#mercreature

When you finally landed in the sweltering, overcrowded airport, you were quick to latch on to other students and your program’s native guides. Amongst bumbling foreigners like yourself were the sunny, pearly-toothed Italians who had the boldness and vocal cords necessary to lead you through seas of tourists. Before you could find someone to clutch at for safety in the winding streets, someone had already latched onto you. 

He was a peculiarly handsy guide who called himself Amadeo, kissing you on both cheeks and pulling you with an arm around your shoulder. He was rumored to be studying a masters in architecture at your host university, not that it mattered. He rarely answered any questions about the school or its courses, instead opting to finger feed you sweets and steal your wrist to lay an entwined bracelet upon it. 

If he wasn't leading you to new horizons he was trailing close behind, berating locals who had no problem ripping you off, swindling shop owners who seemed to melt after he said something along the lines of “l'amore della mi vita,”  with a quick kiss pressed to your cheek. If you didn't know any better, you might've thought he was flirting with you. But the not-so-subtle sensuality of Italians that you'd seen in dozens of young, loitering couples made you doubt any genuine romantic affection. For heaven's sake he kissed everyone on the cheek, often bumping shoulders with other students; it was in his nature to be a flirt. Why would his hand snaking to interlock with yours mean anything?

It all seemed so cut and dry, even if you laid at night pressing your fingertips to where his soft lips once kissed, fumbling with the keychain of an Italian flag he bought you. So, you ignored the beating of your heart, letting him string you along another field trip for the weekend, even with your gut telling you to turn around and crawl back home. 

 A small town of limestone resting on the breast of the ocean was your main source of exploration this time, Amadeo’s soft, tanned hands pulling at yours from rocky beaches to wineries. He was noticeably more eager in the past evening than normal for him, capricious in his decisions and erratic tugs at you. There was a nervous look as he watched the sea, almost as a child would appear when gazing from afar at the deep end of a pool. 

Amadeo arranged for your group to stay in a local inn, the inside just as dingy as you'd witnessed from the outside. But your guide promised it'd be worth it, that it had the best view of a shiny canal opening to the Adriatic, propped against the west of the inn’s cracking bricks. Like a fool, you yielded to trust him, smitten by his smile and silly auburn glasses that made his ocean eyes sparkle. 

While your fellow exchange students shared rooms with balconies adorned by woven flower baskets, you stayed on the tiny bottom floor with Amadeo, your low beds right next to a floor-to-ceiling open gap that was once a window, measly pale curtains protecting you from a ledge leading to the bottomless water. Even with bright shops sparkling from across the canal, the unlit areas of dark green sea were deep with lurking creatures, occasional blips flicking up to create torn ripples.

Amadeo had gone quiet once the lights were shut out, not a word released from him as the innkeepers and students went off to their rooms. The small town quieted besides for gentle laps of water against stone. A part of you wished you could ask him what was wrong, why he spent the entirety of dinner locked in your shared room watching the canal with a foreboding gaze, distancing himself.

 Even with your body exhausted and the thick clog of salt and sea up your nostrils, your heart fluttered at being in a place you once only saw in your dreams. The day’s long hours of walking in the summer sun with only acquacotta and gelato filling your stomach left you craving for sleep. Slowly, concern for Amadeo drifted into pleasant dreams of him, his blurring body curled away from you in a quivering hunch. 

Your sleep only lasted what seemed a few minutes, an abrupt sound causing you to stir. The open space between you and the canal was almost frightening, a silver moon bouncing off of old family photos laying the walls, dim picture frames and polaroids of the Amalfi coast. The only thing that familiarized you was Amadeo, watching over you. 

“...deo?” You muttered, your voice cracked and dry. The arid night left your throat parched. 

“Shh, cuore mio. Sleep.” He hushed, seemingly out of breath as beads of sweat trickled down his neck.  

Your legs were scrunched up, held still by him as he sat at the edge of your small twin-sized mattress, squeaky from a rusty bed frame. 

“What time’s it?” You mumbled, delirious and looking for your phone in a mess of faded bedsheets. 

Amadeo grabbed your forearm, gently brushing his fingers down it at a jagged pace. He held your limp wrist with a tender squeeze, trying to affirm and control it. 

“Just rest, my love. Ignore it.” 

His whine held a touch of needy desperation as you squirmed. With a free hand Amadeo rubbed at your knee, massaging it with a roughness that made it seem like he was ready to pry apart your leg. He was quick to make a trail from your outer thigh to beneath your pajama shorts, where the cotton’s end met your flesh. His hands were warm, almost sweaty in their attempts to caress your skin.

“What’s the matter, huh?” You try to fight sleep, knowing something must be wrong if he dared to come and harass you in the middle of the night. If it weren’t for the exhaustion of your endeavors only a few hours ago, you might’ve even been flustered at the way he touched you. “Can’t sleep?”

“Could say that,” He teases, huffing as he presses kisses to your knee. “Not without you, bellissima. Not here anymore.”

An array of small, devotion-like kisses fall from his pouty lips, decorating from the tops of your knees down to the middle of your thighs. 

Slowly the wetness of his tongue, like that of a slick eel, began to wake you up. A perspiring grope at your thigh made you flinch, your foot pressed at his abdomen as a warning. 

“Wasting your time, darling,” He smiles, still hunched against your right leg laying in his grasp. Your sleepy lips turned into a taught, worried frown, scanning over the bright moonlight that once shone sweetly on his opal-white, slightly crooked teeth, instead now illuminating needle-like razors. They almost seemed painful in his gums, thick as bone in his stretched mouth.

