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Blood Lust — The Nympho Nixe by Obi-Perrin is a fish-story that overflows withfrightful fantasy...

John Mariner loved the sea. From the sights and sounds to the salty tang in the air. He loved everything about it. And thoroughly enjoyed his fishing job. Granted, it would never earn him a lot of money, but it did give him enough to keep him going. John lived alone, and never had needed much in the way of money. But as long as he had enough to buy his food, keep his boat in good condition, and had a little extra to buy a drink or two at “The Smugglers Cove” at the end of the day, then he was happy enough.

Thoughts of the Inn brought back memories of the story told by Old Jack Nesbitt the previous night. Old Jack was the town’s repository for stories, myths and folk tales, and the local populace had a saying, that if there was a story Old Jack didn’t know, it wasn’t worth telling. Last night, the story had been about a giant sea monster, with tentacles, and teeth as big as a man. Being a coastal village, the sea stories were the popular favourites, and a number of people had asked him to repeat some of those sea stories many times. Old Jack had a flair for telling stories, he was never at a loss for words, and was able to manipulate his tone to imitate even the most obscure of sounds. His wizened, crackly old voice suited the older stories especially, as if he was actually there when they happened. John was enjoying the story tonight.

“The song fell upon the ears of the crew like water on parched soil. Hungrily, they listened for more, devouring each and every note; savouring it as if it was their last.”

The men around the bar sat on the edges of their seats, leaning forward towards Jack forming a semi-circle around him. Drinks were left untouched on the tables, whether from absentmindedness or a form of respect for Jack’s story however, John could not tell.p> “Soon, the song was all the sailors could think about as it echoed in their ears, hearts and minds. Without a word spoken, the crew acted as one, turning the ship to face back out to sea, sailing out into the darkness. Those waiting on the dock could only watch unmoving, as the ship sailed back into the darkness. They too had been caught in the grip of the deadly sirens, paralysed with fear. They could but watch as their friends sailed helplessly to their doom.”

Jack took a break for a moment, taking a sip from his drink. He had just opened his mouth to start again when the door to swung open, letting a gust of cold air into the room before it was closed again. Terry stood in the doorway for a moment before taking a seat towards the back of the group. John shivered slightly, but Jack continued regardless.

“Search parties were sent out in the morning, yet they proved to be pointless. No trace of the sailors lost that night was ever found. Not even wreckage from the ship. From that night on, not a single one of those sailors from the dock ever sailed at night again, and they would never again make the mistake of thinking themselves to be masters of the waves.”

A moment of silence ensued; the ending of the story punctuated by the sound of glass against wood as Jack finished his drink.

“I tells ya,” one of the less sober men started, “I’d never let a woman, no matter how pretty, play with me’mind like that.”

“You mean like your wife does?” Terry joked.

“He said woman, Terry. His wife’s more of a man than I am.” John cut in.

“Ahh that’s right. I forgot you two had that big—or should I say little?—measuring contest.”

The room dissolved into laughter, which although at John’s expense, he participated in anyway.

John shivered again and looked up from his drink to the door, expecting to see that another new arrival had let the cold in, but the door was closed. His head hung lazily over his drink, his eyes drooping slightly after a long day; thinking of his bed back home. “Hey Terry, do ya think it was ones of those siren things that made those noises we heard last week?”

“Now that’s the drink talking.” John laughed before Terry could get a word in.

Terry shrugged. “Dunno, I was pretty blocked at the time...”

“Believe what ya like John, but it sound’d like one to me.”

“Who died and made you the expert on what they sound like?”

“I don’t know about dyin’. But I know a whole lot about hurtin’.” He raised from his seat threateningly, wood scraping against wood as the chair slid across the floor.

“That from personal experience?” John returned.

The room was silent but for the shuffling of chairs, both John and the drunk now standing a matter of feet apart.

“Right, this is stupid. I think you two have had a little much to drink,” said Jack as he stepped between the two.

“Hey, don’t look at me Jack. He’s the one that thinks they’re real. Put the poor brainless bastard out of his misery and tell him that it’s just a stupid story. Everyone knows that they’re just a myth.”

“Gladly. It’ll be the first thing I do when I find that out for certain myself.”

“You’re not seriously suggesting that...?”

Rather than speaking, Jack simply stared back at John. John just laughed.

You are, aren’t you? You crazy old coot.

John sighed, not particularly wanting to start something at this time of the night. “You’re right, this isn’t worth it.”

“Hmm.” The other hummed, backing off slightly.

“Anyway, I had best be off; want to get an early night. See you guys tomorrow?” He asked, heading towards the door.

