Song of the Sirens (24 page)

“I have to protect my dad.”

“I know. That’s why I’m telling you to
what to do in case you find yourself in that situation. Hiding is the best
thing. If they don’t know where to aim their song, they can’t capture you. I
know you’ll fight for your dad instead of running to hide.”

“Are there others like you, protectors
who can kill the mermaids, er, sirens, whatever.”

“Yes. They’ve been summoned from other
kingdoms.”

“Good. Because you need more help to get
this under control.”

The wind howled and shook a branch loose
from a nearby tree, slapping it against the side of the house. I jumped. Before
I stood, Riley was at the window and secured the area. He shook his head,
indicating nothing roamed around outside.

“How many do you think made it to land?”
I whispered.

“I tracked one down. I think at least
one more came this way.”

I followed Riley to the back door.

“Keep the lights off, the doors locked,
and the knife and arrowheads on you at all times. Now that they’re on land,
they’re slower, and are easier to find because of their smell.”

“How long will you search for them? How
will you know they’re all taken care of?”

“I should know by morning. They’ll
return to sea before dawn. The weather will ease up when the last one is either
killed or imprisoned.”

My nightmare, if all went according to
plan, would end by daybreak, I hoped.

Chapter Sixteen

Two hours had passed since Riley left,
and I felt so exhausted that I didn’t know what to do with myself. I racked my
brain trying to stay awake, trying to remain alert during this horror. It
didn’t seem to end, slowly moving on second by second.

I struggled with the primal need to
sleep. I moved restlessly from the door, to the window, to the chair, to the
edge of the bed, then further back in bed, and finally at a position where I
could lay down. If my head hit the pillow, I’d pass out.

I tried not to think of the sirens, but
that was impossible, after all, those crazy monsters were on the loose. If one
made it to land, how many others followed suit? If two made it onto a boat and
killed, how many others filled their bellies with humans after centuries
without food?

King Neptune made a mistake by not
killing the sirens long ago. This combination of disease, madness, isolation,
and starvation bled together to create the unholy mixture that wreaked havoc
tonight. I hoped the king had enough sense to kill them this time around.

I shuddered with the thought of
blistering boils and maggots feeding on rotted flesh. And that stench, ugh!

I fluttered my eyelids in an attempt to
stay awake, but lost the fight. It became exceedingly difficult to reopen my
lids once they shut. The first few times, I jolted awake from the images of
close encounters just as I had at the hospital.

With a few groans, I rubbed burning
eyes. In another weak moment to stay with it, my hand loosened on the knife
handle as I drifted off to sleep. I flinched a few times and caught the sound
of my breathing through a heavy and nearly collapsed throat, turning swooshing
air movement into low snoring. I only snored if I was dead tired. And my
snoring only woke me up if I was super dead tired.

The wind continued to howl, branches
snapped, and car alarms went off every now from the neighbors out from the
boisterous thunder that rocked the night sky. Whatever storm brewed thanks to
the angry sirens, edged closer to land. If they moved toward shore, they swam
fast. Once they hit land, hurricanes and tempests cleared a path for them, I
suspected.

On the other hand, if only one or two
made it this far, the tempest couldn’t get any worse, and would die once Riley
killed them. If Riley didn’t kill them, what chance did we have at survival
when the sirens had hypnosis and power over weather on their side?

Stray thoughts wandered through my head
as flashes of the siren’s face bombarded me in the dream state. Being alone out
here and knowing I could lose control of my body or mind, face death in the
eerie eyes, and stare into the cavernous mouth of the predator as she prepared
to consume me was not something I slept through with ease, but I couldn’t stay
awake.

The recollections didn’t wake me up, but
the slight rustling sound of movement did.

I abruptly opened my eyes and jerked up
in bed. I gawked at the open bedroom door and wondered if I had left it open.
My father’s snoring remained steady down the hallway.

I kept the knife in my hand and dropped
back to the pillow. The moment I closed my eyes and entered the dream state, a
slight movement on my cheek grabbed my attention, thrusting me back into the
throes of reality.

I stiffened, eyes tightly shut,
concentrating on holding back the scream that wanted to explode out of me.
Expecting to lose all grasp on emotions, my sense of reasoning surprised me.

The siren didn’t use her song. She
didn’t waste energy with it if she thought I slept.

I kept very still and hoped I appeared
relaxed. I hoped the siren hadn’t sensed my anxiety, detected elevated
breathing and heart rates, or smelled the perspiration on my brow.

Slowly tightening my hold on the knife,
I awaited a decisive moment. I didn’t know what to expect. I only faced them a
handful of times. Hunger and disorientation made them slow and groggy like
zombies. I hoped they didn’t gain speed, like their mermaid cousins, now that
they had fed.

I opened my eyelids just enough to view
the happenings in the room and hoped to whoever could hear my pleas that my
slight movement wasn’t enough to incite the siren’s anger.

The darkness lifted as things came into
view. Since the lights were off and I slept, I was used to the lack of light
and didn’t need time to adjust. I scanned the room from the door to the window
without budging or moving. I didn’t see anyone.

I enjoyed a moment of relief. I thought
I imagined the noise until I opened my eyes all the way and caught movement
above head. A womanly figure crawled across the ceiling. When she moved
directly above the bed, I clasped my eyes shut, wishing time would stop to
allow me to escape.

I tried to control my heavy breathing,
and I tried to stop the tremors and tears.

Sure, I wanted to kill the sirens and
protect my father, but in the moment, I was scared poopless. My lips trembled.
I had to get a grasp on things before I started crying and called attention to
myself.

