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Chase and Deacon were choir boys, but while Deacon’s voice often faltered, his cousin’s rang clear a showstopper every time. Chase had a gift, effortlessly refining the notes where Deacon stumbled, always stepping in to lift the harmony when it threatened to fall apart.
One afternoon, as they walked home from rehearsal, Chase paused. He wanted to gather flowers for his parents' grave, which lay near the beach. The boys had always been warned not to venture too close to the water old tales spoke of mermaids luring children into the sea. But now that they were older, they dismissed those stories as superstition.
In the days that followed, Chase began to act strangely. He returned home with rusted coins and smooth moonstones clutched in his hands. He bought chocolate but never ate it. Deacon watched with growing confusion as Chase spent more and more time near the shoreline.
Then one evening, Deacon saw him speaking to someone in the surf.
“My name is Chase,” he said, holding out the uneaten chocolate.
The figure in the water took it with long, pale fingers and a curious smile. “My name is Nox.”
“Nox like the night?” Chase asked, intrigued. “That’s kinda cool. Makes sense, I guess my cousin Deacon says the moon controls the tides at night or something like that.”
Deacon never saw the figure Chase spoke to by the water. But each day, Chase returned home with more rusted coins and moonstones tucked into his pockets. He hummed softly as he brushed his hair, a tune Deacon recognized from choir, though it sounded different now gentler, like it had been touched by the sea.
Chase’s interest in church began to fade. He skipped rehearsals, lingered by the shore, and seemed distant during services. It frustrated Deacon, who finally confronted him one evening.
“You love singing,” Deacon said. “Why don’t you come back to choir?”
Chase hesitated, then looked out toward the waves. “I do love singing,” he said quietly. “But I don’t think the church would want me much longer.”
Deacon frowned. “Why not?”
Chase’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Because I love someone… someone who isn’t a girl.”
Deacon didn’t say anything after that.
One night, Chase slipped out of the house under the veil of darkness. Deacon, suspicious and worried, followed him with a lantern, its flickering light casting long shadows on the path toward the beach.
What Deacon saw next stopped him cold.
There, half-submerged in the surf, was a creature unlike anything he’d ever imagined. A merman his scales shimmered like moonstone, streaked with onyx black that seemed to drink in the night. If not for the waves breaking around him, Deacon might have missed him entirely.
Chase stood close, speaking softly. Then, without hesitation, the merman leaned forward and kissed him. Chase kissed him back.
Deacon gasped, and the lantern slipped from his hands, crashing into the rocks below. Not out of disgust he didn’t feel that but out of sheer disbelief. A merman. Kissing his cousin.
The light flared, then died.
The merman hissed, startled by the sudden noise and light. In a flash, he wrapped his arms around Chase and pulled him into the surf. The waves swallowed them both, leaving only the echo of Deacon’s shout and the dying glow of the lantern behind.
The townspeople searched the shoreline for hours, calling Chase’s name into the wind. But no one believed Deacon when he said a merman had dragged his cousin beneath the waves. They dismissed it as childish panic just two boys too close to the water, and one swept away by accident.
Late that evening, they found Chase.
He was unconscious, curled against the rocks on a distant stretch of beach, tangled in seaweed and reeds. His skin was cold, his clothes damp with saltwater, but he was breathing.
Deacon stayed by his bedside, refusing to leave. As the lantern flickered beside them, he whispered, “Say something, Chase. Please.”
Chase stirred. His eyes fluttered open, and he coughed once, sharply.
Something clinked against his teeth and dropped onto the blanket.
A ring.
Deacon blinked, stunned. At first, he thought it was a wedding band. But no it was an engagement ring. Silver, delicate, with a moonstone set in the center, glinting like the tide under starlight.
Deacon stared at it, speechless.
The room was quiet, save for the soft hum Chase began to sing a melody Deacon hadn’t heard before, but one that sounded like it belonged to the sea.
