They twitched independently, rolling in different directions like they couldn't decide which soul to devour first. One eye locked onto a smiling deckhand while the other tracked Coffi gagging nearby.
Their gills pulsed along their necks, opening and closing like diseased mushrooms breathing, releasing a damp, rotting stench with every movement.
Their arms were far too long, dangling almost to their knees, ending in blackened claws that dragged across the deck—
SCRATCH. SCRRRAPE. Like nails on a coffin lid.
Coffi gagged violently. So loudly. One of the sirens paused mid-crawl and turned its head toward her, looking genuinely offended. Latte whimpered, then abruptly straightened, smoothed her hair out of sheer spite, stomped her foot against the deck.
"I WAS NOT PREPARED," she shrieked, voice cracking, "FOR THIS LEVEL OF UGLY."
Behind us, Henry sighed dreamily.
"My angel…"
I cracked my knuckles. "Right," I muttered. "Time to start slapping."
