Under the Sea: A Short Story Anthology, Vol. 2 (The Mermaid's Grotto)

By D.M. Million and R.M. Carpus

The only thing more powerful than the sea is its secrets . . .

Beneath the sparkling azure surface of every ocean, a world of magic awaits, ready to share its treasures. But the key to discovering its power rests in the hands of the very creatures humans foolishly dismiss as nothing but myth.

If you’re wise, take heed of the sea’s dire warning: never underestimate or doubt the existence of merfolk, and beware what you tell the waves, because they’re listening. If you’re brave, venture into the mermaid’s lair. Just how far will you go to uncover the truth beyond the legends?

Fairytale retellings, eerie fables, and mysterious tales grace the pages of this second installment of the Under the Sea anthology series, perfect for fans of supernatural suspense and adventure. If you love folklore, gothic fairy tales, and urban legends, The Mermaid’s Grotto will ensnare you from the first page and won’t let go!

Buy it now! Take a dip in The Mermaid’s Grotto, but enter at your own risk—everything you think you know about merfolk is probably wrong.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Impossible Things Publishing
• Release date: Jun 4, 2024
• ISBN: 9781944344023

D.M. Million

Lover of the Moon, fluffy things, hot bevs, and all the sweets. Musical interests range from Devin Townsend to Ariana Grande to Rammstein, and Frank Sinatra. Student at SJU. Most likely walking around the woods talking to trees or listening to an informational or witchy podcast.

Book preview

THE QUEEN OF NAPLES

PART I

D. M. MILLION

Parthenope would drown you if you confused mermaids with sirens , my mama would tell me as we bathed beneath the Neapolitan sun. Wretched winged creatures , Parthenope used to say to my mama. They are nothing but cruel temptresses and murderers, Diana. Don’t engage with them. Listen to me. I was one many years ago.

Parthenope didn’t trust many humans, but they’d met on Mama’s sixth birthday when a strong current nearly swept her away. Parthenope saved my mom’s life, and they remained friends, visiting each other every summer while my grandparents took their family to Spiaggia Mappatella in the Gulf of Naples.

My mother was there the day Vesuvius returned from his volcano, defying Zeus and taking back his beloved Parthenope. At the time, it had been many thousands of years since Zeus’s jealousy turned Parthenope into a mermaid and Vesuvius into the great volcano we see today in the distance while sitting on the spiaggia.

She looked incredible that day, my mom said in her most broken English. And he, a sight to behold.

It was my mother’s sixteenth birthday, and my grandparents took her to Spiaggia Mappatella, as they did every year. It was a treat, coming from the cool mountains of the Italian Alps of her hometown, Merano. One night as my mom and I lay under the white canopies of our sun loungers outside of our hotel, she told me stories of times she’d spent with Parthenope.

"We were sunbathing one day on the rocks of Castel dell’Ovo. È stata una bellissima giornata! E Parthe, I called her that for short, told me about the day Zeus turned her into a mermaid."

What happened? I asked, sitting up and leaning in toward my mom.

"Allora, when Parthe was a young goddess, she was actually a siren."

My hazel eyes widened. But I thought she hated sirens.

My mom nodded, her curly chestnut-colored locks bouncing up and down. She hated them after Zeus transfigured her to a mermaid because it was when she was a siren that he fell in love with her. But Parthe was in love with her centaur, Vesuvius. That’s how the volcano came to be. We both looked off into the distance at Mt. Vesuvius. Zeus was angry because Parthe wouldn’t be with him. So he turned her into a mermaid, bound to the sea, and Vesuvius a volcano, unable to move. . . . That is until the day Vesuvius rode down from the mountain and Poseidon turned him into a merman.

I turned to my mother, shock on my sunburned face. Mama, you met the gods?

