Night four.
I floated in the dark, the ocean as still as glass beneath me. The raft swayed gently, creaking softly with every small shift of water. I sat cross-legged on top, clutching the oar like it was some kind of lifeline.
Nothing moved. Nothing stirred.
I had bought a lantern and lit it over an hour ago, the small flame flickering uselessly.
This was my last resort. Dad's notes had mentioned it, fire. He claimed they were drawn to it. Drawn to the glow, to the heat.
If that didn't work…If they didn't show tonight…I was done. I didn't have the patience to stay with Vicky in the closed Cabin space any longer.
Vicky could have all of Dad's journals. He could cart them back to the university and wave them around like a prize, or burn them to hell for all I cared. I was tired. Tired of chasing something that probably wasn't real.
Merpeople.
God, I could almost laugh at myself now.
Bigfoot would've been easier to believe. A Yeti, even. But this? Merpeople? What kind of fantasy was I even buying into?
Maybe Vicky had fed Dad those ideas. Maybe he'd gotten into Dad's head, made him believe he'd seen something out here that never really existed. And maybe I'd inherited the same obsession, like it was genetic.
I dragged a hand over my face and leaned back on my elbows, staring up at the starry sky.
Time crawled.
Just like the last three nights, I sat there until my body gave in. Eyes heavy, shoulders sagging, breath slowing. The candle flickered, a single light source in the dark except for the stars twinkling in the sky.
My new night-vision binoculars sat beside me, untouched. I hadn't even bothered to reach for them. I knew how this would end.
I dozed off again, lulled by the quiet lap of water against the raft's edge, the faint creak of wood shifting beneath me.
I jolted awake few minutes later or it could be hours, it was difficult to tell.
The raft lurched violently, swaying side to side like something had hit it, hard.
My heart jumped straight into my throat as I scrambled upright, fumbling for my bag. My hands shook as I yanked out the flashlight, flicking it on.
The raft rocked again, less violently but still enough to keep me off balance. The lantern flame was gone.
I checked my phone with clammy fingers, heart pounding.
3:02 a.m.
Dawn wasn't far.
I swallowed hard, shining the light around me, searching the water's surface, the dark shapes beyond the raft.
Something was out there.
I just didn't know what yet.
I swept the flashlight across the inky black surface, breath held tight in my throat, and nearly choked on a gasp when I saw them.
Shadows beneath the water.
Sleek.
Silent.
Circling.
A shoal of sharks, gliding just beneath me, their pale skin flashing like silver knives under the trembling light.
My pulse crashed against my ribs, frantic and loud, louder than the sea, louder than reason. I gripped the edges of the raft so hard my knuckles turned white, heart clawing its way up my throat.
This was it. This was how I died.
I pictured it, the headline, the whispers, my mother standing at a dock somewhere, refusing to look at whatever was left of me when they dragged my half-eaten body back to shore.
The raft rocked again, jerking violently as the sharks nosed up against it, testing it. Toying with me.
The dark swallowed every inch of light, leaving only me and the beasts beneath.
I tried to steady the raft with my hands, tried to keep it from tipping, but every shift sent it rolling further off balance.
"No, no, no, "
Another shove.
Harder.
The raft splintered apart beneath me, banana trunks slipping free like ribs torn from a carcass.
I flailed, hit the water, ice-cold and unforgiving.
The shock knocked the air from my lungs.
I panicked, arms flailing, legs kicking in every direction, but the fear swallowed me faster than the sea ever could.
I couldn't swim.
The old terror seized me, wrapping cold fingers around my chest, pulling me under like some ancient curse I could never shake.
I choked on saltwater. Drowned on fear.
Up, down, left, right, I couldn't tell which way was the surface anymore. Couldn't feel the difference between the ocean and my own skin.
The sharks circled closer, their shadows brushing past me like ghosts.
I twisted, searching for air, for light, for anything, And then…nothing.
Darkness folded around me like silk. The water turned soft, weightless, almost warm.
And suddenly, I wasn't in the ocean anymore.
I was five years old, standing in the shallow end of a community pool, Dad's hands on my back, his voice echoing gently in my ear,
"You're okay, Kash. I've got you. I won't let you sink."