The others responded with a mix of “good night’s” and “seeya tomorrow’s” as he twisted the handle and walked out the door.

Ducking his head and huddling his arms into his body, John quickly made his way back home through the chill of the night air and light spray kicked up from the waves falling against the rocks of the shore. For a moment, he thought he heard a voice calling from the darkness; he looked out to the water, then realised what he was doing and laughed.

“Those guys are crazy...” He muttered, shaking his head as he started back home.

The morning sun beat down heavily upon John’s sweat beaded forehead as he dragged the small boat from the sand on the shore to the deeper water; climbing aboard when the base of the boat no-longer made contact with the sea bed.

Taking a grip on both oars, he turned to face the shore and started rowing towards deeper waters; noticing a few boats already out on the water from those who had woken earlier than him.

After reaching a suitable spot, John lifted his nets and tossed them over the side of the boat. Sitting back, he closed his eyes and waited. Oh God, I love this job.

The next few hours passed rather quickly, with John occassionally rowing back to shore to unload the fish caught, exchanging “hello’s” with any of the others on the water that he came close to on the way. The good weather from earlier in the day had held into the early afternoon, with the only threat of change coming from some darker clouds on the horizon. But it looked as if they were a few hours off yet; and John hoped to be home and asleep by that time. He hadn’t managed to catch much sleep the previous night.

After dipping his empty nets back into the water, John lay back in the boat and closed his eyes, taking a moment to relax. Over the course of the day, the intensity of the heat from the sun had been calmed slightly by a cool breeze, making the temperature almost bearable. Seagulls cried out to each other as they soared overhead, occassionally diving down to the water for fish. The gentle rocking of the boat through the waves and the sound of water falling against the rocks of the shore seemed to pull at him slowly. A methodical, lulling rhythm. Back and forth. Back and forth. He drifted within his own thoughts; the beating of the sun overhead seemed almost abstract. Detached. Back and forth. Back and forth.

A few moments later, a small snore escaped from John’s sleeping form.

John shook awake with a curse as a sharp wave rocked the boat rather harshly. He sat up, pulling in the half-filled nets hung over the side of the boat. A fairly decent catch for this time of the year; not huge by any stretch of the imagination, but it was enough. Looking up at the sky, he realised that this was probably the last catch of the day. The water was deceptively deep in places; sailing on them was treacherous enough during the day. Fishing in the dark was just out of the question—unless of course, you wanted a gaping hole at the bottom of your boat. Silently, he berated himself for going lax on the job. It was things like this that got sailors killed.

Dipping a single oar into the water, John grunted at the effort of turning the small wooden boat around to point at the shore. Noticing a fall in the light; as cool breeze hit his back, and sent shivers down his spine, John looked back towards the sun and saw a bloated, ominous looking group of clouds overhead, where the sun had previously been. He wondered just how long he had been asleep for those clouds to move so far across the sky. Earlier that afternoon, they had seemed merely distant threats on the horizon. Their effect however, was far from distant; the temperature considerably cooler, water choppier and wind more biting than earlier in the day.

As if thoughts of the clouds had somehow attracted their attention, they started releasing their cargo rather heavily on top of John’s head. It seemed the situation was deteriorating rapidly.

“Bugger,” he muttered.

John increased the pace of the rowing. He definitely did not like the look of those clouds, and if he rowed hard enough, he could be off the water in five minutes, back home in ten—and at the bar in fifteen.

Unfortunately, the rain was by no means a solo act—but instead formed a chaotic triad with a growing wind, and water whipped into waves of frenzy by the wind. John was finding it increasingly difficult to stay en route; the rain was falling heavier now, and stung at his eyes, whilst the wind and waves threatened to push him into the shallow, rocky water. Shocked by the change of weather, and the intensity at which it was coming, he had been caught off guard.

With the waves behind him also heading for the shore, John was building up an uncomfortable amount of speed. The light was bad enough, but visibility was made even worse by the thick rain, and the spray from the more violent waves that seemed to almost settle in the air and form a hazy fog. He squinted through the fog and could just about make out the lights from the town. At least he was heading in the right direction.

A larger wave rushed up behind John’s boat, tilting the back end into the air, and carrying the boat along with it. John was thrown back, but he gripped onto the sides and managed to maintain his balance. The right oar however was not that lucky, as it slipped from his hand and fell into the water. He had almost passed over the wave when he pulled himself upright again. Taking his one remaining oar in both hands, he prepared himself to steer away as best he could from the rocks that jutted up from the seabed.