"Sì, mia cara. But only Poseidon and Parthenope. Vesuvius was a centaur, not a god. But anyway . . . so when Zeus asked Parthe to marry him and she said no, that she was in love with Vesuvius and she was going to be with him, he cast her down from the sky, and her wings turned into arms with webbed fingers, and her bird legs became a fishtail. Her tail was magnifica, though. Oh! It was a beautiful thing. Purple and blue iridescent skin, and the fin, it was like angels’ wings. I would admire her tail for hours, fantasizing about having my own; what it would be like to swim freely beneath the water without needing to come up for air. Just playing among the fish and the dolphins." My mother’s gaze turned glassy as she daydreamed, watching the water.

But I’m getting off track. She waved a lit cigarette through the air. Parthe learned to hate sirens because after Zeus cast her into the sea, the sirens would fly by and mock her relentlessly. Parthe would hurl rocks and seashells at them, but they were quick and would fly out of the way at the very last second.

What did the sirens look like? I rubbed more sunblock on my pale, Northern Italian skin.

"I never saw them. By the time I had met Parthe, they’d gotten bored of bullying her and stopped coming by the spiaggia. They prefer, Parthe told me, to be near Crete."

Mama, are you pulling my leg? Is all of this real? I’ve never seen a mermaid or a god. From time to time, I’d question her, thinking that she’d been playing a trick on me since I was a little girl. We learned about Greek and Roman mythology in school, but that’s all it was––just myths. I had always dreamt about meeting a mermaid, especially when I was younger and had a wilder imagination. But any time I questioned my mother, she would double down. "Ey, would I lie to you? Mia bambina!" She would pinch her fingers together and swing her arms up and down in the most dramatic display of Italian body language I’d ever witnessed.

No, Mama. You wouldn’t lie to me. Except for your age, I’d joke.

"Ey! I told you a hundred times, I am nineteen. Diciannove." We’d laugh until our sides hurt.

"Ma, Mama. That is impossible!" Then she’d pick me up and tickle me until I almost wet myself. She had never gone into as great of detail about Parthe until this day, on my sixteenth birthday, and she told me the story about Vesuvius coming down from his volcano. I guess it was because such a significant event happened to her on her sixteenth birthday, she wanted to share the story. Our birthdays were just a few days apart, and as I was turning sixteen, she was turning forty-four. To her, it was a way to bond with me before I became an adult and stopped spending time with her. I would be off to University soon. And after that, I’d have a family of my own.

This was a special birthday for both of us. Because it was the first one we would spend together at her beloved Spiaggia Mappatella. After her sixteenth birthday when Parthe reunited with Vesuvius, her parents fell on hard times and couldn’t afford to take them back.

She always promised me, "Chiara, when you turn sixteen, I will take you away from the Alps to my spiaggia. And we’ll make a girls’ week out of it and leave your papa and fratello home."

For years I would dream about lounging on the white sand, smelling the salty air, eating gelato. I love my mountain home, but I would crave the sea; like something ancient, born into my bones, had missed the waves, the salt, and grottos. As if the ocean herself called out to my soul.

"Maybe you were a fish in another life, mia cara," my mother would say when I’d go off on a tangent about how we never left Merano. It would frustrate me, and that’s when she’d promise to take me on my sixteenth birthday. I knew that she and Papa saved their money for a long time so that we could go. I was grateful, and I soaked up every moment on the beach that year.

OK, Mama. Keep going. Tell me about the day Vesuvius came to Napoli to whisk Parthenope away.

"Allora, as I said, it was a beautiful day. The sun was shining and there was not a cloud in the sky. My skin was the darkest it’d ever been. So, as Parthe and I sunbathed on the rocks of Castel dell’Ovo, there was this bubbling in the distance, maybe five meters from the jetty, and suddenly, this golden crown emerged from the water. The man was giant, bigger than a normal man. Parthe gasped when his face came out of the water and she could see it was Poseidon. On the backs of dolphins, he approached us and raised his trident, pointing it toward Mount Vesuvius. We could faintly see a ball of dust barreling