The Siren

The house wouldn’t stop moaning. It creaked and groaned in pain, waiting for someone to put it out of its misery. I remembered how charming the building had seemed at first, this prison that we had thought would be our palace. Constant rapping on the panes and roof battered my ears with discordant, arhythmic drumming. I knew that there was a time in the past with sunlight, but I couldn’t remember when last that was.

Water dripped from a dark, peeling wound on the ceiling. A droplet would fall onto the pillow, and a follower would make its mark on my forehead. Steadily, my face became masked in a dirty puddle. The filth pooled in my nose. I couldn’t breathe for a moment, but cognizantly made no struggle. After some moments, my instinct instilled panic. My mouth opened without consent and a foul torrent flooded my palate. Choking and sputtering, I rolled onto my side and wiped my face. I reflected on whether that feeling was anything similar to drowning.

I marshalled my strength and pulled myself to my feet. The damp floor scratched at my soles and chilled my toes. With some effort, I mustered the energy to adjust the bed. It was heavy to move alone. The iron legs scraped along the floor, making fresh scratches and revealing warping, ruined wood underneath. At least the mattress wouldn’t be assailed by the leak anymore. I was tired from my chore and eyed the musty sheets with longing, but I knew that I couldn’t allow myself to return to torpor. I pulled on the rain boots and jacket stowed behind the bedroom door. My feet were calloused enough that I wasn’t bothered by my lack of socks. They would’ve been damp anyways. I pulled in the folds of the jacket and tucked my hands as best as I could.

The hallway was still bare of decorations, which mercifully meant there were no portraits. I couldn’t bare to catch sight of her face. Constant percussion from droplets cascading into various improvised containers echoed the maddening beat against the outside of the house. Coming to the living area, kitchen adjoining, the chill told me that the fire in the wood stove was nearly dead. Tinder and scrap paper were still stacked close by, sitting a good height above the floor. The embers in the stove were hot enough that with some fuel and a little coaxing the flame renewed.

Returning to the hall, I went room-to-room, inspecting the assorted water-catching vessels. Those that needed to be emptied were collected with many grunts and mutters. The living area now littered with vats that were full to the brim, I made my way to the entrance. Unbolting the door and applying modest pressure, the violent breath of mother nature did the rest, slamming the wood into the outside wall. I pitched the water from each pot, bucket and vase out the doorway, enduring the icy shower on my face. With my task done, I pulled the handle with force and quickly reapplied the bolt, sealing the doorway again.

The containers were quickly restationed at their posts, and I entered the kitchen area to seek the old tin kettle. It was sitting on a chair by the sink. Turning the handle of the faucet, I waited for the discoloured water to clear. I contemplated my hunger as I refilled the kettle. The cupboards had been scoured of any quality provisions over the course of my isolation. All that remained were canned and dehydrated foods, and a large tin of coffee grounds. Recalling the unpleasantness of my last meal, it was decided that any hunger pangs would have to be endured.

Soon the kettle was perched on the stove. I knew it would be a long time before the nascent fire would heat the kettle. I eyed a bucket sat on a wooden chair. I thought it was quite arrogant for a tool to withhold a seat from its owner, so it was put on the floor, and the chair was pulled closer to the warmth. Sitting down, my legs ached as though they had walked miles, not paces. My eyes drifted to the window. A curtain of water obscured the roiling ocean and chalk white sand, but I could make them out clear enough. The great weight of loss bore into my bowels. There were no more tears I could spend to relieve my pain. My thoughts dwelled again on how I had lost her.

There was no omen for my tragedy. That day was a rare occasion where the sun smiled its warmth down on our gloomy beach. I could still see her soft, pale features, her tangled hair, her soft brown eyes. Gentle waves rippled in from the water. She had decided to go skinny dipping. I remembered every beautiful length of her, skipping over the sand into the ocean. She shot me a coy smile, an invitation to join her. Thinking back on it, I couldn’t remember what was so important that I hadn’t chased her like the love hungry idiot that I was. I had gone inside, propping building supplies against the wall. Maybe I had thought to finish some unimportant task. Leaving the house, I saw her form dip through the water. I smiled, and looked away. I couldn’t remember what had demanded my attention so gravely that I didn’t just stare endlessly at her. Once I had looked back out again, I had lost sight of her. The waters were just as placid and the sun was just as warm.

