Hieb, Ralph

Ralph Hieb enjoys reading and writing paranormal fiction. He resides in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, with his wife Nancy. The couple enjoys travel, and makes a point each year to take a trip to someplace they have never seen before. In addition to being a member of the Bethlehem Writers Group, he is a member of the Greater Lehigh Valley Writers Group, where h, e has served as president and a member representative on the board of directors. 

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Part 3: Hudson, a Merman

Part of "A Fish Out of Water" (Spring 2023)

Feeling a bit forlorn, I looked around the cave I’d called home for most of my life. The scene never changed: hard-packed sand and dirt, walls and floor lined with shells. I’d tried to brighten it up with colorful pieces of glass and strange objects discovered along the ocean floor, and once I’d even brought in a picture from an old wreck, but the fabric had deteriorated into shreds. My bed was made from fresh seaweed I collected daily. A cozy enough home, but . . . lonely.

Sighing, I swam slowly to the opening which served as a doorway. Before me stretched a view of the colony. The only thing that ever changed about it was the current.  Some of my neighbors’ dwellings poked above the sand, but most were submerged below. Sometimes a ray of sunlight penetrated, making decorations sparkle. Occasionally, an elderly inhabitant drifted out; probably looking for something easy to catch and eat. One of them paused to wave at me.

“Hi, Hudson. How’s it going?”

“Hi, Seymour, doing fine,” I answered, returning the gesture listlessly.

A sudden sparkle nearby startled me. Turning quickly, I noticed the bright, shiny, shells woven into long dark locks. It was Trei, my neighbor. “Poor Seymour,” she said, flicking strands of hair from her face. “He keeps searching for the Great Abyss, believing he’ll find Lucinda. Seems he still can’t believe that she is gone.”

“Yes,” I responded. “I can understand his loneliness.”

“I hear that you have been traveling pretty far from the colony,” Trei settled on a nearby rock, absently playing with her hair.

“Just out looking to see if there might be any other colonies still around,” I answered, watching Seymour swim hopelessly back and forth.

“You know if there were any, we would know about them. So, why are you really, going into the areas sharks like to inhabit?” Trei asked. “Looks like you’re hoping to find something other than information about more colonies.”

“I don’t worry about the sharks. I know areas that they no longer frequent along the shore.”

“Don’t tell me you are thinking of going on land,” Trei’s voice held worry, but also excitement. Going onto land was…not exactly forbidden by the treaty, but the colony elders frowned on it.  

Replying in a whisper. “I’ve been there a number of times. I stay in the port towns and listen to the sailors talk. I even heard some of them saying they saw mermaids.”

“Really, where?” Trei likewise lowered her voice.

“They never say; only that they see them around the Milk Seas.”

“Milk Seas, where’s that?” she asked.

“Don’t know. But they say the water is white and glows at night.”

“Sounds like powerful magic to me.” Trei sighed, looking out at the nearly flat bottom, “Well, I better find something to eat. As she swam away, she hollered back, “Stay away from shore.”

That’s not going to happen. I thought.

“I overheard you and Trei talking.”

Startled again, I spun. Was everyone in the colony eavesdropping on my business? This time it was Rowan hovering a few feet behind me, smiling wryly, her gray hair floating in the current. She was one of the village elders, but one of the understanding sort; not the kind who frowned and spoke of rules.

“I’ve known you your entire life,” she said. “You’re young. It’s only natural you should long for someone your age instead of one of the old inhabitants here.”

“I never said I was looking for a mate,” I replied defensively.

“Oh, no?” She arched a brow.

Rowan was too sharp. Giving up on pretense, I spread my hands. “I’ve searched everywhere. Finding another mer-person seems to be impossible.”

“You’re stubborn. You won’t stop looking for someone.” Rowan tapped her lip. “Maybe a decapus can help you.”

“How?” I asked sullenly. “Except for us, all of the Atlanteans died out ages ago. And maybe the air-breathers,” I added, remembering the merfolk who’d been exiled onto land after the war. “Could they even be able to breathe underwater like us anymore?”

