OxBellows
scribbler
Notes- This is an excerpt from a longer horror/urban fantasy piece I'm working on, but I really think the monster encounter here needs work and I'm not sure what to do with it. The main character is a Selkie (a person who turns into a seal when they put their sealskin on) and the monster depicted is a kelpie (horse demon that drowns people). I'd really appreciate some feedback!
Ronan heaved a sigh and leaned forward, letting the fence’s wires press into his forehead and undoubtedly leave dents. Come home, he imagined hearing in the lapping of the water against the pier. Come home, come home. It would be so easy. There was a gap in the fence, just a few feet to his left-
Ronan started and looked again. There had definitely not been a gap in the fence before, and given how often he frequented this exact spot Ronan felt he ought to know. There was a gap now, though, if the word “gap” could even be applied here.
It had been hard to see in the dark, but now that he was paying attention Ronan had no idea how he’d missed it. There was a massive, warped tear in the fence, stretching from the ground almost to the top bar, and wide enough the let three people through at once. Whoever had wanted to break in or out of this place had really gone overkill with it. It occurred to Ronan that he should probably leave sooner rather than later, lest he get blamed. But his feet wouldn’t move.
Come home, the waves whispered.
It was dark out- he really should have brought a flashlight- but there was enough light to see the water glimmering, and it looked so inviting, and even though he knew it wouldn’t be the same until he could find what he’d lost, the urge to jump in was rapidly overwhelming him. Come home.
Ronan cautiously stepped along the edge of the pier- when had he crossed the fence?- and looked around to see if anyone would notice his trespassing. But it was late, and it was dark, and there was nobody around.
Come home, little seal.
No matter where you are, Ronan thought, the ocean is the ocean. The sea here in this port wasn’t really any different from the one that had been his cradle and caretaker back in Ireland. If he dove in it would be home again, and he could forget what he’d lost. The roots he’d set down here weren’t so deep. He’d vanished before, he could do it again.
Lonely seal, far from home, the water is so nice.
Ronan was sitting on the edge of the pier now with his legs hanging over above the waves. He could barely see the gap in the fence that he didn’t remember coming through- he must have covered more ground than he’d thought. He was swinging his legs and trying to gauge the distance to the water. It didn’t really matter though; his gangly arms and legs were far from ideal for the task, but he could never forget something as fundamental as diving. He was going home.
Twin stars reflected back up from the water’s surface.
Stupid seal, all alone, I’m so hungry.
He set his hands down on either side of himself, gripped the wooden deck and prepared to haul himself over the edge. His hand landed in something wet, though, and thicker than water. He blinked. He glanced up.
There were no stars tonight.
Two wide-set eyes stared up at him.
Ronan froze, still gripping the edge of the pier with white-knuckled hands. Ripples swirled around the eyes and they rose up, bringing with them a wet, deathly pale shock of hair. The eyes shone and flickered the way sunlight did underwater, but it was a cold light with no source. The night seemed to darken when they came into full view.
Whatever glamour this creature used to hide itself had shattered, and now Ronan couldn’t imagine how he’d managed to get this close without realizing. It felt like a heavy woolen blanket had been lifted and now every nerve in his body was screeching that something was terribly wrong. The air was too still and too cold, stale to the point of suffocating. An unnatural silence had fallen over the pier so even the sound of the waves lapping the shore was gone. The smell of salt water had been completely replaced with something heavy and fetid, with a metallic tinge that reminded him of the time he’d seen a shark tear into a sea lion. His hand was still resting in something thick and wet, and Ronan knew that when he looked down he would see blood.
Come home, the waves whispered. The voice, which Ronan now realized wasn’t just his imagination, suddenly sounded like a dying man’s rasp. Ronan yanked his legs up onto the pier and scrambled backwards. The water was still rippling, and now he could see the shape of the monster’s head emerging. It looked like a horse, if a horse had drowned and been left to decompose. The limp, pale main was full of weeds and muck. Green algae clung to its bloated grey face. It had no lips, only long teeth that jutted straight up and down from its jaws like splinters from a broken board. Its lidless, flickering gaze pinned Ronan in place, and its voice came from all around.
Selkie, it hissed. Seal wife, runaway, walks like a man but smells like a pup. No skin, no husband, no more tricks to play. Must be so tired, why not come home?
