The moon rode high above the inlet when Jonah first stumbled into its hush. He’d come to escape his restless mind—a late shift in the grocery store, too many nights spent counting cans instead of dreams. The sea wind curled through the dunes, salt and pinewood in one breath. Silvery light spilled over the tide pools, stirring reflections in the rock’s shallow hollows.

Jonah paused at the water’s edge. A soft murmur rose from the inlet—voices like wind chimes. He blinked and peered into the rippling surface. Three figures stepped forward from the shallows, water cascading off naked bodies, hair plastered and dripping. They were young and beautiful:

The first had hair as black as seaweed, eyes like polished jade. The second wore auburn curls that glowed auburn in the moonlight, her smile warm. The third’s blonde hair sparkled like woven sunbeams, her skin pale as driftwood. They reached shore and stood in a gentle arc, their naked nubile bodies glistening in the moonlight. Jonah’s heart pounded.

“Good evening,” said the raven-haired woman, her voice soft as sea foam. She brushed sand from her thighs.

Jonah cleared his throat. “Evening.”

The auburn-haired woman stepped forward, offering a hair-toss that scattered droplets like diamonds. “What brings you here alone?”

He shrugged, suddenly shy. “Needed air.”

The blonde laughed, tinkling. “Come swim with us. The water’s warm tonight.”

He glanced inland—dark pines, the empty path back to town. “I don’t know how to swim—” nervously he said, “And besides, I don’t have my swimming costume.”

“We’ll teach you,” the jade-eyed woman said, “You may have noticed we do not have swimming costumes either,” extending a hand. It was cool against his skin, and he took it before he realized.

They led him waist-deep, guiding his hands, teaching him to float. Laughter echoed in rock hollows. They spun him under waves, bobbing like driftwood. For a blissful hour, Jonah forgot everything but the current’s gentle cradle and the women’s laughter.

When he emerged, water beaded on their hair and dripped down their bodies. They trailed fingertips along his arms, stroking away the world’s weight.

“I’m Jonah,” he said.

“I’m Neris,” smiled the raven-haired one.

“I’m Coralia,” cooed the blonde.

“And I’m Thalia,” the auburn-haired added with a wink.

Their names felt like salt on his tongue. He left them that night, reluctant to go, but he went back up the dunes and home to restless sleep.

Night after night, Jonah returned. With each evening, they seemed ever more attractive and sexually alluring.

Neris wove sea grasses through his hair like a friend at a festival. Coralia taught him a tune she sang softly by the firelight of driftwood. Thalia plucked wildflowers from the dunes and braided them into his sleeves. They brought him pebbles polished to a pearly sheen, shells faintly luminescent. He stored them on his windowsill, evidence of a friendship that felt as natural as breathing.

Thalia caressed his hair. Coralia showed him how to catch crabs without scaring them. Neris whispered tales of sea storms and reef-gardens. Their touch was warm, curious; their voices soothing.

Jonah told them about his life in town—how he longed for purpose, how he felt adrift. They listened without judgment, their eyes glimmering with empathy. At times, he hesitated at the edge of doubt—how could they exist only here, and nowhere else? But they laughed away his worries, their fingers brushing his cheek like a promise.

One night, as the tide crept higher, Neris beckoned him toward the inlet’s furthest point. Moonlight guided them to a narrow channel between jagged rocks. A warm current pulsed beneath the stones, humming with unseen life.

“This way,” she whispered, slipping between the boulders.

Jonah followed, heart thundering. The walls closed around him, enclosing a hidden grotto. Bioluminescent algae painted the cavern walls in ghost-blue light. Gastropods winked on the rocks, and the air smelled of wet limestone.

At the center lay a shallow pool—dark, mirror-still. Jonah knelt at its edge and peered in. White shapes gleamed beneath the surface: bones. Animal skulls and fragments of vertebrae, bleached by salt and sun. His breath caught.

Neris stepped beside him, golden hair floating like a corona. She reached into the water and lifted a bird’s skull, delicate as porcelain. “We honor those who fall to the sea,” she said, voice distant.

The grotto’s hush tightened around him. Thalia and Coralia traced arcs in the air, water trailing from their fingertips, as if weaving a web.

Jonah recoiled. “What… what is this place?”

Coralia’s smile curved, beautiful and chilling. “A sanctuary. We are the keepers.”

Neris tilted her head, amber eyes reflecting bone. “We have cared for lost sailors, creatures of wind and wave.”

Thalia’s lips parted in a soft laugh. “Some never knew to fear the deep.”

Panic pricked at Jonah’s spine. He eyed the pool—how still it lay, hungry in the moonlight. The women stepped closer, their hair billowing like half-drowned sails in a sudden wind.

“They are our offerings,” Neris whispered, touching the birdshell. “The sea demands tribute.”

Jonah scrambled backward. His foot slipped on damp stone. Coralia reached to steady him—and he saw it: their bodies transformed into scales. Sapphire blue, shimmering. Neris’s arm, brushed by algae, glinted green and fish-sheen. Thalia’s hair fell back revealing a nape patterned in pearly opalescence.

They were not human.

Fear seized him. “I— I have to go.”

The sisters slid forward, pulling on his arm. Thalia’s voice was honeyed. “Stay with us,” she coaxed. “We promised you wonders.”

Jonah shook free and ran, heart pounding. Behind him, the grotto’s glow faded as he burst back into the open inlet. He did not look back at the moonlit channel. He sprinted up the dunes, feet scraping sand, until only the wind answered his racing breath.

Jonah never returned to that inlet. He moved away from the coastline, trading moonlit coves for city lights. On restless nights, he dreamt of the grotto—the hush of bone, the algae glow, the sisters’ mirrored eyes.

In a small apartment far from salt and pines, he stored the sea-polished shells they gave him. Each moonrise, he examined them with trembling fingers, half-hoping to glimpse on their curves that same uncanny shimmer beneath knots of nacre.

Sometimes, when the wind rattled the windowpane, he thought he heard a song—three voices weaving through the dark. He shuddered and turned away.

For beauty can be a mask, and love a trap set in moonlit waves. And mermaids—those beguiling daughters of tide and storm—are never quite what they seem.