“Are you forgetting the necklaces?  Have you heard of them? They can give other types of people the ability to breathe underwater.”

My gills pulsed, sucking in a gasp of water. It was forbidden to possess such powerful items. “But the sharks took them all when the truce was declared.”

 Rowan winked. “I have one. Come to my home later, and I will give it to you.”

I didn’t question her motive. Maybe she just pitied me. At any rate, I went to her home that night and she gave me the necklace. As my fingers closed over it, feelings of powerful magic raced up my arm.

Now, I needed to put together my plan for finding a mate.

***

Later, I went to the old shipwreck. It is a quiet place I can go and think without being disturbed. Even sharks no longer visit there. I’d watched the wreck slowly decay. Years ago, it slipped to the bottom of the sea, settling mostly on its hull, allowing me easy access to its interior. I don’t know how many land dwellers died that night, but I heard the fish fed well for several days afterward. Now it was dilapidated, with broken masts lying at angles across the deck. Seaweed had tangled where once rigging had held the long powerful timbers of yardarms. It didn’t take long before only sea creatures swam along hallways that happy travelers had once strolled upon.

Arriving at the wreck, I entered through an open hatch, following a path I knew well, swimming through a dark corridor, past fragmented doorways. Crabs and other denizens of my world scuttled around me. They made me think of the open-air world, where spiders and other insects made their home and hunting grounds.

Below what may have been the captain’s quarters was a small room that had once been blocked by an extra heavy door. This now it lay on its side, rotted from its frame. Inside was a chest, equally rotted. The gold coins it contained had mostly fallen to the seafloor, except those I’d already taken with me on my visits to the dry world. Landfolk valued them, and I’d exchanged them at—pawn shops; that was the name—for money to purchase whatever I needed.

Settling next to the chest’s remains, I reached into the silt and picked up a coin. I’d searched the sea for a mate. Searching the land seemed much more daunting. Where to begin?

And then, just as if Rowan had foreseen it, Bruno the prophetic decapus swam up to me.

***

I took great care to ensure that none of the land dwellers saw me emerge from the ocean.

Walking along streets that smelled of long dead fish, I stopped at different places of business and listened. Most of the time, they were full of people who only came to visit this section of land before returning to wherever they came from. Sometimes the place would be full of smoke—I believe the patrons thought it was good to take into their lungs. It made me cough, but I persisted, trying to find a clam den.

After several visits to the land, I finally came to a section that did not smell of death or smoke. It was filled with people who laid on the sand and let the sun bake their bodies. Sometimes they would jump into the water, but only for a short distance. Most of the ones I saw in the water were children. Further out, some of the larger land dwellers stood on wide boards and rode the crest of waves back to shore, only to jump on the boards and paddle out into the water to do it again. Often, they fell off the boards on their first try, making me laugh, but also wondering why they did it.

One day, my walking took me by a place that smelled of oil and burnt fish. A sign hung in front, proclaiming that it was called the Clam Shack. Clam Shack—could this be the “clam den” Bruno had mentioned? My heart beat fast as I went inside. As I sat at a table, it became apparent that these land dwellers thought food was a decoration. A large swordfish was attached to the wall above me. I reached up to touch it. Something coated its body, stopping it from decaying. Other types of food, along with the dreaded nets, hung from the walls. Such a waste, I thought, but my attention was soon captured by the arrival of young, healthy females calling themselves waitresses.

The first one who approached was attractive but clearly not interested in going to the water.  Her nose wrinkled when she came close. She called me a slob, whatever that is. The second told me I needed to dry off before coming to a restaurant.

Perhaps this wasn’t the right place. Perhaps I was misinterpreting Bruno’s prophecy. I decided to give the Clam Shack one more try. Then, if I couldn’t find a suitable female there, I would look further along the row of shops selling clams and other types of seafood.

Without much optimism, I entered the Clam Shack a third and final time.

