by Chantal Boudreau
Sharra was supposed to keep to the shadows. That was the rule.
Do not expose yourself to man. They will chase our secrets, and only those of privilege, those willing to sacrifice for the right to our knowledge, should have that opportunity. Keep to the depths. That is the way it must be.
These were the instructions for all children of Dagon and Hydra, but Sharra often disobeyed them. She was a victim of her own curiosity. She could not help herself, being truly her mother’s child. She had been inclined to seek out pure-blooded men since the day she had slithered her way out of her mother’s swollen belly, bloody and warm, along with the handful of brothers and sisters who had been spawned within the same womb.
Sharra had been the only one of her siblings who had actually resembled her mother in any way, and unfortunately, Sharra’s mother had been a strikingly beautiful woman. Sharra shared her rich chestnut tresses and bewitching violet eyes, as well as a well-developed bosom that would make the average man fall over himself, but from the waist down, she was truly a child of Dagon. Instead of legs, her purplish-blue scaled hips extended into slimy tentacles, flexible limbs that pulsated eerily whenever Sharra became excited.
Those tentacles were throbbing now.
She had caught sight of the ship while skirting the edges of the shadows, and debated if following her impulse to explore the surface outweighed the risk of possibly getting caught.
“Father Dagon, protect me,” she had whispered before leaving the shadows to pursue the vessel, an odd appeal considering she was about to break one of his rules.
Sharra was surprised to see a ship out in these waters, considering the storm that was brewing in the airs beyond the surface. She could sense it in the water, which was one of the reasons she had ventured closer to the surface in the first place. As she approached, she noticed the vessel was not small or plain. The passengers of this ship were no doubt people of great wealth. Fascinated, she yearned to sidle up to its hull and pull herself into a position where she could get even the slightest glimpse of them in the dimness of the darkening turbulent skies. Instead, she made do with following them, her heart throbbing so hard it felt as though it wanted to break free of her chest, or at least engorge with her ichors until it exploded.
It wasn’t until the waves grew choppy from the burgeoning winds above them that she decided the time had come to turn back. She was just about to descend into the murky depths again when a disturbance overhead drew her attention, as something…no someone… pierced the surface with a deafening scream and a splash.
The man had fallen free from his ship, bottle in hand and loose fitting white shirt flaring out around him. Sharra could taste the odd taint in the water caused by the amber liquid emerging from his bottle and watched as he thrashed and flailed, sending out great bursts of air bubbles in all directions, his face full of panic. If he did not resurface quickly, he would drown.
Forgetting herself and the rules for the moment, Sharra could think only of returning him to his ship. As she neared him, his eyes connected with hers. From that moment on, she was lost. She had never seen anything that had made her tentacles pulsate with such urgency. The blue-black hair that flourished around his square-jawed face and his penetrating stare, the colour of the ocean, seized her heart then and there. She thought she saw similar interest in his eyes the seconds before he tried making a frantic ascent back to the surface. He failed to rise quickly enough. Despite his desperate kicks and strokes, he went limp before he could draw breath again and he immediately started to sink.
“I won’t let you die, my prince,” Sharra insisted.
Floating above them, she could see a life preserver that someone on board ship had tossed his way, hoping he would reach it in time. Sharra wrapped her hungry tentacles around the unconscious man, tasting his smooth, muscular flesh with her suckers as she carried him up to the bobbing ring. She swore his luscious body had been flavoured with ambrosia. She grappled the preserver’s buoyant edges, and forced him up through its centre, wedging him in tightly before releasing him. Then she kissed the water from his near lifeless lungs, craving more contact than this, and pushed the ring off in the direction of his ship, which she could now see was named the Jacqueline. With a mournful sigh, she dove back down into the ocean depths, leaving him to be rescued by the others of his kind.
Like it or not, the encounter weighed heavily on Sharra in the days that followed. All she could think of was the handsome man she had salvaged from the storm and the delicious taste of his well-groomed skin. The shadows, normally calming, offered her angst-ridden spirit little solace and her mind was playing tricks on her, seeing him in every dark crack and crevice. Touching him had created a yearning in her she had never experienced before – one she didn’t recognize. She could not eat, she could not sleep, she could only think of him.