“It’s the maypole dance today,” Chase said, pressing his palms gently to Nox’s. The surf swirled around them, cool and rhythmic like a heartbeat.
“I know you don’t have feet,” he continued with a soft smile, “but when we hold hands like this… it’s kind of like dancing.”
Nox’s fingers curled around his, the webbing between them glistening in the moonlight. Chase wore a circlet of reeds atop his head woven by Nox himself, delicate and green, still damp with sea mist.
The wind carried laughter from the village behind them, where ribbons fluttered and music played. But Chase didn’t look back. His gaze was fixed on Nox, whose tail shimmered beneath the waves, scales catching the light like scattered stars.
Deacon sat hunched over a stack of dusty books in the library, flipping through every page he could find on merfolk—legends, folklore, warnings. The words blurred together, but he kept searching, desperate for answers.
A voice broke the silence.
“Your cousin’s name is Chase, right?”
Deacon looked up. An older man stood nearby, leaning on a cane, his bald spot gleaming under the library’s dim light. Deacon recognized him vaguely—someone from church, maybe—but couldn’t recall his name.
“The boy who was found unconscious by the surf,” the man continued. “I was wondering, boy… do you think your cousin might be possessed? By something… supernatural?”
Deacon stiffened. “My cousin isn’t possessed,” he said, wary.
The man smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “If he is, I could help you free him. Mers are easy to get rid of, you know. They might look human, but at the end of the day…”
He leaned in closer, voice dropping to a whisper.
“…they’re just fish. And what do fishermen do with fish?”
His smile widened.
“We cut them open.”
Deacon’s blood ran cold.
“I don’t know who you are,” Deacon said, his voice steady, “but my cousin isn’t possessed.”
The older man shrugged, tapping his cane lightly against the floor. “I’m just offering support,” he said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “After all, there must be a reason you’re holed up in here instead of out dancing around the maypole. Unless, of course, you’re just a good Catholic boy avoiding all that pagan nonsense.”
Deacon narrowed his eyes.
“Mers. Witches. Anything pagan,” the man continued, his tone growing darker. “There used to be a group in this town—Ex Libris. We were founded to keep such things in check. Purge them, really. We’ve been quiet for years, ever since… well, an incident with a mer got particularly bad.”
He leaned in slightly, voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper.
“But I’d be happy to invite you in, if your cousin ever needed a little help.”
Deacon felt a chill crawl up his spine. The man’s smile widened.
Chase sat quietly in the pews, watching as Deacon stepped forward to receive the Eucharist. He used to join him, back when he first started attending church. But after his first communion, his body had reacted violently to the wafer. Later, he learned he had a severe gluten intolerance.
It felt like a cruel joke.
Another reason to feel out of place. Another reason to question everything.
He remembered thinking: If even the body of Christ makes me sick, what does that say about me? The ritual that was supposed to bring comfort and connection had left him doubled over in pain. Since then, he’d stopped participating. He just waited for Deacon to finish, sitting in silence as the choir sang and the incense curled toward the rafters.
Chase Hollow and Deacon walked home beneath the fading light, unaware that eyes followed them from the shadows.
Two figures lingered behind the hedgerow, voices low and sharp.
“Are you sure that Chase boy is seeing Nox?” one whispered.
“I’m certain,” the other replied. “But luring Nox out won’t be easy—not with Chase so devoted. We’ll need to use a little hypnosis on him.”
“Why bother?” the first scoffed. “Aren’t we just going to kill the creature?”
“Of course,” the second said, calm and cold. “But we need bait. Chase won’t help us willingly. If we use the spell just a temporary one it’ll look like we’re freeing him from possession. It’s not the same as harming him. It’s a cleansing.”
The first man chuckled darkly. “Mers always pretend to be something more. But in the end… they’re just fish.”
The wind rustled through the trees, carrying their words into the night. Chase and Deacon kept walking, unaware that the hunt had already begun.
The church was empty, its silence thick as velvet. Moonlight streamed through the stained glass, casting fractured colors across the pews. Chase and Deacon had come to light candles, maybe to find peace. But peace wasn’t waiting for them.
