The Siren

By Layla Insley

3am. Everyone slept gently on this warm summer night in Port Dirvale. But one particular man wasn’t resting. His petrifyingly poor reputation was renowned all throughout the town. No soul had knowledge of his name, so he was titled for his constantly tarnished state, The Dirvale Drunk. Local girls were warned not to wander near him once Mother Moon has risen, and heavens have mercy if he tries to pursue you. He stumbled along the paved road, whiskey bottle in hand, shouting at young women on their way home from the bars and brothels of the street.

As he passed a short plump girl with blonde braids and speckled cheeks, he whistled and called at her flashing her a sick smile of rotting teeth and blackened gums, waving the bottle around and spilling a bit on the road. He beckoned her over, hurtling a slurred array of insults when she did not reciprocate her non-existent interest in him. Who would ever want a man who treated girls like this?

Despite their different views, mothers, aunts, and whores alike all agreed one day karma would be on their side and he would pay. Once being called a bitch about 5 times in the same sentence, the blonde clutched her round body and muscled her way past him, hurrying off to wherever she was going with tears welling in her eyes. He returned to his solo drunken parade, murmuring unintelligible thoughts under his rank breath, gaining him some strange looks from other locals. 

When the mumbling mess of a man glanced back to the side of the path to try to get yet another reaction from the blonde, a new, tall, thin woman of no more than 25 years sat perched on a wooden bench interrupting his search and locking her gaze onto him. The man drank in the sight of her body like expensive liquor, turning his eyes up and down to look at her full chest, slim waist, long legs, and small feet. She brought her dark waist length hair over her shoulders like a stream of onyx, smiling at him seductively. She stood up, her long green robe flowing behind her, shimmering like an emerald, and beckoned him to follow her, shaking her hips in a slow, melodic movement as she walked.

No single shred of hesitation graced his balding head as he chased after her, compelled by invisible marionette strings he couldn’t (and didn’t want to) be free of.

He followed the woman past a small line of thick trees and bushes, watching her lower half ravenously, lustfully picturing her uncovered body clad in moonlight and bathed in stars. Her emerald robe teetered precariously on her shoulders, threatening to slip and reveal her bare breasts should she accidentally stumble. He didn’t even notice that one shining moss green sleeve was stretched slightly longer than the other.

They were headed to the pier. The beach wasn’t far, and if you lived in Dirvale, you knew what the local temptresses did at the beach. An elderly woman caught eye of the pair, keeping her gaze on the woman for a slight bit longer, clearly seeing something he did not, and snickered. She knew what was to be left of The Drunk soon enough.

As the pair hastily neared the edge of the beaten track, she paused and turning her body to gaze at the man. She smiled softly. Her black eyes shimmered with a deep shade of crimson. They looked similar to rubies. Or to some, fresh puddles of blood. Her gaze narrowed on the man, tilting her shoulders to meet her chin, her head slightly turned. She slowly blinked once, opened her mouth, and began singing her song with a voice sweeter than honey and more toxic than cyanide.

Her song seemed to deafen the drunk to everything around him, chaining him even tighter to his lust for the woman. She swam through the chords with a perplexingly even tone. She stepped forward, lilting slightly and brushed her sharp nails softly down his chest. She lifted his stubbled chin with the soft palm of her hand. She pulled his face forward, drawing him further to the beach. His hands drooped forward, his back arched, absolutely ravenous for the girl. She pulled him further into the brush, the sound of crashing waves nearing the duo. Her melody reached humanly impossible notes, yet she never screeched or wailed. 

She grasped his arm firmly, dragging him to the sand, beckoning him ever closer with her dulcet melody as she crossed the sand like a fish in water as The Drunk stumbled and tripped across the uneven shore. The woman stopped inches of the waves and held his waist. The tide seemed to beckon at her feet, lapping and jumping as the frigid foam called to her. The Drunk grinned his hideous grin again, ready to get what he “rightfully deserved”, picturing her body belonging to him and him alone. After being cast from so many cathouses, he was glad to finally have someone. Fate had brought them together at last. She met his gaze once more, sharpening her eyes on his boney figure, running her hands through his grey-black, thinning, greasy hair and dropped her robe.

Yes. At last.

He reached to grab at her breast, but she held his hand with a firm grip. Her dagger sharp nails dug into his wrist, and her soft smile shifted into a smile tainted with malice, revealing wicked fangs and a forked black tongue. Her eyes were now burning a deep bloody carnelian glow. Her thighs, breasts, hips, and stomach shimmered with speckles of blue and salmon pink pearlescent scales. The man had fallen for her song.

Siren.

By the time he had come to his senses, he was far too late. He was done for from the moment he looked into her eyes up as she sat on the bench. He bashed frantically at the arm holding his wrist, screaming at the siren to free him. But she pushed him backward, The Drunk falling hard on his back as she flipped him and mounted him as he kicked and screamed like a wild boar. She grabbed the emerald robe from beside her, wrapping the sleeve around his throat and yanking at it tight. His neck jerked sharply upward, pulling a muscle and cutting his wails off terror short. Her sharp eyes widened with glee at his panicked state.

The Man began seeing speckles of black stars dancing across his vision before he began choking. Hideous noises gurgled from the man, gasps and gags escaping his throat as he clawed uselessly at the sand around him. The Siren continued her death song, the notes more beautiful than ever. She pushed his neck forward and pulled the dress sleeve tighter backwards. His face turned bright red then smoky blue. The Siren watched him intently as he slowly stopped flailing, and released him just before he dropped out of consciousness. His head thudded hard against the cold sand, and he groaned for air, wheezing and coughing. He flipped himself over and The Siren leaped off, her feet brushing the waves behind her ever so gently.

Her song reached an all-time high, now growing painful to hear as The Drunk covered his ears in pain. The Siren’s song broke off and the man slapped her hard across the face, leaving her staring at the man, enraged with his actions.

She screamed now, wailing and crying out in fury and dragged her nails across the mans lower calves. He cried out again and the woman began dragging him into the water. She overpowered him completely in her element. The beach dropped suddenly into deep, open water and she began dragging him under. She released him from her grip to dive deep underwater. She disappeared into the inky depths for only a moment before flying up sporting new fins, grey-blue skin, and a long, streamlined, shimmering tail. All her teeth were pointed like needles and her eyes were now completely onyx black. She grabbed The Drunk’s ankle and began to dive down.

3 more Sirens rose up from the dark, screaming and shrieking with wrathful delight as The Drunk gurgled and bubbled out a pathetic scream. He tried fighting back, swinging with whatever he had left, but a siren with blonde hair and a pale blue tail latched onto his left forearm and bit down hard, tearing off flesh and revealing bone and tissue. The smell of blood intoxicated the others, and they began ripping the man to shreds, his screams echoing further into the water long after he had been dismembered. Only a single gold tooth was left of him, and the black-haired huntress kept it as a trophy.

The 4 Sirens glanced at each other, grinned, and two of the girls rose swam up and out of the water, and began to walk back to the town. A short, pale, strawberry blonde and a tall brunette.

They had agreed that violation by the local men made them no better than prey for hunting. So they had taken it upon themselves to exterminate every last pest until the women could walk freely. So every night, when the moon is raised, the girl are on the prowl. And if you listen carefully, you can hear their song. So remember to respect others, lest the Sirens get wind of your misbehavior.