Succumbing to a soul-sucking sense of despondency, Sharra slunk off to wallow in her misery. Perhaps, she thought, this was Dagon’s way of punishing her. Two of her siblings eventually found her splayed lethargically atop a rock, surrounded by strands of kelp and barnacles. She could not die, preserved by the non-human half of her heritage, but her skin had whitened and was flaking away, and her violet eyes were glassy. She shifted slightly, only as a result of the ocean currents teasing at her hair and tentacles. Her brother approached her, his bulbous frog-like head looming over her. He rested a slimy greenish-black hand on her shoulder before he spoke.
“What is wrong with you, Sharra? We were required to gather and pay homage to the Deep Ones, but you were not there. Our sire wants to talk with you, and no doubt deal out some form of discipline for failing to offer tribute with the rest of us. You’ll be lucky if all you get is a lashing. He may demand you cut off a morsel of your flesh as sacrifice.”
“Good,” Sharra murmured through cracked lips. “Let it be my heart he severs from my body. It causes me only pain.”
Sharra’s sister stared hard at her with jelly-like eyes, and gestured at her with a spiny fin.
“She has Hydra’s Curse. The need for a male is driving her mad. She is ready to spawn more offspring of the Deep Ones, or insanity will claim her. Let me take her to our sire. He will be lenient with her once he knows the truth. This is punishment enough.”
Their sire was a true blood, a proper Deep One. Unlike the half-breeds he had spawned upon a mortal woman – stealing in on her at her beach house one stormy night and taking her by force – he was ancient and immortal. He also had powers only available to one of the lesser elder gods.
The sisters entered his lair, a cavern hewn in porous rock and littered with a variety of suffocating sea-life. Sharra’s sister practically dragged her in. The waters there were heavy with his stench, reeking of rot and death. Sharra fought back the desire to gag, biting her lip so hard it split and spilled dark ichors into the brine surrounding her. She avoided visiting her sire if at all possible, repulsed by him and filled with dread in his presence. They could barely see him in the darkness within, but what little she could see was enough to chill Sharra to the bone. It was no wonder her mother had gone mad at the sight of him. Human minds were so terribly fragile.
“You missed the tribute,” he grunted, spewing more putrid water from his gills as he spoke. “Tell me why I shouldn’t rend great wounds in your flesh and restrain you somewhere well-exposed, where the fish will feed on your innards while you still live. It would be the easiest way to appease Dagon for your neglect.”
“It couldn’t be helped, and your threats mean little to her, Father,” Sharra’s sister insisted. “She suffers from Hydra’s Curse.”
“Hydra’s Curse? Who brought it upon you? Not one of your brothers?”
Sharra shook her head, her eyes heavy-lidded.
“I’ve tasted the sweet ambrosia of a human. I crave him.”
She recounted the tale of the boat passenger’s accident, confessing how she had broken Dagon’s rule in the process.
“Leave,” their sire told her sister. “This must be dealt with in private. “ The fish-headed woman was quick to respond, disappearing as soon as the request had escaped his mouth.
Sharra heard her sire squelch a little closer and the sound made her skin crawl.
“I can hardly fault you,” he told her, “since you are here because I broke that rule myself. Dagon will forgive your trespasses, but he will demand a sacrifice in time. He’ll take it from you when he is ready, if you cannot do as he wishes.”
“I’ll do whatever he asks of me, if it means I can mate with the human,” she agreed. “It is all I can think of.”
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“You cannot go to a mortal man in that form. He would not appreciate the glory of your physique, blessed as any child of Dagon is, and you would repulse him. You might even drive him mad. I will use my powers to transform you, but you will be in great pain the entire time, a pain that will steal your voice away. It will be a very potent magic, one that will enhance your fertility to allow you to spawn a great number of new children of Dagon. But, you must be sure to return to the shadows of the ocean immediately once the deed is done. If you linger, there will be a heavy price to pay, no matter how much the mortal man still tempts you. Trying to cling to a form that is not natural to you will bring with it grave consequences.”