It started with a whisper.
Then the hooded figures emerged from the shadows silent, swift, coordinated. Deacon barely had time to shout before he was seized, arms pinned behind him. Chase didn’t resist. His eyes were vacant, locked onto the silver stopwatch swinging in front of him. The ticking echoed through the nave like a heartbeat.
“Chase!” Deacon cried, struggling. “Wake up!”
But Chase was already under. Hypnotized. His body moved like a puppet, guided by unseen strings.
The boys were dragged from the church, down the winding path toward the surf. The wind howled, and the sea churned as if it sensed what was coming.
At the shoreline, Chase was bound to the rocks his wrists exposed, his voice still humming the eerie melody that had once drawn Nox from the depths. The hooded men surrounded him, chanting in low tones. One of them approached with a blade not deep enough to sever, but sharp enough to draw blood. Crimson rivulets spilled into the ocean.
Deacon, tied nearby, screamed against the gag in his mouth.
And then the water broke.
Nox surged from the surf, eyes blazing, tail slicing through the waves. He lunged toward Chase, snarling, snapping at the men. One screamed as Nox bit down on his wrist, blood mixing with the salt spray.
But the trap was ready.
A net woven from silver and bone was cast over Nox, dragging him to the sand. He thrashed, roared, but the enchantments held. The hooded men closed in, triumphant.
Chase kept singing, tears streaming down his face, unaware of the chaos around him. The spell held him fast. His voice was the lure. His blood was the beacon.
And Nox was caught.
Deacon writhed against the ropes, the gag cutting into the corners of his mouth. The surf roared behind him, and Nox thrashed in the silver net, his tail slamming against the rocks. Chase stood nearby, bound but still singing his voice distant, hollow, held by the spell.
With a final twist, Deacon dislodged the gag and gasped for air.
“Chase!” he shouted, voice hoarse. “Wake up! You have to stop!”
The hooded men turned toward him, unfazed.
“Don’t kill him,” Deacon pleaded, nodding toward Nox. “He’s innocent!”
One of the men scoffed. “Innocent? He’s a merman. He kissed a boy.”
Deacon’s eyes blazed. “And you kidnapped my cousin. You hypnotized him. You cut him open and used him like bait. So if we’re measuring wrongs here…”
He strained against the ropes, fury rising in his chest.
“…I’d say you’re the ones who need saving.”
The men hesitated, the wind whipping their robes. Nox snarled from the net, blood dripping from his teeth. Chase’s voice faltered, a tremble in the melody.
“Ignore the boys,” the leader said, his voice calm and venomous. “That one’s clearly been seduced by his cousin’s wicked ways. It won’t matter soon.”
He stepped closer to Nox, trailing a gloved finger along the merman’s tail, still glistening with seawater. The gesture was slow, deliberate meant to humiliate.
“At sunrise, we’ll tie this creature to the pole. Let the town see what’s been hiding beneath their waves. He’ll die slowly, painfully. Mers can’t survive long out of the water.”
He turned to his followers, eyes gleaming beneath the hood.
“Was it worth it, Nox?” the leader sneered, circling the bound merman. “All the kisses, all the love was it worth it in the end?”
He crouched beside Nox, voice low and venomous.
“I couldn’t believe you were still alive. But I suppose you’ve always belonged in the gutters… crawling in the filth where no one decent dares to look.”
The leader turned his gaze toward Deacon and the still-hypnotized Chase, his expression unreadable beneath the shadow of his hood.
“Get their guardians,” he said coldly. “Unbind the boys. You can wake the Chase fellow from his trance we’ve already gotten what we needed.”
He paused, then smiled a thin, cruel thing.
“Oh, and do tell their guardian,” he added, voice dripping with contempt, “that all of this could have been avoided… if they’d just taken Chase for an exorcism. You know, to cleanse him of his unnatural desires.”