I got lucky. The third female I encountered there had long, dark hair, just as Bruno said she would have. She was easy to talk to, and seemed eager to see more of me. Her nose didn’t wrinkle at all.

Gloria. What a marvelous name.

I left her a note asking to meet me at a particular spot in the village the following day.

***

I waited at the far corner of Oyster and Main. When a car pulled over to the curb, I watched as Gloria got out and said something to the driver. In a flash, I was at her side and reassured the driver, a man I thought might be her relative that she would be okay.   

As he drove away, Gloria became suddenly hesitant. Scared, even. She started walking towards some strange device hanging from a pole, but I guided her away from it, not wanting the distraction. With a wisp of magic, I transported us to the beach. She never seemed to notice the sudden change in location. A plane flew overhead, advertising a tanning lotion. I wondered why land people would want to turn their skin another color; especially from the sun. It would dry out and cause great pain without the moisture needed to make it flexible. Another plane flew in the opposite direction advertising a sand sculpture contest. Gloria smiled at the sight of the banner trailing from the plane. Grabbing my arm, she said, “Let’s go.”

I was impatient for the water. Besides, castles made of sand sounded dumb. I complained as Gloria tugged me to a cordoned-off area and a girl she seemed to know ran up and asked us to be judges. Gloria squeezed my arm possessively as she spoke to the girl, pressing close, and I decided the water could wait.

We began strolling along the shore. Gloria handed me a length of fish wrapped in strange, crispy matter, which I nibbled on as we surveyed the sand constructions. To my surprise, I found myself enjoying the ridiculous activity, particularly the sculpture of the one-eyed man with seaweed hair; to my knowledge, the ocean had never contained such an absurdity!

We were licking cones of melting white sweetness that I found quite enjoyable when we came around the corner of a castle, complete with drawbridge and towers, to see—Bruno. I wondered if the sand artist had discovered the decapus. He’d sculpted an uncanny likeness, including ten arms.

Seeing Bruno’s sand-double made me remember why I’d come to land. I started to think about the treaty. I needed to persuade Gloria to go into the ocean. I wanted to get underway before something prevented us from entering the water. She seemed startled at my change in mood, but quickly pointed to the castle, declaring it the winner. A cheer went up behind us as she followed me to a secluded spot at the water’s edge.

We waded into the surf. I pulled the necklace from my pocket. “Here, let me put this on you.”

Gloria smiled as I slipped it over her head. 

Sweet Tooth

Ralph Hieb

(February, 2013)

The detectives walked to the body. It was in an alley off of a side street.

“I'm gonna say he’s been exsanguinated.” Detective Sergeant Jessica Gritt said, kneeling next to the body.

Gritt stood, turned and walked to her car. Reaching in, she leaned through the window and grabbed a camera.

Detective Thom Harris nudged his partner Detective Rodney Tompkins, “What are you staring at?”

Tompkins nodded towards Gritt bending through the car window, “Just admiring the scenery. Ever notice that killer body of hers?”

“Can’t miss it,” Harris replied. “Most of the starlets in Hollywood would kill for a figure like that.”

“Wonder how she keeps it that way.”

“Never saw her eat junk food. And she must exercise like crazy, strong as she is.”

“Yeah. It’s hard to find places to eat at three in the morning that aren’t junk food. We know there isn’t much open during the graveyard shift.”

They shut their conversation when Gritt returned.

 “This is the fifth victim in as many weeks,” Gritt said, as she started to take pictures. I need to find this guy before he it ruins it for me.

“All the victims have their necks ripped open and are found somewhere around a candy shop or some form of dessert shop.” Tompkins said. "I do like the smell of fresh donuts."

"Yeah, and they all seem to be overweight," Harris added, ignoring the mention of donuts.

“Just helping us fight the war on obesity?”

Gritt finished taking pictures and walked back to her car just as the coroner’s van pulled up.

