Don't Dive Too Deep

Marcos was excited and honored to be the first amongst his peers to explore this particular stretch of water. There were others who were better prepared, better qualified for the job, and yet his boss had bequeathed it to him.

"You've done well, Mr. Clark," he'd said. "The work you've done for the company is exemplary." Mr. Jones gave him a quick pat on the shoulder. "I know this assignment may seem daunting but I trust you. It's time to go out there and really prove yourself. I know you'll make me proud."

Drawing some courage from the memory, Marcos quickly slipped into his drysuit with the help of one of the boatmen. Marcos, although by no means an inexperienced diver, was not used to the stiff and heavy material of the drysuit. He was too used to diving into warmer waters, where he snapped photos of brightly colored coral reefs and exotic fish and plantlife: his boss was the editor of a very popular magazine almost exclusively dedicated to marine wildlife.

This assignment was much different. He was in northern Minnesota, not off the coast of Hawaii, and the body of water was the cold Lake Superior.

Marcos took one look at the dark water and suppressed a shudder. There was something foreboding about the lake. A few years back he'd had the pleasure of enjoying a dive at the Great Barrier Reef. The water had been so clear and blue, you could see everything for what seemed like miles. Now, the only thing Marcos could see as he sat on the edge of the boat was a black sheet of dark, murky water broken up only by the waves. Even though he didn't believe the strange stories that had been circling around about the lake for a year now, he could certainly understand how some could believe strange creatures lived in the water.

Mr. Jones' voice filled his head again: "This is a delicate assignment. You've read the papers. The media is making such a fuss over it, the stories have reached every corner of the States. Even though it's been almost a year since the last sighting, sonic radar is still picking up evidence of something strange. Whatever those fishermen saw is still there and everybody is dying to know what it is."

The light in Mr. Jones' eyes had startled Marcos. It was the look of a hunter who'd caught sight of its prey. Mr. Jones wanted evidence of the phenomenon not only because of the fame and fortune it would bring to him and his company, but because he wanted solid proof that mythical creatures existed; he was a believer of such things.

Marcos himself didn't believe a word of it. If mythical creatures did exist, why hadn't anybody discovered them yet, especially with the recent advances in technology? Not even magic could hide something forever.

But he couldn't deny that he was curious. Lake Superior seemed like such a nondescript place but suddenly the lake and the entire state of Minnesota was on the national news. What the fishermen saw was real enough to cause this much fuss. Marcos' line of thinking was more realistic though. He thought they'd probably just seen a huge fish, or some new breed of fresh water shark.

"Are you ready, Mr. Clark?"

Marcos glanced up at the diving instructor and nodded. He checked himself over one last time and took a deep, steadying breath. It was time. He put his head gear on, made sure his goggles fit snuggly, and slipped into the cold water of Lake Superior.

The water closing in over his head was a bit disorienting. Even with the lantern attached to his head gear, it was hard to see; and it was completely silent. For a moment, fear overtook him. Marcos briefly wondered if the entire assignment was pointless but he pushed those thoughts aside. He had an hour to accomplish what he came here for before he ran out of oxygen; there was no time for doubt.

His partner was gesturing towards him: 'Follow me,' he mouthed and swam away. Marcos quickly followed. For half an hour they swam without seeing anything, not even a lone fish. Marcos grew increasingly worried but he tried to put his faith in his partner. The man had been working this case for almost seven months now. If anybody knew where to find what they were looking for, it was he.

There was movement on Marcos' right. He quickly turned his camera in that direction but there was nothing in sight. Feeling slightly more unsettled than before, Marcos looked all around him, wondering what could have disturbed the water like that, and wishing his light penetrated the darkness better.

He turned again to catch up to his partner, who was already a couple dozen feet ahead of him. He didn't get very far before there was movement again, this time to his left. He froze, his eyes searching desperately for whatever was hiding in the shadows.

'There's something here,' he thought. It felt much larger than a fish and for a wild second he thought there really could be sharks in the lake. He could almost picture them coming after him, their powerful jaws with razor-sharp teeth chomping down on his legs and arms, ripping him to pieces.

Something brushed against his side and Marcos screamed out silently. He swung his arm out and it collided with something solid. Marcos whipped around in the water, his heart beating a mile a minute, his adrenaline pumping through his blood and making him dizzy.

There, not more than a few feet in front of him, was the most amazing thing he'd ever seen. He could hardly believe his eyes.

It was a mermaid. A real mermaid. Her hair was long and blonde, and swayed gently in the water. Her skin was translucent--Marcos could see the network of veins in the light. The last thing he saw before she swam away was a beautiful tail that sparkled like a million jewels.

Somehow, in spite of everything, he remembered to snap his picture. But what he saw in the flash of blinding light wasn't only something beautiful, it was horrifying.

Dozens of merpeople, big and small, surrounded him. They swam lazily around him, a look of deep concentration and something more on their many faces. One of them, this one obviously male, swam within a couple feet of Marcos and looked at him appraisingly; Marcos didn't like the gleam of light in his eyes. It was the look of a hunter who'd caught sight of its prey.

Suddenly Marcos remembered something else Mr. Jones had told him: "Only one of the five fishermen who'd been on that boat returned to shore. Unfortunately the man was in such a deep state of shock, he was unable to tell the authorities exactly what had befallen his comrades. The only thing he'd say is 'They're real.'"

Marcos suddenly feared for his life. He bolted for the surface--a few of the merpeople opened their mouths in silent peals of laughter--, swimming as fast as he could but the gear made him feel heavy and it was hard to swim with only one hand. It didn't even occur to him to drop the camera. The picture he'd snapped was too precious, too important to let go.

They followed him, staying just outside the circle of light emanating from his head gear. But he knew they were there. He could feel their eyes on his back as he made a desperate attempt to make it to the boat; however, in the back of his mind he knew it was in vain. If the hungry merpeople didn't get him time certainly would. The oxygen in his tank was almost depleted. Marcos knew an hour hadn't yet passed but panic and fear was speeding up his breathing and he knew it was burning through whatever precious air he had left.

Darkness and silence surrounded him. The water pushed in on all sides, encasing him. He felt the weight of his gear working against him, slowing him down. His arms were growing weaker; he was growing light-headed; black spots danced in the corners of his eyes. Still he pushed on, clawing at the water, concentrating solely on reaching the surface.

Suddenly a white arm reached out of the darkness and a hand clamped down on his wrist. A brilliant, blinding flash of hope swept through Marcos: his partner had come back for him! But when he looked down at the hand holding him, he saw the webbing between the skeletal fingers and knew it wasn't the hand of a human.

The mermaid who had caught him looked him in the eyes. Brilliant irises of blue with a sunburst of green around the pupil caught him; he couldn't look away, he was mesmerised. All thoughts of fleeing, of freedom, of living vanished as he stared into those un-human eyes. And he let himself be pulled back into the water, down into the black depths. At that moment, his oxygen tank gave out, and just as Marcos stopped breathing, sharp fingernails tore into him, ripping away his head gear and the heavy material of his drysuit. Soon the fingernails were replaced by teeth.

Water filled his lungs; he gagged and swallowed more. He could taste blood. Weakly he raised an arm and tried to push against the people feasting on him. But it was too late. He could feel his torn skin, knew there wasn't anything left of him.

A few bubbles issued out of his mouth as the oxygen finally left his body. The camera he had held on to through it all fell out of his hand as he fell back, cradled by the arms of his murderers.