The Ocean Spray returns from her journey to Great Britain on her voyage back to Newfoundland
The merchant ship is tried and true and has seen many waves crash against her bow
I have sailed with her for the better half of my fishing days
But before my days on the Ocean Spray, before the grand old Captain of the merchant ship and the scoundrels of the crew, I knew a ship
She was called Siobhan after the ship’s Captain’s late wife
He loved that ship as much as he loved his mate
I still pray for the poor Captain’s soul be it under a thousand crashing waves of the North Atlantic and shadowed by passing icebergs and doomed ships
The Siobhan, they say, hit a berg and sank taking the Captain and crew with her
But I know the truth, I was there
Though no one would believe I survived the wreck of the Siobhan
Because I was a young foolish child who wanted nothing more than to be something, a survivor of a massive shipwreck
But I was there, I survived
Now I am old, and I have seen my fair share of joy and tragedy
And for the remainder of my days I will sail the sea looking for the beasts
The foul creatures that took the Captain and the crew of the Siobhan to Poseidon’s grave
And now I mark it, 29 October 1852
This will be my last trip—because I know, I was there when the Siobhan met her fate
I stand silent among the frosty air of the North Atlantic, waiting
For the tell-tale signs of the beasts that have haunted my thoughts for forty years
They do not know I survived

I look for the island they lay their nest in, the island of Anthemoessa
The island where the three sea nymphs lay and snicker and dine
But I do not fear their song or their talons
Because I survived them once, but now I am ready to let the birds rip into my being
And I shall join the Siobhan at the bottom of the sea
The crew, they know, that something is amiss
By the placid look on their faces, the glazed sheen of the their eyes, the submissive movements of their bodies, I know—it is the Siren’s curse
The song faintly enters but I hear it like a chant in the black night
The sailors are drawn to it like curiosity calls a child—fatal curiosity
Undines dance around the sailor’s heads, mocking their oblivious decent into oblivion
The tune in bewitching, a song surely composed by Hybris, both of violence and wantonness
And I see the men’s faces, as euphoria turns to pure horror as they realize the Siren’s true pleasure lies not within a want for a man but the satisfaction to see him ripped apart
And they cry out, crying a soundless last prayer for death to come with haste
I see the bodies of women, entangled with the wings of a raven and the talons of a hawk
I see the crew of the Siobhan; their bodies were useless objects in the hands of the beasts
Now surrounded by human carrion and the lingering echo of the Siren’s song, I drop to my battered knees and yell out to the open Northern sky—take me! Take me!

The first Siren lands before me—the enchantress—and runs her talons along my face
And I see them around me, the crew of the Siobhan, their shipwrecked souls calling me to them
The second Siren—the glorious faced—stands behind me, her talons tapping my back
Then I see the Captain, covered in seaweed and crustaceans, pointing to the Atlantic
The water wraps around my knees as the Ocean Spray sinks
And the third Siren—the seductress—bids the others disperse
She looks at my old, tired face but she knows
A hint of recognition crosses her lovely face and she remembers me
“Siobhan” she mouths and in her chest I know her heart of stone does beat cold blood through her veins because she, not I, is terrified
Because I survived
The water has reached my chest and continues to rise
The Siren lets out an ear-piercing shriek and she flies behind me
Her head sinks next to mine and she whispers nostalgically into my ear “Siobhan”
Then she punctures my delicate skin with her razor-sharp talons and slowly wraps her wings around my body, submerging me under the North Atlantic
I cry out only to inhale a mouthful of salty seawater
And the pain, if only it would last for it is the ecstasy I have waited for to relieve my grief and my guilt of surviving the Siobhan
I once thought maybe God had let me live for I was too young to die at sea, but I saw younger sailors than me parish and I knew God does not exist in a place like this
I have always known, though, that my soul was damned to the sea since the day I saw the Sirens
So it be not wrong that I should join the Captains and the crews, of the Siobhan and now the Ocean Spray, in the watery hell of so many previously drowned sailor’s final resting place