Chapter Forty-Four

The Tale of Westwood Pier

I shook myself dry at Nellie’s door and knocked.

“Come in!” she called.

I ran into the living room. A fire glowed red in the hearth and the walrus was settled in his chair. Nellie smiled at me.

“A story fire!” I said.

The walrus nodded. “If someone will fetch me my pipe.”

Nellie dashed off and came back with the pipe, and I got the cookies. I sat down right across from the walrus in spite of the fire.

“I’ve got a fine South Sea adventure for you today,” he said.

“Actually,” I said, “we were hoping for ‘The Tale of Westwood Pier.’”

Nellie’s head shot up.

“Where did you hear about that one?” asked the walrus.

I shrugged. “You mentioned it once.”

“Strong stuff, that story. A bit much for children.”

“We’re not babies!” said Nellie. “There are lots of scary stories in the books we read. What about the girl whose hair was knotted to the rocks by seaweed when the tide came in?”

He leaned back in his chair, looking at me with a raised eyebrow.

“I don’t scare easily,” I said.

“All right, then, but don’t you come running to me complaining of nightmares. You know, I might need a match for this one.”

He lit his pipe. The smoke curled around his white whiskers as he gazed into the fire, gathering the story’s spark.

“Long ago,” said the walrus, “in the village of Westwood, there lived a young man and his beautiful, black-haired bride. They’d been married for almost a year, and yet she was still a mystery to him. He’d never met her family—‘They wouldn’t take to one like you!’ was all she’d say—and she never once spoke about where she was raised. It didn’t matter, because he loved her to distraction. She was his sun and his moon, his salt and his sweet. There was only one thing that bothered him. When the moon was full, he’d wake to find her slipping back under the covers before dawn, her hair damp and her skin smelling of the sea. ‘Where have you been?’ he’d ask her, and she’d laugh lightly and reply, ‘Why, you’ve been dreaming again! I’ve been nowhere but right here beside you.’

“For a long time he chose to believe her. But one such morning, he left the house earlier than usual, and there was the path of her wet footprints, glistening in the morning sun. He followed them to the harbor and out to the end of the pier. With each step his heart grew blacker. ‘A dream?’ he said to himself. ‘Another man, more likely.’ And he came up with a plan.

“Come the next full moon, he told his wife he was going away for the night on business. But instead he went to the pub to gather his courage, and then he snuck down to the pier and hid beneath an overturned dinghy.

“Darkness settled in. The moon began to rise. The man heard an owl hoot a warning in the distance, and the flutter of bats on their nighttime hunt, and the pounding of his own suspicious heart. Finally he heard footsteps, and his wife’s bare feet skipped right past his hiding place.

“He tilted the boat up a few inches and peered out. There she stood at the end of the pier, her long, black hair gleaming in the moonlight, her beauty more unearthly than ever before. She spread her arms wide and sang out in an eerie tune, ‘Come to me! Come!’

“The man shivered. A splash came from the dark. It was no boat, no man, but a seal swimming toward her, and as it swam it sang in human tongue, ‘Come to us! Come!’ Another sleek head rose, and another, until the sea was full of seals swimming toward his wife, singing, ‘Come to us! Come!’

“She dove, piercing the water with barely a ripple.

“Who was this woman he’d married, this woman he thought he knew? Sneaking off to swim with seals—no, not seals; they were selkies to sing like that—and she’d greeted them like kin. Now she was splashing and cavorting with the fey beasts. Though she had no sealskin, she looked at home in the water, strong and graceful, and never had he seen such happiness on her face. A thought pierced him like a dagger: What if she swam away with them and never came back? He leaped up, toppling the dinghy, and strode to the end of the pier.

“‘Come here!’ he shouted. ‘Come here and come home with me!’

“The waters stilled. Every face turned toward him with those huge, dark eyes. And his wife’s eyes—why, hers were as dark as theirs.

“‘Go!’ she cried, in a frightened voice. But it only made him more determined. If she wouldn’t come, he’d catch her and drag her home. He dove into the bitter cold water. When he rose, the beasts had circled him. He took a stroke toward his wife.

“‘No!’ she cried. ‘Go back, my love, go back!’

“But it was too late. The selkies had already slipped under the waves. Now they attacked from below. Jaws clamped around his feet, tighter than steel traps, and dragged him down into darkness. The man was strong—he thrashed to the surface once, and even once more—but the selkies were remorseless. They couldn’t risk him telling the rest of the world what he’d seen. Their tails struck like hammers, their claws slashed flesh, and their teeth bit through bone. The roiling waters turned red.

“When all was done, nothing was left but a pile of bones on the ocean floor.

“His wife walked home alone that night. They say she never smiled again. She’d rise from her bed each full moon, not to swim with the selkies—no, they never returned—but to dive down and circle those bleached white bones. You can still see them there, if you look closely among the oyster shells off the end of Westwood Pier.”

The walrus set his pipe down with a thunk. The story was over. The fire was just a fire again. But the world had changed.

“Aran?” Nellie’s voice came from far away.

I saw the churning water, the pale arms thrashing, the gleam of dark fur. The air was sharp with screaming and the metallic scent of blood.

My head flew up. “It’s a lie!”

“I warned you it’s strong stuff,” said the walrus.

“It’s a lie! Selkies don’t kill humans. Humans are the killers! They catch selkies and cut off their pelts and render their fat! They trap them in nets until they drown! They put them in zoos and—”

My voice rang out so loud, it startled me into silence. Nellie and the walrus were staring at me slack-jawed. I was breathing fast. Too fast.

Finally the walrus spoke. “I admit it’s an unusual tale.”

“It’s just a story,” said Nellie.

I’d gone too far. “I know that,” I said, trying to smile, though from the look on Nellie’s face it must have been a strange sort of grimace. “I mean, it’s not what selkies in stories are supposed to be like, and that’s, well, it’s wrong, and . . .”

The walrus stepped in to save me. “I’m inclined to agree with you. It’s almost as if the storyteller had confused a shark attack with a selkie tale. And there are other problematic points. If the wife is a selkie, why does she remain on land? Where is her sealskin, or the classic webbing between the fingers? And even if she’s half-selkie, half-human, how could the husband not know? Such a jealous, suspicious man. Many of them are, in these stories.” The walrus gave a disapproving sigh. “At any rate, I consider the story an oddity, an outlier. But no less interesting for that.” He reached for his cane and hefted himself to his feet. “Who’s joining me for a piece of toast?”

I shook my head. “I have to get back to Maggie’s.”

Nellie knew it was a lie. She followed me to the door and whispered, “What is it, Aran? Tell me.”

I couldn’t even look at her. I jerked the door open and ran out into the rain.