Näcken of the River by Liv Strom

My music—purer than any human’s—flows out from the bridge’s shade, seeking prey too young for caution and regret.

There.

A treat bounces his ball under my overhang.

It’s here, the music calls.

“Viktor!” a mother shouts.

Hunger churns. Pace it right, and I’ll have both tonight.

Don’t fear…

I retreat, strumming my strings.

Almost…

Water swirls around his calves. Waist. Neck.

Current and notes tear and ensnare.

“Viktor!”

The sun flashes on my sickly skin and sharp teeth, on a blond boy, mother and forgotten toy.

My claws pierce tender flesh, and, on the final note, we disappear.