Ronan tried to drag himself to his feet, but he slipped. He’d been right; the ground was covered in blood. It was still warm. Someone had died here just before he came, and they had not gone quietly. He scuttled back from the edge.
I’m so hungry, the air whispered. Always hungry, seal meat is better than fisherman’s bones, come home, stupid seal, come home.
He couldn’t see the water anymore but he heard the sloshing. A pair of bright eyes rose up over the edge of the pier. He couldn’t stand up on his shaking legs. He was going to die.
Not so good without your skin, but good enough. Always hungry.
God Ronan missed his seal skin. He hadn’t seen in in years, but the memory of it was more familiar to him than his own hands. He wished he could have found it before he died. He wished he could have killed the people that took him from it and left him here. Long teeth came into view over the edge of the peer. They were still red, and sharp and thin like needles. They were made for grabbing and never letting go, but not for slicing. This creature killed by tearing its prey apart, piece by piece. This was going to hurt a lot.
One thing he did not have when he wore his seal skin, though, was legs. More specifically feet that he could encase in steel toed work boots when he wanted to look taller. Without the hope of much more than going down fighting, Ronan kicked at the teeth as hard as he could. He felt a fantastic snap as his foot connected, followed immediately by a screech like tearing metal. The beast’s head reared back for a moment. Ronan took it. He finally got his feet underneath him and ran.
Ronan’s life up to this point, though relatively short, had been eventful. This was not the first time he had run for his life. He had even run from things before that he considered much worse than death. But he had never run like this. Blood screamed in his ears. His breathing came in pants so harsh he thought his throat might be bleeding. Panic made his vision blurry and his legs unsteady, but to stumble would be death.
He was not going to die like this. Not on the wrong side of the Atlantic, not alone in the dark, not with those ghastly teeth tearing him open. It seemed to take years to get back to the gap in the fence.
He did reach it though, and as he passed through he dared a glance back. Standing on the pier now, its mane and tail dripping muck, the emaciated shape of a horse watched him with unnaturally bright eyes. A few of its long teeth were broken. It was standing, watching, not chasing.
You always come home, stupid seal, it whispered. Without a sound or a splash, the demon stepped back over the side of the pier and vanished into the surf.
Ronan took a dozen steps back before his shaking body got the better of him and he toppled over. He sat on the curb for a long time, staring at the place that had almost been his unmarked grave and trying to remember how to breathe right.
Ronan heaved a sigh and leaned forward, letting the fence’s wires press into his forehead and undoubtedly leave dents. Come home, he imagined hearing in the lapping of the water against the pier. Come home, come home. It would be so easy. There was a gap in the fence, just a few feet to his left-
Ronan started and looked again. There had definitely not been a gap in the fence before, and given how often he frequented this exact spot Ronan felt he ought to know. There was a gap now, though, if the word “gap” could even be applied here.
It had been hard to see in the dark, but now that he was paying attention Ronan had no idea how he’d missed it. There was a massive, warped tear in the fence, stretching from the ground almost to the top bar, and wide enough the let three people through at once. Whoever had wanted to break in or out of this place had really gone overkill with it. It occurred to Ronan that he should probably leave sooner rather than later, lest he get blamed. But his feet wouldn’t move.
Come home, the waves whispered.
It was dark out- he really should have brought a flashlight- but there was enough light to see the water glimmering, and it looked so inviting, and even though he knew it wouldn’t be the same until he could find what he’d lost, the urge to jump in was rapidly overwhelming him. Come home.
Ronan cautiously stepped along the edge of the pier- when had he crossed the fence?- and looked around to see if anyone would notice his trespassing. But it was late, and it was dark, and there was nobody around.
Come home, little seal.
No matter where you are, Ronan thought, the ocean is the ocean. The sea here in this port wasn’t really any different from the one that had been his cradle and caretaker back in Ireland. If he dove in it would be home again, and he could forget what he’d lost. The roots he’d set down here weren’t so deep. He’d vanished before, he could do it again.
Lonely seal, far from home, the water is so nice.
Ronan was sitting on the edge of the pier now with his legs hanging over above the waves. He could barely see the gap in the fence that he didn’t remember coming through- he must have covered more ground than he’d thought. He was swinging his legs and trying to gauge the distance to the water. It didn’t really matter though; his gangly arms and legs were far from ideal for the task, but he could never forget something as fundamental as diving. He was going home.
