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May 15th
I am hesitant how to even begin explaining the events of the past few hours. My hands are trembling, sending jots of ink flying from my pen onto the paper below, ruining yet another page. A part of me toys with the notion that some things are best left unrecorded: they are meant to vanish into the eddies of history as mysteriously as they appear, remembered only by providence. Yet on the other hand my duty as a natural scientist and a member of the Royal Society demands that a record be made, even if only a private one. And perhaps a public one as well, although I confess that I’ve barely even begun to consider the possibility of publication at this hour.
The day began as normally as any other: I’d broken my fast with the dawn and spent the daylight hours trekking the seashore, looking for any kelp or shell specimens of note. Alas, there were none though I confess that I continued my search later than was perhaps wise, considering the season and my delicate health.
But I digress. True night fell and leached the air of any warmth or comfort, and I found myself shivering in my coat as I trudged back to the manor. There was a fog haunting the grounds; I amused myself by watching the last of the fireflies blink hazily in and out of focus as I walked. So mesmerizing was the effect that it took me longer than it should have to notice that one light in particular was holding steady, and in fact growing in size.
I must blame my air-headedness of course- it was a lantern, not a firefly. The man holding it appeared presently, wearing rough clothing and dragging a large bundle of some sort along the ground behind him.
“Pardon, sir,” he said to me, “but I found- I found something. Something unnatural on the shore. Thought you might want to be having a look at it.”
His speech was slurred to be nigh incomprehensible; I wondered for a moment what he had consumed to set him in such a state. But then I saw the fell pallor in his cheeks and the tremor in his hands and realized that the poor man was not drunk, but rather terrified.
I let myself have a bit of a chuckle as I regarded the bundle he had dragged behind him. The country people are a good sort, but I’d met my share who still hold with the old tales- will o’ wisps and selkies and the like.
“Unnatural, my good man? However do you mean?”
He wouldn’t meet my eyes; I watched as his gaze skittered away from the tarp satchel only to return again, like one lodestone to another. “I-I don’t know how, sir. Only that it is.” And with that he was backing away, leaving the tarp and its mysterious contents between us as a bulwark against my queries.
As a man of science I had a duty to dispel superstition and usher in a more progressive era. And so despite the late hour I nodded to him, hefted the sack over my shoulder and began to trudge towards the manor. It was quite heavy: around the weight of a small man or a very large fish. I would dissect and examine whatever porpoise or manatee the wretched man had found and invite him back the following afternoon to see that the creature, though of course a miracle of god’s work, was entirely natural.
All had gone according to plan until I reached the koi ponds at the edge of the manor: the sack began to thrash violently, emitting a most unholy screeching noise. I confess I acted out of instinct rather than insight; I dropped the bundle, wrappings and all, into the koi pond.
It was still too dark to see properly, but with what I could see… I felt my jaw drop and I freely admit, in perfect honesty, that I dropped to my knees in wonder. The fish, or should I say creature, resembled no marine creature I had ever laid eyes upon. As I tumbled it into the pond I caught a single glimpse of it despite the darkness of the late hour and the fog. It was certainly no porpoise, nor a small whale. I saw a sinuous body with jointed appendages eerily close to human arms. I saw a head with a twisting mass of hair? Tentacles? Forgive the flight of fancy, but as the creature sunk out of view I felt as if I had discovered a medusa of the sea: a fish-woman even. I cannot bring myself to use the term “mermaid:” it has no part in a rational scientific inquiry. And yet.
I’m eager to examine the creature tomorrow, in the light. I considered sending for Tynesworth and Sutterby, but I confess I cannot quite bring myself to share the discovery just quite yet. A find like this- the Royal Society would marvel! Campbell’s Marine Ape, they could call it.
Fondly,
Frederick Campbell
May 16th
I rose with the dawn, too giddy to sleep properly. I threw in several of my prized kelp specimens into the koi pond in an attempt to lure the creature closer, but it was not enticed. I spent all day stalking the shore, murmuring encouragement like a nursemaid, all to no avail. I finally gave up the ghost with the onset of evening when Mary called me in for supper. The fireflies were out again in full force, bobbing in the breeze like lanterns. I do wonder what they’re saying to each other with their lights? I paused on the porch of the manor for one last look at the pond, and could swear I saw some sort of light burning beneath the surface. It was colder than the firefly-lights: more of a watery silver than their cheery gold. Likely a simple trick of the light though; the fogs do odd things to one’s vision.
May 17th
The creature continues to swim, and swim, and swim some more. I can’t help but feel a bit morose that it was brought to me alive; science would benefit much more from knowledge of the creature’s inner workings than the knowledge that it enjoys swimming back and forth on the bottom of my koi pond. No, I need something of more substance to write the kind of paper that would excite the Royal Academy.
