The Seahorse

Cynthia sighed, for the tenth time that minute, as she watched her husband comb the beach. His lanky limbs looked even more disproportionate, exposed as they were by the lone pair of shorts he’d donned.

It was a ritual, one she hadn’t been able to break Trevor out of. But standing on their private beach, for twenty minutes each morning, was a small price to pay for the life she had.

Trevor hadn’t been Cynthia’s first choice or her second or third.

He wasn’t particularly bad looking but he definitely wasn’t her type.

He was shy, introverted and he couldn’t be suave if his life depended on it but he was rich and he hadn’t asked her to sign a prenuptial contract. It was enough for Cynthia and apparently, her presence was enough for him.

He wasn’t stingy with his money either.

Their wedding had been everything she could have asked for, even if she’d spent her wedding night watching her husband search for seashells.

It was Trevor’s thing, the only way to get him to willingly leave the house.

He had a collection of shells that he kept in a small room that Cynthia had no intentions of venturing into.

He was obsessive about the damn things and the last time she’d made the mistake of throwing one away, he’d gone ballistic.

So she sacrificed twenty minutes every morning, to stand on a cold beach, watching her husband act like a child and then she was left with the rest of the day to do whatever she wanted.

“Look at this one.”

Cynthia started, almost dropping her phone, only to find Trevor standing a few feet from her.

There was a little half-smile on his face and Cynthia attempted to copy it for a second before refocusing her attention on the large shell in Trevor’s hand.

It was grey underneath the speckles of green and brown, much bigger than the ones he usually found and Cynthia could almost feel his pride radiating through the air between them.

“It’s pretty,” she muttered, accepting the shell when he held it out.

It was warm to the touch and as she turned it, keeping up her pretence of interest, one of the sharp edges sliced her skin.

“Fuck,” she yelled, dropping the shell, but it never touched the sand.

Instead, Trevor cradled the thing, leaving her to suck at the blood welling up from her finger.

“You should be careful,” Trevor admonished as he walked by her, his treasure cradled to his chest and Cynthia glowered after him.

She couldn’t wait for the divorce.

#

“You’re jealous of a shell?” Laura laughed and Cynthia shot her a dirty look as she sipped at her coffee.

“I’m not jealous of it, it’s just freaky. He’s been carrying it everywhere he goes. It’s been two weeks and I haven’t even seen his skin because he’s got to wear a hoodie to keep the damn thing with him.”

Laura quirked a brow, “I didn’t think you’d want to see his skin.”

“I don’t but…” she trailed off, biting her tongue because Laura probably didn’t need to hear about the fact that she was pretty sure Trevor had taken to talking to the thing.

“Look, you’ve got what two more months? Then you can start talking to your lawyer about the divorce and you won’t have to deal with him anymore,” Laura encouraged and Cynthia nodded.

#

“Trevor, I’m back.”

Silence and an echo of her own voice was all that greeted Cynthia, on her return.

Rolling her eyes heavenwards she pulled off her boots and headed for the den.

The soft carpet muffled her steps but it didn’t muffle the voices floating back towards her.

“Four more days to go, I can’t wait,” Trevor laughed and Cynthia frowned because she hadn’t heard the sound of Trevor’s laughter in days.

Someone else said something, too muffled and distorted for her to understand even as she got closer.

Trevor snorted in response, “It’s okay, they’ll have enough to eat.”

“Who are you talking to,” Cynthia demanded as she entered den only to find Trevor curled up on the sofa, eyes firmly shut and breathing even.

His left hand was pressed just beneath his chin, fingers curled tightly around the shell.

Cynthia stood there for a moment before she shook her head and turned away.

She must have been hearing things.

#

Trevor’s dad had always creeped Cynthia out.

There was something about the way that James watched people that made her skin crawl. But she didn’t really have anyone else to talk to, who knew Trevor enough to advise her.

Trevor had never mentioned a mom and James’ companion, Michael, often acted like he’d raised Trevor so Cynthia could guess why.

“When did he find the shell?” James inquired, not even glancing at Cynthia, instead, his attention was focused on the pool where Michael was swimming laps like he was part fish. The man was always in the water which probably explained Trevor’s obsession with the sea.

“About three weeks ago but he won’t put it down and when he hugged me he was burning up. I told him that he needs to see a doctor or take off the damn hoodie but he won’t listen.”

James huffed out a laugh, “Yeah, sounds like Trevor,” he finally dragged his gaze from the pool and this time his look was less predatory and more pitying. It made Cynthia bristle because she didn’t need his pity, she needed his stupid son to survive long enough for her to get a payout when she divorced him.