The tip of the boat tilted downwards, and re-met the water with a splash that sent salty seawater into John’s eyes. He raised his arm into the air, and rubbed his eyes with the cloth of his woollen sweater. When the stinging subsided, he lowered his arm, looked into the fog, and dived across the small boat with his oar outstretched, shouting obscenities on the way. The oar collided with the rock only inches in front of the boat. John was almost certain he had acted too late; he closed his eyes and prepared for the worst. But as he waited, he did not hear the sound of shattering timber. He sighed with relief as he realised that it must have been just enough to knock the boat away from the rock.

He gripped at the wooden sides to push himself back up into a sitting position, but his hands slipped on the damp and he fell face down again into the boat, which wobbled as he landed. He raised himself up again, only to meet a larger wave heading directly into the side of the already unbalanced boat. He could only lift his arms to cover his eyes as the wave washed over him. The force of the water pushed him backwards and ground his back into the upper ridge of the side of the tipping boat, putting his back at a forty-five degree angle to the water. He tried to tip his body weight unto the other side, but the momentum of the wave was too great, and he continued to tip.

Plunging into the water, closely followed by the boat, he somersaulted until he was looking up at the capsized boat above him. The salt water stung against his eyes, but that passed in the few moments he had taken to re-orientate himself. Kicking his legs, he moved back up towards the surface, and raised his head in the pocket of air still left in the gap between the boat and the water. He had to find some way of getting it upright again.

“Come on you bugger. Move!” He shouted when he could not tip the boat over again.

He sighed and ducked underwater again; this time reemerging on the outside of the boat. The cold was starting to get to him; he could not feel his hands or feet. The harsh waves ripped against him, pushing and pulling him away from the boat, his only hope, whilst the wind and lashing rain further demoralised him. He noticed as he grabbed onto the outside of capsized boat that his hands were shaking, though whether from the cold, exhaustion or fear, he could not tell.

Taking a moment to get his breath back, John rested against the boat as best he could—being careful to maintain a tight grip with his numbing hands, lest one of the more powerful waves rip him away. It seemed unlikely that he would get his boat turned round the right way in this weather, and if he did manage it, he doubted that he would be capable of mustering the strength to row back to shore.

It was becoming increasingly difficult for John to maintain his concentration. His breaths were longer, and eyes droopy. The numbness which was biting at his hands and feet was now spreading up his arms and legs, and with each inch it gained, John felt he was loosing more on his grip on consciousness. His thoughts were becoming jumbled, and often random, completely trivial thoughts skittered across his mind. He wondered what Old Jack Nesbitt’s story would be about tonight, and hoped it was not another sea story. He didn’t like missing those. The fish that he had caught would all be gone by now, wasting an evening of work. He worried how he would pay the bills tomorrow without selling those fish. He could almost see his father, as he had looked before he died; telling John that he’d better catch those fish again. With his bare hands if needs be. He remembered the way his mother used to sing to him when he was very little, she would wrap him up nice and warm, hold him in her arms, and sing. He couldn’t remember the words, but her voice had stuck in his memory. It was all he had left of his mother; she had died when he was barely a year old. Her voice was so vivid in his mind it almost seemed real.

John’s befuddled mind slowly started to grasp upon the edges of reality. That voice wasn’t in his head. It was too real...too...close to be a mere memory. And there were subtle differences as well. His mother’s voice was calming and restful, yet this one seemed to pull at his soul. A haunting, alluring sound, urging him to find the source. A voice that spoke volumes of the singer. John already had a picture of her in his mind’s eye; long dark hair that reached to her waist, hazelnut eyes and a mischievous smile playing on her lips. He was entranced. Forgetting about the storm, the boat, and his exhaustion, he let go of the boat and swam over towards the shallow water. At the back of his mind, he worried that the waves would smash him against the rocks, but strangely, they seemed to calm as he swam towards the voice. As he got closer, he started to pick up sensual, almost erotic, undertones to the word-less song.

The water was almost completely calm, to the point that if one were to look at it now, one would never have known that a storm had raged only moments ago. Had John have been more in control of himself, he would have been wary of this alone.

John climbed onto the rocks, and crawled over them on all fours. Eventually he came to the end of the shallow rocks, and slid back into the water. The voice seemed closer than ever now. He looked around, hoping to see whomever it was that could sing so beautifully; and caught his first glimpse of her in a small area of water that seemed especially illuminated by the moonlight. Huh, moonlight, John thought, I wonder when it got that late.

A thought flashed across his mind, something about Jack and one of his stories. It seemed important, but he couldn’t put his finger on it, and dismissed it as something he could think about later. Whatever it was. For now, all that mattered was the song.

