Boondocks Fantasy

When Vicki Johnson-Steger isn’t writing, chasing grandkids or finding other ways to avoid actual work, she volunteers for her granddaughter’s class. She has a great time with four-year-olds who want to be astronauts, princesses, and firefighters when they grow up, and one who wants to be a mermaid. Her previous stories have been published in DAW anthologies Spells of the City and Timeshares. She is currently working on several YA and children’s books.

One crisp September morning Axel Boyce cast a line into the glistening water of Lake Wisotta. The fisherman mumbled a prayer that today he’d catch his trophy sturgeon. To call this squatty confirmed bachelor an avid sportsman would be to call the Mona Lisa the doodling of an untalented child.

Blitzkrieg Legion, Axel’s champion Chesapeake retriever, took point and perched like a furry figurehead at the bow of the boat. The fisherman, shivering from the damp that seeped through his fishing vest, sipped from a dented Thermos bottle. The sound of ducks overhead caused the young dog to rock the boat, sending scalding coffee to wash over his master’s lap.

At that moment the red bobber dove beneath the glassy surface of the water. Axel jerked the graphite rod upward to set the barbed hook, and instantly felt something fastened to his line. His muscles tensed under the enormous weight of the fish. It pulled with such force that the fisherman struggled. The small boat strained at its anchor, challenged by the powerful energy that roiled the water.

Axel glimpsed the magnificent creature he had heard about since boyhood. A gigantic silvery white fish propelled itself through the air before it disappeared below the surface again. Grunting, Axel fought with all the strength he could summon. A grueling battle raged until finally, fish and fisherman were spent. Bold rays of sunlight blazed directly overhead and glistened off Axel’s bald spot by the time he slowly, methodically, reeled his catch close to the boat.

Axel smiled with pure delight as he glimpsed the largest fish he’d ever seen, too big to fit in a bathtub if it were folded in half. Its pale silvery skin sported white triangular points that jutted from the prehistoric-looking back. The recessed mouth of the bottom-feeder gaped open, giving it the appearance of a comatose shark. In its final effort to escape capture, the immense fish thrashed violently, thoroughly drenching the two in the boat.

Fueled by a surge of adrenaline, Axel clubbed the fish with a small bat. His shaky hands somehow managed to slide a landing net under the tail and pull the fish into the boat. Out of breath, Axel panted as he slowly rowed for home.

Having just wrestled his enormous catch into the kitchen, the veteran angler fell wheezing onto a plastic kitchen chair. He gazed proudly at the fish that lay lifeless in a puddle on the grimy linoleum. Axel scratched his weekend whiskers, and wondered how to preserve this trophy until he could properly stuff and mount it. The fantastic fish was too large to fit in his chest freezer.

A space over the wood-burning stove in this dilapidated house-trailer was reserved for his catch of a lifetime, the prize sturgeon that until now had eluded him for fifty-three years. A giant Muskie viewed the stuffed carcasses of assorted small game that occupied nearly every inch of this tiny house. An impressive wild turkey displayed its fanned tail feathers under the fixed gaze of the twelve-point buck suspended above a plaid threadbare sofa. Axel liked to show off his prizes.

In the cramped kitchen alcove, the lonely man had endured long winter nights passionately focused on taxidermy, his favorite indoor pastime. Small vials, random tools, and a glass syringe lay scattered among stacks of Angler and Antler magazines on top of a worn Formica table layered in old newspaper. Soon the crown jewel of the collection would be displayed in Axel’s humble inner sanctum.

Blitzkrieg sniffed as he anxiously investigated the catch that stretched across the kitchen. He leaped back and growled, upsetting a cluster of fishing rods and a bait box that brimmed with shiny minnows. The fish blinked and rolled its eyes as it slowly surveyed the room.

While the fish lay on the mud-streaked floor its glassy eye enlarged and took on the appearance and size of a human eyeball. Its silvery white outer membrane dissolved into supple human flesh as its head rounded into a human shape with thick wavy hair cascading around the shoulders. Fins and gills disappeared; arms and legs sprouted like a tadpole maturing into a frog at high speed. Delicate pink nails formed at the ends of slender fingers.

Within moments the fish had transformed into a naked woman sporting a knot on her forehead, while a scarlet stream of blood trickled from her lower lip. Her eyes widened and her mouth hung open in a silent scream. The fisherman’s heart pounded as he stared into her magnificent watery eyes. Their extraordinary pale blue color glistened against her pearly-white skin.

