We sat, my sister and I, watching surf break on the rocks. In the distance, under clouds bleak and dark, a lone schooner rocks in the storm, white sail all a’panic.

“It’s your turn,” I whisper. Shaye nods. She cracks open the crab in her hands and sucks out the flesh. Smacks her mucky lips and grins, showing jagged teeth.

I pass her the bottle, curved glass flecked in grime. With a flick of my wrist I shake it, watch the liquid curdle inside. Hold it steady and it turns fluid once more. Shaye takes it from me, pops the cork and drinks deeply. She shakes her head, dark hair spraying wild.

Beyond her, on the next rock, sit the Jagelli sisters. Beatrix is drinking from their own bottle, Lucia watching on with envy. Reaching into the rockpool behind, I snap up an anemone, fat and oily red, and throw the creature. It hits her on the cheek. She nearly chokes and spills her liquor down her fat chin. I cackle and roll back, grabbing my sides and wailing with glee. A litany of curses comes my way, I’m sure, but the noise of the growing storm drowns them out.

Shaye’s eyes, once green, newly phosphorous, meet mine. The folds in her neck are tightening now, fleshy slits opening. As she draws breath she falters and makes a few faint clicks within her throat. Dropping her robes, unveiling a body ancient and coated in blubber, she waddles to the edge of the sea. With each step her body grows more sleek, hair shrinking away and craggy wrinkles tightening, leaving nothing but smooth skin. She lowers herself into the water. It toils and churns, invitingly.

She slips under the froth like a seal and becomes a shadow under the waves. I watch her swim, beating her feet like flippers and surging away. There are other shadows too, joining her, all arrowing towards the rocking schooner. All the sisters watch, wishing it was they on the prowl, waving safe haunt to their kin.