Her sire emerged from the shadows in order to invoke the ancient magicks that would bring about her change. The scream that Sharra could not restrain was as much in response to the terrible sight of the foul thing rippling and shuddering before her as it was the excruciating agony that burned through her lower torso and tentacles. Surprisingly, the transformation happened very quickly, her tentacles discolouring and morphing into a pair of pale, indistinct human legs. They were ugly in Sharra’s eyes, as she preferred her massive but lithesome limbs, with their dark and regal colours and fluid form that displayed her proud paternity. The change ended, but the pain did not, just as her sire had predicted. The scream proved to be her last.
“Go now, quickly, while the magic is still strong. This will teach you to disobey Dagon’s rules. Do what you have to do and hurry back.” He slithered back into the dark depths of his lair, not waiting for a response.
There would not have been one anyway; just as he had described it, the agony of repressing her true heritage was so extreme it stifled any sound she would have wanted to make. To make matters worse, she found she could not breathe. Abandoning all she had ever known, Sharra made a desperate surge for the surface. She would not be able to return to her home in the depths of the ocean until the magic was ready to wear off – a combination of time and the restorative essence of the saltwater that had spawned her.
Sharra did not escape unscathed, her new lungs taking in water before she could emerge into air. Drowning for the first time in her life, she thrashed and flailed desperately in the waves, fighting the suffocating brine until everything went black.
She came around to the feel of cold wet sand beneath her back and a gentle nudging of her body, one she could barely feel past the constant agony that remained from her change. Sharra thought at first that the tug was from the tides teasing her, but as she opened her eyes to the terrifyingly bright sunlight, the silhouette of a person loomed over her. She cringed, shielding her face from the sun, and sensed muscular arms encircling her and lifting her from the ground. Shivering and coughing up briny water, she clung to the cottony shirt that adhered to its wearer with the dampness she gave it.
Then she smelled him, and the vastness of the urges accompanying his scent overwhelmed her, dismissing the pain as only a secondary sensation. He smelled as wonderful as he had tasted to her tentacles’ touch. She could no longer draw that kind of pleasure by entwining herself around him, but with a shudder, she did press her flesh to his clothing, wishing there was no fabric there to separate them. She felt him respond slightly in kind, but he then made an effort to hold her away from himself as he carried her, not wanting to yield to the temptation the way that she did.
“My prince,” she thought, unable to speak the words. “I will have you.”
He whispered things to her in a tongue that was vaguely familiar to her, one that her sire had taught her long ago. Eventually, she deciphered the fact that he was trying to offer her comfort and ask her name. She shook her head, the best answer she could offer. He said something about taking her to shelter, where she could recover and maybe regain her senses. She sighed and nodded, pressing her face to his chest. At least she would stay close to him, allowing her the opportunity to seduce him.
He carried her to a lavish beach house, where a serving man met them at the door. The size and furnishings of his home screamed luxury and wealth. When the serving man returned with a blanket to drape over Sharra’s naked body, she heard him refer to her prince as “Master John.” At least now she had a name, even if she would never be able to address him by it.
Her prince carried her upstairs to what she assumed was a guest room, although it was just as extravagantly furnished as the other rooms. He then fetched her some clothing, elegant summery garb, a loan from a family member Sharra guessed. Every time she looked at him, she felt the stirrings of Hydra’s Curse, a hunger within her that had to be fed. Every time he returned her gaze, something suggested he might oblige her. He left her alone to clothe herself. She tried to ignore the way her unnatural skin burned mercilessly with every silky brush against fabric. She was tormented in more ways than one.
Once she had dressed, her prince returned, offered her his arm and escorted her downstairs, each step like shards of glass embedding themselves in her flesh. Someone had prepared food for them, a seafood entree with garlicky side dishes. They did not dine alone. As they ate, her prince spoke in a familiar way to a couple close to him in age who sat with them at the table – his friends or siblings, Sharra assumed. The conversation was difficult to follow, but there was talk of going to the authorities, once John’s discovery had had a good night’s rest or two. They also mentioned checking missing persons.
