The Mermaid of Lake Dreary

Hi dad,

I was going to share this over dinner, but then I got your message. I guess this book is really important. I’m glad you’re continuing mom’s research. It’s kinda strange she didn’t let us know what she was doing, isn’t it? I guess she wanted to make it a surprise.

It’s weird to think there’s this whole side of mom that she didn’t share. I don’t even know when she had the time to go after local legends and chase down old residents for their stories. She was always there, you know? It didn’t matter what else was going on in her life or in town, she always had time for us.

That sounds like I’m throwing shade at you. I’m sorry. I’m not. I know your job is important. Aunt Helen told me we all deal with grief in different ways. I told her I wanted to help you out because what you’re doing seems to matter to this town. People are talking about it everywhere.

I have a story for your book, though it feels too personal to share with the rest of town. I thought you’d appreciate it anyway. It’s a story mom used to tell me about a mermaid who lived at the bottom of Lake Dreary.

When mom was a little girl, she wasn’t allowed to come near our house - though I suppose it was your grandpa’s house back then. The Lapointe and the Foggs had always had a deep animosity for each other, even though they were the eldest lineages in town. Both families descended from our founding mother, Margaret Foggs, but since the Lapointe branch of the family had only had daughters for five or six generations, the family name had been lost.

I guess your grandpa believed that kind of thing fiercely, huh? Mom said old Mr. Foggs looked at her mother and sister like they were a stain in his family tree. He was proud to have come from a long line of sons that carried out the Foggs legacy. I’m still not sure what kind of legacy that was, to be honest.

Anyway, mom said it was nothing but a petty feud among long-removed cousins, but her dad still told her not to go anywhere near your grandpa’s house. Her family was not welcomed.

Mom thought it was stupid, but it was particularly cruel in the winter because his house overlooked Lake Dreary. He’d make a grand opening whenever the water froze and the kids would get their skates out. He’d charge CAD 2.00 per person, as long as you brought your own skates, and kick you out the moment your thirty minutes were up.

Mom and aunt Helen, however, were never allowed in. Whatever teenager grandpa got to watch the door had explicit instructions not to let them anywhere near the house, and if they did, they were immediately fired without pay. For a while, mom made a game out of putting on disguises and funny accents to get past the door, but she soon realized the poor teenagers were the only ones to suffer so she stopped.

Aunt Helen moved on to other things, but you know how stubborn mom is. Used to be. She didn’t want to let your grandpa have the last laugh, so she devised a new plan that seemed brilliant to a 12-year-old with poor impulse control. She’d sneak in after dark, take a lap of victory around the lake, and then shout under the old man’s window. Once he looked outside, she’d flip him off and disappear into the night.

Can you imagine being that young and that brave? I could never do that! I feel anxious every time I need to correct someone when they use my old pronouns.

Mom was never afraid, though, and she did just as she said she would: she put her skates on and went for a lap around the lake. Vindication, she told me, was the greatest rush she’d ever experienced at that age. She skated once, twice, three times around the lake, never once glancing at the house. If the old man caught her, so what? She’d already gotten her sweet, sweet vengeance.

Finally, it was time for the grand finale. She slid to the center of the lake and looked up at the top window. Her fingers fidgeted nervously as she prepared to show her middle one. She took in the deepest breath she’d ever taken. Fog formed in front of her mouth when she shouted with all the air in her lungs.

“Hey! Asshole!”

That’s why she didn’t hear the ice crack.

The light inside the bedroom was turned on.

And she sank into the lake, no breath left inside of her to scream for help.

Mom didn’t know what was happening at first, but the moment her brain could process the icy water, she understood she was in trouble. The cold stabbed her skin like knives and when she opened her mouth, water came in like a flood, freezing her throat.

Her arms flailed. The tips of her fingers splashed on the surface, but her skates were heavy and soon she was entirely submerged in water. She kicked her legs furiously. Maybe if she took her skates off- no, no, they were tightly secured around her ankles, it wouldn’t work. If she could only reach the surface and take a breath of air-

That was when something grabbed her ankle.

