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Siren's Song

a short story

By Matthew J. FrommPublished about a year ago • 2 min read
Siren's Song
Photo by Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash

Fifth November, the year of our lord eighteen hundred and eleven

Meredith,

My Siren, I hear your call all the way from London.

The days grow shorter and the winds ever colder. Now more than ever, my love, I yearn for your warmth. Meredith, my mermaid, what I would give to but hold one of your fiery locks. I fear that day when age ravages their beauty and renders them grey like the horizon beyond these shores.

Only the light atop the tower provides a warmth to stir my soul such as your touch once did. I tend it each night, as is my duty, but it would be false to say I do it solely for King and Country. The great light is all that stands against the darkness of the North Sea. I feel it seeping between the floorboards, between the window panes. On some nights, I swear I hear your voice upon the cold gales. I fear I may go mad alone out here at the edge of darkness.

My hands shake as I write this, born of both fear and longing. It is cold here, so very cold. I dream of feeling you against me, feeling the kicks of our child so soon to join us. I pray it's a son, though this life I live now I wish not for him.

I’ve made my decision. I’ve studied it carefully. A small change in the light, just enough to bring the next ship within signal range of shore. Then, to you both I shall return, as a stowaway if I must.

My courage may have failed me, but my love for you has never once wavered. I will face whatever consequences come with my chin held high knowing I bask in the warmth of our love. You are my flame, brighter than any that burns atop this lighthouse.

I shall be with you, and if God gives us his grace, our son soon. Light a candle in our window to guide me home. Let us now and forever keep naught but the eternal flame of our love.

Love,

Your faithful husband

A note from the Royal Archive

Exhibit three from the trial of Lighthouse Keeper Daniel M. Mawford. Records from St. Bartholomew's Hospital confirm his wife Meredith C. Mawford was already deceased for three months at the time of the wrecking. The defense cited the delay by the post office in passing word to Mr. Mawford as reason for leniency. Leniency was unequivocally denied citing deliberate murder and dereliction of duty amongst other lesser charges in the sinking of the clipper Northumberland. Execution carried out on sixteen January eighteen hundred and twelve.

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A/N:

Written for the following challenge:

If you've enjoyed this, please leave a like and an insight below. If you really enjoyed this, tips to fuel my coffee addiction are always appreciated. All formatting is designed for desktops. Want to read more? Below are the best of the very best of my works:

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About the Creator

Matthew J. Fromm

Full-time nerd, history enthusiast, and proprietor of arcane knowledge.

Here there be dragons, knights, castles, and quests (plus the occasional dose of absurdity).

I can be reached at [email protected]

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    Written by Matthew J. Fromm