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Kevin was awake and sitting on the ledge of the window, his blue eyes glowing and winking in the darkness at me. He turned away from me to gaze back out into the night, as if the song was calling him too. Idly, I wondered what my boys thought of my new monster friends, and whether or not they could feel the looming threat that hung over me.
The voice steadily grew louder, until I couldn’t even hear the creaking and cracking of this old house anymore. It was humming, low and melodic. The haunting tune made my skin feel warm, and my eyes drooped heavily until I couldn't tell if I were awake or still dreaming.
My mind was suddenly filled with images of dark trees, falling water, rolling clouds, and bright lights buzzing over the water’s surface. I could see it as clearly as if I were standing right in front of it. I glanced at the nightstand, where I’d laid out some random supplies I’d taken from the studio after I hightailed my ass back to the house. Cyn and Cilas were long gone when I got back, but I was relieved because all I’d wanted to do was take a long shower and think about what the fuck I’d just seen out there in the woods. It was a skinwalker, of all things, and somehow, I was still alive and breathing.
I didn’t waste a second throwing off the covers and slipping into some shorts and a loose tank top. I kissed Kevin on the head before grabbing the bundle of supplies and leaving the room, trying not to disturb Kyle, who was curled up on the end of the guest bed. I still couldn’t bring myself to explore my old bedroom, so this would have to do for now, especially since I’d destroyed the living room, which I still wasn’t sorry about. Something about seeing this house slowly fall to pieces made me feel all warm inside.
Before I made it outside, I snatched a half empty bottle of tequila off the mantle and took it with me. I fucking hated the stuff, but I needed to numb my mind right now and this would do.
The rain wasn’t nearly as bad as it had sounded from inside the house. There, it was thunderous, like the skies had opened up and decided to empty out on my house specifically. Instead, there was only a slight drizzle, if you could even call it that, and in some spots, starlight even poked through the clouds.
I was barefoot, but the moss under my soles felt soft and warm, as did the muggy night air. I’d always loved the warm rains of the South. The smells of rotting moss, dead leaves, and ripening fruit from the orchards filled the air, making me crave some juicy peaches. Maybe tomorrow, I’d go for a walk and collect some, since I was running low on gas station food to tide me over.
I took the familiar path through the dead little garden my sister had left behind, cutting through the gazebo before descending down the steps that lead to the little dock. The swamp was a riot of movement tonight, rippling with raindrops, while lightning bugs danced over the surface. Crickets chirped in the background, and although the music was beautiful, it made me remember the reason I'd come out here to begin with.
Where was that haunting voice I’d heard, the song that woke me up and coaxed me out of bed at this ungodly hour? All I could hear was the rustling of branches, the tapping of rain on the water, and the dance of the crickets.
I sat on the dock and unrolled the supplies, setting up the tiny easel in front of me, hoping I wouldn’t knock it over into the water, since it wasn’t weighted down. I spread out my old wooden palette, knives, and two brushes to my right, before filling up a small plastic cup with swamp water.
My movements were pure muscle memory, and something inside me twisted uncomfortably as memories rushed back in. How many hours had I spent in this exact spot with my dad, watching him paint masterpieces while I attempted to create something that wasn’t complete trash?
Taking a long swig from the bottle of tequila, I grimaced as I swallowed before gulping down another. My blood was starting to buzz pleasantly, and soon, everything would start to seem a bit more bearable.
I was never an artist, but I didn’t suck either. My paintings were good enough that I'd won a couple of art competitions back in high school, and I was even featured in the town’s newspaper once too, but it was nothing compared to my dad. Still, I had to admit it felt good to hold a paintbrush in my hands again, feeling the chipped wood of the handles, running my thumb over the coarse bristles.
I dipped the brush in the swamp water before coating it in a beautiful deep green watercolor that reminded me of Spanish moss on a dark night.
Instead of thinking too hard about what I was doing, I decided to just say fuck it, putting brush to canvas and painting. Green splashed everywhere, dark, light, messy, and clean. My brush strokes were all over the place, but it felt right. I mixed the green with black, then added some blue here and there for depth.
