Fear the Drowning Deep(27)

“Bridey.” Fynn spoke close to my ear. “You can look. They’re just big crabs. They don’t have horns. They even look good enough to eat.”

Slowly, I raised my head and studied what the fishermen displayed proudly.

The two crabs were like something from one of Mam’s paintings. They made Mr. Boyd’s and Mr. Nelson’s heads appear tiny by comparison, like stars next to harvest moons. Each man’s arms shook under the strain of holding a creature against his chest, and it was no wonder. The crabs were as wide through their bodies as I was tall. Sunlight glinted off their deep-set eyes and mottled red flesh.

The most horrifying part was their claws. A man could have used one of the enormous appendages as a club, and the blackish pincers looked capable of snapping limbs like twigs.

“Are those the things that attacked you?” I whispered to Fynn, my heart thudding dully in my ears. His wounds hadn’t looked like pincer gouges, but with all that had happened recently, I didn’t feel certain of anything.

“No. At least, I don’t think so.” Fynn eyed me with concern. “Are you all right?”

Unable to form words, I edged away from the crowd. A few folk cast curious glances in my direction, nudging their friends and tittering as I stumbled back. How could everyone gawp at those crabs like they were cause for celebration?

“That’s it. We’re going,” Fynn declared.

We turned and started toward home. If it hadn’t been for Fynn’s wounds, I’d have broken into a full-on sprint.


We found Grayse in the hallway, standing against the wall, chattering happily to herself about something.

“Come see, Bry!” She reached for me, her wide eyes partially hidden by her unruly hair. Her dress was on backward, and when she tilted her chin up, faint smudges of black paint were visible on her chin and cheeks.

My heart sped up. “Where’s Mam?”

“She’s taking a nap for her headache. But she finished her new painting! Come! I want to show you the Bully!”

I would have much rather joined Fynn in the main room, but I agreed to follow Grayse to Mam’s easel. “Look in on Mam, would you?” I called to Fynn. “See if she needs anything.”

I returned my attention to Grayse. “Didn’t Liss help you get dressed this morning? You know the collar goes in front, right?” We started down the hall together.

“Liss is out with some boy.” Grayse gave a tiny grin. “And the collar goes whichever way I want.”

“Oh, I see. My mistake.” I grinned back, vowing to ask about the boy later. Liss never stepped out with anyone, and I could already hear Cat’s amused speculation as to which lucky lad Liss was sneaking around with. But thoughts of my sister’s secret paramour vanished as we turned a corner to see Mam’s easel.

My mind refused to process the image on the canvas. First, there was the multitude of needlelike teeth. Three rows on top, and three on the bottom, shining in a serpent’s gaping maw. Mam’s wrist must have ached after painting the point of each malicious tooth.

“Bry?” Grayse looked up, chewing on her bottom lip.

“Give me a moment.” I shifted my gaze to the bottom teeth smeared red. Not the vibrant hue of fresh blood, but deep burgundy like an old stain.

Gooseflesh flared on my arms. I wanted to understand what the creature in the painting was, for Mam’s sake. I wanted to know how disturbing the dream had been that inspired this work, what vision had left her confined to her bed with another headache.

The serpentine head, painted inky black, took up most of the picture, with only a sliver of ocean visible around it. A livid yellow eye was dwarfed by the surrounding darkness, and a hint of a fat snake’s body curved off the canvas. Then there were the jaws. Though the creature’s mouth was gaping, an excess of skin around the corners led me to a dreadful realization: its mouth could open even wider.

“Don’t be scared, Bry.” Grayse sounded like Fynn at the market earlier. “The Bully’s only paint.”

“Go lay down with Mam, little fish,” I said, fighting to keep my voice steady. Grayse hesitated, then nodded.

I walked back to the main room, legs shaking like they might collapse at any moment. Between the giant crabs, Fynn’s injuries, and the recent disappearances, no one could deny that something strange was happening in the waters off Port Coire.

Perhaps the thing that lured Grandad into the sea—if, indeed, something had—was near the Isle once again. Yet the mysterious black fin I’d seen in the harbor, if that was the guilty creature, looked nothing like the filmy white figure that flickered in the waves as Grandad went under. Mostly, I was grateful I’d never seen anything so terrible as the creature on Mam’s canvas.

I needed to run. To clear my head and put the town, the sea, and the serpent behind me.

Fynn’s shouts trailed behind me. “Bridey, wait! Where are you going?”

I slipped outside and ran toward the distant green hills, desperate for escape.

The day kept getting worse. I wanted to cry or scream. I wanted to hurl Mam’s new painting into the sea. I’d seen my fill of monsters, both real and imaginary.

What would Grandad have said about the horrible painting? He wouldn’t have wished to hurt Mam’s feelings, but I could picture him mouthing the word rubbish as soon as Mam left the room. Then he’d launch into the story of the time he went to Ireland and saw the mysterious art at Newgrange, an ancient tomb rumored to belong to old Irish kings. He said the beauty of the tomb’s carvings was eclipsed only by the figures of the Irish women. This was before he met Gran, he always assured us, but she’d still cuff him on the arm with her shoe.