Something wet splattered against my
cheek. I flinched and stiffened.

Bitter coldness hit the air. The
freezing change in temperature seemed to emanate from the siren. If Riley, a
healthy
underwater creature, had cold flesh, the siren probably had flesh
chilled like ice.

The coldness approached and loomed above
like a thickening fog. A stench like no other accompanied the cold. She smelled
like death, of rotting flesh and an unkempt, unclean body. The sirens at some
time long ago lured men with their beauty as well as their song, but this siren
was far from a fresh vision of grandeur. In fact, she was only a bone-chilling
feature away from turning humans into stone with her physical wretchedness.

The air fell against my skin and clouded
around my face. Goosebumps puckered my flesh and ran down my body in waves. I
shivered.

There was a point when patience turned
into utter fear. I could no longer wait for the opportune moment.

The wall groaned when the beast inched
closer. It supported her weight as she somehow defied physics and clung to the
wall. Her long, thinning, brittle hair fell down and tickled my face and
throat. Something that normally would’ve made me laugh or itch made me to
recoil instead. I envisioned her hair crawling with parasites, and those
parasites falling onto me to feed.

I resisted the temptation of swiping at
the hair, screaming, and running away. Those actions would alert the siren
before a surprise attack.

Somewhere between suppressing natural
inclinations and envisioning the siren’s moves, I corralled emotions and
stuffed them inside a mental chest. I gripped the knife handle. Earlier, I
taped an arrowhead to the side, so if I had the chance to strike a siren, I
could slice her flesh, leave the knife, and leave it to her blood to react with
the deadly metal.

The siren stuck out her forked tongue and
ran the coarse piece of rubbery flesh over my forehead. She left a trail of
sticky saliva, which stung on contact. Her breath smelled foul, like rancid
fish.

Before the siren’s razor-like teeth cut
through my flesh, before her talons sliced me in half, I opened my eyes and
shoved the weapon into her throat.

I rolled over and off the bed. I huddled
over and faced the bed as I backed into the wall. The siren croaked and then
shrilled. The entire room rocked. The glass mirror above my dresser cracked and
split down the side, and fragile pieces of glass decorations shattered.

I clutched my ears and pressed my palms
against my head to protect fragile eardrums from complete destruction.

The piercing cry died, and the siren
fell over and onto the bed. Since she crawled down facing the wall, she landed
on her back. She clawed through her throat after removing the knife. Blood
spilled out and pooled around her on the pillows and blankets.

I couldn’t see much in the darkness, but
imagined the siren’s blood turned into gray pus.

I flipped on the switch and latched a
palm over my mouth to keep from screaming and vomiting.

The siren squirmed and choked on body
fluids before succumbing to the full invasion of the strange metal. It
expanded, coveted her blood, and touched every drop of the crimson fluid,
turning it into worthless, ash-colored pus.

A heap of bones and rotting flesh
smothered in gray pulsated on the bed, stained the sheets, and spread out like
a thick, oozing infection.

Fear enraptured me as I forced my legs
to move. I expected the siren to jump up and tear me to shreds for trying to
pull a fast one over her.

My heart wouldn’t calm down, and
continued to pump with ferocity. It rebuked me with stabbing pains in my chest,
trying to convince me to turn and run, but I had to see death for myself. The
last thing I wanted was to walk out of this room and suffer an attack from the
very same beast because I didn’t make sure she was dead.

The smell didn’t get any better. In
fact, the decay process was so rapid that the stench worsened threefold in a
matter of a minute. If I stayed in the room, I would definitely barf.

I curled my fingers over the doorframe
and stared at the pile. I wanted to approach the bed to make sure the siren
died, but something inside warned me to run and get out while I still had my
head. I discerned the heap meant death. I couldn’t tell the pile had ever been
a creature, and I knew, or seriously hoped, she wouldn’t rise from the ashes,
and come back to life like a real zombie and hunt me.

I felt my pockets for the other
arrowheads before closing the door. I walked through the hall. I avoided making
any noise and alerting others if they lurked in the house.

First things first, I checked in on my
father. To my surprise, he continued to sleep. I hurried to check the windows
and doors again to figure out where the siren entered.

Shattered glass crunched beneath my feet
before I paused and stepped back. She broke in through a back window, which
faced the beach. After all that time, she was stealthy and agile. I just
couldn’t imagine how good a hunter a siren was if she were healthy and well
fed.

I turned in the dark to return to my
room where I planned to keep watch in the hallway just in case the beast rose
from the dead when Riley surprised me. He appeared from the darkness as a
shadow.

I jumped, then opened my mouth for an
involuntary scream, but immediately clasped my palms over my mouth.

Riley touched my elbows and asked, “Are
you all right? I heard a siren’s cry on my way back from combing the beach and
town.”

I blinked harshly, dropped my hands, and
inhaled. If a siren didn’t kill me, then all these startling moments were going
to give me a heart attack. I might not make it to morning after all.

I didn’t utter a word, but raised my hand
and pointed a loose, curled finger toward the hall.

Riley turned toward the corridor. “Your
bedroom?”

“Yes,” I sputtered.

“Stay here,” he muttered and, like a
silent predator, ran to the hall, made a sharp left, and entered my room.

I didn’t listen, and followed.

He stopped just a few feet inside the
room. His mouth dropped. The vision floored him, left him flabbergasted to find
the quickly decaying remains of a siren piled in a lump on my bed.

“You did it,” he muttered with a spark
of awe.

“I dozed off in bed, and she crawled
across the ceiling and down the wall behind me. I stabbed the knife with the
arrowhead taped around it into her throat, and then I ran.”