Matthew Mercer is a published author and aspiring filmmaker who resides in the California Bay Area with his wife and two dogs. He is currently studying film with goals of becoming a screenwriter and director, capable of converting his horror novels into movies.
Website link:
IT CAME FROM THE SEWER
by
Matthew Mercer
“What do we do with her?” Georgie asked.
“Is she okay?” Frank followed with a question of his own.
I wasn’t sure how to respond. I had never stumbled across an unconscious person before, so I had just as many questions as them, like, is she even a person, and what was she doing down here in the sewer?
“I don’t think so,” I said, offering the only bit of information I could, considering her lack of consciousness and paleness of her skin, but even that part I was unsure of, since, for all I knew, that paleness could be normal for her kind. Heck, that pale flesh tone almost blended perfectly with the sleek dolphin tail that took the place of her looks, connecting to her torso where her hips should’ve been—that tail that held as we pulled her out of the putrid sewage water.
“She’s still breathing,” Georgie said, watching as her chest slowly heaved. He hadn’t taken his eyes from her chest since they first found her, but it was hard to blame him. We were just freshman in high school, and talking about naked women had to have been at least forty percent of what we talked about, even though none of us had actually seen one. And while she wasn’t exactly naked, this was more than any of us had seen before—with her only privacy being the starfish suctioned to her left breast, and the clamshell clamped to the other. Yet while Georgie was distracted with this, I was distracted with the rest of her; the non-human bits.
The tail was definitely real, not just some cheap glittery pants bought from a Halloween store. Plus her fingers were webbed with sharp, hard nails at the tips, and her hair grew from her head like seaweed that transitioned into platinum blonde, natural, human-like hard as it passed her neck. And, the hardest part to look at, the fishlike gills that lined her ribs and opened as she would exhale.
“She looks sick,” I said, keeping my eye on her unpleasant facial expression.
“How can you tell?” Frank asked.
“Just a hunch,” I said. “Maybe the sewage was bad for her.”
“Bad for her hygiene, maybe,” Georgie said, pinching his nose shut and bringing his attention downward to her tail for the first time. He stared for a moment before blurting out, “Do fish have vaginas?”
“Dude,” Frank said, disappointed.
I just shook my head—not to answer his question, but because I genuinely didn’t have words for him.
Frank turned his attention back to me and asked, “Do you think she needs some fresh water?”
“Probably. Shit, you don’t think she needs it to breathe, do you?” I asked. “You know, with her gills?”
“Uh—” Frank looked back at her, took a deep pause, and said, “I think she’s okay. She’s not flopping around or anything—you know, like fish do—” And just as the words escaped my mouth, she started doing just that. Flopping—no, more like convulsing. Her body trembled violently, her tail slapped hard against the cement, and her head did the same. Then, she made this disgusting gargling sound, and blackish-green muck from the sewer poured from her mouth, and splashed out of her gills. The boys stared at her in shock while I was quick to swing my backpack around to my front.
“Quick, give her water!” I yelled, unzipping and pulling a half-empty water bottle from the large pouch. Frank moved faster than Georgie, but they both followed suit, and we all splashed what little water we could onto her as fast as we could unscrew our caps. I aimed for her mouth, clearing what I could of the sewage waste from her face, believing that drinking this water would help. Frank aimed for her gills, hoping that she would breathe it in. Georgie splashed his water onto her chest, thinking that—well, I don’t really know what he was thinking.
We ran out of water and only a couple of seconds passed before her trembling stopped, when all at once she sat up-right and opened her eyes—freaky looking things, as black as a shark with no look of any soul behind them. She jerked her head toward Georgie, staring straight at him with that unreadable face.
“What the hell?” Georgie screamed, looking at Frank and I for comfort.
The mermaid responded with an ear-piercing shriek that bounced around within the sewer walls. Her teeth were thin and sharp, resembling those of a piranha. Georgie took a step-back, preparing to run but not wanting to take his eyes off hers. As he finally turned to sprint, I looked down to the floor beneath him, where I recognized her hair had grown long enough to travel the distance between her and Georgie, and wrap itself around his ankles.
He tried to take one quick-step away, but her hair tugged him and tripped him to the floor—as if it were just another limb of hers. She used it to pull him across the floor to her, where she pinned him to the floor; her arm against his bank.
“Georgie—” Frank yelled, stopping short as she opened her mouth, screeching once again, but this time with her tongue lashing out and grabbing his face, almost like a frog, only this wasn’t a tongue. It was bright yellow, and with its own set of teeth—an eel—and it didn’t just grab his face, it bit into it. She used this eel-tongue, whipping it downward to bring Frank flying face-first into the floor, where his head cracked against the cement.
I remained silent, but brought my attention back to her. Her black eyes were on me now, watching me and waiting.
I had heard many stories of mermaids growing up—beautiful women in the sea, wowing men with their angelic voices; but this was no angel. She was a demon, and we had woken her up.