Hysterically, she hissed, flailed, and twisted with all her might until finally all the fight had evaporated from her tall willowy frame, and she dissolved into sobs. The weak sunlight of late afternoon filtered through the dingy windows.

“Kill you? I ... I ... what do you mean I tried to kill you? Are you a fish or did I dream that? A minute ago you, you were a fish, right? Now you’re a girl. What the hell happened?”

Moments later, the fisherman sat on the coffee table next to a stack of Field & Stream magazines and gingerly held a bag of frozen peas to the swollen temple of his guest. A weak smile played across his unshaven face as he tried not to stare at her. It was difficult not to marvel at this incredible beauty who’d taken up residence on his sofa. He couldn’t remember the last time ... or if there ever was a time he’d entertained a woman in his home.

“The name’s Axel, Axel Boyce.” He didn’t meet her gaze. The fisherman nodded with pride in the direction of a large brown dog that glowered at the humans from his bed in the corner.

“The Chesapeake’s name’s Blitzkrieg; he’ll be a year next Tuesday. Best bird dog I ever had, trained him myself. He’s a great retriever. He lives to go after them ducks.”

The fisherman could see Blitzkrieg had not taken kindly to his sudden demotion by a slimy fish whose only talent was an ability to transform into a human girl. Axel tried to get the dog’s attention, but Blitzkrieg refused to look. The aroma of bacon sizzling in the fry pan was not enough to coax him from his bed in the corner.

A few nights later, Axel fondly reminisced to her about his boyhood. “I grew up fishing this lake every summer vacation with my grandpa Donny. Always wanted to live on this lake. I love it here, and being miles from civilization makes it seem like I’m the last man on earth. No nosy neighbors next door. Hell, there ain’t a soul for miles. How’d you ever land way up here in the north woods?”

“The Orkney Islands off the coast of Scotland in the North Sea. When I was a wee baby Mama escaped before my father could take me from her to live in the ocean. I was but a few hours old when he revealed his true self and his intentions. My father wasn’t human as my mother presumed. He had married her in hopes of producing female offspring; he was in great need of an heiress. My father was one of the more ambitious sons of King Aeneas, ruler of the North Sea. The old king announced he would leave his undersea throne to the first of his nine sons who produced a daughter. Father fled with a lock of my hair to announce my birth and claim his throne. Meanwhile, my mother escaped with me before he could return. We sailed for America, where she moved us inland to live with her uncle, Simon Lug. The farm is but a few miles from here.”

The next few days Axel’s friends at Northwest Tool and Die noticed he’d been absent from the bar after work. He was their hero of sorts, having no wife or anyone to lay claim to his spare time. No one complained if he stopped at the American Legion Hall to knock back a few with the boys. He was free to hunt, fish, or do whatever he desired.

Axel had found better things to occupy his time. His trophy catch was able to move about by her own power. The warm flush coloring his cheeks as he watched her was matched by an odd flutter in his stomach whenever he stole glimpses of the amazing house guest. Soon he allowed himself to wonder if this beauty with the ice blue eyes could ever feel the same way about him.

The night air was tinged by a wisp of smoke that curled from the wood burner when Axel rolled a dry log onto the glowing embers. Muirgen admitted that she felt more comfortable in her human skin now and had grown a bit fond of the fisherman and the clumsy way he tried to please her.

“I don’t know my true age, having lived almost as long as I can remember as a fish. I think I was nearly twenty years old when my dear mother died.” She blinked at the tears that pooled in her lovely blue eyes.

“It was so unexpected, her death. We lived with Uncle Simon. Mama always insisted—in fact it terrified her to think I’d ever go near water, afraid if word got out I was a mermaid, my father might somehow find us and come to claim me. She knew if I came in contact with any body of water with fish I would turn into a fish, too. I was strictly forbidden to ever go near water, so of course I’d never learned to swim.”

“By the time I was grown Uncle Simon had long since died and left the farm to us. One morning I woke to see the cow barn being swallowed by flames ... with my mother inside. I heard her screams but I was too late to save her.” Muirgen hung her head and sniffed. “I’d never been on my own and I had rarely ever spoken to another person. I was consumed with such grief that I believed death was my only option. I walked aimlessly for hours until I happened upon this lake. Without another thought, I dove in, wanting to drown. But instead of drowning I felt something extraordinary happen: I lost my human features and became a fish.”

