Hook Man Speaks

This is a story between a bloodthirsty merman and a kind and naive researcher. Linda, a researcher at a Japanese maritime university, found herself raped by a lewd merman in a dream. This tempted her to conduct research on this mythical creature. Together with her professor Gary, they set off to sea in search of merfolk. They successfully caught a merman, but Linda was marked as its mate…Was it a human that had caught a merman, or was it a merman who had found its prey?

Horror stories originate from somewhere. Whether from eyewitness accounts or from survivors' tales, they come from somewhere. And while all of us grow up with the folklore, how many of us genuinely believe that werewolves and vampires prowl through the night, taking what they want. I will admit I didn't believe the tales. I thought werewolves and vampires were nothing more than make-believe. Scary stories meant to keep kids in line. That is until a monster ripped me from my warm and sold me to the highest bidder. Where nightmares and horror stories become true is where my story begins. Can I ever be free again, or will the beasts rule my body and soul forever. TRIGGER WARNING!!!!!

On graduation day, Chloe Pierce said she wanted to film an extreme challenge video. She told me to stand near the edge of a cliff and said it was just for a photo. Then she suddenly threw herself backward and screamed, "Don't push me." The rope snapped, and she really fell. The entire internet called me a murderer. My mother knelt in front of the cameras and begged for me until a brain hemorrhage took her life. I hanged myself with a shoelace in the detention center. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day before the trip. This time, I smiled at Chloe and said, "I'll help you check the rope."

sʜᴇ ᴡᴀs ɴᴀɪᴠᴇ ᴡʜᴇɴ sʜᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴘᴏsᴇᴅ ʜᴇʀ ᴄʀᴜsʜ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀsᴛ ᴅᴀʏ ᴏғ sᴄʜᴏᴏʟ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇ ᴡᴀs ᴀʀʀᴏɢᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ɪɴsᴜʟᴛ ʜᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ʙʀᴏᴋᴇ ʜᴇʀ. ʜᴇʀ ʟɪғᴇ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴇᴀʀs ʟᴀᴛᴇʀ sʜᴇ ғᴏᴜɴᴅ ʜᴇʀsᴇʟғ ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀɪsʟᴇ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ʜᴇ ᴡᴀs ᴛʜᴇ ɢʀᴏᴏᴍ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏғ ʜɪs ᴡɪʟʟ.

He has made it crystal clear that I’m not to call him ‘boss’ except on certain occasions, like right now, when his dominating gaze carries a hint of playfulness. I can’t help but smile every time he gets like this, all lovey-dovey, but when he whispers in my ears asking me to go on an adventure with him, it is like an invitation to a forbidden feast and the thought sends a shiver down my spine which unlike you would think, is almost painful. Maybe this is because I have been on an adventure with him for as far as I want to recollect. My memories, if you peeked inside, would be overflowing with every moment with him, each one a brushstroke painted with his boldness and my, well, let’s call it a touch of recklessness. I now wear a souvenir, a mark etched onto my soul. It’s like a silent agreement, a reminder that our fates are tangled, intertwined like climbing vines. He’s the puppet master, my very own Mr. Strings, and every twist and turn of his whims gets woven into the fabric of my being. Maybe you find that hard to believe, like something out of a fairytale. But trust me, my darling, as I unravel the threads of our adventure, one by one, you’ll understand. With each turn and twist, you’ll find yourself hooked, a willing captive in the captivating narrative of our lives, possibly harnessed in the labyrinth of our love, where danger dances with delight, and fate is etched in the footprints of a love like no other. So buckle up, dear reader, for this isn’t a mere tale, it’s a thrill ride, a love song made of equal parts fear and freedom.

I have a severe case of logorrhea. Only speaking makes me feel alive. My classmates all call me a freak, but Marvin Britt is the only one willing to listen to me. One day, I bring some homemade soup over to see him, only to catch him holding his junior's hand. "Lexie, your voice is so lovely, unlike my wife at home. She sounds like a squawking duck. It's exhausting." My hands shake so violently that I drop the thermal flask. The commotion angers a nearby madman, who forces a bottle of boiling water down my throat. With my mouth full of blood and blisters, I realize I need proof. I send Marvin—a lawyer—a frantic voice note to accompany me to the police station for evidence. Marvin shoots back a single word—"Noted". Of course. He doesn't even listen to it, as usual. He used to reply to everything I said with voice notes at least a minute long. But we hit the seven-year itch, and he's sick of my endless talking. Leaving the hospital, I stare at my diagnosis of permanent mutism and laugh bitterly. He must be thrilled. His world is finally quiet.