That was my favorite part of the story.

“Now, you might say ‘it was probably some trash people had thrown into the lake in the summer’,” she’d tell me, her voice low and her hands flowing animatedly in the air like she was about to conjure magic out of thin air. “Nothing could have been living in the lake, isn’t it right? But I swear on my life, kiddo, it was a hand. Not a normal hand, mind you. I could feel all six fingers grabbing my ankle all at once. They were colder than the water, like the hand itself had been carved out of ice.”

It didn’t matter how many times I’d heard that story. I would always lean closer, eyes wide and bright, and I’d ask, “What did you do, mommy?”

“Well, I was terrified, of course! But I just had to open my eyes. I had to know what kind of monster I was fighting. The pain I felt when I got my eyes open was indescribable. Never open your eyes under freezing water, kiddo. It hurts! But then I looked down and I forgot the pain altogether.”

I gasped like I was hearing it for the first time. “What did you see?”

It was a mermaid. It was dark underwater and the flashlight mom had brought barely penetrated the layer of ice above her head, but she could still see the creature with surprising clarity. She had a luminescent tint to her skin that was faded and blue, but her white eyes were the brightest thing there was underwater.

There was no telling how tall she was, but mom could see the beginning of a tail wiggling just below. Fins as sharp as knives protruded from the sides of it and reminded her of a shark. This wasn’t a mermaid from the depths of a storybook; this was the real thing and reality, as usual, was a lot harder to look at.

“She was beautiful, though,” mom told me, her eyes full of wonder. “In a strange, haunting way. The way she floated in the water like she was dancing at the tip of her tail. And she had a full head of green hair that soared around her face, a pretty, yellow flower clipped on top like a crown. The hand that wasn’t holding on to me moved gracefully at her side and I could see she didn’t have fingers, only slimy tendrils that extended far longer than human fingers did.” She crinkled her nose and shook her head. “And they were touching me, holding me down.”

Mom kicked again, harder than before, but it was no use.

The mermaid opened her mouth to reveal sharp teeth. Her jaw opened unnaturally large, ready to swallow.

That was when mom was pulled out of the water, the mermaid’s tendrils standing no chance against the pull of a grown man.

Mom was dropped on the ice, coughing the water off of her lungs. Your grandpa was there and he dragged her by the back of her jacket away from the hole in the ice and back to solid ground. He was wearing nothing but pajamas and a robe. His socks were drenched and his feet must have been freezing. And oh! He was furious!

“You stupid girl! What do you think you’re doing? You could have died!”

Mom didn’t cry. All she managed to do was point at the lake and say the word “mermaid” before going absolutely still. She didn’t say another word until the ambulance came.

Of course, no one believed her. They thought she’d passed out when she hit the water and dreamed the whole thing. She’d been lucky Mr. Foggs had been there to save her, and even luckier he didn’t want to press charges against her trespassing. The lake was, after, in his property.

Her parents weren’t happy either. In fact, they were angrier than your grandpa had been, dad. Mom didn’t resent them, though. She’d done a pretty dangerous thing and they were right to be concerned. She was grounded for months, and they explicitly forbade her from going anywhere near the lake, which was fine by her.

“There was a monstrous mermaid living in the bottom of Lake Dreary and I had no plans to ever go anywhere near it again.”

She always ended the story with a lesson.

“Which is why you should stick to the shore, kiddo, and never stray farther than where the water hits your waist.”

Now that I’m 14, I suppose none of that was true. Or maybe parts of it were. After all, you clearly remember bringing her a blanket that night as you waited for the ambulance together. Didn’t you tell me once that was when you started falling for her? It’s a nice story and I don’t want to call mom a liar because she wasn’t that.

Why don’t we call it an exaggeration, then? A beautiful, fantastical exaggeration. Not quite a local legend, but a personal one. Something that makes me remember mom in her purest form: brave, bright, and an absolute badass.

I hope you find the time to read this letter, dad. We should talk about mom more often.

Love, Elliot.