like a Clydesdale workhorse… not too bright, but well-meaning.”
 
“Oh, but she, she was a knockout. Skin the colour o’ fresh cream, hair like the night sky, an’ she was tall. Taller than most men, except her man. Smart as a whip too — could carry on a conversation about any topic with anyone.” Laisair mused, clearly lost in a fond memory, “An’ best not to sass her, or ye’d feel the lash o’ her tongue. They became pillars o’ the community within a fortnight. Within two it was like they’d always been here.”
 
“Everyone liked them. Ye couldn’t have shown us two people more in love. When they announced they were with child, the whole town was excited. Now I know it was a lie. On the surface people said their pleasantries, but down in the depths o’ the heart they knew. They knew an’ said nothin’. Gave em' no heed. So when she gave birth to a little boy, they were only happy. Naming’ him Aidan, after his father.” Lasair eyes found the window again, the sadness he felt was on his sleeves, “He was their whole world. They loved that boy so much… too much.”
 
 
“Ye see, he was born three months before the blue moon. It didn’t matter that they held the lottery. It didn’t matter that another name was drawn. It didn't matter that they didn't tell them. On that night… the deep ones didn’t go to the pier. They were drawn somewhere else.” The old sailor fell silent. His eyes had a slick sheen to them, his hand a slight tremble. I didn’t think this would be so emotional for him. As if to punctuate his point the ocean wind kicked back up, shaking the house. The sloshing of the waved could be heard again.
 
“Right over there,” he hacked, clearing his throat with a loud noise and pointed past me, towards the window. “This place didn’t use to be the last house. Just down the road. Used to be their house. Those monsters crept right up to it and snatched that boy right out of his cradle. Left nothin’ but a stain o’ rotten brine. Funny thing grief is… has a different effect on each of us.”
 
“It broke the father, sent him to the bottom of a bottle. Took him decades to climb out. It broke her in a different way — a quiet way. That was somehow scarier. On the next full moon, when her bastard of a husband was piss-drunk, she went to the beach an’ gave herself to the sea.” He said. There was such an intensity in this old man’s words that it took me a moment to realize that I was tearing up too. I quickly wrote down what I just heard, having been transfixed by his tale.
 
“The sea takes. Takes whatever it wants.” Lasair said with mourning, “But it also gives. In a trade for a mother’s love, the sea gave us one of her daughters. An’ when the next moon was high in the night, nothin’ came up to take. Instead, we all heard a soft, sorrowful song on the wind. God above… those notes could break yer heart, make even the hardest grown man cry.”
 
“I saw her once, ye know. I was out fishin’ too late one night with too many bottles, not realisin’ what day it was.” The old sailor said slowly, clearly lost in a memory. “When I moored, I heard the song… Oh, it cut deep that night. I looked out on the water an’ I saw her… skin like alabaster and hair black like the depth o’ the sea. She was dancin’ on the water, like a ballerina leapin’ back an’ forth, yet her voice never faltered. The water around her was followin’ her movements… like moths to a flame, they were transfixed on her. Her siren song was the only thing they wanted, but ye can’t take sound. Ye can’t hold music. So they followed, graspin’ at the air, forever reachin’ for somethin’ they could never have.”
 
Lasair pushed himself up and walked to the window. He stood there staring for a long time, not saying anything. The air was still heavy with the remnants of his pipe smoke; the light from the fire was starting to die out.
 
“Throw another log on, would ye?” he asked at last.
 
I did as I was asked. Risking the goodwill I had accumulated, I asked, "May I ask something? I know you said no question, but…”
 
“Ye’ve indulged me long enough, so go ahead, boy,” he said without looking away.
 
“What are they? The things out there?” I asked, holding back my skepticism.
 
