Annie showed Xander a sketch of a beautiful woman. Here was the real kick in the nut sack, though—beautiful from the waist up. For legs, instead of normal human limbs, Annie had sketched twelve tentacles. So, this river lady had a beautiful torso with beautiful taters and tots, along with a beautiful face, but she had snake tentacles for legs. Wait, snakes don’t have tentacles. Gasp! Snake are tentacles! That explosion, dear reader, is the sound of your mind being blown. You’re welcome. Anyway, the picture she had drawn was pretty similar to the image that Xander had printed and showed to Annie.
Xander removed his phone from his pocket. “Do you mind if I take a picture of this?” he asked. “For my records?”
“If it helps,” Annie said.
After snapping the photograph, Xander pocketed his phone and asked, “Could you describe to me, in as much detail as you remember, what happened that day?”
Annie lifted her attention to the cot once again, but she didn’t say anything to it. “He splashed in and dove underwater when it was deep enough, coming back up with a sharp inhale from the cold. ‘Come on,’ he said, waving me toward him. I remember the current pushing on him, and he had to keep swimming upstream to stay in place. I told him it was too cold for me, that the stream would carry me away. Before he had the chance to convince me, the woman appeared from the depths and stood behind him.” Annie kept staring at the cot. “She had scales on her skin—and gills along her torso. That’s not in the drawing, but I’m sure she did. Four of her tentacles rose out of the water. They shot forward and bit into Andy’s legs and ribs. He screamed and tried to swim away. He made it into the shallower water and started to run up the bank. A fifth and sixth tentacle rose from the water. One latched onto his neck, the other onto his groin. That took the fight out of him. He staggered and fell face-first into the stream, his head cracking against a rock. That’s what I remember the clearest—the sound of his skull slamming against stone.” Annie fell into a trance for a second, probably reliving the nightmare. “She dragged him back underwater with her.”
I hated awkward silences. They made me uncomfortable and usually forced me into an inappropriate joke. Just as I was about to say something about another building fart, Xander saved the day. “Did the creature say anything before attacking?”
“No,” Annabel said.
“But she had a mouth—a human mouth?”
“She was human from the waist up—other than the scales and gills.” With physical effort, Annie tore her attention from the cot and focused on Xander.
“You said you had a few theories about where we could find her. Are they theories based on any evidence?”
Annie pulled her notebook back toward her and began flipping through the pages again, this time stopping nearer to the end. She pointed to a list of names. “These are the people reported through different news outlets to have gone missing along the American River. I’m sure there are more. I marked their last known locations along the river map.” Annie turned a page in the notebook. A map was taped to it. She peeled it free and unfolded it. “She—the Scylla, I guess—only hunts along these stretches. Authorities chalk the disappearances up to stronger currents, to alcohol, to whatever. But I’ve been living out here for years now, and I know differently. I’ve stalked those dotted areas. And you know what I found?”
“What?” Xander asked, staring at the map.
“They’re the most popular spots for experienced fishermen. Secret spots. The people on that list,” Annie turned the page, “all fished, and quite often. My brother’s attack was an anomaly, I think. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. You see, I believe she lives right around this area and goes out and fishes the fishing spots when she’s hungry. If no one is there, she resorts to more populated locations.”
“That’s why you live here,” Xander said. “You want to see her again. To kill her. And your best chance is where you think she lives. That’s why you had a gun on us.”
“Well,” Annie said, leaning back in her chair and grinning, “Andy says it’s mostly to protect those walking along the river. He doesn’t want anyone else hurt by her. Better for them to be run off by a crazy lady than to be eaten by a murderous monster.”
Xander nodded and stood from his chair, the wood creaking with relief. “Annie,” he said, his voice calm and polite, “would you excuse Joey and me for a few minutes? I expected for you to nudge us in the right direction, but I didn’t think you’d lead us there. We have a few things we need to sort out… privately.”
“Please,” she said, jumping from her chair. Her opaque eyes darted around the room. “Please.”
Before Xander and I made toward the exit, a hollow banging sounded on the front door. I startled, dropping the pot. The broth spread across the floor in a massive, mucky pile.
Don’t judge my fear. You already know how I feel about cabins, and there I was cooped up in one. Also, the past couple of days were chock-full of knocking on doors. I’d somehow wound up in an Edgar Allan Poe story. It was tapping, tapping, tapping, and rapping, rapping, rapping all on my door, only that and nothing more—just the tap, tap, tapping, rap, rap, rapping, snap, snap, snapping on the cabin door. Can you see how it would drive a man crazy? That tapping and that rapping and that snapping and stamping and clapping on the fucking door!
The cabin narrowed as my vision tunneled. I saw nothing but the door, only that and nothing more.
The knocking started again, this time with
