Boots doused in seawater, James trudged into our seaside cottage. I didn’t turn to greet him. The marram grass swayed on the dunes outside the window. The wind drifting through the blades reminded me of gliding through kelp forests, lithe saithe shoaling by my side like shooting stars. Orange and cobalt wrasses hunted for snails, and red-brown crabs skittered. The kelp blades billowed in the sunlight like a mermaid’s tresses.
I plated his supper. The odor of charred fish roiled the bile in my stomach. James sunk into the old oak chair at the table, and I set his dinner before him.
James took a hearty bite of his fish. His sun-stained skin stretched and folded as he chewed. “You’re becoming a good cook,” he said, smirking. “I know you’d rather be sunbathing by Scottish waters, but what’s a few years keeping an old man company? When I die you can go back to the sea for another thousand years.”
I took a tankard off a hook on the wall and poured him an ale. The fermented, yeasty odor waded up to my nose. I tried to swallow, but my throat was parched, split, and bleeding. Damn this dry air, and damn James for smoking so much tobacco. James guzzled his ale like a thirsty bull, letting it dribble down the sides of his mouth into his graying beard. He swathed his arm around me, pulling me into him. I looked down at the trail of seawater on the floor. The third night after James had stolen my seal skin, I knelt on the stripped floorboards, and lapped it up like a dog.
I stepped away.
“I’m going to scrub the floors. You left a trail of water.”
James smiled wide. “Doesn’t it remind you of home? Leave it. Come with me to bed.” He belched, and the stagnant air of the cottage grew sour and acidic.
“Did you not want a wife to tidy the house and cook your meals?”
He scoffed. “Among other things.” He sulked into our bedroom and shut the door behind him.
Daft fucking fisherman. I grabbed the hidden harpoon from under the floorboards. It was clad with barnacles and rust and the wooden shaft had been sanded smooth by the sea. With one sharp breath, I stood and barged into the bedroom, the harpoon aimed at my captor.
His face was still. “Where did you get that?”
“The night you let me walk the shore alone. After that patrolling mutt of yours died. You were a drunken fool,” I said. “A selkie approached me, slinked off her seal skin, and told me to pierce your heart with this weapon reclaimed by the sea. Show me where my skin is. Set me free. You’ve imprisoned me as your wife long enough.”
James sighed. “I’ll die in the next twenty years, ten if you’re lucky. A blink to you.”
“Two years has been enough,” I said, pressing the tip of the harpoon to James’ sternum. A bead of blood oozed into his shirt as his chest rose and fell. “I’ve searched the house. It’s on the beach. Show me.”
He led me through the beach. The shuffling of sand and crashing waves were the only sounds among us. The sunset bore the yellows and oranges of the little nudibranchs in the sea. We walked for five minutes or twenty. I could hardly tell.
“It’s buried here,” James said, the harpoon poking his back.
“Dig.”
His jaw tightened as he knelt. He dusted the top layer of sand away, revealing a stone slab. He pushed it aside and dug further until my gray, speckled seal skin was unearthed. I let out a trembling breath. At long last, freedom and warmth at my fingertips.
I plunged the harpoon into James’ back. Blood coursed over his spine like a river meeting the sea. I kicked him aside.
“You’ve dug yourself a nice grave,” I said, reaching for my skin. I could almost taste raw fish and saltwater.
Writhing, James struck a match against the slab, erupting a small flame.
“Sorry,” he muttered, dropping the match into his grave. A blue fire flourished to great heights, licking the starlight and igniting the beach. It ate through the fat in my seal skin. I wailed and thrashed into the sand, my clothing and human flesh crisping and searing as my seal skin did. Blood leaked from my eye sockets, seeped from my mouth with my screams. James shut his eyes when I fell silent, and the ocean waves lulled us into death.
Feature Image Credit: Floraphilia
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