“Why do the bodies have to be found in the middle of the night?” Doc Fletcher complained. Turning to Gritt he said, “I’ll let you know when I’m done with him.”

Doc Fletcher and his assistant loaded the victim into their van. People stood outside the police lines watching the departing vehicle, each giving their version of the crime.

"Think we better start with the crowd and see if any of them might have witnessed something," Harris said.

The two detectives started asking questions to people in the crowd. One of the uniformed officers helping found one person who said something strange. "Can you repeat what you told me," the officer said to the witness. Harris and Tompkins stood by with notebooks out and pens ready.

"It was kinda weird. The guy poured something on the other guy's  neck just before he bit him. I saw that and made a beeline outta there. Then called you guys," the witness said.

"Can you describe the assailant?" Tompkins asked.

"Yeah. Tall, long hair and a cape, like the kind Dracula wears."

"Anything else, maybe something distinguishing other than the cape."

"He could run real fast."

"Nothing else? Maybe something about the cape.”

"Nope," the witness said. shaking his head.

"Thanks," Harris said. He reached into his pocket and produced a card. "We'll give you a call if we have any more questions. Here's my card in case you think of something else."

"Is there a reward for information? Do you need to give me a code number or something like that," the witness asked.

"Just leave your name and contact information with one of the uniformed officers." Harris said and walked away.

* * *

"Did you find out anything?" Gritt asked, looking up from her desk back at the precinct squad room.

"The only witness we have says the perp has a cape like Dracula and pours something on the neck before biting," Harris answered.

“Don’t forget he can run really fast,” Tompkins added.

"Well, according to the ME, traces of honey where found around the torn area of the neck," Gritt said.

"Honey?" Thompson said. "What's the guy trying to do, flavor the blood."

"I thought Dracula could only drink blood and nothing else," Harris said with a choked laugh.

"My guess is that we have a guy who thinks he's a vampire but doesn't like the taste of blood," Gritt said. "Therefore the honey.”

“That could also explain the maple syrup we found on the dead girl by Upton Bakery.” Harris said, looking at one of the other reports.

“It’s starting to look like a regular sweet fest,” Tompkins said. “Maple syrup, honey, chocolate syrup, confectionary sugar, raw sugar, what’s next? Sugar cane?”

“We better find out who’s doing this or the next victims will be our jobs,” Gritt said. Leaning forward in her chair, she answered her ringing phone.

Putting the phone back in its cradle, she stood and said, “Our boy has done it again.”

“Two in one night,” Harris said, “we need to find this creep fast.”

* * *

“This one doesn’t have any stuff smeared around the wound,” Harris noted, bending close to the neck, even daring to sniff.

“If it wasn’t for the torn throat, I’d say we have a different killer,” Gritt said. She stopped talking to answer her phone. “Yeah, send me the picture.”

Looking at the photo on her cell phone, she handed it to Harris, “Look at this report.”

“What am we looking at?” Harris asked, passing handing the phone along to Tompkins.

“That’s a visual report of the depth of the bite marks.” Gritt explained. “Seems our perp has fangs.”

“So we really are after a Dracula wannabe.” Tompkins said incredulously.

“Looks that way.”

“Maybe we better talk to that witness again. He might have seen more than he realizes.”

“Good idea,” Tompkins said. “I’ll go with you.”

Tompkins and Harris headed for the witnesses’ address while Gritt headed back to the station, all of them determined to find an answer to their serial killer. Gritt ignored the flock of reporters shouting questions as her car left the scene.

* * *

“Here,” Tompkins handed Gritt a cup of coffee.

“Thanks,” Gritt said, putting the cup on her desk. “Anything new from our witness?”

“He thinks the cape may have been dark blue on the inside.” Harris answered.

“Check with theatrical supply houses to see if they rent out capes or if anyone purchased one with blue lining.” She was looking at Harris.

“Need me to go with him?” Tompkins asked.

“No. I need you to check whether any theaters are doing a play where they are using costumes involving capes. Might as well eliminate the obvious.”

