Her heartbeat was louder than the crashing waves. The night felt endless. She ran, her soaked shoes slipping on the metal floor of the ship. Behind her came the sharp, wet sound of the mermaid's claws scraping across the deck. It was hunting her.
She didn't dare look back.
A loud shriek sliced through the air.
She turned the corner—too fast—and almost tripped over a metal rod lying on the floor. Without thinking, she grabbed it. It was old, rusted, and heavy, but it was something. She kept running, clutching the rod tightly.
Then—another scream. Much closer now.
She turned just in time to see the creature leap at her from the side.
Instinct took over.
She swung the rod with all her strength.
CLANG!
The rod struck the mermaid's body—just below its neck, near the side. The metal hit with a wet, deep crack.
Suddenly, the mermaid stopped.
It let out a horrible, high-pitched cry—not like the others. This one was different. It was filled with pain.
The creature twitched. Its body shook. It backed away from her—only slightly—but enough to make her notice.
Her eyes widened.
"What was that…?" she whispered to herself, panting.
She had hit something important.
The mermaid hissed, holding that side, its twisted face showing more than just anger—it showed fear.
That exact spot… it was a weak point.
She didn't have time to think further.
The creature roared again, lunging forward—but she ducked and ran toward the other side of the deck.
She needed a sharper weapon.
She remembered something. Near the lifeboats, there had been a storage box. She sprinted there, her fingers trembling as she ripped it open.
Inside—an old spearhead. Broken. Rusty. But sharp.
Perfect.
She looked around. A wooden mop handle. Long and solid.
She placed the spear tip on the end of the wood, quickly tying it with a thick rope that had been used for life jackets. Her hands worked fast, even as they trembled.
She heard a splash.
The mermaid had jumped back into the sea.
She ran to the railing. Her eyes focused on the lighthouse in the distance. It was closer now—almost like the boat had drifted exactly toward it. She had no time to waste.
Holding the makeshift spear tight, she climbed over the railing.
And jumped.
The cold ocean water hit her like ice.
She gasped, choking slightly, but kicked hard, keeping her grip on the spear.
It was hard to swim—her clothes were heavy, her muscles sore—but she forced herself forward, stroke after stroke.
The lighthouse stood in front of her, dark and rusted, like a broken monster rising from the sea.
She finally reached the base.
There was a ladder—half-rusted, slippery. She held tight, climbing with all her strength.
Her arms burned.
She nearly slipped once, but didn't let go.
At the top, she rolled onto the platform, soaking wet and breathless.
She lay there for a moment, chest rising and falling, feeling every part of her body ache.
But she couldn't stop now.
She sat up and looked behind.
The water rippled.
The mermaid had vanished beneath.
She knew it would come here next.
She turned toward the lighthouse door and pushed it open. It creaked loudly—long unused.
Inside, it was pitch black. She turned on the flashlight of her half-wet phone. The screen flickered weakly but lit the hallway just enough.
She climbed the spiral staircase, every step echoing. The silence was loud. Dust clung to the walls. Spiderwebs touched her arms.
Then she reached the second floor.
And stopped.
She couldn't believe what she saw.
This wasn't just a lighthouse.
It was an old laboratory.
Broken machines. Large glass tanks—some shattered. Metal tables with rusted bolts. Papers scattered across the floor. Clipboards, broken beakers, even a microscope thrown to the corner.
She stepped in slowly, shoes squelching with water.
It looked like someone had been experimenting here. Years ago, maybe—but still. Something had happened in this place.
She walked to a table. Picked up a half-wet notebook.
The cover was torn. The ink inside was blurred and faded.
But one word stood out.
"Subject: Sea Woman."
Her breath caught in her throat.
She flipped the pages quickly, trying to read. But most were unreadable.
The sound of water dripping from her own clothes echoed in the silence. Her hands were shaking again. Partly cold. Mostly fear.
She turned more pages—desperate.
There was noise below. A splash. Then something scraping across metal.
The mermaid had entered the tower.
Her panic spiked.
She kept flipping the pages, faster now.
Then—
A single page slipped out and fell to the floor.
She bent down and picked it up.
It was clearer than the others. A diagram.
A rough sketch of the mermaid's body.
One part was circled in red. Near the side of the neck.
Next to it, a line was written:
> "Sensitive node—controls all muscle function. Unprotected. Damage here leads to collapse or death. Avoid angering it—extremely violent."
She clutched the paper.
So that's what she had hit before.
That was her only chance.
She looked at the stairs.
The sound was getting closer.
She raised her makeshift spear.
And waited.
---------To be continued.....