That night, Everly tried several times again—grabbing Shelly’s face, shouting “Ko! Ko!” at him, trying to jog her useless dad’s memory about the clothes.
Unfortunately, Shelly and she had absolutely no rapport. She grabbed his face, and he swatted her hand away; she shouted “Ko! Ko!” at random, and he thought her mouth hurt, so he pried it open to check inside; she pointed with her little finger like she was giving directions, and he clapped in surprise—then pulled out his phone to take embarrassing photos of her…
After all that fuss, Everly had completely run out of patience.
A baby’s energy is limited. After all that commotion on the bed, Everly’s eyelids began to droop, and sleepiness swept over her. Shelly was already tired too. Seeing his daughter’s eyes half-closed, drowsy, he pulled over the blanket, reached up to turn off the light, and soon dozed off right beside her.
Alright, alright… Shelly was so lazy that even if she woke him now, he still wouldn’t go out in the middle of the night to collect the clothes. Better to remind him tomorrow—just hope there’s no fog…
Everly closed her eyes and sank into a deep sleep, overtaken by growing drowsiness.
…
When she opened her eyes, Everly’s first instinct was to look out the window.
Through the glass, she saw bright sunlight outside and let out a sigh of relief—today was still sunny.
Shelly was already up. Hearing the movement in the bedroom, he hurried in, changed Everly’s diaper, set her down on the living room sofa, handed her a bottle, and then left.
All the while, Everly struggled wildly, her little fingers twitching nonstop, pointing toward the yard. But Shelly assumed she was just fascinated by the slanting sunlight streaming in and didn’t even glance at the yard.
Nighttime was the same.
Everly swore to herself that she had tried every possible method, every trick in her little arsenal. She felt that dumb Shelly was like an insurmountable mountain blocking her life’s path—no matter how hard she tried, she could find no way to conquer it.
Another night passed. On the third day, it was overcast.
The good news: there was no fog.
The bad news: Shelly still hadn’t remembered to collect the clothes.
Everly knew that, given Pukati Town’s fog frequency, a foggy day would come sooner or later—in fact, judging by today’s wind direction, it would arrive either tomorrow or the day after. Time was running out. If Shelly didn’t bring in the baby clothes before the thick fog rolled in, she would have to prepare to face the sea banshee directly.
Because of this awareness, Everly grew increasingly anxious, tossing and turning through the night, waking up several times.
Early on the fourth day, she opened her eyes—and her ominous premonition came true. Through the window glass, Everly saw a world of white.
The fog had arrived.
Pukati’s fog was always dense, heavy, and thick, evoking the image of layered veils or a pot of overturned creamy soup. Everly sat frozen on the living room sofa, her eyes locked on the clothesline in the yard like a condemned prisoner quietly awaiting the guillotine.
As she waited, a sudden gust of wind swept through the yard. The milky fog was driven along, winding like a snake around the pole, wrapping itself around the pink baby clothes above. With a creak, Everly saw the clothes sway abruptly back and forth, and then, with a sharp swish, they slipped from the pole.
Everly’s heart jumped violently.
Because of the angle, the baby clothes vanished from her sight once they hit the ground. In their place, she saw the plants in the yard shiver, their withered yellow leaves rustling sashaa as they toppled quickly to either side, as if something were crawling inside.
The rustling grew closer, the path of movement crossing most of the yard, finally stopping at the sliding glass doors of the living room. The flowerbed by the door quivered violently, waves of tremors shaking it again and again, until finally, a sharp pop! sounded—and a deathly pale face pressed against the glass.
It was a woman. Her upper body was bare, long hair cascading down to her hips, most of her face hidden beneath the thick black strands, impossible to make out her features. Her skin was slick and swollen, tinged with blue, reminiscent of a corpse soaked in water for days, radiating a strong aura of death. The scars crisscrossing her limbs and torso looked like black centipedes, adding a layer of grotesque menace to her figure.
But none of that was as terrifying as her eyes.
Through the tangled, seaweed-like black hair, Everly saw a pair of blood-red eyes filled with bitter malice. Like poisoned daggers. Like venom-spitting snakes. Like a boiling pool of endless hatred. The woman pressed herself against the sliding door, eyes wide open, unblinking, staring at her, staring at her, staring at her…
A wave of pure terror surged from Everly’s core. She could no longer hold back and let out a hysterical wail: “Waaaahhhhhh!”
Everly had always been a well-behaved baby, never crying without reason, easy to care for. Since birth, this was the first time she cried with such desperate, piercing intensity.
In the studio, Shelly heard the distant crying and paused mid-stroke, unease prickling at him. His daughter had been acting strangely these past few days—more irritable than usual, striking him with fists and kicks, and now crying so miserably… Could she be sick?
Sickness meant a hospital stay. Thinking of the exorbitant medical bills, Shelly couldn’t sit still.
He tossed aside his brush, quickened his steps, and rushed toward the living room. As he reached the doorway, before he could see what was happening inside, he was hit by a foul stench tinged with the smell of the sea.
