He felt his fingers itching for Gunnar’s stick, he would have to dispatch of the pup, it knew his methods. It’s mother must have taught it to target the boat. He was about to go looking for the stick, but the pup jolted in the net. Never taking its eyes off him, the creature moved about for a couple of seconds as if maneuvering to achieve some odd end. It looked like it was forcing its small flipper to move up towards its head. Nicholas could not force himself to look away; it was pitiful to watch it struggle, completely unlike the stoic behavior of its deceased parent. Suddenly, the head of the seal peeled away, as if it were a wet item of clothing. Nicholas’s heart froze, his breath caught in his throat. The seal in the net was no more. What sat in its place amongst a pile of wet fur was a silver skinned little girl of perhaps 12 years. No older than Maisey. It had the same mismatched eyes of the seal pup. The child leaned against the front of the net, long nailed fingers tangling in the ropes, as if imploring the fisherman for mercy. Lower lip trebling, eyes welling up with tears; the girl opened her mouth and relinquished a single word “Ma!”
He had heard that sound before, it was the familiar cry that seal pups made. It had meaning, but not the sort of meaning humans would put to word. Either way, the cry was one of distress. The child shifted again, causing the net to swing “Ma!”
It turned out and away from the boat, looking out into the black waters “Maa?!”
Nicholas tried to move closer but the child thrashed about in the net, shrieking hysterically. He made attempts to lay a comforting hand on her but she lashed out and sunk her teeth into his hand. Lurching back, Nicholas cradled his hand, sick at sight of the hunk of flesh missing from the slight webbing between his thumb and pointer finger. Cursing, he tore a bit of his shirt off and attempted the wrap the wound.
There was a whimper and Nicholas glanced at the net. The girl pressed further back into the ropes, as if trying to disappear. She achieved her mission, the moon suddenly disappeared behind the clouds, and an inky blackness washed over the boat. Even then, he could not stop himself from looking between the child and the pelt that her feet were nestled in. Looking away, he began muttering to himself “no, no, this is impossible, you can’t be real.”
He was going to turn around now and she would be gone, he was imagining this whole thing. Nicholas spun round only to find that the silver skinned girl thrashing about in the net “Oh God, oh God what have I done!?”
The boat began to shift slightly, as if it were taking on weight. A slight murmur rose up from the shadows, Nicholas walked about the deck, afraid to toe the darkness. It was then that he realized, the girl had gone quiet. Turning, he saw that her mismatched eyes were fixated on whatever had just boarded his boat. A gust of warm mist rose up as the shadows seemed to exhale. The moon came out from behind the clouds and threw the entire deck into light. Dozens of people stood with him, their skin the same silver as the girl’s, and draped about their shoulders, were pelts. Among them, was the man with the herring blue eyes “Oh God.”
Nicholas fell to his knees, it was not possible. These apparitions were merely the result of stress, nothing more. Tears oozed from his eyes and dribbled down his gnarled nose, going to mingle with the blood from his injured hand. A pair of small black clawed feet stepped into his line of vision. Slowly, Nicholas looked up and was met with a pair of mismatched eyes. The girl starred down at him, no longer afraid, only impassive. Without a word or even a sound, she turned and walked away. A loud splash signifying her leave.
Shaking, Nicholas looked up at the man with the herring blue eyes. “You are afraid?”
The fisherman shivered, he was indeed terrified, so much so that he could not force the words from his mouth. The man sighed “It is not in a selkie’s nature to kill, and we do not go against the designs of our make.”
Nicholas looked down at his shaking hands, the selkie continued to speak “Still, in all the years you fished these waters, not once did you consider that your hauls were the result of more than mere skill.’
The man knelt down and stared at Nicholas. His eyes darkened like tempest spun waters as they took in the mess of swollen red, that turned the fisherman’s face blotchy and wretched “No more Nicholas Firth, you have lost our favor.”
With a nod to the mass of selkies, the man drew the pelt about his body. When all the others dove into the waters, he looked back from his place at the bow of the boat “She admired your skills and confidence. Blessed you with all you needed and more, you only need share your bounty. Now your selfishness has cursed you. From here till death, what you catch of the sea, will rot.”
The End
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