I tossed in another dozen of the kelp specimens I had been examining, as well as the watercress sandwich Mary brought me for lunch. We shall see if it eats them.
May 18th
The creature isn’t eating. It leaves all of the grasses and kelp I provide it in a pile on the bottom of the pond and glares at me balefully as if I were personally responsible for the murder of all of its relations. I should be pleased- it might deign to expire and leave me an interesting corpse to dissect- but I confess I’m a bit worried despite myself. What if this creature isthe last of its kind? Certainly no naturalist has found one similar; I’ve trawled through dozens of journals in the past week and haven’t seen anything that matches the description. Perhaps it’s ill? I tossed in the lunch Mary brought me again- steak, medium rare. Perhaps it prefers meat.
May 19th
By the grace of god, or perhaps merely by the grace of Mary’s cooking, the creature was finally enticed to eat! I caught a wonderful look at the glow on its head- it resembles an anglerfish esca of some kind. I’m curious as to the mechanism of the luminescence. It could be a sort of symbiotic microorganism living within beneath the skin like one finds with anglerfish. Or perhaps it’s a sort of bioluminescent chemical as is the case with fireflies. I wonder what the purpose of the light is; what she uses it for? Yes, I’ve decided that she’s most definitely female. I’ve not checked personally, but she’s graced with a sort of sinuous beauty I doubt a male of the species could suggest. I’ve decided to name her Tinkerbell, after the fairy in Barrie’s new children’s novel.
May 20th
Tinkerbell came up to me as I fed her this afternoon and I discovered the most wondrous thing about her! She had a cluster of barnacles growing on her wrist; I was able to identify them as she reached for Mary’s beef wellington. I was shocked when I realized what they were: that species only grows in the utmost depths of the ocean, as far as I’m aware.
I’m unsure what to make of this find; if Tinkerbell hails from the abyssal zone, however can she manage to survive at sea level? As far as I can tell she’s experienced none of that nasty bursting or popping you see when you bring up fish from the depths. She breathes air with problem at all and I had assumed she possessed lungs. But the pressure would be astounding and would surely cause them to collapse, not to mention the issues with bubbles in the bloodstream the pressure differentials would cause. Perhaps they function as seals’ lungs do, and she is able to collapse and re-inflate them as she dives and resurfaces.
It almost makes me want to dig my scalpel out and find out for sure. But I couldn’t do that, not to her. Still, I must admit that she poses a puzzle from an evolutionary perspective- why would a creature evolve lungs if it had perfectly good gills? I imagine that there’s a whole world down there- mountains, valleys, and plains miles deep that never see the sun. Why would she ever need to come to the surface?
May 21st
I spent the morning watching Tinkerbell swim. For lunch I tossed in some of Mary’s abominable coleslaw; she looked at me with what was definitely reproach and wouldn’t go anywhere near it- she knows that’s no meal for a queen. I murmured an apology, retreated to the manor,and pillaged some raw lamb chops from the kitchen. Tinkerbell descended on those with unwholesome abandon. I suppose it makes sense; I doubt there’s a surfeit of food at the depths she frequents so it must be advantageous to eat as quickly as possible. That or she just likes the taste of bloody meat.
May 24th
I had a dreadful day; Sutterby sent the most enraging letter tearing apart my last article. I ended up sitting on the edge of the koi pond hurling my complaints like skipping stones. After a moment or two Tinkerbell approached the edge of the pond and began to listen. I suppose it sounds odd but I could swear there was understanding, even empathy, in her eyes. It was a magical moment: the sun was just past setting, and the fireflies were dancing a dizzy counterpoint to her glowing crown. My breath caught, just looking at her, and all of my complaints faded away. When I left I felt as if a load had been lifted from my shoulders, though I was loathe to leave her at all, truth be told. I hesitated on the porch of the manor, watching her light dance beneath the surface of the pool- my sea queen, my little firefly.
June 1st
I have not written for in truth I could not find the words. It is Tinkerbell. She… she speaks. And she knows what the words mean. I do not… what is this? Am I losing my mind?
June 8th
She said my name today.
June 19th
God have mercy on me, I cannot continue like this. What I do is wrong, what I do is a sin. She is no fish, no mere animal. I cannot saw what she is, but I can say that she possesses intelligence, intellect, empathy. She is as much a sentient creature as am I. I cannot cage her here like a mere animal, damn publication, damn my career. I cannot continue to subject her to this captivity.
This must end. I will set her free tonight.
***
In the 1960s, James E. Lloyd investigated the phenomenon of mimicry among the female population of the firefly genus Photuris pensylvanica. Often called the firefly Femme Fatale, a Photuris female will mimic the light signals of females of other genuses, often those of the Photinus. Male fireflies of several different species are attracted to the alluring lights they assume belong to sexually desirable females, yet in reality the Photuris females are anything but. Upon encountering an interested male, they will trap and subsequently devour the other insect whole.