Meh-Loo-Zeen

Preston, CT — A parent’s worst fear is something happening to their child. And, you’ll never forget the first time you hear your kid’s terrified scream. Maybe they shut their finger in the door, or discovered the furry palps of an attic spider. Whatever it is, that ear-piercing shriek will lock up your body like the call of a siren. It makes you think, even for a fleeting second, your kid is already gone.

Ellie came bursting in the screen door holding on to one of her hands for dear life. Tears were running down her face… even worse, I noticed a steady stream of red down the fingers of her cradled left hand. It didn’t hit me then, but she wasn’t screaming. Yet, her eyes, tensely widening, screamed in my direction all the same.

“Désolé, je dois partir,” I said to rush my subject off the phone. “Come here honey, what happened?”

Ellie wouldn’t speak a word, and instead stretched her hand outward. I grabbed a rag and patted away some of the blood for a better glance. The tip of her index finger was missing a good chunk. Looking back, I feel guilty, but all I could think was, Rich is going to kill me.

It was the snapping turtles. Rich has warned Ellie… well he’s warned both of us time and time again. I feel terrible. We don’t live next to a Disneyland or even a Chuck E. Cheese, and I barely have any time to entertain her with all of these calls. The lake, while not the safest playground, is the best that this neck of the suburbs has to offer.

“You’ll be okay sweetheart, just hold this tight for one second, okay?” I say as I leave Ellie with the once-white rag to grab some hydrogen peroxide.

By the time I get back to the kitchen table with the black bottle of peroxide, Ellie has already reverted to the post-cry sniffles with a slightly calmer demeanor. I gently remove the rag and dab on some of the peroxide as I suck my teeth to create a sort of distracting sound for her. After a tense but brief wince, Ellie stalls and allows me to wrap her finger up in gauze.

Like clockwork, I hear Rich turn his keys in the front door. “Hey. Home,” he announces in his iconically verbose way. As he turns the corner, he notices my table-side triage. “What the hell happened, Jen?”

Rich trots up the steps and joins us at the table. “She was out by the la-” I haphazardly begin to explain. “The lake. Great. And you were where? On the phone? Come on, Jen. God damnit,” Rich says, clearly agitated. He turns down to Ellie, picking up her injured arm while kneeling down. “Are you okay, honey? Does it hurt?” Ellie bursts back into tears as if in excitement that her daddy is here to save the day. Rich embraces her and his tone shifts to coddle-mode. “Was it the turtles, sweetie?” Ellie momentarily sucks up her tears and snot to shake her head. “The mermaids, daddy! The merm-” Ellie began to explain but resorts back to sobbing. Rich pulls Ellie closer to his chest and peaks up at me with this blank expression that somehow screams disapproval. Screams. I almost forgot… I didn’t even hear Ellie until she came bursting in the door. Poor thing was probably in shock.

Later that evening, Rich and I are out on our regular stroll. Ellie had no problem knocking out after her waterworks earlier. We’re passing the lake as Rich finishes his scintillating recap of life as a warehouse manager. Look, I’m not the nobler-than-thou novelist type, but quite frankly I’d rather watch reruns of Bonanza than listen to this minutia. And spoiler alert, that’s exactly what we’ll be falling asleep to on the TV tonight yet again.

“You know, this was in Ellie’s room,” Rich untucks one of my books from his coat. “Mélusine” it’s titled. One of my newer fictions about these French urban legends about mermaids used to keep kids away from swimming alone. Ironically, Rich is suggesting my book had the opposite effect on Ellie.

“Christ, Rich. She’s 6 years old. You’re drastically overestimating her reading comprehension. Last month, she thought we were in the basement sheltering from tomatoes,.” I snidely respond.