Sharra would have to work fast. There was speculation as to whether or not she had been in a boating accident and had struck her head, as well as if she had always been mute or if this was a side-effect of her injury. The male of the couple looked upon her with suspicion and the female with pity. Sharra’s prince looked upon her with lust. He swore she must be from the area where he had found her, because he was sure he had seen her before. She suspected he wasn’t prepared to cast her away, even if their investigation turned up nothing.
Sharra made a point of meeting his eyes every chance that she got, hoping her invitation was clear. She said everything she could with subtle gestures and flirtatious cues. When he escorted her to her room that evening after dinner and left her there, she thought maybe she had failed, but she was wrong. It was just a matter of timing and propriety.
Lying awake in the strange bed, unable to sleep because of the constant excruciating pain, Sharra heard noises late into the night. It was odd to hear any sound at that point, as the house had been dark and still for hours. The door to her room creaked open followed by the sound of bare feet pattering cautiously across the hardwood floor. She glanced up to find the silhouette of her prince bending over her bedside. He had come for her. The scent of him threatened to drive her mad.
Sharra reached up and pulled him into her bed, entwining herself around him as much as her limited mortal form would allow. He was eager in his response, kissing her, tasting the salt on her skin and pressing his body into her supple flesh. He did not try to ask her if she were willing, but merely took her as if it were his right and she nothing more than another of his expensive playthings – a possession to be used at his whim. She wouldn’t have protested even if she could have. As he whispered over and over again that he loved her and would take care of her, thrusting into her, pleasure mingled with her pain. His attentions brought her an ecstatic satisfaction like nothing she had experienced before. Sharra was shedding Hydra’s Curse and would mother new hybrid children of Dagon when her prince was finished with her.
He did not stay with her long after he had spilled his seed. Sated, he lay for only a few moments in her arms before extricating himself from her bed. When he left, Sharra could feel things transforming within her, but the essence of man is weak, fertilizing only a few of the dozens of eggs within her. As a result, they would all lay dormant until he had returned to her a few more times. Sharra would be patient and would welcome more visits from her lover. This knowledge made her happy. She had promised her father that she would leave once the deed was done, but she was not finished with her human just yet.
Fortunately for Sharra, her prince was able to talk his family into allowing her to stay long enough to sort out her identity, when the authorities could offer them no answers. The house he kept her in was his family’s summer home, unoccupied aside from servants for most of the year. She was welcome to stay until her voice and memory returned or until they could restore her to her own people, expecting that her own family vacationed in the area. She only wanted to remain there long enough to finish what she had started, the pain from her legs almost enough to drive her mad. She yearned to feel the soothing lap of the waves against her skin, something denied to her until she was ready to return to her underwater home.
Her prince bedded her once more before he and his family left her alone in the beach house. Once more was still not enough, and Sharra did her best to entertain herself while waiting to see him again. On nice days, she would stroll the beaches, enduring the pain that accompanied these walks and missing her sisters and brothers. She skirted the waters, but did not set foot in them, not wishing to initiate the magic that would restore her proper form. On days with foul weather, she would explore the vacant halls of her human’s house, lonely and sad. Believing her mentally unstable, the servants did their best to avoid her. She did not have to do anything more to discourage them.
Every few weeks, Sharra’s prince would make excuses to come see her, claiming he wanted to check in on her and see if she had made any progress. While there, he would visit her bed every night, and eventually the last of her eggs was finally seeded. She awoke to the sensation of stirrings in her belly, the beginnings of new life.
Sharra knew she should return to the water then, just as her father had advised her to do, descending into the deeps to rejoin her family. Along with the children they had created, however, the human’s nightly visits had spawned something more. Sharra was now suffering from a mortal affliction that was proving stronger than both the agony in her legs and her promise to her father. Sharra was in love.
She could not bring herself to leave right away as a result. She had told herself she would wait only until her prince’s next visit, so he could see the results of their passion with his own eyes, her belly growing larger and rounder with each day that passed. Part of her hoped he would beg her to stay and keep their family together. But that was a human dream for a heart that had been falsely won with lies and illusion. Eventually, she would have to expose her true form to him, along with the hybrid nature of their children, and she knew that would likely end in madness for her beloved mortal. Her kind wasn’t meant to waste itself on frivolous emotion. They bred outside their race only for the sake of hybrid vigour and diversity. Evolution could be empowering, and power was a worthy cause. Her love was an anomaly and one that would be rectified in the end – rectified, or made meaningless.
