Page 2 of A Song of Death and Desire

Without his soul, he is an empty vessel, and we converge upon him in an instant. We are not wasteful, and it is not in our best interest to leave the body to wash up on shore. It leads to too many questions. Although we only need their souls to survive, their flesh is a delicacy—one that we are more than happy to indulge in.

The water turns red as we feast, the metallic tang of iron and copper filling my nose and my mouth as it disperses through thewater. Our sharp teeth, perfectly designed to rip chunks of flesh off the bone, bite and tear at the lifeless body. We are vicious, violent, and messy as we eat. We pick the man clean in moments, each of us getting only a small taste. Raidne is the only one of us fully sated. We need more souls. When there is little left of the man's body, we move through the water for our next collection. The hunt isn't over yet.

More bodies are entering the water now; the boat is finally destroyed and succumbing to the damage. One by one, their bodies fall with a splash, slowly sinking before my sisters descend. Five steady heartbeats pulse through the water, the humans brains completely unaware of the threat before them. I’m thrilled by the knowledge that this is enough to feed many of our small group but I’m also aware that the ones who miss out today will need to find more soon.

I resume my song, so the men remain calm as they begin to sink to the depths of the ocean. They stare lifelessly at us as we consume their souls and devour their bodies until all that is left is blood in the water and bones that will sink into the sand on the sea floor below.

Chapter 2

We swim back to the part of the ocean that we call home, some of us full of the energy that we had recently been lacking and with our hunger fully sated. It's rare that so many of us were able to feed at once. Usually, we fight over a couple of souls and only get a little nibble as we share the bodies between us. The mood amongst those of us who have fed is lighter than it has been in some time, my sisters playing and joking together. Their skin is brighter since the hunt, whereas before, it was dull. Their hair is shiny and healthy in contrast to the thin strands they had before. It is good to see them full of life and virality. When months go past between hunts, everyone becomes more irritable and occasionally aggressive. There have been frequent disagreements and verbal sparring over the past weeks as hunger began to take over and push us all to the edge. Those who didn’t feed today continue to display that hostility.

We have lived in the oceans of Witches Cove for decades. It's the perfect place to lure humans. However, over the years, our hunts have created suspicion and fear among humans. The death of fishermen became a legend, a superstition, a story whispered around campfires. Many refer to it as the witch's curse.

We never leave our victims alive to tell anyone about the existence of our species, so they never find out that sirens are the cause of accidents and disappearances. When we begin a hunt, we don't stop until the sound of human heartbeats has ceased. Until there’s nothing left but scraps of clothing and bones. But of course, when boats were destroyed and sunk far more frequently than is typical, with their passengers nowhere to be found, people started to develop theories.

Some say the boats crashed due to the tumultuous waters and that after, blood thirsty sharks consumed those on board. Stupid, really, sharks don't enjoy the taste of humans anywhere near as much as humans think they do. Just a bite here and there and often by accident. They know to leave them for us.

Other humans believe that a witch has cursed the oceans. The town initially had another name but has been called Witches Cove for many years now. The witch exists—well, so I've been told. I've never seen her myself, but the witch is a legend amongst our kind. She is the creaturewetell scary stories about. She isn't responsible for the missing humans but if the stories are true, is capable of causing her own chaos and destruction.

It has always been our mission to keep the existence of the supernatural a secret from humans. We are significantly outnumbered, and we have been taught the history of what mankind does to those who are different. That is why we have our one rule as a species:never let a human escape.

Dead men tell no stories.

The next day, my sisters are relaxing and lounging on the seafloor, enjoying the feeling of full stomachs and the energy that only accompanies a freshly consumed soul. I can’t seem to relax, though. It’s like an itch under my skin that I can’t satisfy. I move from sister to sister, engaging in mindless conversations, not fully invested in what they are discussing. The thing is, the life of a siren is boring. We hunt, we relax, we sleep, and we eat. Occasionally, but not frequently enough, we explore the ocean and some of us go to land. It’s when I’m on land that I see how different life can be and I’m envious of humans and the lives they lead.

Eventually, the boredom becomes more than I can bear, and I break off from my sisters to swim restlessly with no destination in mind. I've been doing this a lot recently. I’m becoming more and more isolated and I feel discontented and unsatisfied.

After swimming mindlessly I find myself drawn to shore. Once again, the land reaches out to me and I can't resist its call.