I waited a few moments for her to resurface. Then a some more. Why had I foolishly squandered so many seconds? I lumbered towards the shore line. A pointless shout emanated from my throat. There is an unholy amount of time that a fool will waste failing to do anything. I finally sprinted across the sand and desperately dove into the waves. My clothes and shoes weighed on me but I shot through the water with furious kicks and strokes. I was unsure of how far I had to swim, and dove under the surface, again and again. Each time I saw nothing but darkness below the surface. I screamed in terrible panic, calling for her as mouthfuls of seawater choked me. My futile wails bellowed out. My ears rang. My heart thundered in my chest. She was gone.

A screeching whistle brought me back to the dilapidated house. I removed the kettle from the stove and made my way back to the kitchen. The coffee tin was still on the counter, beside a mug in need of cleaning. I added a few spoonfuls of grounds to my cup and poured the boiled water in. The toasted, floral smell wafted into my nose. Blowing gently, I took a sip and grimaced at the bitterness.

A deafening bang shot through the house. Scalding coffee spilt on my hand, but I resisted the reflexive urge to drop it. Placing the mug on the counter, I purposefully made my way to the living area. It seemed as though the bolt had unfastened itself and the door had flown open. My burnt hand ached with a fresh pain as the freezing downpour washed over it. Pulling the door fast to the frame, I shoved the bolt into its place with resolve, sure that it wouldn’t come loose again. The floor was covered in water again. Much more than I had expected, but a lot of things escaped my notice since the incident. Then a new crash was heard, from the bedroom. I looked down the hall. Pools of water ran the length of the floor. I thought, for a moment, that they almost looked like foot tracks.

I padded as quietly as I could down the hallway, but the creaking floor boards betrayed me every time that my weight shifted. I paused once I had finally made my crossing. The door to the bedroom tottered gently. With bated breath, my wounded hand pushed it open. A windowpane was broken, and the floor was drenched. Carefully stepping as I entered the room, I eyed no broken glass. Looking out the fractured breach, I saw many jagged shards encircling a cast iron pot.

Suddenly, there was the pounding of heavy foot falls sprinting down the hall, splashing across the damp, groaning floorboards. I whirled around in alarm. A loud crack was heard from across the house. Once my shock had subsided, after many long moments, I apprehensively crept towards the bedroom door.

Staring down the hall, I could see that the front door had been thrown wide open. The icy droplets cascading from the sky couldn’t veil the writhing black waters of the ocean. My stare into the hungering sea persisted. With determination, my boots scuffed and dragged down the corridor, until I stood just before the threshold to the outside. The last measures of any courage that I had were spent. My feet had planted themselves firmly on the flimsy floor. I drew my coat in tightly, and stared again into the furious water. The musicless drumming battered the house, and its timbers groaned in agony. And then, I heard a new sound.

A soft, nigh deft voice could be heard on the air. It was perhaps the sweetest, saddest sound that I had ever heard, like the most beautiful lament ever composed. Spellbound, I stepped through the doorway and craned my ear, attempting to catch the tune more clearly. Cold wet spatter soaked my face, and the melody grew more distinct with each step. My attention was undivided in pursuit of the voice. It filled me with a deep, rapacious longing.

A cold shock washed over my feet. My mesmerized state snapped sharply back to reality. Confusion set in, and I took stock of my surroundings. I was standing in the ocean now, nearly knee deep. Water was flooding into my boots. Fear crept up my spine and dug its needling fangs in my neck. I had to get back inside. Then, the voice rang out again. Clearer, even more beautiful than before. My gaze was pulled to a spot in the distance. The silhouette of a pale figure floated unperturbed by the violent waves. The familiar outlines of its figure, and the dark brown hair made my eyes grow wide.

Sense had wholly abandoned me, and I swam with desperation. She needed me. I could get to her. It seemed at first that I was making no progress, and my legs kicked more furiously. Even as water crashed over me and pounded down from the sky I was determined not to lose sight of her. Not again. I called out to her and finally closed the distance. I could finally get a good look at her. It was definitely her. It was the same dark hair, the same soft features, the same coy smile. She was treading water as though there was no danger at all.

Tearfully, I reached out and embraced her, holding her cold body against mine as I sobbed, binding her to me with my arms. I kissed her soft lips, again and again. I stared into her beautiful face again. I had reached her. It was all there, her button nose, her round cheeks. Her green eyes stared into mine with a look of desire.

Wait. No. That was wrong. Her eyes weren’t supposed to be green.

Cold, pale arms embraced me, and I was pulled into the abyss.