“Who are you?” I asked, staring at the prints beside mine. They were freshly made, not yet washed away by the steady stream of the waves. They led straight into the water, where no one was.

I’ve heard legends of sirens. Mermaids, hippocampus, kelpies. Some happy children stories while others were filled with horror that passed from generation to generation. I took a deep breath of salty air and recalled every story my parents told me.

Kelpies were almost always portrayed as mean spirited, catching people on their backs and dragging them into the water to drown. Similar to sirens, who’s music was so intricate no sailer could resist. Mermaids could be friendly, swimming alongside the fish or ferocious creatures with sharp teeth.

I tilted my head to the side and studied the marks. Definitely human.

And besides, those were just children’s stories anyways. Stories to convince kids to be good out on the boat. Stories for parents to use as threats when they misbehave.

That’s why the stories are so widely known, anyways.

I took a step out into the ocean.

Something swam by my feet and I looked down, ready to see a fish beneath me.

Then my feet were pulled from under me. I collapsed with a splash.

Something was grabbing my legs.

Down, down, down we went.

My ears started popping.

I thrashed, trying to release myself from the iron grasp ripping at my flesh.

Then all went black.