One of the Ex Libris members knelt beside Chase and whispered a counter-spell, her voice soft but firm. The silver trance broke like glass. Chase blinked, then gasped, his voice rising into a scream.
Deacon’s father arrived at the shoreline, breath catching as he saw his son and nephew bound to the rocks. His eyes darted to the netted creature thrashing in the surf—Nox, scales glinting in the rising light.
“What is this?” he demanded, voice cracking. “Why are they tied up? What is that?”
The leader of Ex Libris stepped forward, calm and composed. “That, sir, is the siren your nephew has been consorting with. The creature he’s been seeing all along.”
Deacon’s father went pale. His gaze flicked from Chase still trembling and screaming Nox’s name to the merman in the net. His face drained of color with every passing second.
Deacon’s mother arrived next, rushing to untie the boys. Her hands moved fast, but her expression was tight with anger.
“What were you thinking?” she hissed, not at the hooded figures, but at her son and nephew. “Sneaking around, keeping secrets this is what comes of it.”
“But Mom—” Deacon began.
“No,” she snapped. “You should’ve told us. You should’ve said something before it got this far.”
“We have to save Nox,” Chase said, voice trembling as he turned to Deacon.
Before Deacon could respond, a hand grabbed Chase’s arm. Deacon’s father, pale and furious, pulled him back.
“Are you out of your mind?” he barked. “He’s a merman!”
Chase looked up at his uncle, eyes brimming with tears. “I don’t care,” he said, voice cracking. “I don’t care if he’s a merman, a vampire, or whatever monster you want to call him.”
“He’s someone I loved.”
The words hung in the air like thunder.
“We met because he wanted to hear me sing. That’s it. He cared about me. And they you.. this whole community…” Chase’s voice faltered, then rose again, fierce and broken. “You just wanted to hurt him.”
“But he loves me.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I’m sorry I put Deacon in danger. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I didn’t want it to. But it already did.”
He stepped forward, pleading now.
“Please… help me save him. Nox hasn’t hurt anyone. He doesn’t deserve to die. He doesn’t… he doesn’t…”
“It’s going to be hard to save him,” Deacon said slowly, eyes scanning the horizon. “It’s not as simple as cutting him down from the pole. We’ll have to get him back to deep water and that’s already far from the center of town.”
He glanced at Chase. “Unless your boyfriend can turn into a kelpie too.”
Chase made a soft whistle through his teeth.
Deacon turned to him, eyes wide. “Chase… don’t tell me your boyfriend can also turn into a people-eating horse.”
“I mean,” Chase said, shrugging helplessly, “Nox told me he could turn into a lot of sea creatures. I didn’t ask for a full list.”
“You are unbelievable.”
“Gather around, townspeople!” the leader of Ex Libris bellowed from the steps of the town hall. “Behold the monster we’ve saved you from!”
The crowd thickened in the square, eyes drawn to the pole where Nox hung bound and exposed. His moonstone scales shimmered faintly in the morning light, casting iridescent hues across the cobblestones. Some children, emboldened by the crowd, threw stones—one striking his shoulder, another grazing his cheek.
Nox flinched, tried to shift this body trembling as he attempted to summon his tentacled form but the silver-threaded ropes held tight, suppressing his magic. He gasped, eyes wide with pain and panic.
Others in the crowd didn’t jeer. They cried. Some clutched their chests, overwhelmed by the sight of something so strange, so beautiful, so clearly suffering.
Meanwhile, at the edge of town, Deacon and Chase were in the barn, struggling with their old farm horse, Boris.
“Come on, Boris!” Deacon hissed, yanking at the reins.
Boris snapped his teeth at him, nearly catching his hand.
“Whoa, easy!” Chase said, stepping in and stroking Boris’s mane. “He’s just grumpy. He hates crowds.”
“Well, he’s about to hate a lot more,” Deacon muttered.
They saddled Boris quickly, adrenaline pushing them forward. The plan was reckless, but it was all they had.