“They call ’em greimeoirí, but in truth no one knows.” He answered with a hint of disdain in his voice. “They’re ancient. They were here long before humans came to this place. The goin’ theory is they live down in the deep water. Once sea divin’ became common they looked for their nest an’ found nothin’. Even looked past the ocean shelf into the deep-deep water, but the cataracts make further exploration impossible. They stopped tryin’ after the siren appeared. They didn’t need to anymore. The elders died off an’ people forgot the truth.”
 
“They got comfortable! Lazy! No one else cared!” Lasair snapped, slamming his hand against the wall. Whirling around to look at me, his face a twist of rage. “I kept lookin’! Did they care? No! They mocked me. Ridiculed me! ‘Old Man Madd is just crazy! Oh, there goes Old Man Madd, lookin’ for monsters. It’s just superstition, Madd!!’”
 
He stomped his foot and slapped the wall again. Breathing heavily he continued, “Even after bein’ vindicated I couldn’t stay here.”
 
“After the accident? I thought you were a town hero?” I asked.
 
“They think I took money from them.” He continued, spitting on the ground. “I would never take blood money from that company. But they never listened before, so they didn’t start then. I couldn’t take all the stares… the whispers. So I left.”
 
“So why come back?” I asked.
 
“I’m old. I don’t have too much left to give. All me memories are here,” he said, gesturing around and turning back to the window. “Between you, me, an’ the sea… I wanted to see her one more time. Watch her dance, hear her song.”
 
“Did you ever see her again? After the first time I mean?” I asked, the wind had died down at this point, the sound of the surf close by off. A soft slosh, crunch, slosh, crunch.
 
“Once,” he said quietly. “That’s why I worked as the ferryman before I left. Rumors flowed in off the rig that some o’ the workers had reported seein’ a singin’ ghost. Took a few years, but once they trusted me the workers would open up about any strange goings-on. I tried to warn them… messin’ with those of the sea was a bad idea.”
 
“Do you think the ‘grim-eh-ree’ destroy the rig?” I asked, stumbling over the word.
 
“No, but they played their part,” Lasair replied. A troubled look washed over his face; his eyes glanced over to the mantel, at the turned-down picture on the far left side. Upon a second glance I noticed that it was the only frame that wasn’t covered in dust. He pulled out his pipe, packed it, and ignited it again. He looked back outside the window.
 
“Not to sound rude, but do you have any proof of this? I just mean, if it's been going on so long there has to be something right?” I asked standing up. I felt uneasy, something about his changing on demeanor. I made sure I was in a good position to run to the door in case he took too much offense.
 
“Proof? Ye want proof?” He scoffed, removing his meaty hand from the glass and returned to his chair. His words increased in volume with every word, “Open yer ears, boy! Haven’t ye heard ’em? Smelt ’em? They’ve been circlin’ this house since ye got here. Look.”
 
I didn’t want to go, but my curiosity won after a few heartbeats. It only took six steps to reach the window. It only took six steps for my outlook on life to change. Through he glass I saw them. They were just formless shapes in the fog at first, dark shadows drifting in a sea of gray swirls. Whenever a gap in the fog crossed one I could make out patched of fish scales, hanging sea grass, and fins, all wrapped in a thick viscus slime. Next to the glass the sound was louder. My stomach dropped as I caught up to our situation. Every “slosh” I heard wasn’t the ocean.
 
A few of the shadows stopped moving in front of the window. How far away they were was impossible to tell. They just stood motionlessly. I leaned as close to the glass as I could, straining my eyes trying to make out any details. All I could make out were four gleaming pearls set in the darkness. They saw me. A wet hand slapping on the glass made me snap back to the room. I jerked back almost tripping over my own feet to get away.
 
“What the hell?” I shouted. The skin of the arm was a mottled mixed of slick scales and long hairy algae. Undulating pulses, the shape of small fish, writhed under its patchwork skin. Every few seconds its skin split to reveal a cold lidless fisheye, only to seal up a moment later. It’s nails were glossy chitin. Wide and flat with small ridged. They chipped as they scratched long thin lines into the glass. The sharp sound stabbed my ears.
 