I woke with a raw throat and a headache pounding behind my eyes. For a second, I couldn't even remember where I was.
The ceiling spun slightly as I blinked up at it. My mouth felt dry, like I'd swallowed saltwater all night.
Saltwater.
The memory hit me like a brick, Drowning.
I drowned.
I sat there for a long moment, my head spinning with disjointed flashes, dark water, a pulling sensation, fear tightening around my throat like a rope.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed.
And that's when I saw it.
A thick, dark streak trailed across the wooden floor.
Starting at the porch…leading all the way into the living room.
Blood.
I swallowed hard, looking down at my own skin, expecting pain to hit me any second. But there was nothing. No cuts or bruises.
My brain scrambled for answers, landing on the only one that felt remotely possible, Vicky.
I bolted for the living room, following the blood trail.
I skidded to a stop when I saw him, Vicky, crouched on the floor, his back to me, hands moving quickly over something large, wrapping it in thick black plastic like he was packing up a body.
"What the hell are you doing?" I demanded, my voice breaking on the edge of panic.
Vicky glanced over his shoulder, completely unbothered.
"Oh, you're up," he said casually.
"What's that?" I pressed, my voice sharper now.
He shifted slightly, blocking my view, but not well enough.
Because what I could see…what he was trying to hide was huge.
Long. Wide. Easily over six feet.
My stomach twisted. My breath hitched.
"Vicky… what the fuck is that?"
"This, my friend, is a jackpot," Vicky announced proudly, flashing a grin so wide it made me want to punch him.
I swallowed hard, squinting at the long shape on the floor.
"But… what is it?" I asked, my voice cracking as I moved closer on unsteady legs.
The plastic crinkled, but what caught my eye next made my stomach turn. A dark, wet streak of blood was leaking from the base of the wrap, soaking into the old wooden floorboards like spilled oil.
I frowned. "Did you, Did you kill one of the sharks or what?"
Vicky let out an incredulous snort, rolling his eyes like I'd just asked the dumbest question in the world.
"What? No. It's the thing," he snapped, glaring at me like I was wasting his precious moment.
"What thing?" I couldn't stop myself from asking again. My brain felt sluggish, like I was still half-dreaming or hungover from drowning. Like none of this was real.
Vicky gritted his teeth, clenching his jaw so tight I could hear it click.
"The fish creature," he hissed. "God, you're dense."
And before I could argue, he grabbed the edge of the plastic and yanked it back.
I staggered away, my feet slipping on the floor as I landed on my ass, heart slamming into my throat. Because it wasn't a fish. And it sure as hell wasn't a shark.
It was a man.Or… something like one.
His face ethereal, almost unnervingly perfect. Not in the way human men were perfect, but something softer… stranger.
His skin was pale, smooth like sea-polished glass, glowing faintly under the dim light. His jaw, sharp, cheekbones high, almost regal in their structure.
Dark, blood-soaked strands of hair clung to his forehead.
The source of all the blood leaking onto the floor.
"He was trying to hurt you," Vicky announced like some smug hero. "It's a damn miracle I got to you in time. Knocked him out cold when he wasn't looking."
I whipped my head toward him, rage exploding in my chest.
"He saved me, you moron!" I shouted, rushing towards him.
Vicky threw his hands up, voice pitching into pure exasperation.
"Saved you? I saved you!"
"No!" I yelled back. "He saved me from the sharks. My raft broke apart. I was sinking. They were circling me!" My voice echoedd, angry. "And what did you do? You knocked him half to death!"
Panic clawed at my throat as I sat on my knee, hands reaching for the creature's face. I slipped two fingers beneath his nose, leaning in, holding my breath.
Nothing.
"Shit," I whispered, ripping the plastic back even further, revealing more of him. Smooth, pale skin, unmarred by human flaws, but there, at his hand, Webbing.
Thin, almost translucent membrane connecting his fingers.
I pressed my fingers to his wrist, searching for a pulse.
There. Faint, but steady.
"He's alive," I exhaled, barely able to believe it.
I kept unwrapping the plastic, exposing his chest, his arms, making sure he was still breathing.
"No, no, no, what are you doing?" Vicky backed away, panic flashing across his face before he darted to the kitchen.
I looked up just in time to see him reappear, with a knife.
