She

The seaweed, a leathery strap of skin, swayed softly against the vibrations of the charcoal water and the lapping waves cloaked each other as if to hide the truth. The moon’s light did not reflect off the surface of the body of water which surrounded the Siren Code Cove. The cove protruded 20 meters above the rolling waves and arched over like a shark beached on the shore. The jagged stalactites and stalagmites rimmed the edges of the great rock like the teeth of this ferocious beast which accompanied the roaring waves. The cove encircled the moving body leaving a small, narrow slit to venture in but never to venture out. For no one ever escaped.

The tentacles of algae clawed at the heaving foam which infected the sea water, they contorted their limbs to feel their way to the surface. In fear they would scrape at the liquid barrier to flee from the edges of the cove, they were cemented around the borders like prisoners, tormented with the eternal desire to migrate. They were only allowed to move if she wished. For she owned them.

All seaweed originates from the waters surrounding Siren Code Cove, every piece washed upon your beach has travelled far from the pointed peaks of that retched place. Roaming far and wide the seaweed travels on the bidding of she, journeying the high seas to bring back what was promised. To most people the marooned plants of the depths will spark no interest, to most it goes unnoticed, to most it is harmless. To some it is the end. She sends them for you. She wants you. She always gets what she wants.

The plants creep, snatching at the sand to pull its weight out of the froth and lie there to watch and listen. Beckoning them back she brings the waves upon them and steals them away into the water to wait for their prey. They wrap their appendages sluggishly between the toes of man, gradually slithering up their ankle and curling around their calves until the grip is strong and firm. Plunge.

Under the water their prey is forced, rapidly the seaweed chokes the trachea, squeezes the lungs, and blocks the nose and mouth. Suffocation is their fate. But that is only before they reach the cove. She calls them back, she orders for their return, she wants her property back.

With a magnetic force of energy the kill will find its way home and into the murky water of no reflection, into the cold waters of secrets and through the small, narrow slit. She awaits them. Upon arrival the seaweed will cement itself around the border once more in expectancy of its next victim, unlike the body which it has entangled it remains outside.

The inside of the cove consists of rock covered in olive green and milky slime like the inside of a stomach was burst and smeared across the surface. It was how she liked it. The thundering waves and colossal tides ceased to exist as they entered the domain, the water was still, silent, and grave. It was how she commanded it to be. The stone was littered with words, engraved in scratched strikes, etched with long talons, and misted with the damp spray of tears. She wanted them to suffer.

She arose.

The rock began to twist, it began to curl, she began to move. She rose her head from out of the water, the stone skull hovered above the waves. The features were chiselled into the stone and worn with the erosion of time. A chin with angular extrusions, lips infested with limpets, a nose which has been upturned by the lurching of tides and eyes which were as sharp as pain. Great arms of boulder erupted from the water and scooped up the man with a grip of steel. She stared, she waited, she knew.

She was the water demon and she heard all. Through far and wide her weeds would go to hear all that occurred by the water edge. She knew the schemes, she knew the plots, she knew the cheating and she knew the death which befell the seashore. Those who disturbed the peaceful nature of the rippling waves would face the consequences. From the arms of boulder unwound talons like shards of metal,  5 on each hand, 6 foot long and drenched in gooey liquid.

This man had revealed some horrific truths one night while sitting by the waters edge, some things that could not be taken back from the ears of the sea. Taking the fingernail of rock she would remove his sin, she would rid him of his wrong, she would make him hurt.

Hooking, she plunged the stone into his throat, down his trachea, through his lungs and touching the small sacs of air which hung like men from the bronchioles which branched the deflated sacs. She dug. Removing the breath which spoke such horror, eliminating the infected area of tissue, eradicating the crime scene, and scratching away the cells which lined his organs. With this gunk which she removed; she carved his sin upon the rock. She was covered in the wickedness of man which polluted the oceans, the words which killed the innocent. She carved the word “infidelity” and placed his body upon the water’s surface.

 Then, the weeds came.

One took his leg, one took his arm, one took his neck, one took his fingers and others wrapped around his limp body. They pulled his corpse and stretched his limbs until his body was deformed into a thin sheet of tissue, a leathery strap of skin. They planted him outside the cove and cemented him to the sodden sand of the seabed. She had another prisoner, another slave.

She curled her head back under again and she took the great arms down and let them drop into the still water. It all returned to silence within the cove, all that was heard was the deafening waves fighting the borders.

Do you remember the old tongue twister from when you were young? She sold seashell by the seashore. No one ever got it right. No one remembers the true meaning of this rhyme. It is a warning. She sold seashells by the she-shore. She owns it, she controls it, she is it.

And she hears all.