The horror reached your eyes before it could escape your parting lips, a webbed, sickly green-grey hand slipping over your mouth. 

“Shh, hush now,” He whispered, sibilant and harsh. “tu sei speciale, it's okay, you’re with me.”

A dark tongue left his mouth, a hint of purple running over his teeth that appeared sharp enough to pull the skin from your muscle. What had happened to him? Was this all part of some wicked dream induced by your fatigue?

“Ama..eo….p..ease,” Your voice was muffled beneath his wettening hand, his skin covered in a thin layer of moistness that seemed to transform him into something inhuman. Slits of skin carved in the sides of his throat, widening with each pant that left his mouth.

Amadeo’s body had slowly become gaunt and long, collarbones jutting out as his thin cotton shirt pooled around him. The soft green of his eyes transformed into a murky color that lightened as he let out a hiss of a laugh. Slowly, his damp lips came down to kiss your navel, putting the entirety of his newfound weight on the lower half of your body. 

“Divine… So divine all for me,” the hand covering your mouth scratched at your cheek in time with your jaw’s frightful flinch. Brittle nails drew a stinging pain as his hand flung away, the sight of blood shocking even Amadeo. 

His ease has disappeared as he brought the back of his webbed fingers to graze the four scratches, almost tearing up at the sight. If you had thought he was unpredictable before, his temperament had gotten a world of a lot worse.

“È colpa mia, no no,” He wiped the blood away, licking it from his knuckles before coming to clean the rest of your scratch. “I’m sorry, I promise, it will be fine.” 

He seemed to forget his knowledge of English, babbling in broken Italian and heaving as he grasped at your clothes, kissing up your stomach in repentance. 

“What’s wrong with you?” You ask, fear laden in your voice as the burn from your cut started to rise, slower than the blood had. “Amadeo please! Are-- are you sick?” 

You were no longer hazy with sleep now; something was very, very wrong here. Even the slapping waves of the once still canal thought so, pounding against the stone inn.

“This is what I am,” He grunted, digging beneath your shirt like a child throwing a tantrum, tightening it over his head. “It’s what I always do! But I can’t leave without you, even if you are hurt.” He mumbles, now raspy beneath your shirt as the slick of his skin and tears soak into your stomach. 

Was it right to push him away, as your mind had told you to do, or should you pull him close in a sympathetic embrace? He seemed untouchable in the sun, grabbing your chin and nuzzling your cheek each time you met for a new adventure, leading you by the hand to teach the rich history of seafaring towns and rustic cities. But this…. You didn’t know this distraught, monstrous man; maybe you never really knew him at all. 

“What….are you?” You look at his slippery feet, something akin to a vast fish’s tail grazing at his tailbone. His sharp hands dug into the flesh of your stomach, holding it against his cold face. “You’re not…”

“You hear of Colapesce legend? Il monstro delle acque nere, the sea snake?” Your guide unleashes his claws into your hips, like a cat preventing its prey from squirming. “Sirena Leucasia may be more famous for your Hollywood movies.”

“I have no idea what those words mean. Please, just let me take you to a hospital--”

“No!” He huffs, slinking off of you in a slippery fashion. Amadeo tries to pull you toward the edge of the bed by the wrist. “No doctors. Just… maybe I will show you.”

His accent grew thicker, the words almost garbled in his mouth as he hunched forward, beckoning you to come off the bed with him. Round glasses once pushed against his nose sat broken on the floor beside your slippers, the lenses cracked and wet. 

“Come, I promise you will be safe,” His weary smile was frightening, the poorly disguised deception hidden by a cold kiss to your knuckles. “Come, come.”

You stumble out of the creaking bed, following him more out of pity as he skitters towards the open ledge meant for sea gazing. The curtains were billowing roughly towards you, salty wind airing the room in a nauseating flutter. With small steps you observe his tail dragging against the ground. It appeared to grow heavier with each movement, walking becoming impossible for him as he practically crawled. 

“Follow, you see, vita mia.” He murmured, ushering you forward with a webbed hand. His fingers shook, growing bluer with each fingertip. 

“After this, we’ll go to the hospital, okay Amadeo?” You looked at him, weary of the gleam in his eyes. “Right?”

“Yes, yes,” He sputtered too quickly, pulling you onto the stone ledge of the canal. The once safe, emerald water had turned an impossible black. Only a few street lights and a passing boat made Amadeo’s sickly face visible. 

His smile was so wide, delusional in its giddiness as he held both of your hands in his. He stepped closer to the water, only a foot away as he didn’t dare to look back. 

You had followed to pityingly entertain him; perhaps a breath of fresh air would do some good for whatever illness he had concurred. But somewhere along the sight of his animalistic grin, the nail marks digging into your skin, it dawned that your naivety had gotten the best of you.

“Ama…” His hands found your elbows, digging viscous fingers into them to drag you into his chest. He had no need to take another step, your weight and the slip of your feet providing all the power necessary to fall splashless into the canal. 

A short shriek fell from your lips before you were submerged into warm, cloudy water. The tips of something slimy touched the bottom of your foot, causing you to thrash about in Amadeo's arms. 

You desperately opened your eyes, ignoring the sting behind your eyelids as bleak water blinded your vision. Amadeos’ body shone like a twinkling, scaly blue hue. What looked dulled and grey on land was reflecting the minimal light shining in the canal, his skin covered in thick, silvery sapphire scales, occasionally broken by the tan human skin he once wore. That evening his sweat was a sweet scent of summery orange blossom that you once shyly inhaled. Now, water overflowed in your nose and lungs, brined dirt coating the back of your throat as Amadeo clutched you in his arms. The stench of fish and seaweed became suffocating.