The Mermaids of Sennen

Who brought music to who, depends on who you ask. Some swear it was us. Others are sure it was them. A chicken and egg situation. Either way, one thing's certain, they're obsessed with it. Saline moths to a flame. Some men of science have proposed it could be an evolutionary interest for them, to further their own kind's musical prowess. They can’t reproduce alone and so must find some benefit to mingling with mankind. Our musicality is made unique by our capabilities – our instruments, our choirs, our scores. This aptitude becomes a threat for us living along the sea, you see, every town around here has a story like ours, and yet, we sing on.

For us, it was the fate of Morgan; a lad who’d perch right at the cliff’s edge with his guitar, singing out to sea. He was thought of as a kind of lone lorden, lost without his crowd. Wandering round in colourful cloth with a painted frown. Morgan was surely a complicated kid, one who couldn't seem to find a comfortable spot without his instrument resting in his hands. He was known to skulk off for hours on end, deep into the untold promises of night. 

For his father's birthday, Morgan made a special appearance at the First & Last Inn. Poor Morgan always looked a fish out of water here. All skin and bones, crammed in amongst the beer bellies. Quietly biding his time, caressing the contours of his pint glass for comfort. But, after a few Skinners, the boy got mouthy. Started harping on about some mysterious woman he'd lay with in the coves. Boys will be boys and men will be too and soon the whole town was asking him all sorts of details about his supposed love affair. With a foam moustache decorating his top lip, Morgan proudly bore all. Cackling between recalls of all the tits and bits and fish and lips.

“She’s always wet!” he chortled, which received a tremendous roar of applause and guffaws, “and she’s got webbed hands!”

The chuckling stopped abruptly and the pub groaned.

“You what son?”

Morgan blushed, necked his pint and dashed outside.

I can’t tell you for sure what happened next. I couldn’t see the door from behind the bar. Our Morgan was never seen again. Just a briny puddle left pooling in the doorway, creeping back out to sea.