When her prince finally came again for one of his conjugal visits, Sharra was lying in bed awaiting his arrival. Once he had approached close enough, she drew back the covers to reveal an abdomen greatly swollen with his writhing offspring. She gazed up at John, smiling her pretty smile. Instead of looking upon her offering with paternal pride, his face curled in shock and disgust. He quickly hid his eyes. He was angry at her at first, threatening her for not having found a way of informing him about the problem sooner. He even accused her of hiding it from him, unaware of the period of dormancy and the rapid growth that had followed because Sharra was not the human woman she appeared to be. In the end, before he abandoned her without making any further physical contact with her, he told her he would fix things. He knew a doctor willing to perform illegal late-term abortions and he would set things up for her as soon as possible. He and his fiancé could never afford this kind of scandal.
As soon as he was gone, Sharra should have flung herself into the ocean, leaving mankind behind her for good. But her heart was truly broken and instead, she cried herself to sleep, not awakening until the dead of night when she was roused by horrible pain. Had she still had a voice, her screams would have roused every sleeping creature for miles. Her body had bloated to a size far beyond human tolerance, her ravenous children pressed tightly together in her taut belly, pushing and jarring her overburdened flesh. Were she in her proper form, her rubbery, elastic skin would still have had the capacity to expand to accommodate them, until she purged the lot of them into the sea, a mass of limbs and tentacles and clouds of dark ichors. Instead, it felt as if her false human skin was ready to split, spilling them out onto the floor in a puddle of blood and guts, where they would eventually dry up and die, flailing about in a desperate effort to live. They did not share in the magic that allowed their mother to exist outside of the sea.
Their father might have rejected his new family, but Sharra was not about to subject her children to such an end.
Dragging herself from her bed was an enormous chore, the mass of her misshapen and shuddering body difficult to maneuver. She nearly toppled with every step to the door, staggering blindly through the dark and breathing heavily from her exertion. Once outside she fell to her knees, her quivering, feeble legs no longer able to support her. She was forced to crawl her way down the sand towards the water, some of her smaller offspring already beginning to spill out from between the useless limbs her father’s magic had created.
Not enough of her overcrowded offspring were able to escape that way. As a result, before she had reached the water, Sharra’s faulty human flesh gave way. Unable to support the fervent squirming mass within her, lesions erupted in various parts of her abdomens, breaks in the skin that expanded until her children gushed free from her body, taking with them her innards – her blood and several of the organs vital for keeping her alive. Had she been able to reach the brine, the divine magicks of her bloodline would have restored her. Her shattered body would have been returned to its proper tentacled form, regenerating the damage that playing human had done. Instead she expired there upon the beach, mere inches from the salt-water foam.
In a way, Sharra was not completely lost that fateful night. There was more left of her than just the rancid bits of gore salvaged by hungry seagulls in the days that followed. While she had not managed to reach the water, the forceful propulsion that had ejected her offspring from her body had succeeded in carrying the majority of them into the waves. She might have succumbed to circumstance and bad judgement, a victim of Hydra’s Curse, but she left a swarming, slimy legacy that would return to the depths and perpetuate her bloodlines. Sharra, and her dream of bedding a human prince, would live on through them.
“In Too Deep” copyright © Chantal Boudreau, 2014
Chantal Boudreau is an accountant/author/illustrator who lives in Nova Scotia, Canada with her husband and two children. A member of the Horror Writers Association, she writes and illustrates horror, dark fantasy and fantasy and has had several of her stories published in a variety of horror anthologies and magazines. Fervor, her debut dystopian novel, was released in March of 2011 by May December Publications, followed by Elevation, Transcendence and Providence. Magic University, the first in her fantasy series, Masters & Renegades, made its appearance in September 2011 followed by Casualties of War and Prisoners of Fate. Learn more at: http://chantellyb.wordpress.com