Twin stars reflected back up from the water’s surface.
Stupid seal, all alone, I’m so hungry.
He set his hands down on either side of himself, gripped the wooden deck and prepared to haul himself over the edge. His hand landed in something wet, though, and thicker than water. He blinked. He glanced up.
There were no stars tonight.
Two wide-set eyes stared up at him.
Ronan froze, still gripping the edge of the pier with white-knuckled hands. Ripples swirled around the eyes and they rose up, bringing with them a wet, deathly pale shock of hair. The eyes shone and flickered the way sunlight did underwater, but it was a cold light with no source. The night seemed to darken when they came into full view.
Whatever glamour this creature used to hide itself had shattered, and now Ronan couldn’t imagine how he’d managed to get this close without realizing. It felt like a heavy woolen blanket had been lifted and now every nerve in his body was screeching that something was terribly wrong. The air was too still and too cold, stale to the point of suffocating. An unnatural silence had fallen over the pier so even the sound of the waves lapping the shore was gone. The smell of salt water had been completely replaced with something heavy and fetid, with a metallic tinge that reminded him of the time he’d seen a shark tear into a sea lion. His hand was still resting in something thick and wet, and Ronan knew that when he looked down he would see blood.
Come home, the waves whispered. The voice, which Ronan now realized wasn’t just his imagination, suddenly sounded like a dying man’s rasp. Ronan yanked his legs up onto the pier and scrambled backwards. The water was still rippling, and now he could see the shape of the monster’s head emerging. It looked like a horse, if a horse had drowned and been left to decompose. The limp, pale main was full of weeds and muck. Green algae clung to its bloated grey face. It had no lips, only long teeth that jutted straight up and down from its jaws like splinters from a broken board. Its lidless, flickering gaze pinned Ronan in place, and its voice came from all around.
Selkie, it hissed. Seal wife, runaway, walks like a man but smells like a pup. No skin, no husband, no more tricks to play. Must be so tired, why not come home?
Ronan tried to drag himself to his feet, but he slipped. He’d been right; the ground was covered in blood. It was still warm. Someone had died here just before he came, and they had not gone quietly. He scuttled back from the edge.
I’m so hungry, the air whispered. Always hungry, seal meat is better than fisherman’s bones, come home, stupid seal, come home.
He couldn’t see the water anymore but he heard the sloshing. A pair of bright eyes rose up over the edge of the pier. He couldn’t stand up on his shaking legs. He was going to die.
Not so good without your skin, but good enough. Always hungry.
God Ronan missed his seal skin. He hadn’t seen in in years, but the memory of it was more familiar to him than his own hands. He wished he could have found it before he died. He wished he could have killed the people that took him from it and left him here. Long teeth came into view over the edge of the peer. They were still red, and sharp and thin like needles. They were made for grabbing and never letting go, but not for slicing. This creature killed by tearing its prey apart, piece by piece. This was going to hurt a lot.
One thing he did not have when he wore his seal skin, though, was legs. More specifically feet that he could encase in steel toed work boots when he wanted to look taller. Without the hope of much more than going down fighting, Ronan kicked at the teeth as hard as he could. He felt a fantastic snap as his foot connected, followed immediately by a screech like tearing metal. The beast’s head reared back for a moment. Ronan took it. He finally got his feet underneath him and ran.
Ronan’s life up to this point, though relatively short, had been eventful. This was not the first time he had run for his life. He had even run from things before that he considered much worse than death. But he had never run like this. Blood screamed in his ears. His breathing came in pants so harsh he thought his throat might be bleeding. Panic made his vision blurry and his legs unsteady, but to stumble would be death.
He was not going to die like this. Not on the wrong side of the Atlantic, not alone in the dark, not with those ghastly teeth tearing him open. It seemed to take years to get back to the gap in the fence.
He did reach it though, and as he passed through he dared a glance back. Standing on the pier now, its mane and tail dripping muck, the emaciated shape of a horse watched him with unnaturally bright eyes. A few of its long teeth were broken. It was standing, watching, not chasing.
You always come home, stupid seal, it whispered. Without a sound or a splash, the demon stepped back over the side of the pier and vanished into the surf.
Ronan took a dozen steps back before his shaking body got the better of him and he toppled over. He sat on the curb for a long time, staring at the place that had almost been his unmarked grave and trying to remember how to breathe right.