“We ride through the crowd,” Deacon said, tightening the straps. “I’ll steer and keep them distracted. You grab Nox and cut him loose.”
Chase nodded, eyes burning with resolve. “And if he can shift into a kelpie…”
“…he’ll get himself to the water,” Deacon finished.
They mounted Boris, who snorted and stomped, sensing the tension. The crowd was growing louder. The sun was rising higher. And Nox was running out of time.
“Ready?” Deacon asked.
Chase gripped the saddle. “Let’s save him.”
The townspeople screamed as Deacon charged through the crowd atop Boris, the old farm horse snorting and stomping with wild energy. Chase clung to the saddle behind him, eyes locked on the pole where Nox hung limp and shimmering.
Deacon reached into his coat and pulled out a pocket knife, slicing at the silver-threaded ropes. He couldn’t cut them all some were too tight, too tangled but a few snapped loose, and that was enough.
With a gasp and a shimmer of light, Nox began to shift.
His body twisted, scales melting into sleek black fur. Hooves slammed against the cobblestones as he transformed into a kelpie a towering black stallion with eyes like deep ocean pools. The crowd gasped, some stumbling back in awe, others grabbing ropes in panic.
Chase didn’t hesitate. He leapt from Boris onto Nox’s back, gripping the kelpie’s mane and whispering urgently.
“Nox, go! Go now!”
But the crowd surged forward, ropes flying through the air. Nox reared, startled, hooves kicking wildly. The silver glint of rope grazed his flank, and he nearly bucked Chase off.
Deacon turned Boris toward the mob, shouting, “Back off!”
Boris lunged, snapping at the townspeople with surprising ferocity. The crowd recoiled, giving Chase just enough space.
“Hold on!” Deacon yelled.
Chase dug his heels into Nox’s sides, and the kelpie bolted hooves pounding against stone, mane whipping in the wind. They tore through the square, past the stunned villagers, toward the distant edge of town where the sea waited.
Behind them, Deacon held the line, Boris stomping and snorting, keeping the crowd at bay.
The sun was rising fast.
And Nox was almost free.
Boris reared violently as a rope tightened around his neck, thrown by an onlooker desperate to stop the charge. Deacon gripped the reins, trying to calm the panicked horse, whispering through clenched teeth, “Easy, boy, easy…”
But his eyes weren’t on Boris anymore.
In the distance, Chase rode atop Nox’s kelpie form, the black stallion cutting through the morning light like a shadow come alive. Chase’s white ruffled shirt billowed behind him, catching the wind like a veil. For a moment, Deacon saw something surreal Chase looked like a bride, and Nox, with his sleek black coat and wild mane, could have been the groom.
They were galloping toward the water, toward freedom.
But then Deacon’s stomach dropped.
Emerging from the alleyway ahead was the leader of Ex Libris, torch in hand, flanked by a smaller group of townspeople. Their faces were grim, determined. They weren’t just watching they were moving, forming a blockade across the path to the sea.
The torches flickered like warning beacons, casting long shadows across the cobblestones. The crowd began to shout, some reaching for ropes, others brandishing pitchforks and nets.
Deacon’s heart pounded. Chase and Nox were seconds away from the blockade.
And if they didn’t break through now… they wouldn’t make it.
Deacon’s view blurred as Boris’s knees buckled beneath him, the ropes pulling tight around the old horse’s neck and legs. With a panicked neigh, Boris crumpled, nearly toppling onto Deacon. At the last second, Deacon rolled away, heart pounding, just missing the crushing weight of the horse’s body.
“Boris!” he gasped, scrambling to his side.
The townspeople surged forward, some shouting, others shoving the horse roughly to the ground as Boris thrashed weakly, overwhelmed and terrified.
“I’m sorry, boy,” Deacon whispered, stroking the horse’s mane as he tried to calm him. “I didn’t want you to get hurt… but we had to save Chase’s boyfriend. I promise you’re gonna be okay.”
The crowd wasn’t sympathetic.