“I don’t care if it’s ‘War and Peace,’ she’s too young to be seeing that kind of stuff,” Rich says while reaching down for rocks. “This is a good one,” he adds while returning upright with a smooth, oval stone. “You keep leaving her alone like that and her mind is going to wander. And instead of friendly, talking critters, she’ll be imagining the kind of twisted shit you write about…” Rich pauses and pelts the stone across the lake achieving a whopping five skips across the surface. He turns back to me to resume his lecture, but I maintain a stare at the stone. Rich continues, “look, I know it’s also on me. I can probably take time off, maybe drive us to Mountain Flags.” I squeeze my eyes shut and open in a tight blink. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. The lake is still… I mean ripple-less. Rich’s stone isn’t sinking… it’s just idling there in the middle of the lake.

“... or er… Six Flags. Is that what it’s called? Or maybe we go camping or something, I don’t know.” Rich rambles to a checked-out me.

“R-Rich. Look, what is it floating on?” I calmly ask in a panic. Rich ignores me, or so I thought. I turn over and he’s nearly half a mile away already returning home. “R-r-r…” I can’t find the strength to shout for his attention.

My eyes veer back to the lake. For a second my vision is blurry like a whiplash-induced vertigo, but my sight adjusts. Like turning the knob on a camera’s focus, suddenly a figure renders in the middle of the lake. It’s like some sort of crone with wet wisps of unnaturally reddish hair submerged in the lake up to her… nose slits? Two long webbed fingers materialize on each side of the stone. She sits completely still looking right back at me, almost like she wants to snatch the rock but doesn’t want me to see.

Her right hand silently glides across the water to her left hand and in one fluid motion she curls her sharp, murky fingernails and completely tears off the top part of left index finger. Turquoise-like fluid briefly splurts out of the top of her finger then stops completely. This entire time, we are locked in eye contact but I can somehow feel Rich is completely gone. And suddenly the evening sky looks more like dawn but so colorless. I finally swallow this massive lump that’s built up in my throat and it tastes like pure mercury. The creature’s hands both begin to hover through the water. Her damaged left hand sinks downward and the right hand scoops up the stone and begins shaking it. I’m fixated on this obnoxious gesture. It’s like a cavalier little kid playing with something they shouldn’t. Then suddenly the dirt below me separates and her waterlogged left arm snatches my inner thigh.

I awake to Ellie tugging at my leg… and the god awful sound of Rich’s bear snores. “Mommy come, please… please,” Ellie insists in the cutest little whisper. The dull neon glow of my alarm clock shows 4:17. I sluggishly shift out of the covers and onto my feet.

“It’s late, what’s wrong sweetheart?” I whisper down to Ellie already gesturing her toward the door.

“To the lake mommy, please,” Ellie begs me.

“Tomorrow, honey. It’s bedtime,” I tell Ellie, tucking myself in next to her for what will only be a devastating slumber for my neck and back.

I’m rocked back awake, but it’s lighter. I feel like I barely slept an hour. I’m not far off. Ellie’s kitty cat clock reads 6:00 AM exactly. Rich is going to be up in an hour for work.

“It’s tomorrow, mommy. Lake, lake, lake,” Ellie pleads.

I’m a woman of my word. I tiptoe back into my bedroom to snag my robe and moccasins. When I return to Ellie’s room, she’s already in her yellow boots with ducks on the side and this adorable Ariel sweater we got her when we went to Times Square. I sigh when I look up and see her bulky finger bandaging. I’m overcome with this guilt over how little time I’ve been spending with Ellie.

She rummages through her toy chest and stocks up a pillowcase full of dolls and picture books. She opens the bag in my direction like a little trick-or-treater.

“I can carry your stuff, mommy. I have room,” Ellie says with a tiny grin.

We make our way to the kitchen, and I stop to start a pot of coffee for Rich and I. Ellie tugs at me while I’m putting the filter in. My body jerks and I get this weird tingle of goosebumps down my spine, suddenly remembering the nightmare I was in last night. I shake it off and ask Ellie to wait a minute.