For a while, he just floated there, staring at her; listening to her song. The song that stirred feelings within him that hadn’t been roused in many years. The cold no longer mattered to him, as a warm glow seemed to take over his body. He had to speak to this girl.

But eventually, she stopped her song; and without thinking, John cried out in protest. Surely it couldn’t be over so quickly?

Her head turned quickly to John, as if only just realising he was there.

She looked over at him. “Did you want me?”

His heart leapt. Even her words sounded musical. “Ugh...I don’t know.” He stuttered.

“Come closer, I can’t hear you.”

John could feel his mouth hanging open as his heart and mind raced each other in deciding what to do next. Close your mouth, fool. Do something! He closed his mouth and nodded his head up and down foolishly. Oh god no! Stop that!

“Well?” She asked after a moment.

“Oh! Oh yeah,” he called in a trance-like reply, and swam into the deeper water, closer to the singer, echoes of the song still playing over in his head.

As he came to a stop in front of her, he could make out her features. She was covered to the shoulders in water; her long, dark hair rested on the surface of the water behind her, and her full lips carried a playful, almost secretive smile. Her hazelnut eyes, framed by her high cheekbones, sparkled in the moonlight. He couldn’t however pinpoint her age; strangely, she seemed almost...timeless. For a moment, the level of the water dipped, revealing her bare shoulders.

“Oh! I’m sorry,” John apologised as he politely turned his back. “I-...I didn’t realise. This...this is probably a bad time.”

“Don’t be silly. You’re right on time.” She purred as her arms snaked around his neck, reaching for the laces that tied up the neck of his shirt.

Her breasts pressed against his back as she pulled herself against him with her grip around his neck. He wanted to jump away, and ask her what she thought she was doing, but something kept him still; his mind felt strange...as if it was trying to pull itself through mud. Her fingers danced across his chest, pulling at the laces to his shirt. She started to hum as her fingers worked. John’s head spun, everything was happening so fast. Who was this girl? Why couldn’t he think straight? And why would that damn song not get out of his head? When she had defeated the laces, she took a break in humming to start kissing and affectionately nibbling at John’s shoulder, moving up to his neck. Her lips hovered for a moment as they reached his ear.

“You pull the shirt off. I’ll take care of the rest.”

With that, she disappeared into the water. John’s heart missed a beat when he considered for a moment that she had left. But those worries vanished when he felt a pair of hands fumbling at his belt.

The song reaffirmed itself once again, now seeming to come from all around him. Louder, and with more force than ever before. Thought shattered and meaning crumbled. He didn’t know if he was imagining the song, and he frankly didn’t care; reality mattered little now. No longer in control, John looked on as an observer through his own eyes. His hands seemed to move of their own volition as they pulled at the neck of his shirt, which was soaked and had seemingly glued itself to his chest.

It seemed to John that an eternity had passed while the girl worked on his belt, but eventually, the tightness around his waist loosened, and John knew that she had finally been successful. He felt her hands gripping his hips, and sliding down, pulling his trousers from his legs; whilst he pulled the shirt over his head, and tossed it aside. The song reached a crescendo and broke off suddenly with numerous splashing noises coming from all around him.

The girl rose from the water in front of him, smiling seductively. When she had reached eye level, she leaned forward slightly; that seductive smile still playing on the curve to her lips. She leaned forward, her lips slowly getting closer to his. John couldn’t move, and the thought crossed his mind that even if he could, he didn’t think he’d want to. Her lips hovered at an unbearably close distance from his, he could taste her warm, moist breath, and ached to lean forward himself, to end the sweet torture.

Suddenly, she pushed forward, tilting John back into the water, whilst she grasped a hold around his waist, following on top of him. The cool water seemed to wash away some of the cloudiness that had affected his decisions, and for a moment, he completely forgot about the girl, as he fumbled in the water, trying to get back to the air. Then their lips met. Thoughts of escape melted away as her intoxicating taste filled his mind. He became lost in her grip, a servant to her tongue. She nibbled slightly on his lower lip, and John felt a twinge of pain as she broke the skin and drew blood. She looked to enjoy it.

But the pain focused John’s thoughts as he realised he couldn’t stay under much longer; his lungs burned and he found himself having to stop reflexively gagging for air. A mouthful of water wouldn’t do him any good. Mustering his remaining mental and physical strength, he pushed the girl away from him to start on his way back to the surface.

She fell back in the water as he pushed, but he didn’t start immediately upwards. Something else had caught his attention. The girl didn’t have legs—one solitary fin where her legs should have been. She swivelled in the water, and for a moment, looked irritated at John, as if he had done something she didn’t like. Seen something she did not want him to see.