“You endangered everyone!” one man shouted.
“Running a horse through the square like that? Are you insane?” another woman snapped.
Deacon didn’t answer. His eyes flicked toward the edge of town, where Chase and Nox were still galloping toward the sea Chase clinging to the kelpie’s mane, wind tearing through his shirt like a banner.
They were close.
But the torches ahead still burned.
And Ex Libris wasn’t finished.
The ropes had burned. The silver had stung. But now, in kelpie form, Nox galloped beneath Chase’s weight, hooves pounding against cobblestone, lungs aching with every breath of dry air. The sea was close he could smell it, taste it but the barricade loomed ahead like a wall of fire and fear.
Torches. Nets. Ropes. Faces twisted in hatred.
And Chase, clutching his mane, whispering apologies between gasps.
“I’m sorry,” Chase said, voice cracking. “I didn’t want this to happen. I didn’t want you to get hurt.”
Nox didn’t respond couldn’t. But he felt it. The tremble in Chase’s hands. The guilt in his voice. The love.
Then Chase saw the blockade and went silent.
Nox felt his heart drop. The path was sealed. The sea was just beyond, but unreachable.
“I don’t know much about riding,” Chase stammered, leaning forward. “But I’ve seen you swim. You move like gravity doesn’t matter.”
Nox’s ears flicked back, listening.
“I took dance,” Chase continued, voice steadier now. “And ballerinas… they jump. They leap. They fly.”
He tightened his grip.
“You’re strong. You’re fast. You’re beautiful. You can do this.”
Nox’s muscles coiled. The wind howled. The crowd screamed.
And then he leapt.
Hooves struck stone, then air. The world tilted
With a final, desperate surge, Nox’s hooves struck the edge of the dock and then the ocean swallowed them.
The impact was sharp, cold, and jarring. Saltwater surged around them as Nox plunged beneath the surface, his kelpie form twisting mid-air to soften the landing. Chase gasped, clinging to his mane, lungs burning from the sudden chill.
They’d made it.
Barely.
Chase coughed, blinking through the spray. “I knew you could do it,” he whispered, voice trembling with awe and relief.
Nox shifted beneath him, surfacing just enough for his voice to carry. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “But you might have to make a choice now.”
Chase’s breath caught.
“I can’t stay near your town anymore,” Nox continued. “Not after this. Not after what they did. If you come with me… it means living under the water. Permanently.”
Chase looked back toward the shore, where torches still flickered and figures shouted in the distance. He thought of the church bells, the whispered rumors, the way people looked at him when they thought he wasn’t listening.
They knew now.
And they’d never forget.
He turned back to Nox, eyes shining.
“What choice do I have?” Chase said. “They already hate me for loving you. At least underwater, I get to keep you.”
Nox’s eyes softened, and he reached out his hand no longer hoofed, but webbed and warm.
Chase took it.
And together, they sank beneath the waves.
The search continued for weeks. The townspeople combed the shores, dragged nets through the coves, whispered about mermaids and monsters. But they found nothing. No scales. No bones. No sign of Nox.
And no sign of Chase.
Deacon knew he’d never see his cousin again. The town rarely spoke of him now just a few muttered prayers, a few sideways glances when his name slipped out. It was easier for them to forget.
But Deacon couldn’t.
Sometimes, when the guilt pressed too hard or the silence in the house grew too loud, he walked down to the surf. He’d stand where the tide met the sand, watching the waves fold into each other like two bodies embracing like Chase used to meet Nox, with arms open and eyes full of wonder.
One day, as the wind curled around him and the sea whispered its endless song, Deacon spotted a seashell half-buried in the sand. It shimmered faintly, moonstone pale.
He picked it up, brushed off the salt, and brought it to his ear.
And there it was.
Chase’s voice.
Soft. Distant. Singing something wordless and beautiful. A melody carried by water and memory.
Deacon closed his eyes, letting the song wash over him.
Somewhere beneath the waves, Chase was still singing.
And Nox was still listening.