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.
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.
I retreat, strumming my strings.
Water swirls around his calves. Waist. Neck.
Current and notes tear and ensnare.
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.
Liv Strom is a Swedish-Swiss writer of speculative and crime stories, often featuring mythology and twisted fairy tales. You can find her writing in Hexagon SF Magazine, Martian Magazine, and Mystery Magazine, among others.