Thoughts of Jack and his story came to mind again, now a bunch of unorganised, cloudy memories that seemed so vague as to make John wonder if it had really just been last night.

Put the poor brainless bastard out of his misery and tell him that it’s just a stupid story. Everyone knows that they’re just a myth.

The memory came to mind in his own voice. If only he could remember the story...

His lungs burned again, and he had to hold his mouth closed with his hands to stop himself from trying to take a breath underwater. He kicked his legs and rose back up to the surface, taking fast, deep breaths as he arose. She wasn’t far behind.

“You! You...!” John started.

“Shhh.”

She started humming again, as she did, it sounded as if her voice was joined in unison with other faceless voices all around them.

“Shhh.” She soothed.

“I...I...” John’s mind fumbled for the answer. Something important had happened, but his mind had clouded once again. Grabbing at the stray, retreating thought was like trying to grip sand—the harder he tried, the faster he lost it. His eyes looked back to the girl as she glided tantalisingly through the water towards him. Why had he ever pushed her away? It was senseless. Stupid.

She pressed herself against him again as she wrapped her arms around his neck. There was no teasing this time, as she launched her lips against his own. She was frantic in her kisses. Hungry. His arms wrapped around her body, as hers did around his. John could faintly hear splashes in the water around him, but he wasn’t too concerned with them to look.

Her arms traced down his back, his shoulders and chest. The song repeated, over and over in his head as more hands from under the water grasped at his legs, his arms; showing him with kisses and gentle caresses; gently, yet determinedly pulling him into the water. The water was warm and inviting, not cold and harsh as it had been during the storm. It was almost hypnotizing. Almost.

He had just passed fully underwater when the hum of the song vanished, and John reclaimed some semblance of control over his mind. He pushed away the girl in front of him and looked down towards the hands that pulled at his legs, dragging him downwards. They didn’t seem to want to stop any time soon. He tried to swim back towards the surface, panicking slightly as he did so. But his attempts proved futile as the hands dragged him even deeper. John’s heart raced as the surface and himself were dragged further and further apart.

“...tell him that it’s just a stupid story. Everyone knows that they’re just a myth.”

His throat caught in a lump as he tried again to swim towards the surface. He tried kicking his legs, but the hands held him tight, not a one let go. More hands grabbed at his arms, stopping him from moving altogether. The girl had by this time swam back to him, and wrapped her fin around his chest for balance. She looked into his eyes, saw his fear, and grinned. She looked to enjoy it.

John’s lungs started burning for air again, his struggles to break free becoming increasingly futile, as his oxygen starved muscles started giving up and shutting down. He concentrated as hard as he could and tried to shake his arm free from the hands that restrained it, but hardly seemed to move at all. It wasn’t even worth the effort.

“tell him...”

The darkness of the water below was getting closer. The moonlit area on the surface, further away. He stared up at the now distant surface, silently wishing. But was only answered by the girl blocking his view as she leaned her head over him. His blurring vision could barely make out her features, but he was sure it was her. Her self-satisfied smirk said it all. John’s vision blurred again, as his lungs violently gasped for air. He couldn’t stop it any longer, his lungs cried out and opened his mouth in a futile plea for air. The girl met his lips once again, as his vision went black. Again, she nibbled on his bottom lip, just hard enough to draw blood. His vision flashed red in a stab of pain. The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth, with her tongue not far behind. She looked to enjoy it.

The flash of red faded, replaced by another, and another. Each one, duller and more subdued than the last as the encroaching, all-consuming darkness took him. And as John eventually lost his hold on life, he looked up in fear and disbelief at the girl who had so easily led him to his death. She looked to enjoy it.

“...just a stupid story...just a myth.”

Jack sighed wearily as he finished the last of his mug of ale. The children looked on at him, eagerly awaiting the next part of the story. After a few moments of silence, they grew impatient.

“Well?” One asked.

“Well what?” Jack returned.

“What happened to him? Did anyone ever find his body? What did the mermaids do to him?”

“They have vicious tastes. I doubt there would have been much of a body left when they were through with him.”

A few of the children gulped, a few went pale—but all were too self-conscious for any other outward manifestation of fear; not here in front of their friends at any rate. And it was fear, of that he was sure. Many of these kids spent large portions of their day on the sea. Jack gambled that the shoreline wouldn’t be dotted with small boats this afternoon, as was usually the case these days.

“That was a stupid story.” A child towards the back exclaimed, taking advantage of the momentary hush.

“Oh? And why do you think it’s stupid?”

He scoffed, “Everyone knows that they don’t really exist. They’re just a myth.”

Jack cracked a grin, “Funny, that’s exactly what John said...”

END