Trembling With Fear 10/09/2022

Devilfish, by Kacey Rayburn

Up from the deep, I scratch the skin of the sea. A cold splash swims through me. I click my jaws and bark at the pale moon, a twist of bone in the sky. I float on my back, rubbing my belly. The hunger is always with me. 

Long ago, on Midsummer’s Eve, I was the object of human desire. They danced naked around rings of fire, drumming and chanting. They worshipped me with mead and rose petals. They smoked themselves into burnt offerings and satisfied me with sweetmeats.  

But those days are gone. There’s nothing here but the grind of gears and the smell of smog. Skyline and traffic as far as the eye can see. Humans don’t believe in old gods anymore. They hide behind concrete walls and worship silver wires, but I’m very much alive and oh so hungry.

I fin for the crooked shore, my lungs a bright burn in the dark. I collapse on the black sand, sucking for air, my ribs pulling apart. I crane my neck to get a better look. The lighthouse pierces the fog, illuminating the vacant shack next to it. Blessed be the deep salt sea. 

The shift comes quickly in a rush of pain: the snap of muscles, the tear of tendons, the crunch of bones. 

I flop to the shack and cast off my sealskin, admiring my womanly figure. I lift the moldy floorboard where my human things hide. I turn on the faucet and steep myself in a bath of honeysuckle. I wash away the brine, shaking the seaweed from my hair. I rub the lard on my legs and shave them with a blade of coral. It stings like a jellyfish, but I love the red-hot goosebumps. Then I climb out of the tub and dry myself off. I slink into a black velvet dress and paint my lips lobster-red. 

Every era has its great inventions, but the more modern humans become, the further they get from their true nature. Humans used to know the difference between poison and medicine, but they don’t know what hurts or what heals them anymore. They don’t know how to start a fire from scratch or how to catch a fish with their bare hands. And they don’t want to learn. All they want to do is search for love in a black hole of apps. 

I thumb away on my cell phone and click on the bright blue app: Land Ho. In a flash, it spits back my top matches. 

Self-made man, handsome and wealthy. Loves cartoons and coffee. Seeking sexy sea witch to wear crotchless panties. Will pay extra for tentacles. Reply to Rich Sterling. 

Swipe left. Pretentious liar. There’s no such thing as a self-made man.

Lonely man in need of a companion. Seeking a busty sea sprite with red or black hair. Absolutely no blonde hair, too much like mother. Loves spanking, cuddling, politics, and red wine. Reply to Teddy Bear.

Swipe left. Gross. I hate politics and red wine.

Attractive woman seeking merman with shipshape beard and an impressive eel for deep sea diving. Reply to Molly.

Swipe left. A complete waste of time. I don’t have an eel to stick inside her.

Recently widowed, seeking a sea god to rekindle old magic. A night of rapture should do the trick, anything to take away the pain. Reply to Serenity.

Swipe right. Perfect. Ripe for the picking. Deliciously miserable. I can already taste her tears through the screen. 

My dearest Serenity, you’re an old soul like me, and I have a cure for your pain. Meet me tonight after the gloaming at Rise & Brine Bar. I’ll be in a black velvet dress with a conch shell around my neck. Yours Truly, Kilda, an old sea god.

I plant the seed in her heart and douse it with water. Shock waves zing through the wet wires. I can already feel her dreaming of me, cobbling me into whatever she needs me to be.

I sing my way to Rise & Brine Bar, humming a sea shanty from long ago. Raindrops spill from the sky just as I reach the front door. Inside, it’s oyster-tight and dimly lit. 

In a cramped corner, she sits with a river of hair and an hourglass of hips. Our eyes meet, rockpools splashing blue in the dark. I churn her like a cold river, chills carving down our spines.

“Serenity?” 

“I’m so glad you’re here. You’re beautiful,” she whispers. 

“So are you.” I smile, sweeping my fingers over her shoulder. I know what she wants. Knuckle and bone on her blossom, unbroken circles, things that go round. When humans see me, their instincts take over. I’m an instant swipe right. The wish they make in the dead of the night. They believe I can do the impossible. And they’re right. 

Humans blather on and on, but I don’t say much to Serenity. The more I talk, the stranger I sound. Besides, there aren’t any words for what’s happening between us. She doesn’t need me to talk. She needs me to take the pain away. I gaze into her like a mirror, her heart-shaped face reflecting all my sharp edges. Jagged jaws. Glass teeth. A fringe of fangs. I’m familiar enough to look human but strange enough to earn her admiration.

She leans into me, sugar on the rocks, begging me to kiss her. I press my lips against hers, a pucker of rum. My heart hammers in my chest. I can already taste her fork-tender flesh and the sweet sap of her blood. Poor little angelfish trapped by a shark. I should feel sorry for her, but I don’t. I grab her clammy hand, and we run to the lighthouse. 

We roll around in the black sand, fingers creeping between thighs, dragging through hair. I kiss the hollow of her neck, a nip of teeth and tongue. I rub her plum-perfect nipples into sharp, little steeples. She flicks her eyes at me, an invitation, so I sink my hooks into her and claw away her pain. 

It feels good until it doesn’t, such a thin line between hurt and love. With a hiss of salt, she pulls away, eyes wide, hands slick with blood. “You’re a devilfish,” she sputters, her voice a shiver in the night.

“A sea god is what you asked for, and a sea god is what I gave you.” I hiss at her. Humans are such maddening creatures. Even when they get exactly what they want, still they aren’t happy. 

I bare my fangs and tear her flesh, petal by petal, like a bloody rose. I crack her open like an oyster. Break my jaws on her collarbone. Drink her sugar-sweet marrow. Paint my lips the color of her soul.

Her body creaks like an old floorboard. Her broken heart rattles. Her eyes roll back in her skull. Then she goes limp and pale in my arms. She’s at peace now. Her pain is gone.

I prance around on my tiptoes, savoring a full belly of sweetmeats. The moon is on a downward dip in the sky. Dawn is coming, so I creep into the shack and hide my human things under the moldy floorboard. The lighthouse winks at me through the window.

In a flash, I cast on my sealskin and flop back into the ocean. Gazing at the silver melt of moon, I comb my long, white whiskers. Humans really should be more careful. When they cast their nets into a black hole of apps, there’s no telling what they’ll catch. Blessed be the deep salt sea. It just might be a devilfish.