I pull myself onto the beach within a secluded area surrounded by rocks. The familiar tingling sensation with a hint of pain works its way down my body. My claws retract and the webbing between my fingers disappears. The spikes lining my spine sink beneath my skin, disappearing out of sight. My skin pales and takes on a milky tone instead of my natural blue-gray pallor and lastly, my tail separates into two legs. In moments, I am no longer a creature of the ocean but one of land. I'm able to blend in and immerse myself in the human world, giving no indication of the monster within.

There’s a catch to this ability though, we can become human for only twenty-four hours. Twenty-four hours to live a different life before I must return to the ocean. And the price I pay every time is the need for another soul faster than usual. The more time spent on land, the quicker my body deteriorates. The ability to shift appears to be tied to the human souls we consume, thetime spent in a human body running our battery until it goes flat. The hunger is worth it though, the fatigue, the pain. All worth it so that I can be amongst the humans.

At the time of our creation, we were given the ability to shift our appearance to further our species. Sirens are only born female and cannot reproduce with each other. We require human males for this. The allowance of a human body for a brief time provides us the opportunity to use our song to seduce and fuck a human to get pregnant. We then return to the ocean to continue the gestation period at home before giving birth to our young. Coming to land isn't supposed to be a regular thing and it isn't supposed to be enjoyed, a tolerated necessity. But I feel very different.

I pull on some simple clothing that we keep hidden for times such as these and begin to walk on unsteady legs up the beach and into town. The sensations I experience on land differ to what I am used to. I relish the feeling of the sun on my skin, the noises of people and cars busying the streets. And the smell. Oh, the smell of human food. It has me drooling in seconds. I love all the food I’ve had the opportunity to taste on land but I am partial to anything deep fried—especially cheeseburgers. Nothing compares to the smell and taste of human food. Not even human flesh. In fact, we can’t smell much at all in the ocean, and noises are muted when we aren’t hunting. The vast differences in my perceptions of the world make land even more enjoyable for me.

Sometimes, like today when I venture to land, I have no purpose in mind. I know we are supposed to be mating but because I haven't reached the age of fertility this isn’t of great importance and therefore sex is purely for enjoyment. Most of the time I need to break up the monotony of my life in the ocean. I love to observe humans as they go about their lives and learn about their world. There are so many experiences here that wecannot have. I'm envious of their freedom. Their choices. I’m eager to learn what it is like to be a human and every time I come to land, I try to absorb as much information as possible.

I often fantasize about what my life would be like if I were a human. I’ve watched and interacted with humans often enough that I feel like I can pass as one quite easily, but I can never be one of them. I crave the total autonomy they seem to have in their lives. They can do anything they want.Beanything they want. Restrictions and a primal need for survival don't bind them. They have the luxury to live the way they want. But most of all it's the way that they love that captures my interest so thoroughly. They love each other so wholly and completely and not just in the familial way that I am the most familiar with. From my time spent watching humans, it seems like the bonds that they form with each other can be more intense and passionate than anything I've ever experienced. What would it be like to be loved in that way?

Finding a place to sit in the town's center, I watch people pass and contemplate what my life would be like if I were like these people I watch and envy. What would I do? Where would I go? When I'm on land my emotions and thoughts are conflicted. I love the ocean, and I love my sisters—most of the time—but something is missing: a purpose. I want to have something to live for that’s not just about survival. I want to experience the kind of love I've only ever seen from afar.

A movement catches my attention in my peripheral vision. A man watches me with interest. His blond hair is damp and salty from the ocean and his eyes are a deep brown. I smile.

Oh, he will do nicely.

I peer at him from under my eyelashes and push my long red hair behind my ear. I bite my lip and then slowly run my fingers down my neck and over the curves of the top of my breasts. He moves forward, quickly walking towards me.

Got you.

“Um hi… er how are you? I'm Sammy… er, Sam. I'm Sam. Can I buy you lunch?” he stammers nervously.

I smile and begin to hum. So softly that no one other than Sam can hear. The only people who can be affected by my song are the ones I directly target. If anyone were to get close to us right now, they might hear me but would not be entranced in the same way.

I hum the tune of a seductress, enthralling him and pulling him under my spell. In moments, his eyes glaze over. I could ask him to do anything, and he would obey. I could ask him to walk into oncoming traffic. Or I could ask him to cut off a limb. Fortunately for Sammy boy, that’s not who I am, and all I want today is a good fuck. So, I reduce the intensity of my song, just enough to keep him interested but still allow him his free will. If he wants to leave badly enough, he can. This helps me move things along quicker. After all, I only have twenty-four hours.

“Oh, that would be so amazing. I'm starving!” I respond with a flirtatious giggle. His eyes brighten with excitement and lust.

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