After the two detectives left on their respective tasks, Gritt sat at her desk drumming her fingers on the wood. She picked up the now cold cup of coffee it up, walked to the break room, and dumped it in the sink.

Walking back to her desk she kept asking herself the same question, why not a completely black cape? Reaching her desk she realized the coffee cup was still in her hand. She threw it in the wastebasket and sat down to start typing on her computer.

Bringing up a site that caters to steam punk attire she found a cape matching the description. I’ll be damned. The guys into steam punk.

Just then her phone rang.

“Gritt here,” she answered. “On my way.”

* * *

“The victim is a twenty five year old male. Looks as if he put up some kind of a struggle but was overmatched.” The person speaking was a uniformed patrol officer. “I didn’t know what to do. Witnesses said the person who did this grabbed the girl and took off down that alley. I called for backup.”

“When the backup gets here, alert them that I went after him,” Gritt said.

Drawing her gun, she went down the alley.

Cautiously, she walked toward a broken section of fence. Squeezing through, she continued past an overfull dumpster, holding her breath against the stench. Coming to a partially open metal door with the padlock torn from the hasp, she entered. At the far end of the hall another door hung limply from rusted hinges.

She peeked around the corner to look out into the alley. To her right the alley opened onto a busy street. Looking left, she saw the same thing. She realized that she had lost the kidnapper and his victim.

“Which way did he head?” a uniform officer asked, coming up behind Gritt. More joined them.

“We need to split up. You take some men and go that way,” Gritt said,pointing toward the far section. “The rest of you follow me.”

* * *

“I heard you came close to catching the perp,” Harris said. They were back at the precinct squad room.

“We’re back to square one,” Tompkins said. “I couldn’t find anything about a cape with blue liner.”

“I found plenty,” Harris said. “It seems that there are about one hundred that have been sold or rented in the last month. All of the rentals have been returned.”

“Any with blood stains?” Gritt said.

“They get dry-cleaned when returned. Any trace would be destroyed.”

“I’m going home to sleep on this,” Gritt said. “See you guys tonight.”

* * *

Walking back to her apartment, Gritt’s eye caught something on the sidewalk.

Bending over she examined the item closely. Droplets of blood. Not wanting to call in a false alarm, Gritt looked around until she saw another drop. Walking to it, she searched some more and spied another drop. One drop led to another.

She followed the trail around to the rear of her building. It stopped in front of the locked door to the basement.

I need to get past this door, Gritt thought. I need to get in before the girl is killed.

Gritt ran as fast as she could and pounded on the superintendent’s door.

Holding out her badge when he answered, “I need the keys to the basement, fast. Official police business. Hurry,” she added in desperation.

“Here they are Jessie,” the super said, handing over the keys.

Damn. I forgot to tell him to call 911 for backup, Gritt thought as she raced around the building. Reaching for her phone she found that she had not recharged the batteries. I’m on my own. No time to be cautious, that girl’s life depends on it.

Opening the door she found herself in a small room, a small puddle of blood inside the door. Blood led off into the darkness.

Gritt followed the droplets further into the basement. They led to a staircase. With gun drawn, she carefully went down the steps into darkness. Every cell of her brain screamed for backup, but the victim was alive, or at least had been when the perp grabbed her. Slowly descending the steps she arrived at a rough concrete floor. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness quickly. She advanced across the open area to a door on the far side. A light came from under the door. Placing her hand on the knob she prepared to throw open the door.

“Jessica, please just open the door and enter,” it was a voice she knew well.

“Jonathan,” Gritt asked, surprise in her voice. “What are you doing?”

“I know how much you enjoyed sweets, and I’ve scoured the city until I found just the right one.” He held the unconscious woman out toward Gritt.

She advanced gently taking the woman into her arms.

“Well?” Jonathan asked.

Gritt lifted her face from the neck of the victim, and smiled showing her blood covered fangs.

“I thought you would appreciate the taste, my love,” Jonathan said. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”