I walked quickly around the room, forced a smile that hurt my face, and picked up Emma, who was six years old.
“Let’s go to the bathroom,” I said to Mariana, trying to sound normal.
She nodded, distracted, busy arranging disposable plates.
But instead of going into the hallway, I went straight to the front door.
“Mom?” Emma whispered, pressing her little face to my neck. What’s going on?
“Nothing, my love,” I said, my hands trembling as I opened the door. Let’s go for a walk.
As soon as we crossed the threshold, I heard him.
Mermaids.
Not one or two.
Many.
Too many.
They sounded in the distance, but every second they were closer. I froze on the porch, feeling fear rise from my feet.
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