It slapped the glass again causing me to jump reflexively. Nothing happened. Lasair laughed.
 
“They can’t get in, me boy, don’t worry,” he managed to say between fits of laughter.
 
I managed to compose myself. Approaching the windows again I saw the arm slip down and a third shadow slink off and join the others. A low humming could be heard bouncing between them. Communication of some sort. I looked at the fireplace, then to the stack of sticky wood. Bad spirits my ass. Still, the sickly sweet smoke was a comfort.
 
I couldn’t tell you how long I stood there. Locked in a battle of wills between me and those eyes. Those damned eyes. It was just the six at first, but as the fog ebbed and flowed I could see the glints of countless others. Lasiar kept quite for the most part, only breaking to chuckle at a joke only he knew. He at least kept the fire going, its pungent smoke our only ally.
 
I felt the change before I saw it. The deep humming between them, the buzzing I felt in my bones, suddenly stopped. In sets of two, I saw the cruel unblinking eyes fade away.
 
“Wow.” I said turning back to the old man, “That last log must have been soaked. It’s driving them off.”
 
Lasiar head snapped to attention, freshly packed pipe forgotten in his other hand, eyes so wide I could see whites aground his irises.
 
“What did ye say, boy?” He demanded. All mirth evaporated from his voice.
 
“The log you just added,” I explained motioning to the fireplace. “It must have been soaked with extra oil. The things outside are leaving.”

Faster than someone his age should have been able to, he rocketed out of his chair and was at the window, both hand pressed on to the glass. I narrowly escaped being bulled over and was able to step back before he towered over me. I was quickly reminded of how large this old man is. He was looking back and forth with a manic energy. He slowly looked over to me, a wild look in his eye.
 
“They’re gone.” He stuttered almost panicking.
 
“Yes, I saw them leave,” I said carefully.
 
“It’s a full moon an’ they’re gone,” Lasair said turning his head, ignoring my words. Physically he was looking right at me, unblinking, but mentally he was somewhere else. His gaze went right through me. “There’s only one thing that would draw them away from huntin’. She’s out there.”
 
“The siren?” I ask.
 
Like vipers, his football-shoulder-pad sized hands clapped onto my shoulders, pulling me close to his face. At this distance I could see detail I couldn’t see earlier in the mild lighting. His crooked nose, long straight scars under the patchy sections of his beard, and slight yellowing of his wide eyes. Every year he had could be seen. I could feel his hands shaking.
 
“If ye want to know what happened at that drillin’ platform then ye’ll have to come with me right now,” he said in a low voice, his eyes now looking into mine. “She’s out there. Right now. I need to see her. I need to go to her.”
 
“Go with you,” I said, chewing over each word as I said them, “Out there. Into the water?”
 
“Yes,” Lasair said flatly. I don’t think he was trying to pressure me, just stating what I would have to do to get my answers.
 
“Is it safe?” I squeezed.
 
“As long as she’s out there those devils will only have an eye for one thing: Her.” he answered. “We’ll have no hindrance from them."
 
I had to make a choice. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the photo of the salvage crew.
 
“If I go with you can you tell me about this,” I asked holding the photo up so he could see it.
 
He took the picture with one large hand and held it close to his face, eyeing it up and down. With his other hand he plucked a shell off of the robe above the window and slapped it into my palm.
 
“That an’ more,” He said. Turning he began to gather up some things.
 
I inspected the shell. It looked like a normal clamshell. It was wide, pink, and had small ridges on the top. It was like any other I could pluck off of the beach. I turned it over in my fingers, expecting a smooth mother-of-pearl finish on the bottom. Instead, I felt an engraving. It was three squares, overlayed to form a twelve pointed star. I remembered the first time I saw this symbol, prying up that floor board. It seemed so long ago.
 
I made my choice.
 
{End of Part Two}

Click here for Pt.1 - TBD
Click here for Pt.3 - TBD