"Dude, stop!" I shouted, lunging to my feet, pushing him away. "No one is killing anyone!"
Vicky's face twisted in frustration, knuckles white around the handle. "You have no idea how dangerous these things are! He could tear you apart in seconds! And this one is a male."
"He is unconscious for fuck sake," I growled, stepping forward, refusing to back down. "I swear to God, Vicky, I will frame you for smuggling if you don't drop that knife right now."
His jaw clenched. His eyes flicked between me and the half-conscious creature.
But after a long, tense moment…He dropped the blade on the floor with a sharp clang.
I didn't wait to celebrate. I grabbed my bag, digging out the first aid kit, my hands shaking as I knelt back beside the creature.
I had to help him. If he was even still saveable.
Carefully, I braced my hands against his shoulder and hip, rolling him onto his side. He slumped bonelessly, his blood-slick hair sticking to the floor as I shifted him.
The back of his head was a mess. Blood matted thick into his dark hair, making it nearly impossible to see where the wound actually started. I bit my lip, heart racing as I reached for the damp cloth from the first aid kit. It wasn't much, but it was all I had.
"Okay… okay… hang on," I muttered under my breath, more to myself than to him.
I dipped the cloth into the clean water I'd brought up earlier, wrung it out, and carefully began dabbing away the blood.
Each pass of the cloth revealed more of the injury, a gash, deep enough to worry me, deep enough to be fatal.
"Shit," I whispered under my breath, glancing toward the supply shelf. No antiseptic. No stitching kit. Nothing a real medic would have had.
I rinsed the cloth again and pressed it gently over the wound to slow the bleeding, keeping my other hand steady against his shoulder to stop him from rolling back over. I had no idea if he was bleeding internally. If he suffered a concussion.
His skin was cold. Colder than it should have been. I had no idea if that was normal for… whatever he was.
I grabbed the thin roll of gauze from the bottom of the kit, already half-used, and wrapped it around his head, pulling it snug to apply light pressure without suffocating him. It wasn't perfect. But it was the best I could do with what I had.
I slid my hand under his chin, tilting his face toward me again, looking for any signs of consciousness. Nothing.
But he was still breathing, barely.
"Come on, stay with me," I whispered, brushing the damp strands of hair from his forehead again. "Just… stay alive."
"We'll leave him here… and wait to see if he wakes up," I finally muttered, stepping back and wiping my damp palms on my shorts.
From a distance, he looked alien, completely out of place in this little forgotten house. Like the walls weren't big enough to contain him, like the air wasn't worthy enough to fill his lungs.
I studied him in the half-light slipping through the window, long limbs stretched awkwardly on the floor, shoulders broader than I first realized. He was taller than any man I'd ever stood next to, tall, but elegantly so, like every inch of him had been carved by purpose, not accident.
He wasn't bulky, not like the bodybuilders plastered across fitness magazines. His muscles were defined, sculpted into clean, lean lines, not an ounce of fat anywhere on him. His body looked built to move, powerful but not heavy.
His skin…a soft matte finish, like wet stone, water repellent, almost unnatural. Like the sea had designed him to never sink.
He lay there like something trapped between two worlds. A man… and something else.
Looking at him now, with his face so still, his body stretched out like a fallen statue, I couldn't shake the feeling that he didn't belong here.
He looked like something meant for a throne, not this rotting wooden floor. Like some prince, or god, from the deep.
"Don't touch him," I warned Vicky without looking back, already walking toward my room to change my blood soaked clothes.
When I returned, pulling my shirt over my head, I found Vicky crouched again, too close for comfort, hovering by the creature's head, his face twisted in uncertainty.
"We should put him in the tank," I said as I walked towards him. "The water… it might help him heal faster. I remember your dad writing something about that."
"Yeah, exactly," he shot back. "It'll help him heal faster… which means he'll rip us apart faster when he wakes up." Vicky stood, scrubbing his hands over his face, pacing like his skin didn't fit right. "God, I didn't sign up for this," he hissed. "You didn't see the way they moved, Kash. They're predators."
I blew out a breath, shoving my hands on my hips, masking my own panic the only way I knew how, mockery.
"I never knew you to be such a coward," I drawled, cocking my head just enough to push his buttons.