“The next few years were difficult. I tried to live on land several times, but the truth was too hard to explain. I barely escaped being locked away in a mental hospital when I tried to tell the doctor I could grow gills. It just became easier to stay in the water.”

The next day winter arrived to chase away autumn. When Axel returned home from work, he pulled the door open and was knocked backward by a black cloud of acrid smoke. The choking stench of charred venison filled the small trailer. A smoke detector wailed as Axel followed the coughing sounds to the sofa where he found Muirgen, shaken, her head buried in her hands.

“I ... I ... I can’t do anything right. Can’t cook, just not used to being on land, maybe you’d be better off with me gone. I’d better go back to the lake before it’s too late.”

“No more cold, lonely winters underwater with little food,” she whispered. “Sunlight barely reaches below the lake’s surface when the months turn cold.” Muirgen gazed at the meager furnishings. “There’s plenty to eat here, when I don’t burn it. And companionship.”

Axel straightened up, a thrill of ecstasy coursing through his stocky frame. Had his ears deceived him? This beautiful woman had actually agreed to his impromptu marriage proposal. He couldn’t believe his good fortune as he tore to the bedroom and fumbled through a wooden chest on his dresser. Among a few treasures were the wedding rings of his late parents. He walked back proudly holding an engagement ring that had belonged to his mother, and tenderly slid the circle of white gold clasping a small diamond onto Muirgen’s outstretched finger.

Axel doubted that Muirgen realized how beautiful she was. It would take her no time at all to find someone better looking, richer and more interesting than me, he thought. Even here in the boonies I’m no great catch. He suddenly realized he’d better quickly make his move.

Within the hour Axel had readied the pickup and helped Muirgen into the cab. The first stop was Rabe’s Kennel. The angry dog glared through the wire cage door at Axel who felt a pang of guilt leaving his best friend behind.

The old truck trundled down the gravel road with Axel’s worn army duffel bag in back, while clouds of gray dust followed the happy couple as they made their way toward Milwaukee.

Near Eau Claire Axel pulled into a Sears to buy his fiancée clothes of her own. For the past two weeks she’d worn a pair of his old bib overalls and his tattered flannel shirts.

“Two tickets on your next flight to Las Vegas,” panted the winded fisherman. They had just run a long distance from the parking garage. He tugged his wallet from a back pocket of his faded jeans and gazed lovingly at the stunning woman who’d agreed by some miracle to be his wife.

Muirgen’s shiny black mane swished freely over her shoulders. Her head turned as she inhaled the scents and sights of the bustling terminal, alive with more people than she ever knew existed. Her nose detected a hint of spicy cologne worn by the businessman behind her who mumbled aloud as he studied his Wall Street Journal.

The ticket agent scanned the computer screen in search of a flight. “Well, looks like you’re in luck. Our 1:20 nonstop to Las Vegas is about to board; if you hurry, you should just make it. Any bags to check? Traveling light I see,” she said with a smile when she spotted the duffle.

Wide-eyed, Muirgen fidgeted nervously as she peered out the small window to watch the ground quickly drop away. Her shaking hands fastened tightly over her ears as she rocked in the seat; tears glistened at the corners of her liquid blue eyes. She was barely used to the idea of living on land after years of being submerged in the depths of the lake. Now terrified, she found herself imprisoned inside a metal projectile hurtling toward the clouds.

Axel tried his best to comfort her, but she refused to detach her hands from her head. He flagged down a stewardess, who returned quickly with a plastic cup of red wine, followed by several more until his fiancée settled down.

Through the wispy clouds they glimpsed miniature cities below with tiny swimming pools that looked like scattered blue jewels. Golden fields bordered by roads surrounded clumps of tiny towns. The pair sat spellbound as they watched the majestic Grand Canyon slide beneath the oval window.

An hour or so later the overhead chime announced they were on solid ground once more and were free to leave the plane. Axel gathered his army duffle from the overhead bin. Hand-in-hand they left the gate area, where the mermaid watched a mass of migrating people. Some excitedly fled into the arms of loved ones, while others hustled past to retrieve luggage or locate a pay phone.

Minutes later they left the air-conditioned terminal and were blasted by the intense heat that radiated from the pavement. The intoxicating scent of sweet jasmine floated on the desert air as Axel hailed a cab. An enormous diamond shaped sign flashed thousands of bright lights that welcomed the happy couple to fabulous Las Vegas.

