Sue Vincent has provided a most interesting photograph this week and it has inspired me to write a short story called The Siren Witch. This is the beginning.
The woman, who stood alongside the isolated dock, was not beautiful. Her nose was slightly too hooked, her body marginally too large-boned and her dark eyes fractionally too almond shaped to meet the traditional requirements of beauty. Her long and curling dark hair, overly ample bosom and pouting mouth gave a suggestion of wanton sexuality to her still figure, which rose up out of the mist like the proud prow of a ship. Her powerful voice floated across the water as she sang of love found and lost.
“Oi, look at that,” said Richard, pointing in the direction of the shadowy figure. The distance between their small fishing vessel, in the middle of the delta, and the shape on the shore was sufficiently far for the two unsophisticated fishermen on the boat to miss the cat-like shine of her eyes in the grey dankness, and the satisfied curl of her lips. The notes of her pure voice caressed them, encircling them in its swirling and enchanting embrace.
George met Richard’s eyes and smirked. “This looks like a good place to stop for the night.” The men were sailing homeward after a long day’s fishing out at sea. They would usually have returned long before dusk, but a sudden storm had blown up making the sea rough and stormy and the sailing slow and challenging. Their wives and children were waiting patiently for their return, but Richard, whose mind was lost to the words of passion dancing on the wind, only nodded in agreement. Any random thoughts of their families or caution were thrown aside as the men maneuvered the small sailing boat towards the shoreline and the perceived pleasures that lay thereupon.
As they drew closer, the passionate words and lusty singing seemed to beckon them closer. Alluring and heavy with promise, the sound acted like wine on the minds of the two victims. Tying the boat to the old and rotting dock, they lurched onto land, literally drunk with desire.
The woman stood and continued to sing as the men shuffled towards her, grinning and gibbering with excitement and anticipation, completely unaware of the huge knife hidden within the folds of her cloak. George reached her first, followed closely by an enthusiastic Richard. Neither of them saw the knife come up, dull and indiscernible in the dimness. It flashed downwards in a deadly arc.
George screamed as the great knife slashed through his shoulder, its downward journey stopped by the grinding of metal on his rib bones. He collapsed forward onto his hands and knees, braying great, wrenching sobs of fear and pain. Richard watched, dazed, as the she-devil grasp the haft of the knife, wrenched it free, and swung it outwards and across his body with great strength. His eyes widened momentarily, as his belly split open like a ripe melon, spilling out his dark and writhing guts. The singing stopped and the laughing began as the woman, her unnaturally bright and hawk like eyes reveling in the gushing blood, slashed George’s throat, abruptly ending the awful noise. Silence descended as the river continued its slow and meandering movement towards the sea.
You can join in the challenge here: https://scvincent.com/2019/05/16/thursday-photo-prompt-wicker-writephoto/