As I’m filling up the water reservoir behind the coffee pot, I hear the screen door creak open. Ellie snuck out to get a headstart to the lake, and I already see Rich’s blank, disapproving face in my head. I rush to follow her out the door, but I hear boiling water droplets searing the plastic of the coffee maker and realize I didn’t connect the pot. I turn back to wipe up the water and adjust the pot. I’m looking forward to those caffeinated drips.

I’m now wandering outside down to the lake to find Ellie. I can’t bring myself to shout for her name. I guess I’m feeling a little hoarse and restless. Anyways, Rich is still asleep. I notice Ellie is on the far east side of the lake’s shore. It’s a little brisk so I tighten my robe as I walk over.

“Ellie… stop…” I try to shout, but can only work out an indignant whisper. She’s pouring her pillowcase of toys and books onto the lake. Familiar ripples appear under her shipwrecked collection… those same ripples that were missing in my dream last night.

As I get closer, I hear Ellie humming, “taking turns, taking turns, friendship is what sharing earns.” It’s this kid’s song from a DVD Rich found at the gas station for only childs. Ellie is holding one thing from her bag that isn’t yet afloat, my book “Mélusine.”

“Honey, those toys are gone now. And you’re not going to get new ones just because you threw those away,” I try to reason with Ellie because I’m a little shaken up and it’s still so early.

“Meh-Loo-Zeen. Meh-Loo-Zeen,” Ellie calls out toward the lake, jutting her chin out to compensate for her inaudible, hushed voice.

“Mélusine, baby,” I correct Ellie with the French pronunciation. Ellie continues her botched version of the chants.

“Are you looking for Ariel?” I ask Ellie, trying to be cute while still a little jarred. I point to her Little Mermaid sweater. I try again, “Ariel?”

Ellie snaps her body away from me and sprints into the water. Within seconds her head disappears below the tule fog that blankets the lake this time of morning. My body locks up momentarily and I nearly swallow my heart. I rip off my robe and run into the water after Ellie.

My left slipper is ripped off by the shore rocks, and the right follows suit. By the time I’m waist-deep trudging through, I feel sharp stones cutting through my bare soles. The biting cold water numbs these cuts almost immediately.

In a split second I take a deep breath and submerge myself completely underwater. My spastic swimming and restlessness do very little to help my vision adjust underwater. My adrenaline blocks out the slimy touches of the lake seaweed that would otherwise terrify me.

“Why is mommy swimming so early?” Ellie asks Rich while watching me from the kitchen window.

“Hold on sweetie, daddy needs coffee,” Rich mumbles, not granting any attention to his daughter’s question.

I pull at the water, frantically getting closer to what I think is Ellie’s silhouette. I claw at her trying to get any sort of friction to pull her up. My lungs begin to constrict. The second I touch her floating body, it scurries away like a startled fish. She felt… murky and scaly.

Desperately, I push myself up to resurface. I can see the ripples of light above me like a glass pane of salvation. With my head turned upward, I propel myself to air. Before I can break through, I’m scratched down my chest and legs. It’s like fleshy rakes pulling me down. I open my mouth to suck for air, instead swallowing some sort of algae floating by.

I pry my eyes open, sinking pebble-ridden water into my eyeballs. The inexplicable talons are now hooked into me just deep enough to effortlessly yank me downward, beneath the seaweed. The hypothermic adrenaline kills my nerves, leaving me with just enough sensation to feel the uncomfortable thrashing.

As my consciousness rapidly fades, I can make out the figure below me. Its head is facing downwards as it pulls me deeper to the trench of the lake. Its similarly reddish hair drifts alongside my legs, brushing my bleeding feet. The creature’s legs appeared to be fused together in a slimy webbing, allowing it to glide effortlessly into the depths.

With my last breath I pathetically pull away from the beast enough for it to look back at me. Its wispy hair floats backward revealing a face… Ellie’s face.

-30-