They hurried past the Golden Nugget and made their way to Clark and Third, where they found the marriage application office. At the window the couple was asked to produce birth certificates, which the mermaid did not have. Axel leaned in and whispered something to the man behind the counter who discovered several C-notes hidden beneath the completed paperwork.

“This’ll do,” the young registrar replied, and gave Axel a wink and a wry smile. Twenty minutes later they were on their way to find an official to perform the ceremony at the Chapel of Everlasting Love.

An elderly minister stood framed by a gilded doorway of the small sanctuary, his worn black suit, wide shiny lapels, and a crooked bowtie giving him the appearance of an ancient crow.

“We’re closin’ for the night,” he announced. But he soon relented when the bright hopeful smile of the perspective groom dissolved into a look of utter disappointment.

In less time than it took to order pizza, the reverend declared them husband and wife. He cleared his throat to attract Axel, who stared dumbfounded at his prize. “You may kiss your bride.”

Hand-in-hand the giddy twosome threaded their way along the sidewalk past a throng of drunken dentists, rowdy college students, and conventioneers. Muirgen was amazed by the colorful lights that flashed from every sign and the buildings that grew straight out of the desert in a sea of glittering glass. Her nose wrinkled at the pungent car exhaust from streams of endless traffic with the screech of tires and blaring horns.

Axel felt he was the luckiest man on earth and set out to prove it as he settled down to try his hand at the blackjack table. His stunning beauty stood behind him and watched the crowd.

She gaped at the people who flocked to the gambling tables. A black tie dangled around the neck of a bleary-eyed man who swayed against the wall clutching a drink in his shaky hand. An old woman who wore a T-shirt that proclaimed her to be the World’s Best Nana fed nickels into the mouth of a metallic box and tugged its silver arm over and over.

Axel sensed Muirgen’s unease, puffed out his chest, smiled, and kissed her delicate hand. “You’re breathtaking,” he told her. “I’ll bet they think I’m some eccentric Texas oilman with you on my arm.”

He’d won nearly every hand at the blackjack table before he decided to try roulette. At a table crowded with honeymooners, bejeweled women, and their tuxedoed mates, Axel’s winning streak continued. His wife stood beside him in the smoky semi-darkness as the wheel stopped on a green square. The enthusiastic players and spectators whooped.

Axel graduated to a cloistered private room reserved for high rollers. Here he indulged himself playing baccarat and discovered he had a natural talent for this game as well.

Hours had ticked by when he felt his wife fidget behind him and let out a small sigh of boredom. In response, he scooped a mountain of chips from the green felt and generously tipped the dealer, cocktail waitress, and everyone in sight before they headed toward the bank of cashier windows.

It turned out Axel was the luckiest man at the casino. The new Mr. and Mrs. Boyce accepted a free suite offered by the hotel, complete with a complimentary dinner for two. The casino hoped to win back its money by keeping the couple on its premises.

Axel bought his bride everything she fancied. They sauntered through Bloomingdales and Saks Fifth Avenue where clerks scurried to help the lovely woman whose husband’s pockets bulged with rolls of bills. The new bride was fascinated by the jewelry encased beneath the thick glass of Harry Winston’s. She pointed to a double string of large pearls that quickly found a home around her neck. The soft pink luster of the magnificent strands reflected the blushing glow of her flawless skin.

Hands entwined, they strolled through shops filled with incredible merchandise. Italian leather shoes and handbags, Chanel sunglasses, and exquisite fashions awaited the new bride behind every heavy glass door.

Having spent a substantial amount of his winnings, Axel hailed a cab to return to the Stardust Hotel with their packages. His work boots thudded on the thick carpet as he fell onto the king size bed, exhausted. His wife caressed the large smooth pearls at her neck and smiled before she reached over to kiss her husband, whose snores soon resounded around the honeymoon suite.

He woke several hours later, rubbed his scratchy eyes to see his gorgeous new wife in a sapphire gown. The exquisite pearls and plunging neckline accentuated her delicate neck. Her upswept tresses were secured by a dazzling ornament encrusted with diamonds that sparkled in her shiny black hair like stars tossed into a midnight sky. The fisherman stared, mouth agape, at this vision of perfection.

Twenty minutes later, in the dining room Axel noticed the waiter hesitated to leave their table. Ladies around the restaurant grimaced at their men who stared hungrily at Muirgen’s beauty. It wasn’t often a woman like this dined with a man who looked as if he’d just fallen off a turnip truck.

