Long ago, when Mrs. Smith had been called by other names, humans had willingly sacrificed their Pure Ones toher. In those glorious days, the man-children walked into the water, naked as seals, and she had feasted on them. In return, she had allowed the rest of their tribe or band or village to live. This had been part of the oath between her and their kind.
As the centuries passed, the humans continued to feed her. They gave her their weak or deformed children. They gave her slaves and prisoners or those who’d broken their laws.
Back then, Mrs. Smith had her fill of man flesh. Back then, the Pure Ones were gifted to her—wrists and ankles bound like a present wrapped in ribbons.
The sacrifices made Mrs. Smith lazy. Complacent. She watched the humans evolve. She bore witness to their advancements, never imagining the day would come when she was no longer the most powerful of the two species. She couldn’t foresee a future in which humans dominated the planet, forcing her to hide in the shadows.
When such a future arrived, she had to adapt.
She no longer received sacrifices. She had to skulk about, biding her time until she could strike. She had to avoid boat propellers, commercial fishing nets, submarines, and sonar. She had to pick off humans when they were alone or in the middle of a storm. Detection would lead to her death, so she became one with the shadows.
Truth be told, she relished the hunt. She was born to stalk. To tear. To devour. She would make the humans pay for diminishing her. For forgetting that she should be worshipped as a god.
By the time her third victim entered the water, the sharks were waiting. They circled around Mrs. Smith, frenzied with hunger.
Mrs. Smith recognized their need, but she was the apex predator of every ocean. The sharks would have to make do with her scraps.
This man-child was hers and hers alone.
She enfolded him in her serpentine arms and carried him all the way down to the bottom. She would make the pleasure of eating him last as long as possible.
Every bite was dizzying. Orgasmic. The effect on her body was a miracle. She felt the years slough away like old snakeskin. Her muscles were infused with strength. She’d be twice as fast now. With her renewed stamina, she could spend more time out of the water. Her human shell would look younger. Its skin smooth with no trace of scales. Her bony body would fill out. Her flesh would be as soft as a ripe pear. Her hair, fine as corn silk. Her teeth would gleam like pearls. Her uneven gait would be gone. Instead, she’d move with the lithe grace of a dancer.
The summer had just begun, and she’d already consumed two Pure Ones. Seven more and she would live for another century.
With her belly stretched tight as a drum, she fell into a doze, her body hovering above the ocean floor. She woke only once to vomit a pair of watches, a wedding ring, a belt buckle, three zippers, and a handful of undigested teeth. As she slipped into sleep again, the eels cloaked her body.
They would stay with her until the moon rose and the tides shifted. They would stay until she slipped back under the gap in the boathouse door. And when she was gone, walking on the hard, dry earth with her grotesque human legs, her children would glide away to their clumps of seagrass to wait.
They would wait for the Mother of Eels to call to them. They would wait until it was time for the next hunt.
7
Jill
Jill didn’t realize her mom was in the laundry room until her fingers curled around the cool metal of the refrigerator handle. The laundry room was steps away from the fridge, and Jill snatched her hand back as if she’d been burned.
Her mother slammed the dryer door closed, straightened, and pinned Jill with a glare.
“Where’s your brother?” It was just past nine in the morning and Natalie’s voice was already edged with anger. “There isn’t a drop of water in the dog dish. Why do we pay you kids an allowance when you never do your jobs?”
“He’s downstairs,” said Jill.
“Listening to music, with his door closed, I suppose?”
Jill nodded.
Her mother released one of her weighted sighs and picked up the water bowl. “I have to do everything around here. Absolutelyeverything. But not today. Today, you and J.J. are helping me with yard work. Go get dressed.”
Jill let out a moan of complaint, but it was half-hearted. There was no use arguing when her mom got that Cruella de Vil look in her eye, so she trudged down the hall to her room and pulled on shorts and a striped T-shirt that used to be J.J.’s.
In the bathroom she shared with Justin, she gazed at herself in the mirror as she brushed her teeth. She saw a girl in a seriously ugly shirt. Not only were the colors hideous—brown, yellow, and orange—but it was too short for her. The bottom hem sat just above the waistline of her shorts, which meant her skin would be exposed every time she moved.
I’m going to ruin you, Jill thought, testing the thickness of the fabric with her fingernail.
Yard work meant sharp tools. Clippers, hand rakes, weeders. All she had to do was make a big enough hole, and her mom would finally let her throw it out.
Stepping out of the bathroom, she heard raised voices from downstairs. Her mom was yelling at J.J., and he was yelling right back.
