Three boats swung out wi’ the tide, anchoring far apart and casting their nets. Near yin boat, a wifie’s heid popped up fae the watter. She smiled. The fishermen looked at yin another in surprise, then shrugged and tossed a lifebelt. She slipped it ower her heid, still smiling. The fishermen hoiked her on board and there she lay, fir she had nae legs.
Her tail, muscled, spiny and thick flicked out to slice and rift – a quicker death than that afforded the fishies. She skited the bodies into the sea, donned a fisherman’s cap and jaisket, and rowed fir land.
She lured the villagers to shore wi’ her haunting song, and by hook or by net she ensnared them, smacking heids aff the side o’ the boat, filleting, paring, sparing nane.
When the ither boats returned they saw an emptied village; they saw the flick o’ a meaty tail clapping against the waves; but most of all they saw a pulp of trimmings and guts, heaped on the rocks like fish spoils.
Sharon's short stories and flash pieces have been published on-line and in magazines, including Ellipsis Zine, Bath Anthology and Janus Lit. Her dream is to have a writing shed so she can potter and procrastinate in total peace. She tweets as SharonBoyle50
This story won the People’s Prize in the September 24 Monthly Micro Competition.