She wasn’t dumb, if anything happened to Trevor, James would have her out on her ass before she could count to ten.

“I’ll talk to him,” James finally muttered.

“What are the two of you gossiping about?” Michael called up to them.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” James shot back.

Even from where she stood, she could see the way Michael rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say, Mr Seahorse.”

“He thinks he so funny, seahorse because our name’s Sehrse,” James laughed but there was something in his gaze, something that made Cynthia think that he was laughing at her.

Cynthia offered him a tight smile in response but said nothing else.

#

Cynthia’s mind didn’t let her sleep even after Trevor’s snores broke the silence of the night.

He was in his hoodie again and Cynthia stared at the sweat-covered skin visible from his neck up.

Her fingers were moving before she really thought about what she was doing.

As gently as she could she gripped the bottom of the hoodie, pulling it upwards until she caught a glimpse of the dark skin that the fabric had hidden.

She kept pulling until his back was almost completely exposed and that was when she saw it.

Starting at the middle of Trevor’s spine were ridges, bony protrusions that stretched and disfigured the once smooth muscular canvas of Trevor’s skin.

“What the fuck,” Cynthia whispered, pressing her finger to one.

It was hard and almost sharp, like the edges of a rock and something roiled in Cynthia’s stomach as she climbed half over Trevor’s body, reaching for the front of the hoodie.

A hand snapped out and clenched around hers.

She yelped as she was hauled up and off the bed, where Trevor lay, unmoving.

She opened her mouth to scream but another hand clamped over her lips and nose muffling the sound.

She couldn’t see her assailant and she couldn’t breathe. She thrashed, nails clawing at the hands holding her but they didn’t budge, even when black spots danced across her vision.

The last thing she saw was Trevor’s sleeping visage then there was nothing at all, nothing but the sound of the sea in her ears.

#

Cynthia’s head hurt and she was cold.

They were the first things that registered before she opened her eyes.

She was sitting on a chair and there was something wet pressing against her legs, through her clothes.

She blinked slowly and the room swam into focus.

It was Trevor’s room, the one he kept for his shells, and as if conjured up, Trevor filled the doorway.

His hoodie was gone but there was something wrong with his skin. There was a large slit just below his navel that flapped open as he turned to fix one of his shells. From the new vantage point, Cynthia could see that the things, she’d caught sight of before, ran from his spine all the way up to his hair, vanishing into the thick depth.

She must have made a sound because he glanced at her, that familiar half-smile on his face like someone hadn’t just tried to kill her.

“You’re up,” he greeted, “I was worried they’d get too much of you before you got to see them.”

“Wha…” she tried, but her throat was sore and she coughed, her legs jerking and something moved in her lap.

She glanced down, eyes widening at the sight.

They looked like fish eggs but inside each of them was a tiny humanoid figure with eyes that took up most of their face, eyes that were locked on her face.

Bile clawed at her throat as one of them wiggled inside its transparent prison.

“Aren’t they beautiful?” Trevor whispered, kneeling in front of her and Cynthia tried to jerk away, only to realize that she was tied to the chair.

Trevor’s smile was almost manic as he reached down into the slit and pulled out two more of the eggs placing them on her lap. They were covered in a mucous-like film that squelched as they wiggled.

“Please, get them away from me,” Cynthia pleaded, tears making tracks down her cheeks because this wasn’t what she’d signed up for.

Trevor sighed, shaking his head, “I knew you wouldn’t understand. You’re going to be a part of something beautiful. Our children will only survive because of you…”

“We don’t have children!” Cynthia snarled at him but Trevor just smiled.

“No, we don’t,” he confirmed and Cynthia heard it before she saw it.

Like the whisper of waves in a seashell. The sound filled the room, rising in volume until her ears rung and then it was there, silhouetted in the doorway, blocking out the light from behind it and Cynthia couldn’t look directly at it.

Her mind slid to the side, turning the image inside out and she had to clench her eyes shut as she cried.

“You shouldn’t be surprised,” Trevor tutted and Cynthia would have kicked him if she could. “I mean, our name pretty much gives it away.”

“Sehrse?” Cynthia spat but Trevor just shook his head and the thing she didn’t, she couldn’t look at was inside the room now. The eggs in her lap wriggled attention still fixed on her as their bubbles split, leaving them flopping against her legs.

“Seahorse,” Trevor corrected. “And in seahorses, the male carries the young.”

“You’re not a fucking seahorse,” Cynthia growled and this time Trevor’s smile was a cold one.

“I’m not, not really, but it’s almost the same principle. Only in our case, the male carries the young and the female feeds them.”