Vicky spun on me, eyes wide with disbelief. "Yeah? Well, let's see you play brave when he rips you in two."
I rolled my eyes but couldn't deny the way my hands trembled as I turned away.
I headed down into the basement, my steps slow, heavy. The tank stood in the middle of the concrete floor, dark and empty, the thick glass walls smudged with dust.
I ran my hand along the cold metal framing, tracing the locking mechanisms and old valves my father must have once handled himself.
Vicky reluctantly followed, standing stiff by the door, arms crossed like this wasn't his problem anymore.
"Help me with the pipes," I ordered, climbing down the side ladder to check the intake system.
Three pipes snaked from the ceiling, one for fresh seawater, two for filtration and pressure control.
Vicky groaned but finally moved to help me open the old valves, the rusted metal groaning in protest as the system sputtered to life. Saltwater began to trickle in, slow at first, then building until the tank's floor shimmered with a rising sheet of clear water.
We worked for hours, checking seals, adjusting flow, rechecking locks on the heavy metal lid.
Neither of us said much. We didn't need to. The weight in the room spoke louder than either of us could.
By the time the tank finally filled to the brim, the creature still hadn't moved, not a twitch.
"I don't like this," Vicky muttered, standing stiff by the door again. "Seriously, Kash… I don't want to touch it."
"You had no problem dragging him in here and wrapping him in plastic," I snapped, my voice sharper than I intended.
Vicky flinched like I'd slapped him with the truth, because I had.
He shifted on his feet, crossing his arms like he was preparing to argue again, but the words never came. Instead, he just stood there, chewing on the inside of his cheek, fidgeting like he couldn't decide if he wanted to help or run.
After what felt like a lifetime of heavy silence, he finally huffed, rolling his eyes like he was the one being inconvenienced. Still, without another word, he crouched down beside me. We both bent to lift him, awkward, dead weight, slippery skin and all.
Together, we carried him to the massive tank in the basement. A wooden plank, attached to the side with rusted hinges and an old pulley system, waited like some medieval drawbridge. I'd never used it before. I wasn't even sure if it still worked.
We laid him down gently on the plank, Vicky muttering curses under his breath the entire time, then grabbed the frayed ropes on either side.
"On three," I gritted out.
We heaved the plank up, struggling with the weight and the unsteady pulley until the platform angled high, hovering over the tank's glass rim.
With one final shove, we tilted the plank forward.
And with a sickening splash, his body slid off the edge and into the water below.
He sank like a stone, limbs curling in on themselves, floating down to the bottom like something broken...like something dead.
I pressed a hand to the cold glass, swallowing hard.
I'm sorry, I wanted to whisper.
Because whatever he was…he didn't deserve this.
And then, it started.
Tiny, translucent tendrils emerged along the inside of his thighs, sliding outward like they had a life of their own. They shimmered faintly in the dim water, winding around his legs, pulling them together until his lower body fused into a seamless, powerful fin.
I sucked in a breath, stunned by how effortlessly the transformation happened, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
The membrane that stretched over his groin thickened, covering him completely, protecting whatever anatomy lay beneath. I exhaled in relief. I hadn't dared to look before, but the skin shielded it now, like nature itself had given him armor.
And then, small slits on either side of his nose fluttered open. A slow, rhythmic pulse. He was breathing.
Vicky climbed onto the platform, boots scraping against the metal frame. He reached for the heavy mesh lid, pulling it shut over the top of the tank, securing the locks with a loud, final click.
"If he wakes up," Vicky muttered darkly, peering down through the mesh, "you probably won't live to see the morning. And if you do, you'll already be dead." He glanced at me over his shoulder, a twisted grin spreading across his face. "Pray that he dies. If he does… we'll be rich."
I didn't answer.
Because I didn't want him to die.
I wasn't thinking about money. I wasn't thinking about headlines or university glory.
I was thinking about the way he'd saved me. The way he hadn't killed me when he had the chance.
"We'll find out in the morning," I whispered, my voice softer, but steady.
Vicky scoffed, swinging his legs off the platform and heading toward the basement exit.
"I don't think I'll be able to sleep tonight," he muttered under his breath.
I watched him leave, my jaw tightening. Neither will I, I thought bitterly.