I painted sweeping shapes over a background of deep green and black. Spindly tree limbs twisted through the shadows of the moonlight I added coming from behind. I was pretty sure this whole painting would look like a fucking mess in the light of day, but out here, with the slow but steady raindrops mixing with my thick brush strokes, it looked like something dad would have painted. Something about it was magical tonight.
Licking my lips, I tasted salt and paused, dropping the brush into my lap, bringing my fingers up to my face in surprise. I could feel wetness that wasn't the rain on my cheeks and realized I was crying. My dad’s face flashed through my mind—his gray eyes that looked so much like mine, white blond hair that both Magnolia and I had inherited, and the laugh lines around his kind eyes that always made me feel safe and cherished. He’d been a really good fucking dad, and it was my fault he didn’t exist anymore.
I cried harder as the rain picked up. It battered the swamp surface like a steady drum, accompanying the chorus of crickets. My sobs were loud and a little bit obnoxious as I choked on my grief. It hurt so damn bad when I let the floodgates open, and they were wide open right now, so there was no stopping it until I was empty. After several more long gulps, the bottle was empty, and I tossed it with a curse into the swamp. I teetered to the side for a moment, nearly falling in, but managed to catch myself just in time.
It’d been a long time since I’d allowed myself the freedom to cry like this. Sure, there were times when an idle tear would spring forward unannounced, but normally, my brain was in such a haze from the drugs and alcohol that I was numb to the memories. Being back here, though…it was doing something to me that I didn’t expect. It was like I was reliving those last moments over and over again, smelling the same smells, hearing familiar sounds. I was smothered with the memory of the life I used to have.
I stared at the canvas as I picked it up off of the easel, running my eyes over the hard brushstrokes. Somehow, I’d managed to depict details I might not have noticed before, like the sway of the leaves, the reflection of the moon on the water, and the glow of the fireflies. This right here was what the song had made me feel.
Then I spotted something else—something I didn’t remember painting. Towards the bottom of the canvas, nearly off the edge completely, was a pair of glowing eyes. They were green like dark marbles against a backdrop of swamp water, and they were watching me. My heart leapt into my throat, and I quickly lowered the canvas.
I yelped, dropping my picture into the water as I came face-to-face with Kazimir. He rose up out of the dark water with his hands gripping the front of the dock. Water weighed down his thick, long black hair and glistened off of his deep hued skin. His lips were wide with a sinister smile. “I was hoping you'd visit me again.”
I blinked at him, my heart still racing. How the hell had he moved so silently that I hadn’t noticed his approach? Maybe it was the fact that the rain had grown louder, picking up pace even now, and had disguised the sound of his massive appendages sloshing through the water.
“It was you,” I said, crawling forward until I was on my knees in front of him. The position brought us eye to eye. “Your voice…” I was one-hundred-percent positive it was him who’d called me out here. Suddenly, it made sense.
His smile grew. “Did you like my lullaby? I sang it just for you.”
“It was beautiful,” I answered honestly. “Kind of hypnotic, actually.” It was as if something in the song was irresistible, like a pull on the center of my chest that had to be followed no matter what. I ran my eyes over his scaled body, marveling at the deep blues and greens that matched his swamp. “Are you some kind of siren?” I’d never heard of a swamp siren before.
He shrugged, which was such a humanlike gesture. “Not a siren, but you’re close. Humans have plenty of names for me, but none of them are quite right.”
That was extremely vague. I mentally flipped through what I knew of modern folklore, but it wasn’t much. He wasn’t a merman, because he didn’t have a tail, and he also wasn’t a selkie for obvious reasons. He also wasn’t Nessie, which he’d confirmed the other day…so that pretty much left sirens or water sprites, if those were even a thing. At this point, I wasn’t ruling anything out.
“I’ve been calling you a swamptopus,” I said, heat building in my cheeks. Saying it out loud sounded psychotic.
He laughed, this time deep and bellowing in his whole chest. “Hundreds of years on this earth, and I don’t believe I’ve ever been called a…swamptopus. Should I be insulted?”