This corpse-like odor stirred buried memories within him. A terrible premonition tightened around his chest. Shelly didn’t dare waste a second; he hurried faster, sprinting into the living room.
And then he saw a scene he would never forget—
The glass sliding door of the living room was wide open, and the fog outside poured in unchecked, swallowing most of the room. Through the white haze, a massive, terrifying woman with a human upper body and a serpentine tail leaned forward, reaching her skeletal, decayed claws toward the crying baby on the sofa.
“No! Everly, no!”
Ignoring what this sudden monster even was, Shelly acted on pure instinct. He shouted and lunged toward the sofa, trying to grab his child before the banshee could.
But he grasped nothing.
The banshee’s speed was unbelievable. In the blink of an eye, her claw had latched onto the back of Everly’s neck, lifting her up in front of the creature.
“Hiss—!”
Prey secured, the sea banshee arched her head and let out a strange, guttural roar.
When it was done, she ignored Shelly, who had rushed forward trying to snatch the baby back. Lowering her head, she wrapped her icy arms tightly around Everly. Her thick, bucket-sized snake tail swung sharply, and she slithered low into the mist, quickly merging with the fog and vanishing from sight.
…
Everly felt that she might—just maybe—be doomed.
The banshee’s grip was like iron pincers, holding her so tight that there was no chance of escape.
She carried Everly along the deserted streets, crawling a short distance before reaching a nearly dried-up small river. From there, she slipped into an exposed sewer opening.
The diameter of the hole was barely a meter—narrow for a creature of the banshee’s enormous size. But she didn’t care about the harsh environment. She adjusted Everly’s position from under her arm to her chest, crossed her hands, bent her upper body, and slipped in without hesitation.
Her large, wet, sagging chest pressed around the tiny baby just enough to hold her safely, while her intertwined arms formed the last protective barrier. Everly was thus shielded from the jagged iron nails, broken glass, plastic fragments, and other debris littering the sewer floor, passing through this stretch completely unharmed.
By the time the banshee and the baby emerged from the other end of the sewer, they were at the seaside.
A cool sea breeze carried the sharp scent of the ocean, brushing over Everly. She curled up instinctively, shivering from the chill.
They were on a jagged, rocky reef. The banshee moved with perfect familiarity; her long serpentine tail was incredibly flexible, its surface covered in dark bluish-black scales as hard as iron. She wound and coiled it over the protruding rocks and stone pillars, snapping off the tiny spikes wherever she passed.
They traversed like this for seven or eight minutes. The rocks around them gradually thinned, and patches of dark seawater appeared on the ground.
Everly’s heart pounded. She watched as the banshee’s tail slowly sank into the water as they moved further from land. The icy sea rose over the tail, eventually reaching the banshee’s waist. Yet her speed never faltered; if anything, she seemed to pick up even more momentum.
Everly guessed that the sea banshee’s lair must lie far out in the open ocean. She felt certain she was doomed. It was late autumn, the seawater was cold, and a fragile baby like her was not meant to be immersed for long. Even breathing alone in such conditions could be fatal.
A wave of despair washed over her.
Yet, unexpectedly, when the water reached the banshee’s chest—almost soaking Everly—the sea banshee suddenly lifted her head high, tilting her upper body backward. Her submerged tail arched upward, lifting out of the water to strike forcefully, then executed a graceful flip. Gentle ripples spread across the surface. By the time Everly realized what had happened, the banshee had already adjusted her posture, shifting from walking upright through the water to floating on her back, facing upward.
Everly lay against the banshee’s ample chest, and aside from the spray from the tail’s previous strike, not a single drop of seawater touched her.
“Glurp…”
Being surrounded by seawater seemed to make the banshee extremely comfortable. Everly heard a small, contented purring sound escape from her throat, like that of a little animal. The long, bluish-black serpentine tail swayed gracefully back and forth in the water, the dark tip occasionally breaking the surface and churning the surrounding sea mist into a frothy swirl.
For a moment, the scene almost felt leisurely and serene.
“Hmm-hmm-hmm… hmm… la-la-la…”
As they swam, the banshee suddenly began to hum a tune. Unlike her hoarse, guttural voice, the melody was soft and gentle. With each hum, her claw pressed lightly but firmly against Everly’s back, keeping rhythm. If Everly hadn’t known she was in mortal danger, for a brief second she might have imagined she was back in her mother’s arms in her past life.
Mother… yes, mother.
Her actions toward the child, the swollen, heavy chest pressed beneath Everly—somehow all of it suggested a “maternal” identity. Could the sea banshee be a mother who had lost her own child?
But that didn’t make sense either. What mother would look at a child with such malice and hatred—and then eat every child she captured?
Everly’s brows knitted tighter and tighter, a sense of falling deeper into an unsolvable mystery weighing down on her.
At that moment, the banshee had reached a tall, looming shadow in the center of the sea. She held Everly with one hand while driving the other deep into a corner of the reef, using her tail to push off with force, and nimbly climbed up onto the rocks rising above the water.
Everly lay against the banshee and craned her head to look around. To her surprise, they had reached the abandoned lighthouse in the middle of the sea.