“Maybe he’s one of those crazy tycoons who dresses like a hillbilly. Oh well, we do see all kinds here, don’t we?” the waiter whispered to the maitre d’, who had made his third trip past the newlywed’s table to see if there was anything the couple needed.

Axel watched with amusement as his new wife tasted her first crème brulee. She obviously loved the sushi, which she forced him to try, even though he found it disgusting. A substantial tip to the concierge found them tickets to see a Garth Brooks show that had been sold out for months.

The excitement of the casinos and bars kept Axel and Muirgen awake all night. Thoroughly exhausted, the newlyweds had just returned to their hotel when Axel realized he was due back at work in twelve hours.

Muirgen glumly clutched her bags and drank in every last bit of the crowds, warmth, and city noise as they made their way to the airport. During the seat belt demonstration the new husband reached over to kiss his wife, but she turned away and wistfully stared into the dark night.

Axel felt the chill in the Wisconsin air as well as the cold shoulder from the new Mrs. Boyce when they arrived home well after midnight. Moss and leaves crusted with frost crunched beneath their feet. It was apparent the honeymoon was over when Muirgen threw open the flimsy door to the house trailer and peered inside with a look of utter disgust.

“I insist you remove these repulsive creatures.” She growled as she waved an arm around the room, indicating his taxidermy trophies. “I refuse to look at these dead things another minute. The idea of wild animals being slaughtered to adorn this dump makes me cringe.”

From his tree stand a mile or so away from home Axel shot a buck on opening day, but hid the carcass in the back of the shed. This way he could trick his wife into thinking he was still chasing some elusive deer when in fact he was chasing the elusive Leinenkugal beer at the VFW Club.

Ice fishing gave him a reprieve from the daily arguments, while he and Blitzkrieg sat in their makeshift shanty on the frozen lake. No longer did pangs of guilt bother him when he left the trailer to hunt rabbit and squirrel. Every morning he tiptoed as quietly as he could to the door, trying not to wake his slumbering fishwife.

“I’m tired of being left in this tin can while you and that dog are hunting or fishing every minute you’re not at work. Why can’t we move to Las Vegas where at least the weather’s perfect?” his wife constantly harped.

“My job is here, and I’m too old to start over somewhere else. When I retire we can spend the winters there, I promise.” He tried his best to placate her. By midwinter he was ready to promise her anything, including a trip to Disneyland to celebrate their anniversary, in exchange for a short truce.

The diminished daylight and the blinding white of the snowy landscape depressed the mermaid more each day. Sunlight barely filtered through the ice that heavily glazed the back door. By February the north woods was virtually cut off from the rest of the world. Glistening heavy icicles hung like prison bars outside the cold window glass.

During the next few weeks the mermaid acted more and more secretively. She claimed to be lonely during the cold winter days, but multiple sets of footprints in the snow caused Axel to wonder what happened while he was at work and who was coming to visit. The phone rang unanswered when Axel called home during the day. One afternoon, while he rifled through the shed to locate the gasoline can for his snowmobile, he stumbled across a suitcase packed with some of her things, clearly hidden away.

The next day he arrived home several hours early to take his wife to a movie only to find her missing. She returned later that evening but adamantly refused to account for her whereabouts. It broke his heart to think she was having an affair.

Muirgen stomped angrily around the disheveled trailer with Axel in quick pursuit. A screaming match and intense battle of wills raged for several hours until finally Axel promised they would return to Las Vegas.

Ten years later on his wedding anniversary, September fifteenth, the fisherman sat on a threadbare sofa, with his work boots propped upon the worn coffee table. Blitzkrieg’s large gray muzzle rested on his master’s knee as Axel scratched the coarse thick fur of his trusted friend. The aging Chesapeake suffered from an arthritic hip, as well as aches and other annoyances that accompany old age. Axel was starting to feel the effects of time himself.

His eyes drifted to a picture of Muirgen, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, smiling at her happy groom. He glanced away, surveying the multitude of stuffed furry and feathered specimens that adorned the trailer walls and shelves. The crown jewel of his collection hung above the wood burning stove—his trophy sturgeon. Pale silvery skin sported white triangular points that jutted from its prehistoric-looking back.

Each crisp September evening, while he gazed into a blazing fire, Axel Boyce would hoist a Leinie’s beer in salute, a toast to his trophy wife, the catch of a lifetime.