The Shark Maiden

He couldn’t stop looking at her. She sat at the end of the bar, in a silver grey jumpsuit, one arm cover and the other left bare, exposing an intricate shark tattoo on her inner arm. She bwas alone, but her body made clear that hat she was there with herself, not by herself. That strength made her magnetic. He watched her drink her bloody Mary, the salt sticking to her lips before she licked the granules off. Her hair was black and hung straight as a razor.

He called the bartender over to ask about her.

“You don’t want to get involved with her,” the bartender advised, refusing to meet his eye. “She’s a man eater. Just trust me on this one. There’s a reason her tattoo is a shark.”

He was still intrigued. He had to talk to her.

He walked over to her and leaned his elbows against the bar. She gave him a once over, but didn’t speak. He felt intimidated by her silence, but couldn’t not take the challenge.

“Hi.”

She still said quietly.

“I’m Brett.”

She turned to face him, square on. He didn’t know what to do, but his pride would not allow him to walk away.

She finished the last of her bloody Mary, stood up, and turned away from him. With the slightest flick of her head, she indicated he should follow. He bounced off the bar to match her step; she was moving forward deliberately, not quickly, but with purpose. She didn’t look back.

The bar was on the beach, and the full moon lit the landscape, making the dunes ghostly silver and unfamiliar. The water was calm, kissing the shore with each wave and pulling away, together apart, together apart. July in southern California is hot, even in evening, even by the water.

She walked fully clothed into the water, and he was captivated. Who was this woman, walking into the ocean like she owned it? He was frozen to the sand, watching her melt into the ocean, unfazed by the small breaking waves. Her hair spread over the top of the water, and then she was gone. Her disappearance broke his trance, and he kicked off his shoes and ran to meet her underwater.

The ocean was dark, and the salt hurt his eyes. He could not see her, and under the water, everything was distorted and confusing. He felt lost, completely out of his element. What was he doesn’t, following this strange, silent woman into the ocean? He spun in the water, and feeling lost, surfaced to breathe, although he did not expect to see her. He was surprised at far he was from the shore. He felt ridiculous, and started to swim for shore, still looking for the mysterious woman as he swam.

Suddenly, he felt a hand grab his ankle. Startled, he was unable to even get a breath before he was under the water. He twisted in the water, looking for her, looking for anything, for anyone. He saw her, but it wasn’t her. She looked more angular under the water. Her jumpsuit was gone, and her hair hung like a dark halo around her head. He realized, her eyes - her eyes were black. Were they always black? He only saw darkness.

And then he saw it - her tail. She was a mermaid? No, that wasn’t right. Mermaids weren’t real. But she wasn’t really a mermaid - mermaids were beautiful, had scaled, iridescent tails. But she had a sharks tail. It swished rhythmically, slowly, back and forth, not front and back.. She held her place in front of him, regarding him. He treaded water, blinking away the sting of the salt water. His lungs were starting to ache, but he didn’t want to turn his back to her.

She came toward him, and suddenly, her mouth opened and he saw her sharp, jagged teeth before she sank her teeth into his shoulder. He was surprised that he didn’t feel the bite at all. His survival instinct kicked in, and he kicked to the surface, getting away from her and breaking the surface of the water with a big inhale.

Was she following him? What was her plan?

His shoulder bleeding, he swam for shore on his back, his injured arm hanging at his side. He wanted to get to shore, to safety, even as he couldn’t stop seeing her and felt drawn to see her again even as his blood left a black-red trail behind him.

He staggered to shore, his shoulder slick with blood, the sickly metallic smell filling his nostrils.

He made it just inside the bar before fainting.

**

Waking up in the hospital, his shoulder was heavily bandaged. There was a machine softly beeping beside him, and he could see he had an IV that led to a hanging banana bag.

The bartender sat in a chair beside him.

“Who is she?” he asked.

The bartender sighed. “I tried to warn you. No one listens.”

“But who IS she?”

“She is the Shark Maiden. She has been part of this beach for as long as I have been here. I don’t know her back story or how she got here. But she preys on men at the bar. You got away, but many don’t.”

“Can’t you call the police when she’s at the bar?”

He shook his head. “And say what? There is a lady here who lures men into the water and turns into a shark and attacks them?”

He could see the problem.

**

Two weeks later, he went to the bar again. The bartender regarded him with a sort of resignation and familiarity, and sighed.

She sat at the end of the bar, and regarded him. He saw that her eyes were black. When she walked out, he followed her back into the ocean.